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Hampton were dressed for cold weather in boots and caped wool coats, their cocked hats tucked beneath their arms. Hatless Quakenbos, a burly man, folded his arms across his chest. Sally shut the door and backed away to stand together with Anne and Titus.
    It disturbed Anne to see Jack Hampton once again mixed with vulgar company, but then, the man who’d just stepped into her shop was not the celebratory, smiling Jack of her memory. Tar-and-feather Jack had come to call this day. Beat-a-man-senseless Jack.
    Isaac Sears took the lead, and came to stand before her. “You are Widow Merrick, the proprietress?”
    Anne nodded. “I am, sir. Indeed.”
    â€œWhy did you bolt your door to us?”
    Her knees had gone as soft as Sally’s egg custard and she braced a hand on the tabletop beside her. “Bolted with no prejudice on my part, I assure you, sir. All comers will find my shop closed Mondays.” Anne forced a smile. “Why, my neighbor Mr. Quakenbos knows this for the truth. He can attest.”
    â€œ ’S truth.” Quakenbos shagged his head up and down. “Always closed Mondays, even back when ol’ Peter was alive.”
    The baker’s confirmation did not serve to ease her plight, for Sears was not persuaded. “Why did you hesitate to come to the door when called to it?”
    â€œHabit, sir. I am a widow alone living in uncertain times”—Anne pointed to her boarded windows—“with ample cause to be wary.”
    â€œBut you are not alone today,” Sears noted.
    â€œMy journeyman and maidservant are here cleaning shop.” Anne pointed to Sally’s basket sitting on the table. “We were making ready for supper when you and your companions arrived.”
    Sears peeled back the napkin covering the basket. He picked up a crescent-shaped pie, sniffed it and took a bite from one flaky end. Chewing this mouthful, he stepped closer to eye Titus and the poker tight in his fist. A spattering of crumbs sprayed from his mouth when he spoke. “Your nigger seems to have violence on his mind.”
    â€œI hold no slaves,” Anne asserted. “Mr. Gilmore is a free man in my employ and a good friend to Sally and me. As such, he is concerned for our protection.” Anne turned to her journeyman. “Please put the poker by, Titus. I’m sure these men mean us no harm.”
    Titus hesitated, then flipped the poker to bounce and clang onto the table. Disarmed, the big man still bore a threatening countenance and Anne was grateful to have him at her back.
    â€œMr. Sears,” Anne brooked a conciliatory tone. “I do sincerely apologize if my locked door and Titus’s fervor caused you and your friends alarm. You need not waste any more of your valuable time with us. As you can see, we are up to no mischief here.”
    â€œVery nice. Very civil indeed.” The captain popped the last bite of the lobster pie into his mouth. “And yet”—he reached into the basket again—“I still wonder why you were so long in opening the door . . .”
    Jack Hampton shifted from one booted foot to the other and loosened the horn buttons on his overcoat. “Isaac! What does it matter? Let’s get on with the search.”
    â€œSearch!?” Anne squeaked.
    â€œA thorough search.” Hampton looked her square in the eye without a flicker of recognition. “Rivington’s apprentice informed us we’d find Tory swill originating from your press.”
    â€œWell, sirs,” Anne dithered, “I—I . . . I’m absolutely shocked to hear you lend credence to such charges. Your source is obviously suspect—a terrified boy who would no doubt say anything to gain this lot’s good graces—including pointing a finger my way.” Anne dismissed the notion with a flip of her hand. “So much stuff and nonsense. My press has been idle for weeks for lack of paper and ink.”