Free Tyger by Julian Stockwin Page B

Quill and Wig with a view to planning further capital delights.
    Tysoe laid out the tailcoat and pantaloons and took pains in seeing him as taut-rigged as every fashionable man-about-town. The hessian boots were tight and caused Kydd to wince as they were fought on, but a glimpse of his figure in the long mirror showed the trouble was worth it.
    They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
    “A gentleman as begs Sir Thomas should spare him a minute or two,” the landlord said apologetically. “Said as how it’s a matter of urgency.”
    “Very well. Five minutes,” Kydd answered, easing his cravat a trifle.
    A scruffily dressed individual with his hat in his hands and an ingratiating air appeared. “Sir Thomas? So kind in you to see me.”
    “Your business, sir? As you see I am in haste.”
    “Sir, I’m Josiah Knowles, you may have heard of me.”
    “No?”
    “May I introduce myself? I’m a reporting agent for the very respected
True Briton
newspaper.”
    “What’s that to me, sir?”
    “It’s my honour to cover the biggest story this age, the court-martial of Sir Home Popham.”
    “And?”
    “This is my difficulty, Sir Thomas. I attended at Portsmouth and followed the trial with great diligence, but there are certain matters that are still obscure to me. I know you were with Sir Home at the Cape, Buenos Aires and similar, and beg to say my readers would welcome your views on this dolorous proceeding.”
    “You were there? Then, sir, you must report what you heard. I’ve nothing to add to what I said as witness.” The man was demented if he thought he would share his private opinions with a reporter.
    “The daily trial transcript is a dull enough thing, Sir Thomas. You’ll know that the affair has seized the fancy of the public and they want more—the politics, the people, the plots. Are you sure you’ve nothing further you can tell me, sir?”
    “I have not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to an important appointment.”
    “Sir Thomas, we can go so far as to—”
    “Good day, Mr Knowles. Show him the door, if you please, Tysoe.”
    “This’n is Parlby, o’
Wyvern
sloop as was—you do remember, old trout?”
    “Channel Groper, smart hand against the smuggling sort, of course I do!”
    It was now some years in the past, a fellow commander on small ships in the front line against Bonaparte, but Kydd quickly recalled those feverish days. Parlby beamed at being remembered by one who had done so valiantly since.
    Bazely waited until the ale came, then leaned back expansively. “So. It’s got all London a-spin. An’ you’re one who was there. Tell me, cuffin—how did it go for ye?”
    They were in high-backed chairs away from the others, so Kydd described the sight of seven admirals and five captains arrayed against just one man: Popham’s unquenchable verbosity; Jervis’s lethal questioning. Then he told them of his own testimony, all the time having been conscious that St Vincent would seize on any sign that he’d taken sides. And he ended with the seething crowds insisting their hero had been vindicated when in fact the verdict had undeniably been guilty.
    “I’m thinking it all would’ve been a mort different if he’d held fast to Buenos Aires, o’ course. We’d all be dancing t’ quite another tune!” Bazely said. “I wasn’t there, but you were,” he went on. “What do you say, if he’d had the men and guns in the first place, we’d be talking about our South American empire? After all, see what he achieved wi’ just two thousand against forty thousand …”
    Kydd smiled bitterly. “There you have it. Damn it all, he took Buenos Aires, and God knows, while we suffered under siege for so long, hoping every day to see our reinforcements come, we did have our views.”
    “That?”
    “That if the Admiralty had seen fit to get off their arses and move smartly with the reinforcements when they got Popham’s dispatch in the first place, it would have been quite