'What cheer, mate?' Kydd called back.
Doud had an expression of marked curiosity. 'Officer o' the day passes the word for Tom Kydd.' He paused for
effect. 'It's a visitor at the brow askin' after you, my frien'. A lady visitor.'
A rumble of ribald interest from around Kydd made him ask, 'Should y' call her, might we say, taut rigged?'
'As saucy and trim a barky as ever graced the seas - an' a fine figurehead with it,' Doud acknowledged. This did not at all sound like a common drab, should one be bold enough to seek him out.
'Spread more sail, mate, an' yer'll soon board her in rollicking style,' urged Petit, with a huge grin.
Hurriedly checking his rig, Kydd leapt up the hatchway ladder, closely followed by half the mess deck. Striding up to the master's mate he demanded, 'Where away, Mr Shipton?' With a grin, the man indicated a dark young lady standing diminutive and lonely on the dockside.
It took a few moments, for it had been another place, another lifetime — but he recognised his only sister, Cecilia. Impetuously, he clattered down the gangway to the stones of the dock and crushed her to him.
'Oh, Thomas, my dear, my very dear . . .' She wept, and clung to him, her femininity utterly disarming. She pushed him away and dabbed at her eyes. 'Thomas! Look at you! I would never — you are a man!'
Kydd blushed, and she giggled at his discomfiture, but did not let go his arms. Her eyes flashed in that familiar way; she swung him round to face the ship again, her arm through his. 'Do you introduce me to your ship, Thomas.'
In earlier years this imperious behaviour would have resulted in an instant squabble, but now Kydd could think of no easy rejoinder. He looked up and saw the line of men at the deck edge gazing down. Slowly they mounted the gangway, her arm primly on his, her manner decidedly possessive. The men looked on with interest. They reached the bulwarks, the men fell back into a semi-circle, and she accepted his awkward assistance to the deck with a dainty, 'Thank you, Thomas.'
The sight of his shipmates, sea-hardened and battle-proved to a man, so transparently agog, was too much for Kydd. A smile pulled at his mouth. 'Now, please behave y'rself, sis,' he whispered.
Renzi stood back, impassive.
Kydd took off his hat and held it across his chest. 'Gentlemen, I have th' honour to introduce Miss Cecilia Kydd, my worthy an' only sister.'
A sigh went through the group. Renzi performed an elegant leg, but in the main hats flew off and there was a gawky shuffling from men quite unused to ladies of Cecilia's evident quality.
Kydd watched his sister's gratification in amusement. She was perhaps too strong-featured on her smaller frame, but her dark looks were appealing in their directness and she was undeniably handsome. She curtsied to Renzi and gave him a dazzling smile. She nodded to the others, instinctively giving best to Petit, who fawned on her ridiculously.
Kydd had the sense to move her forward to Shipton, who exchanged bows and polite courtesies. Of course it was in order for Kydd to show her the ship. A veiled reference to the cockpit was a warning that the midshipmen would perhaps be entertaining women of quite another sort, and the boatswain would, by now, be indisposed.
There was little to see in a frigate stripped of most of her guns and fitments, but enough remained to give an idea of life aboard. Accompanied by the enraptured men Kydd escorted Cecilia forward. 'That there's where we keep the boats,' he said, pointing to the skid beams straddling the open space of the spar deck amidships.
'Where th' seaboat is kept, if't please yer, miss,' Petit added.
'An' the longboat, in course,' Adam said eagerly.
'When it ain't a launch,' growled Stirk, who had heard of the visitation and had hurried up on deck.
'How interesting,' Cecilia murmured, gazing blankly at the empty space.
They moved on to the forward end of the boat-space. 'What a dear little bell,' she exclaimed, catching sight of the ship's bell in its ornate belfry.
'It's how we tells the time,' said Gully eagerly. Cecilia looked closely but could find no sign of clock hands or any such.
The men crowded around. 'Like, we strikes it every glass, see, so we always knows when ter go on watch,' explained Stirk, his tone a peculiar mix of tender attention and awkwardness.
Cecilia replied faintly that she was sure, but felt that the glass might suffer overmuch in the striking.
'Ah, our gun captain, Tobias Stirk,' Kydd said, trying to regain centre stage. He led the way down the fore- hatch, resolutely keeping the men clear while she felt her way down to the main deck.
At the sight of the remaining twelve-pounders Cecilia paused. The heat of battle had boiled away the gun blacking to a patchy metallic graininess, and they looked what they were, lethal engines of war that had so recently taken an enemy warship and the life of her captain.
Scars of the desperate conflict were easy to find — long, splintered furrows in the pristine clean deck, daylight through smashed-in side timbers and suggestive dark stains, in more than one spot. An insistent rank odour of stale gunsmoke still pervaded the air along with the vinegar-sulphur mixture used to remove dried body parts.
'And, Tom, pray where . . .' She tailed off, her hand over her mouth, eyes opened wide.
Kydd showed her, not speaking.
She looked around wildly, the alien grimness of the scene visibly crowding in. 'Thomas, I - I - if you please, might we . . .'
Concerned, Kydd led her up to the open air again. Another colourful sunset promised, and he remembered Renzi's plans for a splendid meal. He addressed the adoring throng: 'Avast there, y' cod-eyed lubbers, we have business ashore now.' Beckoning to Renzi he announced, 'We dine as planned, Nicholas, and with company.'
Cecilia hesitated, then whispered up at him. Kydd smiled. 'We shall make a rendezvous for eight, but it seems my little sister wishes time with me first.' He turned and they went ashore, arm in arm.
