He nodded soberly as the coach turned down Nassau Street. Her gaze returned to the palace as she alighted from the coach. What if Henri wouldn’t be coming back to the townhouse? What if he was immediately taken to a port and shipped to England? Hot tears blurred her vision. ’Twas all she could do not to go to pieces in front of her father.
“I’ll see how Eliza is before I go to the palace and learn what’s afoot,” Father said.
They entered together, the butler taking their wraps. No supper smells. No other servants at hand.
“Lady Drysdale is upstairs in her rooms,” the butler told them.
Father mounted the steps slowly as if pondering what to say to his youngest daughter once he knocked on the door. If ever Mama was needed, ’twas now.
Esmée passed into the guest chamber and shut the door. Her Bible lay open on the table, a silk ribbon marking the passage she’d been reading before her walk.
The scrap of Psalm was impressed on her heart, a promise to prevent her from falling apart.
In the day of my calamity, the Lord was my stay.
CHAPTER
seventy-two
I’ve never seen Dinwiddie in such a quandary.” Father returned from a private meeting with the governor and shook his graying head. “His own ill health is forcing a speedy end to the matter, either here or on English soil.”
“Ill health be hanged!” Esmée exclaimed as he removed his hat. “Is there no one in all Virginia who supports my husband?” The exasperated words were tempered by grief. “Oh, that Quinn were here. Then all would be well.”
She paced before the parlor hearth as the butler opened the front door to admit Henri himself. He joined them, his slight smile not at all reassuring, though his embrace was warm and heartfelt despite all that was against them.
He took a chair opposite Father by the hearth while Esmée settled on the stool beside him. A maid who had recovered from the pox brought steaming flip and announced supper would be served as soon as they wished. Eliza would not be joining them, pleading a headache. During the time they’d all been at the townhouse, she’d supped with them but once. Esmée had seen the light on in Quinn’s study the last two nights. Was her sister unable to sleep and sorting through his things instead?
“How are you holding up under all the scrutiny?” Father asked Henri quietly.
“Well enough.” Henri’s weary eyes declared otherwise. “I’m most concerned about my crew—the Africans—who’ve been brought in for questioning. Though freemen, they risk being captured and sold into slavery the longer they’re ashore. ’Tis a tenuous business.”
“Indeed.” Father heaved a sigh. “Dinwiddie and his council seem at sixes and sevens about the entire matter. I’ve yet to hear any formal charges against you. ’Tis a secretive business as well. The newspapers are printing all manner of false drivel, but most of it is in your favor.”
“There are some who feel I’m more pirate than privateer, and no amount of argument or proof will convince them otherwise. And there are those who covet the prizes we’ve brought in.”
“It all smacks of treachery and greed to me.” Father stared into his steaming cup. “What of this about banning any outsiders—any spectators—from the proceedings on Friday?”
Henri lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “A precautionary measure, perhaps, as such matters always generate too much interest. But I’m going to request my crew be there. And you and Esmée, of course.”
“If they deny you, ’twill be a means of furthering their dark deeds when exposing them to light could end the matter entirely.” Esmée’s heated remarks drew both men’s attention. “I for one will be there. And on the very front row.”
“I detect some of your sister’s spirit in you,” her father said, a beat of sadness in his tone. “Or what once was.”
“She’s no better?” Henri asked, holding Esmée’s gaze.
She reached for his hand. How like him to deflect this serious business and ask about someone else. “She keeps to her rooms by day and Quinn’s study by night. I’ve instructed the servants to serve her no more spirits other than medicinal tonics. She’s as yet unable or unwilling to dine with us.”
Sympathy shone in his eyes. Grief was a hard season, singular and unpredictable.
A slight commotion in the foyer drew Esmée’s eye. When the butler announced Nathaniel Autrey, Henri got to his feet. The men embraced, emotion on both their weathered faces.
“Pardon the interruption, but I wanted to see the captain.” Nathaniel took a near chair. “And inquire about Lady Drysdale.”
Tears came to Esmée’s eyes. Henri had few friends on land, away as he’d been. Quinn had been one of them, and now Nathaniel remained. Ned, Henri called him. His steadfast friend. “You’re a most welcome interruption,” she said.
“I second that.” Henri leaned back in his chair, his reflective mood of moments before shifting. “Stay on for supper, at least.”
The parlor air was laden with the smell of roast beef, and through the open door Esmée saw a maid setting the dining room table. Ned and Henri fell into conversation with her father while she excused herself and went upstairs to Eliza’s bedchamber.
Not wanting to wake her sister, Esmée cracked open the door. Eliza sat before her dressing table, combing her waist-length hair. Freshly washed, it pillowed about her slim shoulders as it dried, the candlelight calling out every russet highlight.
Esmée entered, shutting the door behind her. “Nathaniel Autrey is here. I thought you might want to see him.”
“Chaplain Autrey?”
“He’s staying for supper. I hoped you would join us.”
Setting her brush aside, Eliza leaned nearer the looking glass. Pots of powder and rouge lay open as if she’d been about to cover her scars. With a shudder, she turned away from her reflection and looked at Esmée seated next to her. “I have no heart for it.”
“Please.” Esmée was rarely so entreating where Eliza was concerned. “It might well be the last time we are all together.”
Eliza’s gaze sharpened. “Because Henri might be transported to England, you mean.”
Esmée nodded, her whole world upside down. “There’s Father besides. He’s aged so much of late. Quinn’s death has taught me we must never take each other for granted. Ever.”
“A lesson I learned too late.” Frowning, Eliza reached for some Hungary water to rub on her temples. “Betimes I think these headaches will crack my skull.”
Esmée breathed in the rosemary-mint scent. “The physic will be here tomorrow.”
“Why? No physic has the remedy for what ails me.”
Esmée’s gaze traveled from the rumpled bed to the bedside table, where a book lay open. A Bible. The one Ned had given her?
“I am missing my wee daughter.”
Eliza’s surprising admission returned Esmée’s attention to her. How could she not miss her own flesh and blood? Yet not once had she mentioned Ruenna since they’d returned to Williamsburg.