Invasion

They approached the Angel posting house, the coachman cracking his whip to clear a path for the Portsmouth Flyer as it wheeled round and clattered into the courtyard. The snorts of the horses echoed in the confined space and their pungent aroma lay on the air as Kydd descended and went inside. He had taken rooms at the Angel as he didn't want to burden his mother.

There was a wondering unreality about it all: while Teazer was undergoing refit in Portsmouth before joining the Downs Squadron, he had snatched a week to go home for the first time since the beginning of this war of Napoleon. Now he was back in the place where he was born and had grown up. Soon he would be greeting his parents—and with such a tale to tell . . .

With a deep breath he stepped out into High Street. The noise and smell instantly transported him back to the days of his youth and his eyes sought out the sights: the big hanging clock on the hall opposite the Tunsgate market, the Elizabethan alms-house—and before it the little wig-shop where he had once worked. It was now a print-seller, the shop front filled with luridly coloured patriotic sheets.

That a war was on did not seem apparent. The business of the town was cheerily going forward with hardly a reminder of the titanic struggle gathering strength out at sea.

Things were the same—but different.

As Kydd strode up the street not a soul noticed him but he had now been away for some time. Towards the top he took the little path past the sombre Holy Trinity churchyard to School Lane.

Several years ago, with his father's eyesight failing and the wig trade in decline, Kydd's family had summoned him home in despair. He and Renzi had restored the family fortunes by establishing a small school run along naval lines. The enterprise had thrived, with Jabez Perrot its fierce and strict boatswain keeping order and Mr. Partington its keen young headmaster.

Kydd wondered if his sister Cecilia would be at home. Since securing a position as a companion to Lady Stanhope she had travelled the world. Kydd knew Cecilia would love to hear his tales as a rakish corsair, even if the reality was a little different. His voyages as a privateer captain had been successful, though, and he hugged to himself the anticipation of revealing his surprise to the family.

The trim school-house came into view; above it a blue ensign floating—Kydd smiled at the thought of the boatswain's face when he told him those were the colours he would fly in Admiral Keith's Downs Squadron. The school was neat and clean, and sounds of dutiful chanting issued from the classroom with the aroma of chalk dust and ink. Kydd crossed the little quadrangle to the residence.

'Thomas! It's you!' his mother squealed in delight at the door. 'Do come in, son. Ye'll catch a death if y' just stands there!'

'Who is it, Fanny?' The querulous enquiry had come from his father, frail with years and now completely blind.

'It's Thomas. An' how fine he looks in his new cream pantaloons an' brown leather boots.'

'Is Cec here?' Kydd asked.

'No, dear. She's in America somewheres wi' th' marquess an' lady,' Mrs. Kydd said proudly. 'Have ye brought that nice Mr. Renzi wi' ye?'

Letting the warmth of the homecoming wash about him, Kydd settled in the best armchair next to the fire while the wide-eyed maid proffered a hot caudle against the cold and chairs were brought up for everyone to hear his tale.

'So ye was a privateer, son. That's nice. Was it scareful a-tall, you wi' all those pirates about on th' boat?'

He was sparing in his account of battles and omitted any reference to the tragic loss of his fiancee, Rosalynd, but he made much of the thrill of the chase and exciting tempests until he saw that the old couple were visibly tiring. 'How is the school, Ma?' he asked politely.

Jabez Perrott, the one-legged sailor who had been working in a Guildford bookshop until offered the position of school disciplinarian, was summoned to report, which he did most willingly and with the utmost dignity. He was a grave, upright figure who had taken to wife a respectable widow and become a man of repute at chapel.

Dinner was announced: Kydd took the place of honour at the other end of the table from his father and nodded to Mr. Partington, who respectfully asked about his sea career. He was lodging at the house but it seemed he had an understanding with a certain young lady and his hopes for connubial bliss were well advanced.

The unreality crept back. Each had found their place in life and, in a quiet way, had prospered. He, on the other hand, had experienced so much that to tell of it could only invite incomprehension of a world they could not be expected to understand. He was possessed of means beyond any of their imaginings and of memories that could never really be shared; there was now an unbridgeable distance between himself and his folk.

It wasn't meant to be like this, his homecoming. He glanced about the room, saw the darted admiring glances, heard the shy chatter, the awkwardly addressed conversation. Perhaps it was because he had been away for so long that they were unsure of him—but in his heart he knew this was not so.

After the cloth was drawn and he was left with his parents he would bring out his surprise. With rising elation he waited until he had their full attention. 'Ma, Pa, I've somethin' to tell ye!'

'Aye, son?' his mother said quickly, clasping her hands over her knees in excitement. 'Is she pretty a-tall?'

A shadow passed over his face. 'No, Ma, it's not that. It's—it's that I've done main well in the article o' prize- takin' and it's to tell y' both I'm now going to see ye into a grand mansion—a prodigious-sized one as ye both deserve.'

Mrs. Kydd looked at him with some perplexity. 'Thomas, dear, we're comfortable here, y' knows.'

Kydd looked at her fondly. 'Aye, that's as may be, but here's the chance to live like the quality in a great house wi' rooms an' grounds an' things . . .'

'A big house'd be a worry, dear.'

'No, Ma! There's servants as'll take charge of it for ye. An' then, o' course—'

'Not now, Thomas, love.'