The Baltic Prize

Chapter 1

His Majesty’s Frigate Tyger came to, her bower plunging down to take the ground at last. She carried two prisoners, Count Trampe, the Danish governor of Iceland, and Jorgen Jorgensen, its self-styled king, to be landed into the custody of Sheerness dockyard, and a new-wed lady to step ashore.

For Kydd the last few weeks had been dream-like, a procession of unforgettable scenes, from the Stygian dark landscape of Iceland pierced by the glitter of vast glaciers, the fumaroles, the blue lakes, the wheeling gyrfalcons – and the vows solemnly exchanged in a timber cathedral.

And now he and Persephone were one, man and wife; there was not a soul on the face of the good earth who was as happy as he.

‘Sir?’ Bowden, his second lieutenant, proffered a paper with a faint smile playing.

‘Oh, yes, thank you.’ Kydd dashed off a signature and, too late, realised he hadn’t stopped to check what he was signing. He collected himself: it would not do for the captain to be seen adrift in his intellects even if there were good reasons for it.

However, this was no doubt the fair copy of his brief report to be forwarded to Admiral Russell on blockade off the Dutch coast with the North Sea Squadron he’d left at Yarmouth. It told of the recent happenings in the north and the necessity to land the two main players in the drama to be dealt with by higher authorities in London. They had already been sent off, with his main report to the Admiralty, who would either detain him as a material witness or release him to resume his duties with the North Sea Squadron.

‘Ah, Mr Bowden. A favour of you, if I may.’

‘Sir?’

‘Would you be so kind as to conduct Lady Kydd to the residence of her parents for me?’

‘Of course, Sir Thomas. I would be honoured.’

With a stab of tenderness, Kydd knew that it was only the first of the many partings that sea service would demand of him but this, so soon after their marrying, would be harder than any. Feeling a twinge of guilt, he didn’t envy her what she had to do. Not only had she to let her father and mother know that she had not disappeared and was very much alive but also that she was now wed to a man they detested.

They had lunch together before she left, a quiet occasion and charged with bitter-sweet feeling – and then it was time to part. Kydd saw her over the side, and as the boat shoved off into the grey sea for the distant shore his heart went out to the lonely figure carrying his hopes and love. She waved once and he responded self-consciously, watching until they were out of sight, then went below without a word.

The Admiralty’s response, when it came, was neither of the possibilities he’d foreseen. He was not required in the matters of Jorgensen and Count Trampe but neither was he to re-join the squadron. Instead he was to hold his command in readiness for duties as yet not determined.

It was odd, a first-class frigate not snapped up for immediate employment, but he’d seen before how, in their mysterious way, the Admiralty had chosen to deploy a pawn on their chessboard to effect a grand strategic move that made perfect sense later – the tasking of L’Aurore so soon after Trafalgar came to mind. That had taken him to the Cape of Good Hope and conquest of an entire colony at the end of the world.

In a surge of delight he realised what it meant: not needed for a routine idleness and away from an admiral’s eye, he was free to take leave with his bride – a telegraphed communication with Plymouth would have him notified within an hour or so of any orders.

Blank-faced, his first lieutenant, Bray, had accepted charge of the ship and, accompanied by Tysoe, Kydd was quickly on the road for the Lockwood mansion. By now Persephone would have broken her news but as a precaution he took rooms at a nearby inn and sent on a message.

Her reply was instant: ‘Come!’

Kydd immediately set off. He had been to the Arctic regions but nothing was as frigid as the Lockwood drawing room where he was received.

‘I’m obliged to remark it, sir, I find your conduct with my daughter impossible to forgive. You have-’

‘Father, you promised …’ Persephone said, with a look of warning.

Her arm was locked in Kydd’s, and she was the picture of happiness. None but those of the hardest of hearts could have condemned her. After an awkward pause, it seemed the admiral was not to be numbered in their company and he gave a mumbled blessing on their union. At the dinner that followed he even found occasion to reprove his wife, telling her that the pair had chosen their path together and let that be an end to it.

The strained atmosphere slowly thawed and by the time Kydd had expressed his sincere admiration for the oil painting in pride of place above the mantelpiece, a remarkably accurate depiction of the sea battle of Camperdown, he and the admiral were in animated conversation discussing technical features with growing mutual appreciation and respect. Kydd was touched by Persephone’s secret smile of relief.

It took more effort to win around Lady Lockwood, who sat mutely, her eyes obstinately averted. Only a suggestion of a reception in honour of their marriage brought forth any conversation.