He was now in the United States, and very much alone.
Kydd set off down the path into the village, which he knew by the chart was the tiny seaport of Exbury in the state of Connecticut. It was a pretty township, barely more than a village with square, no-nonsense wooden houses and neatly trimmed gardens – and, to Kydd’s English eyes, unnaturally straight roads with their raised wooden sidewalks. It also had a distinct sea flavour: the resinous smell of a spar-maker, the muffled clang of a ship-smithy and what looked like a well-stocked chandlery further down the street.
Women carrying baskets stopped to stare at him. The men muttered together in sullen groups. ‘Can you let me know where I c’n get lodgings?’ he asked one, who turned his back. When he located the general store to ask, its keeper snapped, ‘We’m closed!’ and slammed the door.
Kydd sat down heavily on a bench beneath a maple tree. It was a near to hopeless mission, but he was not about to give up. He had no idea what had turned the town against him, but he needed lodgings.
A gang of rowdy youngsters started chanting:
‘ . . . And there they’d fife away like fun
And play on cornstalk fiddles
And some had ribbons red as blood
All bound around their middles!
Oh – Yankee doodle, keep it up
Yankee doodle dandy . . .’
Kydd missed the significance of the revolutionary song and, nettled by his politeness, the youths threw stones 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 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.’