Jeanne could not sleep that night. Though it had been only a day since Verity had not met the ill fate of a witch, her mind still raced with concern for her bold friend. The two of them shared Celtic blood, which left them with an urge never to be challenged, but Verity grew up in poverty, where she always threw caution to the wind, yet for Jeanne, her mother raised her to choose her words carefully and know when to say them. She lived by this and only hoped that Verity could learn to do so.
Jeanne rolled over to her side, staring through the slight gap in her window shutters that allowed the moonlight to pool in. It was quiet outside the Yeardley residence; only the sounds of crickets and owls could be heard, but for a moment, it stopped, silence overtaking the town. Jeanne raised in her bed, confusion overtaking her. She listened as she heard a familiar voice calling out in the town. It was Verity, and she was calling out for Rutter. Jeanne groaned inwardly. The stupid lass shouldn't have been walking alone at night, especially soon after the witch hunt against her.
Jeanne quickly rose from her bed, pulling a long woollen cape from her drawers and donning it over her nightgown. She turned to grab the small lantern on her bedside table before leaving her uncle's home. It had been easy to run after Verity, as her voice was the only sound the Scot could hear. As Jeanne snuck up behind her friend closer to the town gates.
"Mary, mother of God, must you spook me like that?!" Verity lectured her friend, ensuring her voice wasn't raised enough to wake the town.
"Sorry," Jeanne gave her a small smile. "I was awake and heard you out here. I didn't want you to be alone."
Verity's face softens into a smile at her friend's words. "Thanks." Verity glanced behind her at the gates. "Looking for my fool of a husband, went to the bathroom ages ago and never returned. Let's hope the arse died shitting one out."
Jeanne tried not to laugh at the woman's words as they made their way out of the town, Verity screaming softly for him as they went, lanterns raised close to their faces. As they stepped closer to the graves dug outside the walls, a scream was heard inside the town walls. Both girls stopped moving as they turned back towards the town, Verity's calls for Rutter becoming more frantic. A shadowy figure appeared before the women, musket in hand. Jeanne had moved in front of her friend, right hand instantly going for the knife she normally kept on her calf, but only flesh bare, as it was still tucked safely under her pillow. The figure kept moving towards them, Jeanne standing still with her lantern raised while Verity moved to look for Rutter.
As the figure stood directly in front of Jeanne, she realised she was face to face with a native man, a so-called savage. While he did look intimidating with his face and body painted a mixture of red and black, Jeanne could see that he was confused by her as he stared at her face with a calculating look. While he had seen white men before, she was undoubtedly the first white woman he had seen. From behind him came more of his kin, but they raced past the two of them, passing Verity and shoving poor Rutter, who had risen from the grass behind the women, straight back down into the cold grass. Verity ran to Rutter as he stood, grabbing the small knife he had from his belt, as the native man stood mere inches from Jeanne, a hand outstretched towards her face.
Before anyone could react, a figure tackled the native from behind, sending Jeanne to jump to the side to avoid being taken down with them. Verity ran to her side, knife in her grip pointed at the two makes laying at the Scot's feet.
"Stay down!" James Reed yelled from his position on top of the native man, yet the native could only keep his eyes on Jeanne. "Meredith, get over here and help me!" James yelled out to Rutter as the older man struggled to find his bearing. More men came running from the town, helping James Reed pull the native to his feet and dragging him back into Jamestown, with James collecting the musket where it had fallen to the ground, confusion on his face.
The town had been cheering as they dragged the native through the streets that night, many having come out of their homes so late still in their nightclothes. Jeanne had walked ahead of the group, feeling the native man's eyes on her the entire time but doing her best to ignore it. She stopped before her uncle, who hugged her, asking questions about her well-being. The two watched the native man dragged past them, fighting against the ropes and pulling them to continue staring at her. She felt her uncle's grip tighten around her.
Jeanne had barely slept when she arrived at the jailhouse that morning, knowing the native man was being held inside. Part of her was worried for his life, as he was being held by the war-crazed Marshall, who was known for spouting off nonsense about what the 'savages would do to the meek woman' of Jamestown, but if any ill harm came to the native now in their cells, Jeanne knew that war would follow. And the other part, she dared not admit, not even Alice or Verity, was that he had captured her curiosity, and from last night's event, she surely had his.
Upon walking into the old wooden jailhouse, she found the native out of his cell, bound, and having his face paint washed off roughly by one of Jamestown's militia. Both men stopped to stare at Jeanne as she entered.
"Miss, you can't be in here!" The soldier barked at her, hurling the paint-soaked rag into a bucket by the native's feet.
Jeanne scoffed, stomping her way over to the young Englishman. "I will go where I please, and you," She jabbed a finger at his chest harshly, forcing him to step back. "Will not be treating him like muck on your boots. He is a human and deserves not to be treated so poorly."
Seconds passed as the two exchanged glances, with Jeanne ignoring the native man who continued to look at her with fascination, his eyes taking in every inch of her appearance, from her red curls to her figure and clothes.
The Englishman sighed. "I'm Nathan Bailey, Miss Jeanne, and the Marshall ordered me to clean him up, and this savage is resisting-"
"Fine." Jeanne cut him off. She squatted down to the bucket, giving the rag a good rinse to remove most of the wet paint. Once satisfied, she rose to continue off the soldier's job, content that the native was allowing her to do so. She made sure to be softer with her touch, allowing three fingers from her left hand to sit on his jaw as she did so. "You're welcome to stay here and play guard, Mr Bailey."
"Nathan." The young man stated, causing a pause in Jeanne. She eyed him offhandedly, unsure of his intentions. "I mean no ill, Miss Jeanne, just doing my duty to protect Jamestown."
Jeanne sighed, stopping to clean out the rag again before removing the paint from the native's face. "You may mean no ill will towards me, but you do to this man." She tapped the native's left cheek, now clean from the red paint. Jeanne wasn't sure if the unknown male knew what she and the soldier were discussing or was just playing dumb, but his dark eyes darted between the pale pair as they talked.
Nathan scoffed. "He came into town with a weaponed, and his people attacked Mr Rutter…"
"Mr Rutter is a hopeless drunk who could no more hold his own against a babe." Jeanne barked back. "And Verity would agree with me. We were foolish to look for him late at night and found him with his pants down as the natives appeared. Verity took his blade to defend us, cutting her husband. None of those men did anything."
Nathan didn't respond after that, just continued to watch Jeanne as she worked. Her movements were soft and delicate, gentle as she made sure to wash the painted face of the native man clean, and even moving slightly down his neck, but not past his collarbone, as it would be indecent to do so. It was then that Marshal Redwick and Secretary Farlow stormed into the jailhouse.
"What are you doing here, woman?!" The Marshall yelled, not even phasing the young woman from her task. Jeanne turned to the two older men, giving each of them a nod as she addressed them each by name. Farlow gave her the same courtesy, but Redwick merely repeated himself.
"Seems Miss Jeanne did your men a service." Farlow commented, coming to the woman's defence. "Young Mr Bailey is better to stay guard while another would see to our native here. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, after all."
Redwick only grunted, pulling the bucket from the floor as Jeanne dumped the rag into it. Without much effort, Redwick tossed the bucket behind him, the wood smashing against the doorway and its contents spilling onto the floor. Farlow merely stepped away not to dirty his shoes. An eerie silence fell upon the room as Redwick and Jeanne could only stare at one another, gazes filled with hate and challenge, with Jeanne throwing all caution to the wind. Nathan and Farlow dared not to move. No one had expected the native to move in between the warring pair, his back to Jeanne. Words left the unknown man's mouth, something none could translate, but to Farlow, it was obvious the native sought to defend Jeanne.
"Gentlemen, what is going on here?" Yeardley asked from the doorways, his boots now marred with paint and water.
"Nothing Governor." Redwick spoke, his gaze locked onto the natives, whose eyes stared back with ferocity.
Yeardley looked from the back of the Marshall's head to the ground and then to his niece and the native man before her. "Jeanne." Yeardley spoke her name once, but it was all he needed to do.
The fire-haired lass stepped out from behind the darker-skinned man, her eyes meeting her uncles. She glanced quickly at Redwick, which didn't go missed by her uncle, and then to Farlow, who almost appeared to offer the girl a pleading look. "I seem to have upset the Marshall by being here. He was concerned for my safety." Jeanne excused.
Yeardley chuckled. "I'm sure you were safe with young Mr Bailey here," He nodded to the soldier. "And you have your blade do you not?"
Farlow glanced from Yeardley to the girl. "Blade?"
Jeanne smirked, not daring to pass up the opportunity. Locking eyes with her uncle, Jeanne hoisted her skirt, revealing the knife against her right calf leg, secured by her stocking ties. The Marshall made an audible gasp of disgust, and Nathan joined him in looking away from the obscene gesture. Farlow kept his gaze on Jeanne's face, a small smile reaching his thin lips. He couldn't deny the fun he was having with this girl around when it came to his companion's sanity.
"Would you please lower your skirt, woman?" Redwick barked, his gaze focused on the thatched ceiling. Jeanne waited for her uncle's approval. A simple nod from his head was all it took. Jeanne patted the Marshall's arm to let him know it was safe to look at her again once her skirt was lowered. "What a foul woman."
"I would ask you not to speak ill of my niece, Marshall." Yeardley ordered, his tone of voice taking on a threatening one. He ordered the young soldier to get their captive back into the cells and then to leave but also instructed the boy to summon James Read and Samuel Castell. There was much for them to discuss after the discovery of the musket in the hands of the native. Yeardley had wanted to know if it had been stolen from their stores. He had also given his niece permission to stay, as she now acted as the voice of the women of Jamestown, something the Marshall disagreed with. Still, Farlow offered his support in the idea and that Jeanne would help keep their new feminine population calm and happy, as the previous night's events sure had them all in a fuss.
When the other two men arrived, James Read had placed the musket on the table before them all, alongside a pouch of lead balls and a pouch of gunpowder found on their captive. Redwick scoffed loudly, but no one bothered to give him attention. "You see what they think of us. They mock us. They come into our settlement and take our weapons from us." He glanced back at the native behind him, who was studying the group, but Redwick was sure that the man was staring more at Jeanne than anyone else.
James sighed. "He didn't steal it. It was sold to them. The musket went missing from Master Massinger's store…about six weeks ago." He barely glanced up from the gun as he explained. James was a little unnerved to recognise the weapon and know who it once belonged to.
"Do we know who did this? It's a hanging offence, is it not?" Jeanne turned to the blacksmith. He shook his head, with Castell revealing that the thievery was never reported. "Well, that's suspicious."
"Indeed." Farlow agreed with her, yet he avoided her gaze when she looked at him.
"The only reason the Pamunkey want muskets is to use them against us." Redwick interjected, bringing himself back to the table.
"But they helped Jamestown in the past. Why now would they want guns to harm us." Jeanne questioned, her gaze turning to her uncle, who had moved away to offer water to their captive. From what Yeardley had told his niece on the long journey from England, the Pamunkey were one of thirty tribes, which served as the Powhatan Confederacy, and they had long since been peaceful with the settlers of Jamestown.
"Does your chief Opechananough know you're here?" Yeardley asked the man, watching as he sniffed the water in the cup, unsure what to make of it. Jeanne wondered in the man was smelling for poison. "Did he send you?"
"It is more likely, Governor, that these men were rogues, come to show their manliness, to show they are better than us by stealing from the town." Castell spoke calming, his words more directed at Marshall Redwick.
"No!" Redwick yelled, stepping towards the jailed man. "Waiting, aren't ya, waiting for a time to attack us!" He locked onto the bars of the door, trying to be intimidating.
Jeanne could simply roll her eyes. "I'm pretty sure he doesn't speak English." Jeanne sighed, standing beside the older man and forcing his hands away from the bars. "But he does know that you're trying to be manly and, by his reaction, failing." The woman jabbed, noticing her uncle's smiling face behind the Marshalls.
The Marshall went to insult the woman but was cut off by the Native man speaking. His voice was calm as he spoke, almost soft, and he never let his eyes leave the aggressive man on the other side of the jail doors. Even though she did not know what he was saying, Jeanne was almost captivated by his voice.
Yeardley breathed deeply. "Who do we have that can speak to the captive?" turning to face his council.
Farlow and Castell shared a look before the recorder spoke. "Silas Sharrow."
The Marshal scoffed, muttering curses under his breath, which went ignored by Yeardley. Jeanne had wondered why the man wouldn't agree to the idea of a translator, or maybe he didn't like Silas. After all, Silas wasn't one of his loyal soldiers.
Yeardley didn't waste a moment, calling on the young Mr Bailey to fetch Silas Sharrow and dismissing his council and Read. Jeanne stood behind her uncle, watching them each leave, James taking the musket, powder and ammunition with him, no doubt to be placed in the town's weapon stores. Once they both were alone with the prisoner, Yeardley turned to his niece, not sparing the caged man a glance. "Well?"
Jeanne smiled softly, crossing her arms. "For starters, Redwick might get us killed."
Yeardley chucked at his niece's words. "I meant about the situations." Jeanne cast her uncle a look, waiting for him to elaborate. "Who would sell the Pamunkey our weapons? Why they would want them."
"How could I know the reasons of the Pamunkey? I am not of their people." Jeanne sighed. "But as for who would sell them our weapons," Jeanne's eyes travelled to the table that once held the musket, noticing a single lead ball that had fallen from its pouch onto the floor. She went to retrieve it, allowing the cold material to dance between her fingertips before offering it to her uncle. "I would say look at those above suspicion."
Yeardley looked to the door his council had exited from. "Redwick wouldn't dare."
"The man does scream so much about savages this and that." Jeanne agreed. "And Farlow isn't the type to steal, lie and gossip maybe, but not steal. Mr Read is loyal, as is Mr Castell." She turned to the Pamunkey man, who was watching her intently. "And who would dare risk stealing from Massinger, other than Massinger himself."
"Massinger?" Yeardley spoke thoughtfully. In truth, the idea hadn't crossed his mind. The scarred man was feared by everyone in town apart from Redwick and Farlow, and from just a short week in Jamestown, Massinger had proven himself to be cunning and brass with his action to achieving his own ends. "But for what reason?" he mumbled more to himself than his niece, whose gaze was locked onto their prisoner.
Jeanne looked at the still-filled cup in the Pamunkey man's hands, untouched. She gestured for it, watching as he hesitated to hand it over to her. She took a sip of its contents before handing it back to the man, who was then happy to drink from it.
Yeardley took notice of the interaction, studying how the man was receptive to his niece's actions. "He assumed it poison?"
"Would you drink something handed to you by a man holding you prisoner, whose language you didn't speak?" Jeanne joked.
He smiled. "No."
Jeanne stood outside the jailhouse, by the well, watching the few men that stood guard outside it, suspicious of possible orders Redwick could have given his men. She notices them glance through the barred windows now and then, making sure their captive was still secured inside his cells, as they all waited for Yeardley to return with Silas Sharrow so that the latter could translate.
The Scot was pulled from Jocelyn Castell's observations, who questioned her maidservant, Mercy, as she drew water from the well behind Jeanne. The blonde was curious about the native's attacks on the village during the night, and with that, just having many attacks there had been over the years that Mercy had lived in Jamestown. While the girl couldn't remember just how long she had been there, she knew that men had died in previous attacks or simply from meeting one outside the protection of Jamestown's walls.
From Jeanne's right, she spotted James Read watching the conversation himself, which didn't go unnoticed by Jocelyn. Jocelyn approached the blacksmith to question him about the attacks as her raven-haired servant left. Jeanne continued to listen from where she stood. Eyes still locked onto the jailhouse.
Read sighed as she asked her questions. "Disease has killed more men than Indians," He glanced away from her to the jailhouse himself, not wanting to see her face as he added on. "But there have been battles." He looked back at her.
"I'm sure if they see we bring a superior way of life, which we're willing to share, they will not take up arms." Her tone was stiff and cocky. Jeanne found herself scoffing loudly, which gained the attention of the two, letting them both know that she had indeed been listening. "Is the thought wrong, Ms Gardner?" Jocelyn snapped at the redhead.
Jeanne sighed, walking towards them, finally taking her eyes off the jailhouse. "Take it from a Scot who has had to deal with other nations trying to force their ways onto us with false promises." Jeanne challenged her. "First, it was the Romans who tried to take Scotland from my Celtic ancestors, and time and time again, it has been the English."
Read snorted, trying to contain his laughter from the girl's words' effect on Jocelyn's face. The English lady didn't seem to enjoy having her knowledge insulted by a Scottish commoner. "Our superior way of life didn't help us when they had to feed us." Read calmed his laughter. "The Indians know our intentions better than our own, the more of us that keep coming, the more trouble there will be."
Jocelyn gave the pair a hard stare before she stalked off after her servant, posture showing that two lowly plebs hadn't just outsmarted her.
"Thank you." Jeanne stated, gaze still on the blonde. "For supporting my judgement." Read and Jeanne shared a look of understanding, as they had realised that they had similar thoughts towards the natives of this new world.
He eyed her momentarily before returning to his work at the forge. "Why'd you come 'ere?"
Jeanne glanced down at her feet, unsure how to answer. "Fear." He stopped working to look at her sideways, a calculating look on his face. What could someone fear so much to leave a liveable land to come to a place full of challenges, disease, and death? She noticed his confused face. "Had I stayed in England with no family, it would either be a fast marriage to a pig of a man I may never come to like, or hitch up my skirt to survive." Jeanne explained.
James Read nodded at her. He understood that fear perfectly. In England, her fate would have been somewhat unknown, full of risky and fearful choices, but here in Jamestown, she was with family and friends, safe, with no need for unwanted marriages or prostitution.
"And you?"
He smiled, gaze leaving her. "A life with a job and income." Jeanne nodded at his answer. It was simple, but still a solution.
Jeanne had stood by the forge, casually chatting with James Read for nearly an hour as she had waited for her uncle to return with Silas Sharrow to speak to the man in their cells finally. When both men did appear, Jeanne was quick to race to her uncle's side, the aging man kissing her cheek and an arm on her back as he led her into the jailhouse, Silas following them. Yeardley even made sure to be a gentleman and hold the door open for his niece to enter first, then Silas, before shutting the door behind himself.
Yeardley and Silas moved the table from earlier closer to the cell and even placed a chair behind it. They were all shortly joined by the rest of the Governor's council, where Master Castell sat behind the desk, placing a hefty tome upon the table to begin recording the interrogation which was about to take place. Yeardley stood by Castells right while Redwick and Farlow stood back near the door, each watching intently. Jeanne took her place beside Farlow, the man giving her a short nod, a simple, polite smile gracing his well-sculpted features. Redwick seemed to growl, whether at her or the situation, no one was sure.
Silas learned against the table, facing the Indian savage. Jeanne watched in fascination as they talked back and forth. The language was soft to her ears, holding light clicks and rolls of the tongue. She had learned that the man was named Chacrow, a warrior of the Pamunkey people. But not much else could be gathered before Redwick stepped forward, mouthing off threats to the man.
"Tell him what we do with thieves." Redwick smiled rather sinisterly.
Jeanne was standing outside the jailhouse with many of the town's residents. The table had been dragged out of the jailhouse and placed in front of the forge by the Marshall himself while he had been ordering Silas to translate, in detail, what they do to thieves both in England and Jamestown. While Jeanne was typically a strong-minded woman, even she flinched as Redwick smiled and laughed to himself about removing the Indian's hands with a very sharp knife and how they would then parade the severed appendages around Jamestown before tying them around the man's neck and sending him back to his people. A great way to start a war, Jeanne was sure. Farlow stood by her side, taking her arm in his, intending to keep her from challenging his barbarian friend. While he did enjoy the girl's quirks, his colleague did not.
Castell began to warn Governor Yeardley of the consequences of punishing the prisoner with the laws of the English people rather than returning him to the Pamunkey so that they could do with him as they wished. Castell feared war, for they did not have the resources for it. Not enough guns, ammunition, men trained in operating said firearms and food supplies, but Jamestown now also had women to defend.
Jeanne tried to move towards her uncle and add her voice of reason to Castell's, but Farlow kept her firmly beside him. She looked at him, only to find him staring back at her.
"Please, Jeanne, let the men handle this. You have already aggravated Redwick enough today, even after my warnings." Farlow whispered into her ear, his facial hair tickling against her skin. She wanted to flinch away but found herself unable to do so.
She found herself being watched. Chacrow's eyes were on her, and he continued to watch her as Silas continued to translate Redwick's threats, even with the sound of the grindstone sharpening an axe behind him. Chacrow was studying her. Her posture, her breathing, and how close Farlow stood beside her, how Farlow held her against him. He stared at her sternly, chilling her soul and drowning out everything around her. It wasn't until she saw the axe in Redwick's hands that everything came rushing back to her, and her very breath left her as she sharply shot her gaze away, turning to look at Farlow's well-embroidered tunic.
Farlow placed his free hand over her hand that was trapped on his arm, offering the young woman some comfort.
"Stop!" Yeardley's voice called out, cutting through the silence gathered through the village. Jeanne pulled herself from Farlow, her blue eyes landing back on Chacrow, noticing a faint hint of relief in the man's eyes. The axe stopped centimetres from Chacrow's right wrist, and Redwick was displeased by the interruption. Yeardley stepped up to the table before Chacrow, hands flat against its surface "I want to know who sold you that weapon." He seethed from between his teeth. Sila's translated.
Chacrow's eyes landed on Jeanne's as he stayed deep in thought, debating whether or not to answer.
"Gentlemen," Massinger stepped forwards, shoving people out of his way. "It is clear to me now who stole my musket. Who else speaks their language? Who else went upriver for several days for no good reason that I can see?" He continued to speak, making accusations towards Silas Sharrow, stating that by stealing and selling the weapons of Jamestown, the Sharrows could fund their own plantation.