Seaflower

misgivings laid to rest. 'But slavery, where is y'r rights there?'

The lawyer's eyes turned stony. 'If we had no slaves then, may I ask, where do you think that the free men to take their place — thousands, tens of thousands -will come from? No white man will come of his free will to labour in the sun. The black man is eminently suited. They would have no employment, were it not for this.'

'But—'

'Do you propose, sir, to abandon the islands? Sail away, leave them to the French, throw away six generations of development?' The contempt in his voice was ill-concealed.

Kydd knew in his heart that Renzi would sadly concur — it was a matter of simple logic; besides which, he was a guest and would not embarrass his friend with an argument. 'Of course not, sir, that was never in question,' he said.

 

All too rapidly the remaining days of their stay passed, until the time came, on the last evening, to bring it all to a conclusion. Laughton arrived late for the sundown glass, flopping wearily into his rattan chair. There was little talk as the sangaree splashed into the glasses, each man with his own thoughts. Laughton's wife joined them, but left discreetly at the solemn mood.

Kydd broke the silence, saying civilly, 'Y'r sunsets are capital in this part o' the world.'

Laughton looked up, a tight smile flashing briefly. 'There are many things here which a distracted mind would find pleasing.' He sat back and looked directly at Kydd. 'It does not take a deal of penetration to see that you are a particular friend to Nicholas — you have shared too much of life together for it to be otherwise. Therefore I conclude that he has confided in you. In short, you know of his — decision, and the noble impulse that generated it.

'I am his brother, as you are no doubt aware, and tonight I ask you very sincerely if you will intercede with him. Ask him to accept my offer of an honoured place here — indeed, to include your own good self — and see out these tumultuous times here together.'

Kydd was surprised: he had no idea an offer had been made. He glanced across at Renzi, whose expression was as usual inscrutable. 'I do thank ye f'r the fine offer for m'self, but must say no,' Kydd said firmly. 'But as f'r Nicholas . . .'

'No,' Renzi said quickly, and stared intensely at his glass. Kydd waited, but there was no further elaboration. Renzi's face was set in stone.

The chirr of a cricket sounded in the dusk, immediately joined in a chorus by others. A clatter and laughter sounded far-off in the chattel houses, and the breeze played sofdy about them. Laughton put down his glass. 'Then I think I have my answer, Nicholas,' he said softly. 'But one moment.' He rose quickly and went inside. A short time later, he emerged with a dusty botde and crystal glasses, which he placed on the marquetry table, then set to carefully opening the bottle. ‘Let us make this last night as agreeable as we may.' He poured the deep gold liquid into crystal. The dark-skinned buder arrived with a candle, and each man held his glass. 'Armagnac — the elder Pitt was a boy when this was bottled,' Laughton said lightly. 'I give you Fortune - may she treat you as a lady.'

Chapter 14

 

It was good to see Seaflower at her moorings across the harbour at the Palisades, looking yacht-like at that distance. Kydd and Renzi gave a cheerful wave. Soon they would be aboard in their familiar berths and life would carry on as before.

Kydd caught the strong, clean whiff of linseed oil and freshly tarred rigging as he swung over the side to the deck, the most obvious sign of the work the dockyard had done on his ship. He moved over to the tiller: its arm had been replaced, and in good English ash, he noted with satisfaction. It had a flexibility that absorbed the direct shock of seas coming in on the quarter, which could be a tiring thing for a helmsman.

'Hey-ho, the travellers!' Doud's cry came from forward where he was leading the fore preventer stay to bring its upper wooden heart to the lower, right in the bows.

Kydd wandered up, keen to hear the gossip. 'What cheer, cuffin? An' have ye any news, b' chance?'