The Admiral's Daughter

neared the fitful yellow glare at the glassless windows.

'The smithy,' Cecilia pronounced, seeing an expanse of adjacent open ground covered with hundreds of finished anchors, each set upright and painted black against rust.

'Aye, the blacksmith's shop. But let's take a peek inside.' It was a scene from the Inferno: hundreds of men at work on fifty huge forges in an atrocious clamour, white-hot metal showering sparks into the smoky gloom, the dismal clanking of the bellows chains and pale faces darting about with red-hot objects.

'Shall we see th' hammer forge, Cec?' Kydd shouted in her ear. 'Hercules, they call it, an' it takes thirty men to—'

It seemed that his sister would be happy to defer this pleasure to another time, and instead was content to hear that the shop contributed an amazing number of metal objects to be found about a ship-of-war, and that when it was time for anchor-forging the men demanded large quantities of strong ale in place of their usual gallon of small beer, such were the hideous conditions.

The wonders of the dockyard seemed endless. At the mast house Cecilia admired a 120-foot mainmast for a first-rate man-o'-war being shaped from a number of separate pieces to form a single spar ten feet round before it was rolled into the mast pond with a thunderous splash.

At the rope-walk she saw yarns ravelled in the upper storey ready to be laid up together into strands below, and these then twisted mechanically against each other to form the rope. 'A sizeable hundred-fathom cable takes three thousand yarns,' Kydd explained, as she watched.

After the acrid pungency of the pitch house, where she was told about the difference between the two tars to be found aboard ship—one was asphaltum from Trinidad used for caulking deck seams and the other, quite different, derived from fragrant pine-tree resin from the Baltic and was used for tarring rope—she confessed, 'Dear Thomas, I'm faint with impressions. Do let us find somewhere to sit down and refresh.'

It was a little disappointing—there was the wonderful sea stench to be experienced only in the burning of old barnacled timbers to recover the copper and, of course, the whole south corner where so many noble ships lay building on the stocks. And the Bunker's Hill battery, which had a most curious brass gun from Paris . . . But perhaps it would be better to leave some sights for another time.

They walked slowly back to the gate. Cecilia wore a dazed look, and Kydd asked, 'Did you enjoy th' party at all?'

'I did—very much, thank you, Thomas,' she roused herself to say.

'The guests seemed t' have a good time,' Kydd said proudly. 'Did ye notice the admiral's daughter? Persephone's her name,' he added casually. 'So good in her t' come.'

'Oh, yes. It was surprising, I suppose.'

'Well, she was invited b' another lady but, Cec, I think she's interested in me. She asked about Teazer an' if she suited me . . . Well, anyway, I thought she was.'

'Dear brother! Hers is a notable family and she's certain to have a whole train of admirers of quite another sort to ourselves.'

'But—'

'Thomas, she's a very nice person, I can tell, but please don't mistake her politeness for anything else, I beg.'

'Miss Lockwood?' Kydd advanced into the upper room of the premises where he had been told she was waiting.

'Why, Mr Kydd! You're very prompt, you know—I'd only just arrived.' She wore flowers in her hair, which complemented her gay morning dress. The only other in the room was an unctuous proprietor, who hovered discreetly. 'What do you think?'

Kydd advanced to inspect the oil. It was a robust piece, a firstrate vessel of another age with bellying sails and two sloops on an opposing course. The man scuttled up and said quickly, 'Ah, Samuel Scott, A First Rate Shortening Sail—time of the second George.'

He was cast a withering look and retreated.

'Mr Kydd?'

This was not a time for hasty opinions and Kydd took his time. 'A fine painting,' he began, aware from the discreet price tag that the artist was no mere dauber. 'It is th' commander-in-chief, as we c'n see from the union at the main, an' if I'm not mistaken there is the gentleman himself in the stern gallery with another.'

She peered closer, unavoidably bringing her face close enough to his that he could sense her warmth. 'Ha—hm,' he continued, trying to marshal his thoughts. 'However, here I find a puzzle. The name is Shortening Sail but I see th' sheets are well in, an' the buntlines o' the main course are bein' overhauled. If there are no men on th' yard takin' in sail it speaks t' me more of loosin' sail, setting 'em abroad.'

'Mr Scott was well known as a marine artist, a friend to Mr Hogarth. Could it be that he's amiss in his nauticals, do you think?' Persephone asked.

Kydd swallowed. 'Miss Lockwood, if ye'll observe the sea—it has no form, all up an' down as it were. Real sea t' this height always has a wind across it an' you can tell from th' waves its direction, an' this must be th' same as the set o' the sails.'

She waited for Kydd to continue. 'We have here our boats a-swim, which is tellin' us th' seas are not s' great. So why then do we not see t'gallants set in any o' the ships? And y'r sloops—at sea we do not fly our union at the fore or th' ensign at the staff. This is reserved f'r when we take up our moorin's, and—'

'Bravo!' she applauded. 'I was right to ask your assistance, Mr Kydd. We shall have no further dealings with this artist.'

She threw a look at the proprietor, who hurried back. 'I can see we have a client of discrimination,' he said, avoiding Kydd's eye. 'Therefore I will allow you to inspect this Pocock,' he said importantly, unlacing a folio. 'A watercolour. Le Juste and the Invincible. Should this be more to your taste, do you think?'

He drew it out and gave it to Persephone, who handed it pointedly to Kydd. It was of quite another quality, a