Conquest

‘You seem to know enough about her, Nicholas.’

‘As a moderately successful vintner, the baron is entitled to an invitation, I find. He expressed his regrets and trusts that his daughter’s presence might suffice.

‘Quite a coup,’ Renzi added, with satisfaction. ‘The baron lost his wife to the guillotine and lives alone on the estate with his daughter. They were seldom seen in town before now.’

The ball continued joyously – but Kydd had eyes for only one.

Chapter 9

This had been an edgy voyage. Kydd had been tasked to search out any lurking French squadrons so L’Aurore had ranged along the track of the Indiamen as being the most likely hunting ground, meeting each dawn with the utmost vigilance, as the starry night faded to first light, extending out until the wave-tossed horizon could be meticulously searched.

Nothing had been seen of the enemy, but there had been some moments of heart-pumping tension: as one night lifted, it had shown a fleet of ships bearing down on them. These, however, had proved to be an outward- bound John Company convoy, who were glad to hear of the capture of Cape Town but had no news of the French.

For Kydd it was always something akin to magic, the diligent application of tables and the wielding of sextant and chronometer, then land conjured from the immensity of ocean. He stood on the quarterdeck, gazing at the jagged blue-grey that was St Helena; unspeakably remote, a speck in the watery vastness of the South Atlantic but a valued rendezvous point for the rich India convoys.

Kendall knew St Helena well and, as they drew near, directed L’Aurore to pass to the west. Close to, the island was a spectacular sight: massive crags pounded by waves driven ceaselessly a thousand miles or more by the constant open-ocean trade-winds that ended their run in a thundering assault on the south- east of the island.

The interior was riven by rocky valleys; strangely, on this island it was the summits of the mountains that were clothed in verdure, the lower slopes bare and precipitous, some shrouded in cloud and mist.

‘We’ll enter t’ leeward, o’ course, sir – Jamestown on the north is where we lands,’ Kendall said confidently. ‘An’ that there’s Lot an’ His Wife,’ he added, pointing to two contorted columns of dark basalt rearing high above the broken scarp.

Rounding the sharp western extremity they passed into relative peace to leeward of the island, L’Aurore’s barrelling roll before the wind finally easing after so many days at sea. Jamestown was marked by several ships at anchor offshore and L’Aurore did likewise, her sailors agog at the new-found land. There was no need for salutes or ceremony because this entire island, complete with its governor, was a fiefdom of the East India Company.

‘Open the hold, Mr Oakley – we’ll take aboard fresh greenstuffs and water while we’ve the chance. And let the passengers know our boat will be going ashore in one hour,’ Kydd ordered. They were carrying three gentlemen with business on the island.

He went below to prepare. There was no real necessity for him to visit: his orders were to return by way of a voyage east to Africa, then down the coast back to Cape Town, keeping a weather eye open for the tell-tale signs of a French landing. But St Helena was a strange and haunting island, set at such unimaginable remoteness – who knew if he’d be this way again? Besides, Renzi would never forgive him if he did not bring back an account.

They landed at the foot of a long, narrow valley, the town not much more than a single street. A gateway through the sea wall led them in and Kydd stood for a space, admiring the bluffs that soared five hundred feet on both sides. ‘You’re for Plantation House?’ Moore, one of the passengers, asked pleasantly.

‘The governor?’

‘Yes, Robert Patton. I’ll advise a calesa, Captain. The house is at some miles’ distance.’

At the Mule Yard they secured their conveyance. ‘The castle on the left is near crumbling with ants,’ Moore chuckled, as they ground up an incline, ‘and there is our snug Grand Parade and our steeple-less St James’s Church.’

‘Er, how old is it at all?’ Kydd asked, out of courtesy.

‘As it was building when Captain Cook chanced by. Your first visit?’

Plantation House was in the pleasantly cooler uplands, fronted by a lawn set about with myrtles and mimosa thirty feet high, an exotic mingling of bamboo and eucalyptus, laurel and cabbage tree.

Kydd walked past a giant tortoise contentedly munching grass and was politely conducted to Governor Patton, who greeted him with a warm handshake and invited him to sit in one of a pair of fine antique chairs.

‘I bring news,’ Kydd opened. ‘Cape Town is ours, and—’

‘This I know, Captain. Is it possible I have news for you?’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s been a hard-run battle off San Domingo that’s ended the career of your Admiral Leissegues. Quite destroyed by Admiral Duckworth in as fine an action as any I’ve heard.’

This was welcome indeed. One fewer battle squadron to worry about at the very least.

‘And Admiral Willaumez has been sighted to the suth’ard . . .’

Kydd started. What the devil was such a threat doing in the south – a strike at the Cape? He stood immediately. ‘I – I must get this news to Commodore Popham.’ What could be achieved with a pair of old 64s and lesser craft would soon be put to the test.

Patton gave a reassuring smile. ‘A company schooner is already on its way, sir.’