peace at any price. And Napoleon Bonaparte, now squarely atop the pyramid of power in France, was energetically accruing the means to succeed in his greater goal: world dominance.
The King had recently delivered an unprecedented personal message to Parliament. In tones of bleak urgency, he had pointed to the First Consul's naked aggression since the peace—his occupation of Switzerland, his annexation of Savoy and more: there was little doubt now that Addington's gamble of appeasement had failed, and that England must brace herself to renew the struggle against the most powerful military force the world had ever seen.
Kydd, an experienced and distinguished naval officer, would not languish in unemployment for long and Renzi felt a stab of concern: might his friend be prevented from keeping his word on their arrangement?
He glanced at his pocket watch, his thoughts now on his imminent meeting. Cecilia's image had gone with him in his mind's eye on his long journey and stayed with him to be burnished and cherished: soon he would face its reality. He drew a long breath.
Kydd's mother handled the capacious muff of kangaroo skin dubiously; its warm, fox-red fur divided pleasingly to an underlying soft dark grey—but might not other ladies disdain it as an inferior substitute for fine pine marten?
'T' catch 'em boundin' along, Ma, it's so divertin' t' see! They hop—like this!' To the consternation of the house-maid, Kydd performed a creditable imitation of a kangaroo's leap.
'Do behave y'self, son,' his mother scolded, but today Kydd could do little wrong. 'Have y' not given thought, dear,' she continued, in quite another tone, 'that now you've achieved so much an' all it might be a prime time t' think about settlin' down? Take a pretty wife an' sport wi' y'r little ones—I saw some fine cottages on the Godalming road as might suit . . .' But her son was clearly not in the mood to listen.
The commotion of his arrival began to subside a little as the rest of the knick-knacks expected from a voyage of ten thousand miles were distributed. His father, now completely blind, felt the lustrous polish of a Cape walking- stick fashioned from walrus bone and exotic wood as Kydd presented Cecilia with a little box, which contained a single rock. 'That, sis, y' may not buy, even in London f'r a thousan' guineas!' he said impressively.
Cecilia examined it quietly.
'It's fr'm the very furthest part o' the world. Any further an' there's jus' empty sea to th' South Pole—th' very end of every-thin'.' He had pocketed the cool blue-grey shard when Renzi and he had gone ashore for a final time in the unspeakably remote Van Diemen's Land.
'It's—it's very nice,' Cecilia said, in a small voice, her eyes averted. 'You did promise me something of your strange land in the letter, Thomas,' she said. 'I do hope the voyage wasn't too . . . vexing for you.'
Kydd knew she was referring to his captaincy of a convict ship and murmured an appropriate reply, but he was alarmed by her manner. This was not the spirited sister he had known and loved since childhood: there was a subdued grief in her taut, pale face that disturbed him. 'Cec—'
'Thomas, do come and see the school. It's doing so well now,' she said, sounding brittle, and retrieved the key from behind the door. Without another word they left the room and crossed the tiny quadrangle to enter a classroom.
For a space she faced away from him, and Kydd's stomach tightened.
'T-Thomas,' she began, then lifted her head and held his eyes. 'Dear Thomas . . . I—I want you to know that I—I'm so very sorry that I failed you . . .' Her hands worked nervously. Her head drooped. 'You—you trusted me, with your d-dearest friend. And I let him wander out and be lost . . .'
'Wha—? Cec, you mean Nicholas?'
'Dear brother, whatever you say, I—failed you. It's no use.' She buried her face in her hands and struggled for control. 'I—I was so tired . . .'
Kydd reeled. He had sworn secrecy about Renzi's feelings for his sister and the logic that had impelled his friend to sever connection with her. They had prepared a story together to cover Renzi's disappearance: it had better be believable. He took his sister's hands and looked into her stricken face. 'Cecilia, I have t' tell ye—Nicholas lives.'
She froze, searching his eyes, her fingers digging painfully into his own.
'He's not lost, he—he straggled away, intellect all ahoo, y' see.' It seemed such a paltry tale and he cursed yet again the foolish logic that had denied her the solace of just one letter from Renzi.
'He was, er, taken in an' attended f'r a long time, an' is now much recovered,' he ended awkwardly.
'You know this?'
Kydd swallowed. 'I heard about Nicholas in Deptford an' hurried to him. Cec, you'll be seein' him soon. He's on his way!'
'May I know who took him in?' she continued, in the same level voice.
This was not going to plan. 'Oh, er, a parcel o' nuns or such,' he said uncomfortably. 'They said as how they didn't want thanks. Th' savin' o' souls was reward enough.'
'So he's now recovered, yet was never, in all that time, able to pen a letter to me?'
Kydd mumbled something, but she cut in, 'He tells
'Cec, it's not as ye're sayin'—'
'Do you think me a fool?' she said icily. 'If he's taken up with some doxy the least he can do is to oblige me with a polite note.'
'Cec!'
'No! I'm strong enough! I can bear it! It's just that—I'm disappointed in Nicholas. Such base behaviour, only to be expected of—of—'
Her composure was crumbling and Kydd was in a turmoil.
