Indeed, a storm within and without. Esmée looked at the sky, startled she’d walked so far so mindlessly. She’d passed the gaol with its forlorn sounds and smells, the courtyard overfull of the indigent and derelict. The usual pang of sympathy she always felt eluded her completely. She seemed as wooden as a ship’s figurehead.
The postilion opened the door, and she settled opposite her father, escaping a lightning-lit landscape. “Why have you come?”
“I heard news—ill news—that the governor is being pressured by certain officials, mainly planters, who’ve invented charges against the captain. Henri may well be sent to Marshalsea in London for trial at the admiralty court there, thus relieving Virginia of responsibility—”
“Marshalsea?” The word was more epithet. Esmée stared at him, lips parted from the most grievous shock yet. “The place of pirates and rogues?”
“That or Newgate. But I’m hoping it’s hearsay, and I’ve come to find out.”
Her father never minced words, but for once she wished he would. She could only sit, stunned, as the coach picked up its pace and headed toward the heart of Williamsburg. Her heart seemed to keep time with the horse’s hooves, her thoughts somersaulting over themselves in dismal abandon.
“How is your dear sister?” Father asked.
She barely heard his query. Her breath came short, her words scattered. “Eliza ... she seems to have worsened back at the townhouse. She’s begun to go through Quinn’s belongings, his study and papers. I’ve offered to help, but... Eliza refused me outright. We visited his gravesite yesterday. Left flowers.”
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’sstudy 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.”
