She held up an accounting book. Quinn had served as vestryman and overseen parish funds. When Eliza stated the bestowed sum, the stilted silence gave way to a shocked murmur.
“Who dares bring a charge against this man?” Again Eliza scanned the overflowing chamber. “I challenge the foremost accuser, Mr. Jeffries. With your fomenting violence and mayhem in your parish’s last questionable election, will you cast the first stone?” Her gaze traveled to another man on the first row. “And Mr. Percy, owner of the largest number of slave ships in Virginia, who in the year 1753 killed two Africans in a drunken rage but was never brought to trial? And you, Mr. Taylor, who cries the loudest for liberty against taxes and tyranny yet has recently been discovered embezzling funds from various businesses in town—have you any inkling of true freedom, shackled as you are to enormous personal debt? Lord Drysdale has evidence—witnesses—that prove you were in league with Jago Wherry from the almshouse to further your avaricious purposes. Shall I enlighten the chamber as to how your actions threatened my dear sister and other vulnerable women and children on Indigo Island?” She stared at Taylor till he looked away. “Must I continue, councillors?”
Eliza set the book aside and looked to Quinn’s papers. “I also have before me sound evidence regarding a conspiracy involving the murder of a customs inspector a twelvemonth ago that involves your illustrious family, Mr. Calvert. And then there is the matter of Mr. Byrd, who has incited rebellion in his very county with the intent to repeal a new tax. Not to mention Mr. Knox, who has attempted to bribe the Speaker of the House with ten thousand pounds tobacco. Then there is Mr. Burkhardt, who has taken a pen name to publish a scandalous libel on this government and the established church. Such smacks of treason, does it not?”
Esmée did not realize she had been holding her breath till her chest began to ache. Beside her, Father sat stunned. This was the Eliza of old, who seemed to gather momentum with each and every word, driven by a sort of holy zeal.
“Almighty God has a quarrel with you councillors. Has He not said, ‘Woe unto you, hypocrites! for ye are like unto whited sepulchres, which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness’? Indeed, which of you will cast the first stone?” She gathered up Quinn’s papers. “How dare you accuse Captain Henri Lennox of anything at all.”
The entire chamber seemed to hold a collective breath as Eliza left the podium and strode down the aisle to exit through the door she had entered. It closed behind her with a resounding shudder, a proper exclamation point to her heated defense.
Tears gathered in Esmée’s eyes, making Henri’s back a blur of blue cloth. No one had yet said a word. The silence was ponderous and—could it be?—threaded with an undercurrent of shame, as if the entire assembly had taken a whipping.
Governor Dinwiddie finally stood, his face the scarlet of the red-coated soldiers at his command. He struggled to speak. Taking out a handkerchief, he dabbed at his brow, then looked to the council. “Gentlemen—though I use the term loosely—who among you will now cast the first stone, as Lady Drysdale so eloquently and truthfully put it? Join me in the antechamber at once.”
An excruciating silence followed. Esmée fixed her eyes on the podium Eliza had vacated as council members slowly got to their feet and adjourned through a side door. Bending her head, Esmée shut her eyes.
Lord, You alone can deliver us. Not Dinwiddie. Not Eliza. Not even Quinn had he been here. God alone.
Molasses-slow minutes ticked by. Esmée raised her head, eyes on Henri’s broad back. He sat stone still, gaze forward. She longed to go to him but daren’t leave her seat and cause another commotion. Murmuring began in the chamber around her. What she would give to be a fly on the wall in the antechamber! Beside her, Father and Ned sat as stoically as Henri.
At the stroke of eleven, the governor reappeared. But not the council members.
Dinwiddie inclined his head to Henri. “Captain Lennox, you are hereby dismissed. The council shan’t be taking any more of your time with its unwarranted charges and fomenting of libelous gossip. Your exemplary service to the colonies and crown cannot be understated.”
Joy sang through Esmée. She shot to her feet with a rustle of her silk skirts, wanting to forsake this cold, accusatory chamber as fast as she could. But not without her beloved. Henri turned toward her, his eyes smiling though his face stayed stoic. Ned grabbed Henri’s hand and shook it while Father let out a long, relieved breath.
“This calls for a celebration,” Father said. “Let’s hasten to the Edinburgh Castle tavern, which has just reopened. A celebratory beefsteak dinner seems in order. Shall we?”
Overcome, Esmée dried her eyes discreetly with a handkerchief. “A shame Eliza can’t join us.”
Her father nodded as they moved toward the door. “After a stellar performance of which Quinn would have been proud, your sister has earned her rest. But ’twill take me a sennight to recover myself.”
Ned grinned and adjusted his cocked hat. “Lady Drysdale’s delivery puts most pastors I know to shame. And a great many actors and actresses.”
Father led their small procession. “Now seems the time to tell you I’m returning to sea.” Catching Esmée’s wide-eyed stare, he amended, “It seems the crown is in need of my services now that war with France is to be declared.”
They exited the palace into a windy, sun-scented world. Henri picked a blossom from a flowering dogwood on Palace Green and passed it to her. Arm in arm they walked toward Duke of Gloucester Street, elation in her step as she kept up with his long stride. Her father and Ned went ahead of them, deep in conversation.
“So, Mistress Lennox, what say you about our future?” Henri brought her gloved hand near and kissed it. “Shall we set sail tomorrow for our island? Resume our honeymoon?”
“Tomorrow?” She smiled. “I’m ready to return right now, though Father is intent on a little feasting and we must thank my sister.”
“Thanks hardly seems enough,” Henri said.
They walked on beneath flowering trees, still stunned by the turn of events. When they reached the tavern, fiddle music spilled from its open windows, joyous and lively, entirely fit for the occasion. While Father and Ned passed inside to seek a table, Henri removed his hat and stood alone with her in the tavern’s entry.
“As I told you, I’ve retired as privateer and government agent.” His sea-shaded eyes were as earnest as she’d ever seen them. “My future is yours. Ours. On the island, tending the light.”
“God be thanked.” She laid a hand on his smoothly shaven cheek, wanting to put distance between them and the mainland as soon as possible. “Let us be away to our island, then. Our future is bright.”
CHAPTER
one
MAY 1775
Elisabeth took a breath, breaking an intense hour of concentration. Mindful of the pinch of her stays, she straightened, the ache in her back and shoulders easing. In her apron-clad lap was the round pillow with the new lace she’d worked. Delicate as snowflakes, the intricate design was crafted of imported linen thread, now a good two yards of snowy white. She preferred white to black. All skilled lacemakers knew that working with white was kinder to the eye.