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visit, as it were, sir,’ Curzon,
L’Aurore
’s high-born second lieutenant, asked, in an uncharacteristically humble tone, ‘as will satisfy them on the particulars of our good ship.’
    Kydd saw no reason why not. Curzon had relatives in Barbados and, no doubt, had said warm things about
L’Aurore
that had aroused their curiosity. And his was a post of some significance in the ship; he was quite entitled to bring visitors on board.
    Then Kydd had an idea, one that, now they were part of the defending force, would reinforce the ship’s standing with the Barbadians.
    ‘Certainly you may, Mr Curzon. But not for a short time, sir, I will not allow it.’
    ‘Sir?’
    ‘If they cast about to muster a dozen others as well, then they shall all be our guests – at a quarterdeck ball.’
    It was generally accounted a princely idea, and the news went about the ship like wildfire. While officers could rejoice in the honours of the ball, the seamen would be treated to the edifying spectacle of their betters sporting a toe. And it went without saying that the ship would require prettifying to a degree: it would not do for
L’Aurore
to be paltry before the rest of the squadron.
    ‘And I expect you to be forward in the matter of arrangements, if you please,’ Kydd told Curzon.
    It was remarkable how the list grew. As a signals frigate, there was no shortage of gay bunting to drape about to soften warlike outlines – but how to indicate to the shore that flowers by the basket would be appreciated to place at the bitts and around the binnacle, and that a certain circumspection should be exercised in ballgowns in consideration of a frigate’s modest space about decks?
    Naturally, midshipmen would be in attendance on the guests – but could they be fully trusted in the article of politeness, manners … decorum?
    And music: in
L’Aurore
the Royal Marines were stout hands with fife and drum but a society evening seemed to need a little more. The capstan fiddler, perhaps?
    Boatswain Oakley could be relied on to see the lower rigging triced up out of the way, but what about the training-tackle ringbolts for the nine-pounders? Avoided without thought by any sailor, these iron rings, set in the deck inboard, would prove a sad hazard for a lady with eyes only for her partner.
    Kydd left these questions to Curzon, while he bent his attention to whom else he should invite. The governor might well take offence were he not included. And this was a major naval station: the commander-in-chief must be on the list, but which others? By order of seniority, the captains of the ships-of-the-line must rate first – some had their wives and daughters but in all they would probably outnumber the Barbadians. The military? He had a hazy idea that there were three regiments garrisoned, implying three colonels of the same substantive rank as himself, who would frown at an all-naval gathering in an entertainment-starved island. And then there was …
    It was getting out of hand – until a happy thought struck. ‘Oh, Renzi, dear fellow! I have a small task for you.’
    Kydd rubbed his hands in glee. It was working out better than he had hoped. As they lay at anchor in the still, warm evening he reviewed arrangements. Guests would be arriving at dusk to a lanthorn-lit, gaily decorated quarterdeck, welcomed by the airs of a very creditable orchestra wheedled by Renzi from other ships. The deck was now clear of encumbrance: its guns had been trundled to the breast-rail at the forward end of the quarterdeck, then covered with deal planking and every tablecloth the gunroom possessed to form a creditable refreshments table. The ringbolts had been drawn by an obliging carpenter, which left the area abaft the mizzen-mast an enchanting ballroom.
    Chairs were placed around the capstan-head for resting couples, and strung along the shrouds, a line of light cast a soft gold on the dance-floor, tended by a grinning ship’s boy dressed as a page. A party of