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 Tenacious."
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."
"—which we surprised in the fog in th' process of takin' a merchant ship of the United States goin' about its lawful business."
"Don't surprise me to hear it, sir."
"Oh?" said Kydd, prepared only for disbelief and scorn.
"Sir. Let me make my position clear. I'm known as a plain-speakin' man and I'll tell it straight.
"I'm a Federalist, same as the President, same as General Washington himself. I won't try your patience in explaining our politics. Just be assured we stand for the old ways and decent conduct, and we don't hold with this damn French arrogance and ambition. We're opposed by a bunch o' rascals who think t' sympathise with them on account of their help in the late war—saving y'r presence, sir."
Kydd began to speak, but was interrupted. "I said I'll speak plain, and I will. We've been taking insults to our flag and loss to our trade, and we'll not have it. There's going t' be an accounting, and that soon.
"But, sir, I'll have you understand, because we take the same view, this does not mean we're friends."
Kydd gathered his thoughts and began again: "What we seek, sir, is an indication how you mean to act." As smoothly as he could, he continued, "You have here a belligerent vessel seeking a neutral haven f'r repairs. According to international law, he must sail within two days. Do ye mean to enforce the law?"
Dwight sighed. "Philadelphia is a long ways off—the law is as may be. Here, it's what the citizens say that counts."
"Does this mean—"
"If I tried t' arrest the Frenchman with my two constables, I'd start a riot—and be thrown out of office. This town has just lost a ship t' the British and two lads to your press-gang. And I'd run smack dab against Kit Schroeder."
"I believe I've met the gentleman," Kydd murmured.
"Owns three ships and the store, knows how t' lift a cargo with all the right papers to see it past the British an' then on to a French port. There's most folks here do business with him and don't want to see him interfered with, y' see."
"So you're saying that there's nothing you c'n do? You mean th' Frenchy to lie alongside as long as he wants?" For the sake of local politics the privateer was to be left untouched; Tenacious would be forced to sail in a few days, releasing the vessel to continue her career of destruction. Resentment boiled up in Kydd.
Dwight held up a pacifying hand. "Now, I didn't say there was nothing I could do. I'm a selectman an' you have come to me with a case. I'll be letting the governor in Hartford know—but that'll take some time with the roads as they is. However, I'm empowered to, and I will, issue a warrant for a town meeting to consider, um, whether the committee of public safety should take action to prevent there being a hostile action on our soil. Requiring the Frenchman t' take himself elsewhere, say. No promises, Mr Kydd, but you'll get to say your piece and—"
He broke off and cocked his head. Indistinct shouts sounded in the night, rhythmic thuds like a drum. Dwight crossed to the window and pulled the shutter ajar. "Trouble," he said, in a low voice. "Republicans. Don't like you being here, I guess."