only by the cream gush of his cravat and the stockings. In the manner of a Romantic he sported a broad-brimmed dark hat worn at a rakish angle.
It was the first time Kydd had used an ebony cane. As they passed along Chapel Street it felt awkward to the hand, whether he swung it at each pace to click on the ground or twirled it about. He fought down a sense of fakery, but after the second time a passer-by made way respectfully for him he felt happier.
They passed under the big clock in the high street—the beadle outside the town hall touched his hat to them— turned down a side-street and entered a dingy doorway.
'Might I present M'sieur Jupon? He is engaged to be your dancing master.' A short but fierce-eyed man swept down in the most extravagant leg to Kydd, then straightened, fixing him with a challenging stare.
'Er, pleased t' meet ye,' Kydd stuttered, and essayed a jerky bow. Jupon and Renzi exchanged glances.
'M'sieur Jupon will instruct you in the graces of movement and courtesy, and you will attend here for one hour daily until you have mastered the elements.'
'Ah, Mr Kydd, you're not boardin' your ship now, sir. Do try a little
The horse, however, had sensed his innocence, swishing its tail and playing with its bit. Its eyes rolled in anticipation while Kydd struggled to heave himself up, staggering one-footed in a circle.
Renzi dismounted and came across. He checked the girth and yanked on the stirrup. 'Ah, the stablehand is having his amusement. You'd have your knees round your ears with this! We'll ease away—so.' The stirrups descended, the horse quieter under Renzi's firm hand. He slapped the horse familiarly on the rump. 'Look, here's a tip. Make a fist, and touch the stirrup bar up here. Now swing the iron up under your arm, and the right length for you will be when it just touches the body.'
Kydd swung up nervously into the saddle, suddenly finding himself at a great height. The horse snorted and tossed its head. He felt that it was biding its time before wreaking some terrible revenge.
'So we seem t' have made up our mind to go ridin' at last.' A sarcastic bellow came across the ring to him. 'We start wi' the walk.'
The horse plodded in a circle, and Kydd's confidence grew.
'Back straight, Mr Kydd.' He forced his spine to rigidity and completed another circle. 'Jehosaphat Moses! Keep y'r back supple, Mr Kydd. Let y'r hips rock
The trot was more to his liking with its brisk motion, but the horse whinnied with frustration at the tight rein and Kydd eased it a little.
A gate was opened into a larger field, and Renzi began to canter. Kydd followed behind, feeling the thud of hoofs through the animal's frame and hearing snorts of effort coming from the great beast beneath him. It was exhilarating, and he relaxed into it. The horse seemed to sense this and responded with a more fluid, faster motion.
'Well done, Mr Kydd!' he heard. ' ' Collected an' light in hand,' we say.'
As he turned he saw the woman pull out a large fob watch. 'To me!' she demanded impatiently.
Kydd felt the horse respond to his signals with knee and reins and suddenly was reluctant to finish for the morning. Impulsively, he clapped his knees to the beast's barrel-like sides. After a brief hesitation the horse responded and broke into a gallop. Instinctively Kydd acted as he would aloft, his standing crouch that of a topman leaning forward to hand a billowing sail. The horse stretched out down the length of the field. Now wildly excited, Kydd caught a glimpse of figures staring at him as he thundered past. The wind tore through his hair, the din of hoofs and the animal's rhythmic movements beat on his senses.
A gnarled wooden fence spread across his vision. As they hurtled towards it, Kydd considered an emergency turn to larboard. Far behind him a faint bellow sounded: 'Bridge y'r reins! Bridge your
Kydd stayed aboard as the horse raced away through nondescript winter-brown bracken and into the woods beyond. It hesitated in mid-stride, then swerved on to a woodland path, Kydd ducking to avoid whip-like branches.
He became aware of hoofbeats out of synchrony with his own, and indistinct shouting. He guessed it would be Renzi following, but dared not look behind. He shot past a gaping greenwood forager, then reached a more substantial lane across their path.
The horse skidded as it negotiated a random turn, but the mud slowed it, and the gallop became less frantic. It panted heavily as it slowed to a trot. Renzi caught up and grasped the reins. 'How are you, brother?'
Kydd flashed a wide grin. 'Spankin' fine time, Nicholas, s' help me,' he said breathlessly, his face red with exertion.
Renzi hid a grin. 'And what has happened to your decorum, sir?'
'Oh? Aye, yes. Er, a capital experience, sir.'
They rode together for a space. The lane widened and a small cottage came into view ahead. 'Do dismount, old fellow, and ask directions back,' Renzi suggested. Gingerly, Kydd leaned forward to bring his leg across the saddle, but in a flash he had toppled backwards into the black winter mud, still with one foot in a stirrup.
The horse stamped and rolled its eyes as Kydd got ruefully to his feet and trudged down the garden path to the door.
It was answered by a stooped old man with alert bright eyes. Before Kydd could speak, he smiled. 'Ah, Master Kydd, I do believe? Thomas Kydd?'
'Aye, y'r in the right of it,' Kydd said. 'That is t' say, you have th' advantage of me, sir.'
The man feigned disappointment. Kydd's face cleared. 'O' course! Parson Deane!' It seemed so long ago that, as a boy, he had taken delight in going to the lakeside with the old man and his dog after duck. 'I hope I find you in health, sir,' he said. The parson glanced up at Renzi, who was still mounted. 'Oh, sir, this is Mr Renzi, my particular
