Polperro? Kydd gave a wry smile at the thought of staying in a smugglers' den . . .
Polwithick was set half-way between Crumplehorn and Landaviddy, with a fine view far down into the steep valley and compact huddle that was Polperro.
'Elizabethan, do you think?' Renzi mused, as they dismounted from their horses; their baggage would follow by packhorse over the rutted tracks that went for roads in this Cornish interior.
The charming manor did seem of an age: a stout jumble of ancient mullioned windows and grey moorstone from the time of the first George, set among ancient yews and hawthorns, blossoms from the neat kitchen garden softening its bluff squareness.
'Come in! Come in, come in—ye're both most welcome, gentlemen!' Squire Morthwen was jolly and red- faced.
'Nicholas Renzi, sir, and this is my friend and colleague, Mr Kydd.'
'A pleasure t' have ye here! It was, er, something in the philosophical line ye wish to study in these parts, was it not, sir?'
'Indeed. And I'm sure you'll prove of sovereign worth in directing me to where—but this can wait until later, sir. We're under no rush of time.'
They were ushered into a small drawing room where the whole family was drawn up in a line. 'This is m' brood, gentlemen, who're very curious t' see what kind o' visitors come all the way t' Polwithick.
'Now this is Edmund, the eldest.' A tall young man with a studied look of boredom bowed stiffly. 'M' daughter Rosalynd.' A delicate pale maiden with downcast eyes curtsied, but when she rose it was with a startlingly frank gaze. 'And Titus, th' youngest.' A tousled youth grinned at them.
'I know town folk take y' vittles late, but in the country we like t' have ours while there's still light t' appreciate 'em. Shall we?'
The meal in the dark-timbered dining parlour was unlike any Kydd had experienced before. It wasn't just the massive oaken furniture or the rabbit in cider or even the still country wines, but the warmth and jollity in place of the cool manners and polite converse he had grown used to.
The squire, it seemed, was a widower but the table was kept with decorum; the visitors were spared close interrogation and afterwards the gentlemen repaired to a study for port and conversation.
'Well, Mr Renzi, y' mentioned in your letter about ethnical studies in th' West Country. I don't think I can help thee personally with that but you'll find some rare fine curiosities hereabouts.'
Renzi was able in some measure to indicate his requirements but was interrupted by a wide-eyed face peeking round the door. 'Oh, Papa, do let us stay!' Titus pleaded.
The squire frowned. 'Church mice!' he roared. 'Not a squeak, mind!' With three solemn faces hanging on every word, Renzi continued.
It transpired that they were well placed to make comparative study between the way of life of the fisher-folk and that of the country yeomen and, indeed, if Renzi were not of a squeamish tendency, the tin miners along the coast would afford much to reflect upon.
Renzi beamed. 'My thanks indeed, sir! This will provide me with precisely the kind of factual grist I shall need —do you not think so, brother Kydd?'
'Er, yes, o' course, Mr Renzi. An ethnical harvest o' some size, I'd believe.'
Plans were put in train at once: there were horses in the stables for their convenience, and the squire allowed he was modestly proud of an orangery, which, being south-facing, was eminently suited to a learned gentleman's retiring with his books.
Friendly goodnights were exchanged and Kydd and Renzi took possession of their bedrooms; in each a pretty four-poster waited ready, warmed with a pan. It was going to be a fine respite from their recent trials.
After a hearty breakfast, Renzi drew Kydd aside. 'There is a matter . . . that is causing me increasing unease. In fact it concerns yourself, my good friend. It . . . I lay awake last night and could find no other alternative, even as I fear you may feel slighted—and, indeed, cheated.'
Puzzled, Kydd said nothing as Renzi continued. 'You came with me to this place to contribute to the sum of human knowledge in an ethnical examination. It is the first such I have undertaken else I should have realised this before, but in actually contemplating my approach to the persons under study it seems that while I might, over time, be considered a harmless savant, the two of us together could well be accounted a threat of sorts.'
Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Renzi went on, 'Therefore if I am to observe their natural behaviour it rather seems that . . . it were better you remain behind.'
Kydd snorted. 'M' dear fellow, if you feel able t' manage this all by y'rself, then I must find m' own amusements.'
Renzi's face fell, but then Kydd chuckled. 'Pay no mind t' me, Nicholas. If I'm t' be truthful, I'd say that there's nothin' in the world more congenial t' me right now than settlin' t' both anchors in as quiet a place as this.'
It was particularly pleasant to sit in the orangery, a small table to hand with a jug of lemon shrub, and let the beaming sunshine lay its beneficent warmth upon him. He had brought with him Chesterfield's
The peace and warmth did its work and the memories of the recent past began to fade. Outside, birds hopped from branch to branch of the orchard trees, their song so different from the sound of the sea's rage.
His mind drifted to a more agreeable plane. What would Persephone be doing in Bath? Did taking the waters imply a communal bath somewhere or would someone of her quality be granted private quarters? No doubt Lady Lockwood would come round to things eventually, particularly with Persephone there to explain things. Meanwhile . . .
'Oh! I didn't mean to disturb you, Mr Kydd!' a timid voice called from the door. Kydd opened his eyes and rose.
'No, no, please, don't get up. I only thought you'd like tea and—and I see you already have something.' Her voice was shy but appealing in its childlike innocence, although Rosalynd was plainly a young woman.
