Pasha Read Free Page B

monosyllables. Tomorrow he would learn his fate.
    Kydd hadn’t slept well. He dressed slowly, defiantly hanging on to the fact that to the world he was still Captain Kydd, commander of His Majesty’s Ship
L’Aurore,
and dared any to say otherwise.
    His orders had been to present himself immediately at the Admiralty and it would only tell against him if he did not, so at nine precisely he was deposited outside the grim façade of the home of their lordships. He knew the way: the Captains’ Room was in its accustomed crowded squalor; the usual supplicants for a ship, petitioners and those summoned to explain themselves.
    He handed his card to the clerk. “To see the first lord per orders,” he muttered, and found a seat among the others. Curious at a new face, several tried to start a conversation but were discouraged by Kydd’s expression.
    The minutes turned to an hour. It was here in this very room that he’d found out he’d been made post. That was in the days of the granite-faced sailor Earl St Vincent. Now the office of first lord of the Admiralty was occupied by a civilian, Grenville, younger brother of the prime minister. It had been he who had summoned him so peremptorily.
    Then why was he waiting? He hailed the clerk. “Captain Kydd. As I told you, I’ve orders from the first lord that demand my immediate presenting in person. Why have you not acted?”
    He knew the reason: it was the custom to grease the palm of the man to ensure an early appointment. But this was different: he was not a supplicant. He had been ordered to attend, and woe betide a lowly clerk who thought to delay him.
    â€œOrders? From Mr Grenville?”
    â€œYes,” Kydd said heavily.
    â€œVery well,” he responded, with a sniff. “I’ll inform him of your presence.”
    â€œThank you,” Kydd replied, trying to keep back the sarcasm.
    He settled in his chair in a black mood. If he was not ushered into the presence within the hour he’d make damn sure that—
    At the top of the steps a genial aristocratic-faced man burst into view. “Ah! Captain Kydd! So pleased you could come.” It was the first lord himself.
    Naval officers shot to their feet, confused and deferential. Several bowed low.
    He hurried down the steps and came to greet Kydd with outstretched hand. “We’ve been expecting you this age. So good of you to, ahem, ‘clap on all canvas’ to be with us.”
    Shaking Kydd’s hand vigorously, he ushered him up the steps in the shocked silence.
    In the hallowed office Grenville threw at his assistant, “Not to be disturbed,” and sat Kydd down.
    â€œNow, what can I offer in refreshment? Sherry? No, too early, of course. So sorry to keep you waiting—that villainous clerk will hear from me, you can be assured of it.”
    â€œSir—you wished me here at the earliest … ?” Kydd began.
    If this was the preamble to disciplinary proceedings he was at a loss to know where it was leading.
    â€œYes, yes! You’re the last of the Curaçao captains come to town. And now we’re all complete. My, I’ve never known the public to be in such a taking! Raving about your gallantry and so forth. It’s done the government no end of good, coming as it does in these dog days after Trafalgar.”
    Kydd smiled tightly. So the whims of popular opinion had decided they were heroes not of the ordinary sort. If they only knew it had been an attempt to uncover a deeper plot against British interests in the Caribbean that had, in fact, failed in its object.
    â€œPardon me, sir. Am I to understand that this is why I’ve been recalled?”
    Grenville blinked. “Why, if I had not, the people would have howled for my head.”
    â€œAh. Sir, I had thought it was possibly in connection with the forthcoming court-martial of Commodore Popham,” he said carefully, shifting in his seat.
    â€œOh, that.