at him. Kydd shied one back, which brought out a woman in pinafore and bonnet. She glared at him, but shooed away the urchins.
He picked up his bag and set off towards the other end of town. As he passed the houses, each with their doors and windows all closed, a man stepped out on to his porch. 'Stranger!' he called sternly.
Kydd stopped. 'Aye?'
'You're the Englishman.'
'I am, sir—Lieutenant Thomas Kydd of His Majesty's Ship
The man was thin and rangy, in working clothes, but had dignity in his bearing. 'Jacob Hay, sir.' Kydd shook his hand. It was work-hardened and calloused. 'Your presence here ain't welcome, Lootenant, but I will not see a stranger used so. If it's quarters ye're after, I'm offerin'.'
'Why, thank you, Mr Hay,' said Kydd, aware of several people muttering behind him. Hay glanced at them, then led the way into his house.
'Set there, Mr Kydd, while we makes up a room for ye.' Kydd lowered himself into a rocking-chair by the fire. 'Judith, find something for Mr Kydd,' he called, through the doorway. A young woman entered with a jug and a china pot. She did not lift her eyes and left quickly.
To Kydd, Hay said, 'There's no strong drink enters this house, but you'll find th' local cider acceptable.'
Kydd expressed his appreciation and, proffering some coins, added apologetically, 'I have t' tell you now, sir, I don't have any American money for my room.'
'Put it away, sir. That won't be necessary.' Hay pursed his lips and said, 'I don't mean t' be nosy, but can I ask what business is it y' have in Exbury? Somethin' to do with the Frenchy, I guess.'
'I—have to, er, enquire of the authorities what they mean t' do in the matter,' Kydd said cautiously.
'To do? Nothin' I guess. Frenchy is here t' fit a noo mizzen and be on her way, and that's all—we let him be.'
'It's the law, Mr Hay.'
'Law? No law says we has to send him out fer you to take in that two-decker o' yourn,' he said coldly.
'I have t' hear the authorities first, y' understands,' Kydd said. 'Who would that be, do ye think?'
Hay's coolness remained. At length, he said, 'That'll be Mr Dwight or Mr Chadwick. Selectmen fer Exbury.' Seeing the blank look on Kydd's face, he added, 'Magistrates, like. Call th' meetings, run th' constables.'
'I'd like to call on 'em, if y' please,' Kydd said politely.
'Time fer that after supper.' The aroma of fresh-baked bread filled the air. Hay sniffed appreciatively. 'An' if I'm not wrong we're havin' steamed clams.'
'. . . and may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.'
While Mrs Hay set about the dishes, Kydd tried to make conversation. 'M' first time in the United States. I have t' say, it's a good-lookin' country.' Hay regarded him without comment.
Kydd smiled across at Judith, who hastily dropped her eyes. He turned once more to Hay. 'I'd be obliged if ye could find your way clear t' tellin' me why I'm not welcome, Mr Hay.'
Hay's face hardened. 'That's easy enough. We live fr'm the sea by fishing 'n' trade. We're a small town, as ye can see, and when a ship is built an' vittled for tradin' there's a piece of everyone in her when she puts t' sea. Life ain't easy, an' when a family puts in their savin's it's cruel hard t' see that ship taken f'r prize by a King's ship an' carried into a Canadian port t' be condemned.'
'But this is because you've been caught trading with the French—the enemy.'
'Whose enemy?' Hay snorted. 'None of our business, this war.'
'And if the French beat us, then you don't think they're going to come and claim back their American empire? They have most o' the rest of the world.'
Hay grunted. 'Eat y'r clams, Mr Kydd.'
The atmosphere thawed as the meal progressed. Eventually, after apple pie and Cheddar, Hay sat back. 'If you're goin' t' see a magistrate, make it Dwight.' He wouldn't be drawn any further and Kydd set off alone. At the substantial gambrel-roofed house, which Hay had previously pointed out, he was greeted by a short, tubby man wearing a napkin tucked round his neck.
'Er, I need t' see Mr Dwight.'
'Himself,' the man said, in a peculiar, rapid delivery. 'I guess you're the English officer. Am I right?'
'Aye, Lieutenant Kydd. Sir, pardon me if I seem unfamiliar with y'r ways, but I need t' find the authority here in Exbury— the public leader, as it were, in your town.'
Dwight raised his eyebrows, but motioned Kydd inside and closed the door. 'I'll shake hands with you in private, if you don't mind, L'tenant. Now sit ye down, and here's a little rye whiskey for your chilblains.'
Kydd accepted it.
'Sir, if you're lookin' for our leader, I guess I'm your man.
Selectman o' Exbury. It's about as high as it goes, short o' the governor in Hartford. Now, how can I help you?'
'Sir, I come on a mission o' some delicacy. No doubt you're aware that a French privateer lies in your port —'
'I am.'
