“Nay.”
Henri’s reticence had them all studying him keenly. He was not one to dally. He could read their thoughts. And with a new French commander on the way . . .
He leaned back in his chair till it groaned. “If you were in my place, what would your decision be?”
A weighty pause. Rarely did he turn the question round. It seemed to stymie them.
“With Britain hurtling toward war with France and not just fighting Indians on the frontier, our involvement by sea seems critical,” Southack finally said. “But just what is our stake in this?”
“We’d be issued a letter of marque and reprisal from the colonial government authorizing us to target French ships, capture them, and plunder them. We’d set sail in a newly commissioned vessel.” He paused, noting their surprise. “We’d fly foreign flags, including French flags as decoys, if needs be.”
“And the prizes?” they asked in unison.
“Delivered in part to the admiralty court in Philadelphia. Our share would be fifty percent of all prizes.” Henri tapped the letter, thinking again of Braddock. “And one hundred percent of the danger.”
“A risky endeavor.” Ned expelled a breath, always the last to speak. His perspective as sea chaplain usually differed from the others’. “Though no doubt of great benefit to the colonial cause.”
Henri nodded, no nearer his decision than he’d been when he’d first heard of the secret foray against the French at the governor’s palace. Was that not in itself his answer? Yet when had he shied away from danger or aiding the British colonies?
“And if you say nay?” Ned questioned, folding his hands atop the edge of the table as if he were about to pray.
“If I—we—decline, other ships and crews will bear the commission,” Henri stated matter-of-factly.
Southack grimaced. “And take both prizes and credit.”
“Virginia’s governor desires us at the helm,” Henri said. Not only Virginia’s governor but other colonial authorities as well. He stopped short of revealing anything vainglorious, further tempting them toward a very hazardous cruise.
“You cannot possibly be content to stay on Indigo Island with so dire a threat. Nor sail away on other business.” Tarbonde studied him as if seeing him in a new light. “’Twould be a dereliction of duty.”
“You could also further establish your reputation as one of privateer and not pirate as the naysayers have painted you,” Southack said.
“What would be done with captives?” Udo queried when Henri made no reply. “You are known far and wide for fair treatment, but with the French declared our enemies . . .”
“They’d likely be used in prisoner exchanges or as leverage in treaties. Transported to prison ships.” That alone gave Henri pause. There was no worse fate.
And it could be his and his crew’s lot as well.
CHAPTER
twenty-one
Esmée took the tray of chocolate meringues from the kitchen into the shop, each looking like small storm clouds that matched the heavens over the harbor. Airy and sweet, the egg-white-and-sugar confections were among her favorites, pairing nicely with the chocolate tarts on display. With no one to witness her pilfering, she snuck one and let its ethereal goodness melt on her tongue, her stays expanding with every bite.
Sweet indeed. After a morning spent begging bones from the town’s butchers, including a promised delivery, she had her reward. Now in the afternoon, business had ebbed, though the coffeehouse never seemed to quiet. Father was there today, distributing newspapers and handbills, conversing about the latest news in Virginia and beyond with any who cared to join him. His unmistakable voice comforted her as she went about her tasks, taking inventory, perusing the long-coveted Complete Confectioner, and overseeing orders for social gatherings and whatnot.
When the shop’s bell jingled, she looked up from her work to find a stranger shutting the door behind him, his coattails whipped about by a harbor wind. Knowing nearly everyone in York and even Williamsburg, Esmée discreetly took his measure but couldn’t place him.
She gave the familiar shopkeeper’s greeting, brushing tart crumbs from her apron. “Good afternoon, sir. What do you buy?”
Tucking his cocked hat beneath one arm, he came to a stop at the counter, gaze landing on the meringues and tarts before sliding to the mound of sugared almonds atop a large porcelain dish. Pleasure suffused his tanned features.
“I’m rather overcome,” he said, eyes roving the shelves next.
She understood his dilemma, common to first timers. What wouldn’t he choose?
“I’ve not had Shaw’s chocolate since the last sailing,” he told her with a smile. “Now I’m en route to visit kin in the country and I’d rather not arrive empty-handed.”
Last sailing? He was no common jack, truly. “Chocolate almonds travel especially well, though chocolate tarts do not,” she told him, charmed by his gracious manner. “Care to try an almond?” She held out the dish.
“I’ll take them all,” he replied after a bite. “Though I can’t guarantee they’ll last beyond Tobacco Road.”
“If some go missing, none will be the wiser.” Smiling, she began wrapping them for travel. “You speak of your kin. Might I know them?”
“Ah, no doubt. Forgive me for the frightful lack of introductions. Nathaniel Autrey, lately at sea.”
“The Autreys of Mount Autrey?” She did not doubt it. He bore their wide forehead and cleft chin in addition to their telltale fiery locks. “An old Virginia family you have, sir.”
“A very feminine one.” He was referring to his maiden aunts, no doubt. “You know them, Miss . . . ?”
“Just who’s forgetting introductions?” Flushing, Esmée handed him his wrapped chocolates. “I am Miss Shaw, the proprietress of Shaw’s Chocolate. My father is—”
“Barnabas Shaw. The famed admiral.” His admiration was not lost on her. “No doubt you and your father are acquainted with Captain Henri Lennox.”
Nodding, she lowered her gaze. “My father especially.”
“I’m sea chaplain of the Relentless, or have been these past many years.”
A sea chaplain? All frigates and line-of-battle ships allowed them, though not all but the most devout commanders wanted them aboard. And they did far more than keep journals and hold divine service. She busied herself with his purchase. What more could she say? Would mention of Henri always affect her so? Turn a routine, chocolate-laden encounter bittersweet?
“Good day, Miss Shaw.” He gave a slight, elegant bow before he went out. “I hope we meet again.”
She crossed to the display window, watching him climb into a waiting coach, then drew back as his gaze returned to the shop. Might Henri be with him? As the coach pulled away with a lurch, she rested her eyes on the cloudy harbor, wishing she’d been a bit more forthright.
Are you on shore long, sir? Does Captain Lennox have any plans to set sail again? And are you always so charming at first meeting?
Henri walked the beach, frothy waves murmuring a monotonous lament against the shore with the incoming tide. His crew continued work on the Relentless on the island’s south side. Cyprian, ill with a mild fever, lay in a hammock beneath oaks fast losing the last of their leaves. Southack hovered, ready to dispense whatever remedy was called for.