'Pray touch the bell for the servant.'
'Aye, Nicholas,' Kydd said humbly. He found the well-worn but highly polished silver bell and rang it self- consciously.
'Sir?' A manservant in blue, with a plain bob wig, appeared.
Renzi pulled himself upright. 'Should you unlock my grey valise you will find a brace of cognac. Pray be so good as to open one for us.'
'Certainly, sir,' the man said, with a short bow, and withdrew.
Kydd tried to look unconcerned and toasted his rear until the servant returned bearing a gilt tray.
Renzi stood up, raising his glass to Kydd. 'Our present fortune. May this indeed be a true augury of our future.'
'Aye, an' may we never find th' need t' deny our past ever,' Kydd responded. 'Nicholas. M' true friend.' He looked sideways at Renzi and, seeing he was attending politely, pressed on: 'I've been a-thinkin'—you don't care if I say my mind?'
'My dear fellow! If it were any other I would feel betrayed.'
'Well, Nicholas, this is all more'n I could ever hope for, somethin' that can only happen if—if y'r destiny is written somewhere, I reckon. So I'm takin' this chance wi' both hands! I'll give it m' rousin' best copper-bottomed, double-barrelled, bevel-edged try, I will!'
Renzi nodded. 'Of course, brother.'
'So this is what I have t' do.' Kydd took a determined pull on his brandy. 'I've seen y'r tarpaulin officer come aft through the hawse, a right taut son o' Neptune. Ye sees him on watch on th' quarterdeck an' it puts y'r heart at ease. But, Nicholas, I don't want t' be a tarpaulin officer. They're stayin' l'tenants all their days, fine messmates I'm sure, but who should say—plain in their habits. The other officers step ashore t'gether while they stays aboard 'n' makes friends wi' a bottle.'
He glanced down at the glass in his hands. 'I want t' be a reg'lar-built King's officer and gentleman, Nicholas, an' I asks you what I c'n do to be one o' them.'
Renzi's half-smile appeared. 'If this is your wish, Tom—yet I'll have you know there is no shame in being one of nature's gentlemen . . .'
'If y' will—'
'Ah. All in good time, dear fellow. This does require a mort of reflection . . .'
It was all very well for Kydd to ask this of him, even if what he said was perfectly reasonable—but in truth the job was nigh impossible. Renzi's eye covertly took in Kydd's figure: instead of a fine-drawn, willowy courtliness there were strong shoulders and slim hips standing four-square; rather than a distinguished slender curve to the leg, his knee- breeches betrayed sculpted musculature. And in place of a fashionably cool, pale countenance there was a hearty oaken one, whose open good humour was not designed for societal discretion. And yet he was undoubtedly intelligent: Renzi had seen his quick wits at work. But Kydd would have to learn to value politeness and convention—not his strongest suit. Then there was his speech—Renzi squirmed to think of the sport others would make of him behind his back. The probable course of events, then, would be for Kydd to retreat into the comfort of bluff sea-doggery, and thereby exclude himself from gentle-born society. But this was his particular friend: he could not refuse him.
'Mr Kydd, as now I must call you, this is what I propose.' He fixed him with a stare. 'Should you choose this path then I must warn you that the way is arduous. There's many a chance to stumble. Are you prepared for a hard beat to wind'd?'
'I am.'
'And there are, er, matters you must accept without question, which are not, on the face of it, either reasonable or explicable. Do you undertake that you will accept from me their necessity without question?'
Kydd paused. 'Aye.'
'Very well. I will give you my full assistance in your worthy endeavour, and if you stay the course, for you may indeed wish to yield the race at any point—'
'Never!'
'—then I in turn agree to assist in your elevation into society.'
Kydd flushed. 'I won't shame ye to y'r friends, if that is y'r meaning.'
'That was not my meaning, but let us make a start.' He reached for the cognac and filled Kydd's glass. 'There is a beginning to everything, and in this it is the understanding that for a gentleman it is appearances that define. Politeness, the courtesies due to a lady, these are held at a value far above that of courage out on a yard, true saltwater seamanship. It is unfair, but it is the world. Now, in the matter of the courtesies, we have . . .'
Kydd persevered. He was aware that Renzi's precepts were introductory only and that there lay ahead a challenge of insight and understanding far different from anything he had encountered before. The morning lengthened, and by the time Renzi had reached the proper use of euphemisms Kydd was flagging.
They heard the rap of the front-door knocker. 'I'll go,' Kydd said, rising.
'You shall not!' Renzi's words stopped him, and he subsided into his chair.
The manservant entered with a small silver tray in his gloved hands and went pointedly to Renzi. 'Are you at home, sir?'
Renzi picked up a card. 'I am to this young lady, thank you.'
