The Baltic Prize

Chapter 3

Duty done, and knowing that their time together would be brief, they posted down to Ivybridge. There, they took horse for Combe Tavy and the old manor they had chosen. As Kydd dismounted before the dilapidated Tudor building, he was dismayed to catch the sparkle of tears in Persephone’s eyes. ‘My love – what is it? We’ll soon have the place squared away, all a-taunto, never fear.’

She clung to him, but when she turned to speak he saw she was radiantly smiling through her tears. ‘Oh, Thomas, dear Thomas! I’m such a silly, do forgive me. It’s just that I’m so happy.’

He kissed her tenderly.

The old couple caretaking were surprised to see them. ‘We thought as you’d forgotten us, sir,’ Appleby said, aggrieved. ‘The manor needs a mite o’ work, an’ that’s no error!’

‘It does,’ Kydd agreed. ‘And we will make it so, for this is our home as we shall be moving into, just as soon as we may.’

Mrs Appleby clasped her hands in glee. ‘How wonderful!’ she exclaimed. ‘To see Knowle Manor have life in it once more!’

There was no time to lose. They made tour of the house, noting what had to be done, and by the time Tysoe arrived in a cart with their luggage they had enough to set priorities. That evening they sat down to a fine rabbit pie, Mrs Appleby wringing her hands at the sight of such a humble dish to set before them.

With imperturbable dignity Tysoe did the honours as butler, finding among the few remaining bottles in the cellar a very passable Margaux, and afterwards, replete, Persephone and Thomas Kydd sat in bare chairs by the fire and began to plan.

By his sturdy wardship of the manor, Appleby had earned his place as steward, and his wife was well suited to serve as cook. Lady Kydd would require a maid, of course, and there would be need of others, but these could wait while workmen attended to repairs and furbishing.

Kydd insisted that the land must remain wild for the time being – after all, the manor had first to be made fit for his lady. Furniture, hangings, fitments, stables, horses, a carriage, it was never-ending.

In the days that followed, from the chaos came forth order, and by the third day, after expeditions to Exeter and Plymouth, something like a degree of comfort and refinement was beginning to take form.

Then Persephone suggested they should take their first steps to enter in upon the acquaintance of their neighbours and tenants. ‘My darling – you are Lord of the Manor, at an eminence in Combe Tavy, and must make yourself known.’

For Tom Kydd, one-time wig-maker of Guildford, it felt like a fairy tale. He was now Sir Thomas Kydd and of the landed gentry, come to take up his seigneury as local squire and magistrate: his land and his people. With Lady Kydd at his side, a village ox roast passed off in fine style. At first awed then delighted that a famed frigate captain, lately in the national news – and so handsome with his beautiful lady – had chosen to make his ancestral home among them, they flocked up to be noticed.

Kydd made acquaintance with them all: the red-faced, brawny blacksmith Tovey, the one-eyed innkeeper Jenkins, the white-haired and seamed old sheep farmer Davies, these with their being so firmly one with the land.

On the eighth day they had visitors.

‘When we received your letter I had to sit down and cry,’ Kydd’s sister Cecilia confessed, after hugging them both. ‘So romantic! To see you two together at last …’ She dabbed her eyes. ‘Do forgive us for the intrusion but we had to come – and we’ve brought some little things in the hope we can have a house-warming party.’ She went to the door and beckoned. In came a succession of footmen bearing carefully wrapped delicacies, which found their place on the kitchen table.

It was a decisive moment. As the celebration warmed Kydd realised that a point in his life had been reached. This was no longer a dream, it was the reality. For the rest of his days this would be the centre of his existence, all else to be at a radius of so far from here, where his heart truly was.

Persephone had been adamant about his future, saying, ‘My dear Thomas, I knew from the first time we met each other that you were of the sea, born to it and never to be parted from it. I accept this – if you gave it up you would be only half the man and that I could not bear. You shall go to your Tyger and have adventures without counting, then return to me. And I shall be content at that.’

In trust and confidence he would sail away over the horizon to who knew what lay ahead in the knowledge that he would come back to Persephone, their home and hearth together. It was incredible after all his years a-wandering, but it was true: he had put down roots.

Several days later a messenger from Plymouth Dock arrived with the expected summons, a terse one-line signal from his first lieutenant. ‘Orders received on board.’

It was time.

The whispered promises, the touch of a hand, a look in the eyes – this was what untold numbers of naval wives had endured over the centuries as the price of Britannia keeping the seas as her own. He must now depart, and while he faced the perils and decisions of war, she would be left to hide her fears and live on for him.

‘My darling, you go with my eternal love,’ she breathed, distractedly adjusting his neckcloth. ‘Promise to write.’ In a shaky voice, she continued, ‘I’ve packed more shirts, you’re sure to need them, and your cravats and … and …’ She bit her lip and turned to Tysoe. ‘You’ll look after him for me, won’t you? Of course you will.’ Her voice softened and she brought out a little package. ‘This is for you.’

The man took it.

‘Classical poetry. You didn’t know, did you, Thomas, that Tysoe in his off-duty hours takes pleasure in a well-turned conceit, the shining phrase?’

Tears sprang: a last embrace and then into the carriage, a final wave and sight of the inexpressibly dear figure standing forlornly – and Kydd was on his way to war.