The Admiral's Daughter

They reached the quay and the pinnace made ready. Rosalynd stood back, her face pale with shock.

'Bliddy spy, that's what y' came 'ere for!' screamed Mrs Minards, in Kydd's face.

'Aye! Not fit f'r a Polperro lass, he ain't!' spat Puckey, and the mob took it up. Grim-faced, Kydd told Job to get into the boat and turned to face the crowd, seeing Rosalynd tear free and run to him sobbing.

'I had t' do my duty,' he said huskily. Fish entrails slapped against his coat, soiling Rosalynd as well.

She composed herself. 'You must always do your duty, my love. Go now, and I'll be waiting for you.'

'Sir?' Poulden said anxiously.

'S-soon,' was all Kydd could trust himself to say to her, before he turned abruptly and went down into the boat. 'Give way,' he said, in a low voice, and as they made for the open sea, he twisted round to keep her in view as long as he could.

He should have considered it more, Kydd thought bitterly. Job was a benefactor to the village, well liked and, most importantly, a regular employer of tub carriers and lookouts. Kydd had angered the folk of Polperro, antagonised the very place that had made him so welcome, and now his world of happiness had contracted to just one person—whom he had unthinkingly made an outcast among her own people.

'Sir?' Standish entered, unsure. 'Ah, Mr Job is asking for a word with you in private, sir. I did tell him it was improper, but . . .'

'It is. Where is he now?'

'In irons, sir. I thought it—'

'In bilboes? A mort hard on a man o' years, Mr Standish. Bring him t' me, I'll hear him out.' For some reason he had an odd regard for the man.

'I do apologise f'r my lieutenant, Mr Job. He's zealous in th' King's service, y' must understand. Now, what c'n I do for you?'

Job settled himself. 'You will believe that my course is finished, Commander, but I should like to say to you here that there is a service I can yet do for my fellow man, which it would render me much satisfaction to perform.'

Kydd kept a noncommittal silence.

'And it has to be admitted, its doing must stand me in good stead for anything that must follow for me.'

'Y'r service?'

'Yes. You will no doubt have heard of that vile privateersman, Bloody Jacques.'

The hairs on Kydd's neck pricked. 'I have. What can y' tell me of the villain?'

'I want you to remove this evil creature from the high seas, sir.'

'Your jest is in bad taste, Mr Job,' Kydd said.

'Let me explain,' Job said evenly. 'You may have noticed that his knowledge of these coasts is exemplary. This is no coincidence. I can tell you now that I know him well, but as Michael Haws, resident as was of Looe—a species of turn-coat, as it were, in his own interest.

'In the past I have had occasion to employ him and his lugger in—in trading ventures, but since the resumption of war he has taken the character of a French privateer in order to prey more profitably on our richer trade. In short, a pirate, owing allegiance to none.'

It was incredible—if true.

'He wears a dark beard, adopts a rough manner, all this is to hide his identity, of course—and the selecting of victims on the deck of captures to run them through as an example to the rest, why, this is nothing more than disposing of those he knows, and fears might later bear witness against him.'

'This is fine information, Mr Job, but I—'

'I will lead you to him. The rest I leave to you.'

'Well, gentlemen,' Kydd said, with relish, unfolding the chart of St Austell Bay on the table. 'Thanks t' our guest Mr Job we're at last one jump ahead o' Mr Bloody Jacques. We have th' same information that he has—there's t' be a landing at Pentewan Sands this next night.' He let the news sink in and went on, 'The villain's goin' t' be waitin' to take th' smuggler, an' when he makes his move we want t' be there to make ours on him. And mark this, if y' please, I'm not goin' t' spare this poxy villain. He's not y' usual privateersman, he's a mad dog an' must be put down.'

Standish looked grave, the others remained impassive.

'He's not about t' give up without he takes it out of us. I don't need t' say it, but he'll not be offerin' quarter an' therefore I do see it as a fight t' the finish. I'm sorry t' see Teazer's company put t' hazard in this way, but I know you'll see th' need.

'Now. I don't want t' lose this chance so I've given it a lot o' thought. I'd like y'r comments afterwards.' He glanced at Renzi, sitting at a small table and taking a record, but he realised there would be no discourse in the old way with his friend.

However Kydd was satisfied he was thinking as Bloody Jacques was. The smuggler would be running fast and direct across the Channel, for with every sail hostile there would be no point in prolonging exposure. Therefore his course would be generally from the south-east, given the easy westerlies that had prevailed these last few days.

But it would be in the last few miles only that the smuggler's position would be guaranteed. Where could a privateer lurk unseen? In the almost north-south trend of St Austell Bay to the Dodman, with Pentewan in the middle, one place stood out above all others: Black Head, to the north. This looming mass of granite standing well out could comfortably conceal a dozen vessels within a mile or so of the sands. Not passed from the south-east and with all attention in the smuggling craft on the dangers of the landing, the privateer could close in from behind with deadly ease.

'So it's t' be Black Head. Are we agreed?' A murmur about the table he took to be consensus and went on, 'Then I want t' be in position close in to Charlestown harbour at dusk t' be ready to drop down on 'em at th' right