"Sir, I beg t' report m' full success in y'r mission."
Lockwood blinked.
"Teazer's report," Renzi said, handing over the details of Kydd's twin victories—success against the notorious Bloody Jacques, the renegade privateer who had terrorised the Devon and Cornish coasts, and the unmasking of Zephaniah Job as the man behind the smuggling ring.
The admiral flicked through the papers. "I, er . . . it would appear I must offer my congratulations, Commander," he said, and looked up, but Kydd had left.
When the news was broken at number eighteen Durnford Street, the residence Kydd and Renzi shared, a pall of silence descended. Shocked, Mrs Bargus, the housekeeper, cast about for things to do that might in some little way comfort her employer. A cheerful fire was soon ablaze and the cook was set to prepare his favourite braised duck. Becky, the maid, came in timidly to light the candles but departed quickly, leaving Kydd and Renzi alone.
"If there's anything . . ." Renzi started hesitantly, but stopped as racking sobs seized his friend.
He waited patiently until they eased.
"I never reckoned it could hurt s' much," Kydd choked.
"Yes, brother," Renzi murmured.
"Rosalynd's gone. F'r ever. So innocent an' young, an' she—she never knew—"
"I have to return to the ship, Tom," Renzi said gently. "There's things will need . . . arranging." Unless someone was there to head off troubles arising in a temporarily captainless vessel chaos might ensure: the ambitious Standish would probably not see it as in his best interest to take a firm hand.
"Do remain here, dear fellow, and I'll be back when I can." Renzi found the brandy and placed a glass before Kydd.
It was no easy matter but a flow of fictitious captain's orders relayed by Renzi saw the larboard watch stream happily ashore and a suspicious Standish set to turning up the hands for restowing the hold. It was dark before Renzi could make his way ashore again, and he hurried to Durnford Street.