“If I am seldom around her, she’ll never think of me as her mother. I want Father to bring her to me as soon as it’s safe to do so. Besides, I’ve been reading the papers.” She gestured to the copies of the Virginia Gazette littering the plank floor. “The pox seems to be abating, according to the medical men. Alice must return too.”
“Of course. Father and I would be overjoyed.” A glimmer of light broke through the darkness. Esmée smiled, her first in days. “I’m sure Ruenna will be much changed even in the short time you’ve been apart.”
“No doubt.” Eliza picked at a stray thread on her sultana. “For now, I want you to give serious thought to living here with me if the worst happens.”
The worst? Esmée’s mind raced. Henri transported, hanged from the gallows, or perhaps drawn and quartered. A wave of nausea washed through her.
With a grimace, Eliza focused on a window that overlooked Palace Green. “I suppose the matter is to be decided day after tomorrow.”
Esmée nodded. “Despite your gracious invitation, I cannot stay on here in Williamsburg. If Henri is to be transported, I will go with him to England.”
Eliza turned back to her. Something rare passed over her sister’s ravaged features. Fear. But instead of mounting a protest, Eliza seemed to withdraw once again, the pain in her head reflected in her glassy eyes. “Please give my regards to the company. I cannot possibly endure supper.”
Heartsick, Esmée stood and leaned in, kissing her sister’s once smooth cheek.
Lord, be my stay.
CHAPTER
seventy-three
The governor’s chambers were cold, the seats hard. Sunlight speared through the closed shutters, arrows of light across the polished floor. Nine o’clock. Esmée and her father were the first to arrive, Ned with them. As they sat near the front, Esmée saw the sea chaplain’s lips moving as if in silent prayer.
Dinwiddie had yet to appear. One by one the governor’s council members came in, all bewigged and powdered, some undeniably pompous, all eyes down. She knew of these men. Many of them were the most powerful in the colony, with wealth and connections that wove an impenetrable web, placing them above the law. Only two gentlemen were above reproach, men of integrity. Quinn’s fellow barristers.
Lord Drysdale’s usual place was left vacant. The heaviness in the chamber chilled Esmée to the marrow. Henri sat directly in front of them in a Windsor chair. His wide-set shoulders were unbowed, his manner untroubled. A murmur rippled through the room when his crew took seats in the gallery. Esmée was heartened by their presence. Not one of them seemed to be missing, though the black jacks were here at their own peril, their presence sure to infuriate the most prejudiced on the council.
Her father’s shoulder pressed against hers, his low murmur reaching her ears. “I spy the printer for the Virginia Gazette.”
Behind them, the squint-eyed owner had entered the chamber, a printer’s devil with him. The word was that Dinwiddie and the council read and censored every word of each edition before circulation to the public. Would what was printed about these proceedings be fact or fancy?
The governor entered. Esmée felt a flicker of dismay. He looked old. Ill. However careworn and grim his countenance, she would not let it chip away at the promise stored in her heart. She laid hold of the memorized Psalm like a woman drowning.
He delivered me from my strong enemy, and from them that hated me: for they were too strong for me. They prevented me in the day of my calamity: but the Lord was my stay. He brought me forth also into a large place: he delivered me, because he delighted in me.
She fisted her hands in her lap. Thank You, Lord.
The chamber doors closed. An opening prayer was uttered. A mockery, Esmée thought. She looked at Henri’s bowed head once the amen was said. What was rushing through her beloved’s thoughts? Had he any inkling what might befall him here?
The governor addressed the chamber, his color high, his voice hoarse. “We are gathered here on this March day to decide the most suitable, expeditious course of action in the case of Captain Henri Lennox—”
A high voice erupted outside the sealed chamber. Some sort of commotion was brewing. A man’s voice was cut short by a woman’s strident tone. Then the gilded doors swung open, and every eye turned toward the back of the room. In walked Eliza, clad in all black, her step sure if hurried, a ream of papers clutched in both hands. The tap of her heels created a staccato echo in the large chamber. She looked neither to the right nor the left as she strode toward the front, past a great many astonished officials.
The governor stared at her as if trying to come to terms with her unexpected appearance. “Lady Drysdale . . .”
Eliza gave the most perfunctory of curtsies to Dinwiddie, the silk of her sable skirts rustling, before facing the chamber with its now unsettled council members.
One bewigged gentleman shot to his feet, fury staining his features. “I beg of you, madam, to take leave of these proceedings at once. Sheriff! Bailiffs! Escort this—”
“I shan’t be silenced,” Eliza all but shouted, overriding him. The cold fire in her eyes mirrored the harsh mettle of her tone. “If you force me from these chambers, I shall bring all my powers and my late husband’s powers to bear both here and in the halls of parliament, even before the king himself. Do not underestimate me. You shall hear me out.”
She stepped onto the raised dais and took the podium. Lifting her chin, she scanned the chamber as if taking stock of each man present. Unveiled—without even a hint of powder—Eliza was a shocking sight.
“As widow to one of the foremost members of the governor’s council, I now state my case. My husband’s papers are before me. I have studied them at length since his passing. Before his death he compiled copious correspondence and documentation of matters essential to Williamsburg, as befitted his barrister standing.” She looked down at the thick ream and took a deep breath. “If you think my husband’s concerns and grievances died with him, you are sorely mistaken.”
Eliza’s gaze traveled to Henri. She gestured to him with a wave of her hand. “Here we have a man who has been named a French spy. A pirate. That he adamantly opposes slavery is crime enough, especially to you mammon-hungry Virginians with your presumptions of supremacy and inhumane trade of human beings. But I digress. My late husband held Captain Henri Lennox in the highest esteem. As a lawyer of prodigious skill, Lord Drysdale could find no taint associated with the captain’s character or reputation. In fact, he was the first to recommend him to sail under a letter of marque and reprisal. He would have been appalled at the false accusations that now float about and besmirch this man’s honorable name.
“Captain Lennox had no wish to become embroiled in what will undoubtedly become an international war. He was solicited to do so by the governor himself and council members here, who now prove themselves unworthy of the captain’s trust.” She spoke rapidly and flawlessly, though Esmée saw her hands tremble as she took hold of the podium’s sides. “Having accepted so onerous a mission that could easily have led to his own demise, Captain Lennox instead chased down an entire French fleet on behalf of Virginia’s colonial government and His Majesty the King and came away with countless sealed documents and high-placed prisoners of war, not to mention enemy ships.” Her voice rose a notch. “The same captain who recently gave so many prizes to the parish almshouse that it has no need of funding for the next five years or better.”