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turned
to bid her farewell. 'Oh, Mr Kydd, I may have omitted to let you know, we are
holding an assembly and you are to be invited, I believe,' she said, as
off-handedly as she could manage. 'I am sure you will find it congenial after
your long voyaging.' It would be a fine thing to display such a prize — and so
interesting a man. Emily's thoughts were bubbling: Gibraltar was small and
unchanging and she'd never met someone like Mr Kydd before. Imagine —
discussing philosophy with his friend under the stars, yet ready at a moment's
notice to engage the enemy in some dreadful battle. And his great feat in
rescuing the diplomat in a tiny boat on the open sea. He'd certainly led a much
more exciting and romantic life than a soldier. She watched him depart. A man's
man, he was probably restless, hemmed in by the daily round of the Rock. It would
be an interesting challenge to keep boredom at bay for him ...
     
    The invitation came the following
morning, a plainly worded card, beautifully penned in a feminine hand and
addressed to 'Mr Kydd, on board HMS Achilles'. It was the first social
invitation he had ever had, and he fingered the expensive board with both
pleasure and surprise. Mrs Mulvany was obviously of the quality and he'd
thought that she was just being polite when she mentioned the assembly.
    An assembly, he knew
from a single previous experience in Guildford, was a fairly informal social
gathering — but then he remembered that it involved dancing ...
    'M' friend,' he said to
Cockburn, after showing him the invitation, 'do ye help me, I must refuse. I'm
no taut hand at th' dancing, an' I'll shame the ship. C'n ye give me some
rousin' good reason I cannot attend, or —'
    Thomas, you must attend,' Cockburn said, his face
shadowed at this familiar token of polite society he was most unlikely to see
himself. 'An absence would bring dishonour on both you and the service!'
    'But I can't dance, I never learned,'
Kydd said, in anguish. He would far rather face an enemy broadside than make a
fool of himself before tittering ladies.
    'Ah.' Cockburn had
grown up with the attentions of a dancing-master and had no apprehension
himself of the dance floor, in fact he rather enjoyed the decorous interplay of
femininity on gentlemanly ardour.
    'My
folks were never much in th' social line’ Kydd said forlornly.
    'Then I shall be your teacher!' Cockburn
declared impulsively.
    ‘Wha— No!' Kydd
blurted. A moment's fantasy flashed by of Emily's slim figure bobbing in
delight at his dancing skills, her attractive ringlets springing out in the mad
whirl, a blush on her cheeks as . .. 'Could ye? I don't—'
    'Of course. It's, er,
it's rather like your redcoats doing their drill, and they learn it easy
enough.'
    The dog-watch saw them
both repair down to the dim cockpit on the orlop, the area outside the
surgeon's cabin, the purser's and the midshipman's berth.
    Cockburn looked around
warily, then addressed himself to Kydd. 'In the matter of a cotillion, it is
of the first importance to place the feet so ...' he said, as he gracefully adopted the pose. Kydd did so, looking down doubtfully.
'You look at the lady, not your feet — is she not to your liking, sir?'
    Kydd's head lifted, and
he strained to be graceful. A muffled splutter came from the shadows and he
wheeled round. 'Clap a stopper on y'r cacklin', damn y'r whistle,' he snarled,
'or ye'll be spending y'r dog-watches in the tops!' A midshipman slunk back
into the shadows.
    Cockburn persevered.
The gloom and thick odour of the orlop did nothing to convey a ballroom
atmosphere, and there were ringbolts on the deck, here above the main hold.
'The measure is stepped like this — one, two, three and a stand, and a one,
two, three and a four ...'
    The surgeon's cabin
door opened noiselessly, and Cockburn was aware of muffled footfalls from
forward, an appreciative audience gathering in the shadows. 'No, Tom, you've
forgotten the "four" again,' he said, with some control, for Kydd