The Privateer's Revenge

'Ah, I thought we'd lost you, Mr Cutlass,' he roared, when he spotted Kydd. 'A yen to feel the ocean's billows, perhaps? Or a midnight tryst with a fair maiden? Do come in and hide those things away.'

One by one the others appeared, but it was not until after ten that Griselda made her entrance, the men greeting her with exaggerated stage bows while she sailed in to take the least faded armchair.

'Miss Mayhew.' Kydd bowed too.

'Oh dear,' she replied. 'The others call me Rosie—why don't you, Tom?'

'I will,' Kydd said, with a grin. It had been an entertaining morning, rehearsing cue lines from a script for whoever asked it of him and his spirits were high. 'Ye're starting a new play, I hear.'

'Of course, dearie.' She sighed. 'We open every second Friday with new. Guernsey's not a big enough place we can stay wi' the same all the time.' She looked at Kydd speculatively. 'You're not t' be a stagehand for ever. When shall you pick up a script?'

'Well, I . . .' A famous actor? Strutting the stage with swooning ladies to either side, the confidences of princes and dukes? Folk flocking from far and near having heard that the legendary Tom Cutlass was playing? 'I'll think on it,' he came back awkwardly.

On the way to the theatre he called at the post office and this time there was a letter to collect. It was from Renzi. He ripped it open and three coins fell out. He scrabbled to retrieve them and eagerly scanned the hurried lines. Renzi had met with unexpected success. Soon after arriving he had made the acquaintance of a Prince de Bouillon, whom Kydd took to be an exiled royalist, and had been fortunate enough to find employ in his household as a private secretary. The enclosed thirty livres Kydd could expect every month from his wages.

A lump rose in his throat. With this generous gift he was now free to continue with his quest for as long as he . . . But he had already concluded that he was getting nowhere in uncovering the plot and must give up—must he track about hopelessly for ever? He had a life to lead. He could at least still hope for a ship in England and, in any case, as an officer even of declined circumstances there were genteel niches in society . . . But the instant he left the islands it would be the final surrender to his unjust fate—and Lockwood would have had his vengeance. Was there no middle way?

There were no performances on the Sunday. Some of the players went to Alderney on a visit while others simply slept. Moodily Kydd went to the deserted front parlour and sprawled on the sofa. Unable to escape his thoughts he laid down his newspaper and closed his eyes.

The door opened and the swish of a dress made him look up. 'Do I disturb you, Tom?'

'Oh, er, not at all, Rosie,' Kydd said, hauling himself upright. 'Just thinkin' awhile.'

She looked at him steadily. 'You're not all you seem, m' friend,' she said quietly. 'I've seen a few characters in my time an' you're so different—you've got iron in your soul, a man's man. And something's happened. I don't know what it is, but it's thrown you down where y' don't belong.'

When Kydd said nothing she came to the sofa and sat beside him. 'I may be only a common actress but I know when a man's without a friend t' talk with, an' that's not natural.' She straightened her dress demurely and continued, 'It would be my honour if you'd take me as y' friend, Tom.' Her hand strayed to his knee.

Kydd flinched but, not wanting to offend her, stayed rigid. She withdrew the hand and said quietly, 'So, there's a woman at the bottom of it—am I right?'

'No. That is, she . . . No, it's too tough a yarn t' tell.'

'Tom! We've a whole Sunday ahead. Your secret will stay wi' me, never fear.'

Kydd knew from his sister that, for a lady, there was nothing so intriguing as a man of mystery; Rosie would worm it out of him sooner or later and, besides, he had to talk to someone. 'Well, it's a long tale. Y' see . . .' He told her of the Navy, of his rise to success and command of his own ship; of his entry to high society and likely marriage into their ranks and subsequent fall when his heart was taken by another. And finally the terrible revenge a father was taking on him.

'Dear Lord, an' what a tale! I had no idea. My dear, how can you keep your wits about you while you're reduced to—to this?'

Kydd gave the glimmer of a smile. 'So th' last question is, just when do I give it away an' return t' England?'

'Never!' she said firmly. 'Never! Tom, you're perfectly right— you cannot return without you've regained your honour. It's just as it was in Clarissa Victrix, where the hero is unjustly accused of theft an' thrown into Newgate, an' it's only when his lady seduces the black-hearted earl into handin' over the false evidence that he's made free.'

Kydd grimaced, while she went on proudly, 'We opened the season wi' that in Weymouth last year to my leading lady.'

''Twould be a fine thing indeed, should I meet wi' such,' Kydd said tartly. 'I have m' doubts it'll be soon—savin' your kindness, I've no wish t' top it th' beggar f'r much longer.'

'An' neither should you!' Rosie soothed. 'Tom, do promise me y' won't leave us for now. I've a friend—a . . . a personal friend as was, who I mean t' speak with. An' then we shall see what happens.'

Renzi had slept badly: it was either a hare-brained plot by wild-eyed lunatics or the only chance to rid the world of its greatest nightmare. Or perhaps both—and d'Auvergne had made clear that in the event it went ahead Renzi's wholehearted participation was expected, and on the inner circle.

He had now seen the secret correspondence with London: indisputable understandings and instructions from the very highest and concerned with real military and political commitments.

D'Auvergne had not lied about his connections and the scheme was under eye by the foreign secretary of Great Britain and the cabinet itself. But just what was being asked of him?

Interrupting his thoughts, Jenkins, the flag-lieutenant, popped into his office. 'Thought you'd be too busy to look in at the post office—letter for you, been there for a while.'

It was from Kydd. He had found a menial job, shared lodgings, and expressed sincere gratitude for the few coins enclosed. Renzi started a reply but it wouldn't come. The contrast between his friend's decent, plain-sailing