Admiral's eyebrows shot up. 'What do you mean, sir? I wish you merely to exercise your intellects in the reading of any chance material bearing on intelligence the fates throw our way — see if you can sight any clue, any unguarded slip o' the pen, you know what I mean. That is, if y’ morals will allow of it.'
Renzi found himself quickly removed from the vast hall filled with labouring quill-drivers and sharing an upper-floor room with two others. To his satisfaction, they were uncommunicative and self-absorbed, and he found he could work on without interruption.
Each morning, a locked box would be opened in their presence and each would receive a pack of papers of varying size. On most days Renzi received nothing and then he would assist one of the others. Occasionally the Admiral would call for him, and he would find himself reading a letter, pamphlet or set of orders - there was a pleasing sense of discretion in the proceedings that considerably eased his mind at the odious act of violating the privacy of another.
It was a strange, floating and impermanent existence; and above it all hung the knowledge that at any time he could be brought into confrontation with his past, to mutual embarrassment. When it happened, there was not a thing he could do.
'Renzi, blue office, if y' please.' This was where petitions from the populace were initially heard. He was generally included where matters touching the navy were involved, taking notes in the background and making himself available if explication were needed. He sat at his little table to one side, readying his paper and ink, leaving the bigger desk to Jacobs.
'Mr Laughton,' called the usher from the door.
Renzi froze.
The man came striding in, looking past the lowly Renzi to Jacobs, who assumed an oily smile.
'Another loss!' Laughton snapped. 'This is insupportable, sir!'
'Sir, you will recollect that the navy is much committed in the Leeward Islands—'
'Damn your cant! Without trade this island is worthless, and with these losses you will soon have none.'
Renzi kept his head well down, and scratched away busily, taking his 'notes'. The talk ebbed and flowed inconclusively, Jacobs stonewalling skilfully. Laughton snorted in frustration and rose suddenly. 'So, that is all you have to say, sir?' He turned and stormed out without a glance at Renzi, who sat back in relief.
A few seconds later the door flew open again, and Laughton's voice sounded behind him. 'Be so good as to direct me to the Revenue office,' he said, in a hard tone.
'Mr Renzi,' Jacobs asked mildly.
There was now no further chance of evasion. For the space of a heartbeat or two Renzi stared down at his paper, savouring the last moments of an uncomplicated life. 'This way, sir,' he said softly, holding his head down to the last moment.
Laughton gave way at the door, and then, as Renzi quickly closed it behind him, his eyes widened. 'Nicholas!' he gasped.
Renzi looked up. His younger brother had not changed overmuch in the years since he had last seen him, a broadening of the shoulders, an unfashionable sun-darkened complexion, the confidence.
'We - we thought you had .. .' Laughton spluttered.
'Richard, be so good as to walk with me a space,' Renzi said, hastening along the wide veranda to the steps that led to the gardens at the back of the building.
'Nicholas, are you in distress of money?' Laughton asked, when they were out of possible earshot on the grass.
'Dear brother, no, I am not.' It were better the whole story be told rather than allow wild surmise. 'If we could talk at length, without interruption - but you perceive, at the moment ...'
Laughton glanced quickly at Renzi and gripped his arm. 'In Spanish Town I have a certain
