He went into the dusty office, where he was met by a suspicious-looking clerk. ‘May I speak with Mr Gilman?’ Kydd asked.
‘Concernin’ what?’
‘That’s my business,’ Kydd said.
The man hesitated, clearly baffled by Kydd’s naval uniform. ‘Mr Gilman,’ he called. ‘Gennelman wants t’ see you.’
Kydd had the feeling of eyes on him. Eventually a hard-looking man appeared, his face showing distrust. ‘I’m Gilman. Yes?’
‘I think y’ knew Matthew Kydd?’
Gilman tensed but said nothing.
‘You were with him when he was killed by a bear?’
‘You’re English,’ Gilman said slowly.
‘He was m’ uncle, came t’ Canada in ’seventy-eight.’
Gilman’s expression altered slightly. ‘I weren’t with him. That was my pap.’
The man must have lost his youth early in this hard country, Kydd reflected. ‘I’d be much obliged if he could talk with me a little about m’ uncle,’ he said.
‘He can’t.’ At Kydd’s sharp look he added, ‘He’s bin buried. In the Ol’ Burying Ground.’
‘Do you remember Matthew Kydd?’
‘No.’ It was flat and final.
Pybus was unsympathetic. ‘Chasing after long-lost relatives is seldom a profitable exercise. Now you have the task before you of communicating grief and loss where before there was harmless wondering. Well done, my boy.’
Kydd sharpened his pen and addressed himself to the task. How to inform his father that his brother was no more, and had met his end in such a hideous way? The plain facts – simply a notification? Or should he spare his father by implying that his death was from natural causes? Kydd had never been one for letters and found the task heavy-going.
He decided to wait for Renzi’s return. There was no urgency, and Renzi could readily find words for him, fine, elegant words that would meet the occasion. He put aside his paper and went up on deck.
The master had a telescope trained down the harbour. ‘D’ye see that schooner, sir? Country-built an’ every bit as good as our own Devon craft.’
Kydd took the telescope. ‘Aye, not as full in th’ bow, an’ has sweet lines on her.’
He kept the glass on the vessel as Hambly added, ‘An’ that’s because of the ice up the St Lawrence, o’ course. They’ll ship a bowgrace in two or three weeks, when the ice really breaks up. Nasty t’ take one o’ them floes on the bow full tilt, like.’
The approaching vessel stayed prettily and shortened sail preparatory to anchoring, Kydd watching her. She was a new vessel, judging by the colour of her sails and running rigging. He shifted the view to her trim forefoot, pausing to admire her figurehead – a Scottish lass holding what appeared to be a fistful of heather, a striking figure in a streaming cloak with a pair of birds at her feet.
Birds? He steadied the telescope and, holding his breath, peered hard. He kept his glass on the barque as she glided past. There was no mistake, they were Cornish choughs.
‘I’ll be damned!’ Kydd said softly. Then he swung on Hambly. ‘Tell me,’ he said urgently, ‘do y’ know which yard it was built this’n?’
‘Can’t say as I does.’ Hambly seemed surprised at Kydd’s sudden energy. ‘There’s scores o’ shipyards up ’n’ down the coast, most quite able t’ build seagoin’ craft o’ this size.’
It might be a coincidence – but Kydd felt in his heart it was not. ‘The yawl ahoy,’ he hailed over the side to Tenacious’s boat’s crew, then turned back to Hambly. ‘I’m going t’ see that schooner, Mr Hambly.’
The master of the Flora MacDonald did not want to pass the time of day with a lieutenant, Royal Navy. His cargo was to be landed as soon as convenient, and although an impress warrant was not current, who could trust the Navy? However, he did allow that the schooner was new and from St John’s Island in the great Gulf of St Lawrence, specifically, the yard of Arthur Owen in New London.
Was it conceivable that his uncle had survived and was now working as a ship-carver on an island somewhere on the other side of Nova Scotia? It made no sense to Kydd. Why hadn’t his uncle returned to take up his business? It was coincidence, it had to be.
But he knew he would regret it if he did not follow up this tantalising sign. A quick glance at a chart showed St John’s Island no more than a couple of days’ sail with a fair wind and if Canso strait was free of ice.
Although Tenacious was required in port by the absence of the admiral and his flagship, activity aboard was light, and there was no difficulty with his request for a week’s leave.