Conquest

Later, a much-chastened Kydd was settled into a chair in Renzi’s inner sanctum by a protective Stoll. ‘Your secretary?’ he asked wryly, when the man had left.

‘Well, one of them,’ Renzi admitted.

Kydd looked around the well-appointed office. ‘And I had my concerns that he’d been working you like a slavey. Shall I be told what you do with your day at all?’

Lightly covering the detail, Renzi explained what it was to be a colonial secretary while Kydd listened first in astonishment and then in good-natured envy. ‘In the first rank of Cape Town society no less – I must take off my hat to you in the street, I find!’

‘It has its compensations, the position,’ Renzi agreed.

‘As will make it a sad trial for you to return to L’Aurore.’ Kydd chuckled.

Renzi’s face shadowed. ‘Er, there’s every reason to suppose that will now not happen, Tom.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sir David has done me the honour of asking me to consider this a permanent situation,’ he said gently, ‘and is communicating with Whitehall to have me confirmed in post, my friend.’

‘Nicholas – is this what you desire, or is some villain—’

‘It is my wish. You see . . . I shall now have a situation in life that is both honourable and secure, that yields a competence that is quite sufficient, you see, to . . . marry.’

Kydd was dumbfounded.

‘A sufficient competence?’ he managed.

‘An acceptable term, I’d think, for an emolument some seven or eight times your own.’

Kydd smiled awkwardly. Renzi’s high moral principles had prevented his seeking Cecilia’s hand in marriage while unable to provide for her, and through sheer chance he had been given the means to do so and obviously had seized it with both hands – or . . .

‘Oh, er, Nicholas, by your talk of marriage, do you mean to say, um, to Cecilia, not some Dutch lady of your recent acquaintance?’

‘To your sister,’ Renzi said frostily. ‘In the event she is free and accepts my proposal, I mean to send for her to approve Cape Colony as an appropriate place of our domicile de mariage.’

‘Ah.’

‘To be wed in the Groote Kerk, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Cecilia – out here? Kydd had doubts, but if she still had the feelings for Renzi that he’d been witness to before, then all was possible. ‘I see. Then . . . then you’ll not be wanting your cabin aboard,’ he ventured, still dazed by the announcement.

‘It would seem not, Tom.’ Renzi’s voice was awkward. ‘I would take it kindly if you’ll—’

‘Your books ’n’ effects will be landed as soon as they may.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a long pause while Kydd tried to find something to say. ‘Er, you’re still looking a mort mumchance – can this be some delicate question of state that’s taxing the intellects?’

Renzi smiled ruefully. ‘No, dear fellow. It’s naught but the throwing of a grand ball for which I bear both the honour and responsibility. You’d never conceive the worry of spirits this is causing me – such quantities of vexing detail that would drive a saint to drink and ruin.’

‘Ha! That’s easily solved, I’m persuaded,’ Kydd said immediately.

‘Oh? How so?’

‘You may claim the services of Tysoe, who, as you know, has served a noble family – but, mind you, I shall have him back!’

Renzi’s face cleared. ‘A capital idea! My mind is quite eased, believe me. Er – shall we adjourn to another place? My apartments are commodious and overlook such a quaint and sublime fountain . . .’

The evening stole in, a thankful cool with a violet tinge to the light adding to the nervous elation in the group standing about the doors of Government House. Baird had fallen in with the idea of holding the reception there, in the palatial surroundings of the Dutch governor’s residence, then moving to the larger castle for the ball, involving as it would a jingling panoply of sumptuous carriages through the streets for all Cape Town to see.

‘I don’t spy any of ’em yet!’ Baird rumbled, twitching his military stock and peering past the goggling crowd pressed up to the railings. ‘If we dance alone they’ll hear about it for years to come in every club in London!’

‘Sir, the evening’s yet young,’ Renzi soothed, trying not to let the feathers of his ridiculous ceremonial helmet tickle his nose. ‘And I’d believe every matron will be concerned not to let a single hair go unfrizzed.’

The governor did not appear mollified and Renzi fell back briefly into the entrance to confront an immaculate Tysoe. ‘Is everything ready?’ he hissed. ‘Should this night be a disaster then . . . then—’

‘All is to satisfaction, sir,’ Tysoe replied serenely, ‘Being under my direct instructions.’ At any other time the distinct elevation of his tone would have brought amusement.

The impeccably dressed regimental band stoically continued playing their light airs and the members of the receiving line – himself after Baird, Ryneveld, two generals, Popham and three members of the Senate – hovered in readiness.

It wasn’t until an interminable forty minutes had passed that the first carriage arrived and one Overbeek, vice- president of the Orphans Chamber, wife and wide-eyed daughter arrived. A genial Baird granted a full five minutes