Free Tyger by Julian Stockwin Page A

sword and taken to the door.
    As he left, he looked once at Kydd but his expression was unreadable.
    The George was abuzz with excitement and speculation but Kydd wanted no part of it.
    He called for Tysoe. “I’m returning to London tomorrow. We leave on the first stage.”
    “Very good, Sir Thomas.” He moved forward to help Kydd out of his heavy full-dress uniform into the plain brown attire he’d come down in.
    “And if you’d find me a whisky …?”
    The dull roar from below wafted up in eddies. This had been the court-martial of the age and everyone had a view on it.
    He closed the window and sprawled in a brown study.
    His thoughts were disturbed by the arrival of Bowden. “The town’s in an uproar, Sir Thomas, and I’d hoped you’d—”
    “Come in, dear chap. Care to join me in a whisky?” Kydd said, with false gaiety.
    “That’s kind in you, sir,” Bowden said, and took his place in the chair on the opposite side of the fire.
    “They’re in quite a taking out there,” he said sombrely, picking up on Kydd’s mood. “Half are declaring it a victory and the other cry it down as a guilty verdict.”
    “Ah, yes.”
    “I’d be beholden should you share your views with me, sir.”
    “My views?” Kydd paused. “Naught that should be shared with a young officer who’s warm to daring and enterprise.”
    “Sir?”
    “No matter. I’ve the blue devils after that trial.”
    “You’re an admirer of Captain Popham, sir?”
    “In fine, I’m not. The man is manipulative, uses his cleverness to excess, is too slippery by half. Yet I find any who seizes the chance and dares to reach for glory to the benefit of his country one to applaud.”
    “Then how do you accept the verdict?” Bowden asked.
    “It’s contrived and it’s political and it’s very neatly done. To his friends he’s weathered the storm—not cashiered, dismissed the service, worse. To his enemies is thrown the satisfaction that he’s found guilty. Has he won? Not at all. The Admiralty have their verdict—and our Captain Popham will, very quietly, never be employed again.”
    Bowden looked shocked. “As if he’d been sentenced …”
    “Quite.”
    Tysoe silently freshened their glasses as they stared together into the fire.
    “If I might remark it, sir, at least your yardarm is clear, if you’ll pardon the expression,” Bowden observed.
    “As is no credit to myself. After my showing it seems I’m not to be made an accomplice, neither numbered among Captain Popham’s followers, and therefore have my hopes the doughty St Vincent will be contented.”
    “To be devoutly desired, I believe.”
    “Well, that’s the way of things, young fellow. I’m for London and society tomorrow.” He tossed back the whisky, then remembered that Bowden’s own future was now more than a little problematical. Without a ship … “I do wish you well in the article of finding a berth as lieutenant,” he said, with a twinge of sadness. “You’ve a good record but there’s others, of course.”
    “Thank you, sir. I’ll always remember my service in
L’Aurore
, whichever ship I end in.”
    “I’m sure you will. I’d offer you a place in my new frigate but it doesn’t even kiss water this year and that kind of time in idleness would not be good for your record.”
    “I understand, sir. I … I do have friends in high places,” he said lightly, “who will I’m sure bend every effort. I now bid you farewell, sir,” he said formally, “and pray we will meet again.”
    Kydd took his hand. “I’m sure we will. Take care of yourself, younker.”

C HAPTER 6
    I T WAS A RELIEF that the court-martial was behind him. Arriving back at the White Hart, Kydd wanted nothing more than to leave it all in the past and re-engage in the agreeable socialising to be had in London before duty reclaimed him.
    He took an early night and was up promptly. A note to Bazely was quickly returned with a reply: he’d be delighted to rendezvous at the