Jeanne stood inside the town hall alongside the rest of the town. Marshal Redwick and Secretary Farlow sat at the table at the front, watching over the proceedings, while Recorder Castell sat off to the side, doing his job to take notes. Master Massinger stood before the stage, preaching his claims to the town and speaking ill of the Sharrow brothers. Alice struggled to keep calm, fighting back the tears, knowing that if the town were to believe Massinger, she would lose Silas to the gallows.
Governor Yeardley leaned against the right-hand wall behind his niece, listening to the meeting. As it was deemed Virginia Company matters, he could provide no input. Jeanne had to hope her uncle thought the balding brute's claims false. Massinger had it out for the Sharrows, and with both Henry and Silas dead, thirty acres would fall to the young and naive Pepper, which Massinger wanted. The boy would be easy to break.
"Master Massinger, do you believe they took your musket?" The Marshall asked, referring to Silas and his older brother.
The plantation owner nodded. "I did, but I could prove nothing." The townspeople began to murmur, gossiping over the stories the man was telling. Jeanne watched Alice look around the room, trying to gauge what everyone thought, but Alice's gaze stopped on James Read, the man immediately looking away from her. Jeanne noticed the exchange. At first, she wonders if the blacksmith felt guilty for trying to take Alice from Silas and make her his wife. But Jeanne didn't think the man would be remorseful about that. What man would? They all tend to think with their cocks at the end of the day. No, it was something else, something related to the stolen musket. Jeanne had found his actions this morning odd when discussing the matter with the council.
Redwick began questioning Silas about why he and Henry had gone upriver to trade corn with the Pamunkey and what they were offering to sell. Silas had no answer for them, stumbling over what to say, trying to blame his brother. It made it worse for him, made him look guilty. Finally, he revealed the truth. Henry hadn't wanted to trade corn. Silas had no idea why his older brother wanted to go upriver, as the story he told was the one Henry told him to tell before the older man's passing.
"Guards!" Redwick yelled, signalling for his men to come forward. "Take Silas Sharrow to the jailhouse with the Indian until he can be tried."
Silas nodded dismissively, knowing nothing good could come from fighting back. Standing behind her dark-haired friend during the proceedings, Verity had moved forward to comfort her friend. Jeanne watched them. She wanted to go over there and comfort Alice, but she still needed to uphold the imagery of the Governor's niece. And it wouldn't look for Yeardley if she did. Instead, she decided to make Farlow her target, pestering the man for whatever information she could make him slip up. She waited for the meeting hall to clear, sharing a look with her uncle as if to tell him what she was planning. Jeanne followed loosely behind Farlow as he strolled back to his home. She stood watching his house before she decided to waltz in, again choosing to forgo knocking.
Farlow was in the process of poor himself a cup of wine, his doublet and hat removed. He looked at the redheaded woman before sighing and pouring wine into a second cup. "We need to stop meeting like this. People will talk."
Jeanne took the cup from him nonchalantly. "They've been talking since you walked me into town my first day." He gave her a knowing smile. Of course, he knew. She wouldn't put it past the man that he was the one responsible for those rumours. "My aunt wants us married, by the way."
"Oh?" He sat down at the head of the small table in his parlour, inside her to join him. "We'll have to pick a date."
"First day of not going to happen."
His grin grew. "Perfect, I shall arrange the festivities. You do have a dress, no?"
"I'm sure Temperance has one hidden away somewhere for me." The pair enjoyed the joke that no doubt only existed between them. Jeanne liked Farlow. She found him easy to chat with when he wasn't scheming, and he seemed to enjoy her company back. She placed the cup down after having another sip. "I want to thank you, Farlow, for this morning. For looking out for me. Truly."
He nodded, allowing his mind to mull over thoughts. "Believe me or not, I know what it's like to be different, Jeanne, to have thoughts that separate me from others. And you have a good heart and a boldness to go with it." Farlow avoided her gaze, not enjoying being vulnerable in front of the woman. "I wish the best for you here, I like you, but if you do not step back and think, someone might want you gone for interfering."
She shifted as his gaze moved back to her, tone serious. "Like Redwick or Massinger?"
"Or someone else." He continued to explain. "There are those back in London was stakes in Jamestown."
Jeanne sighed, swallowing the last of the wine in one go. Farlow's words hit her hard. She knew she had been living in the illusion that she was safe due to her uncle's position and knighthood. But the fact that there were more dangers at work here than Marshal Redwick and Master Massinger didn't sit well with her. It scared her. She had been so lost in thought that she hadn't noticed Farlow rise to refill her wine, only pulling her attention as the liquid red slothed into the cup. She thanked him.
"What's tittering in that mind of yours?" He asked her. Was she really that obvious?
She took another sip, trying to savour it this time. "We both know Massinger is lying about Silas. Alice knows too, as does my uncle." Jeanne warned him, watching his jaw tighten. She wasn't sure why she was telling him this, but she hoped it would work in her friend's favour. "We know he still wants the Sharrow land."
Farlow nodded. "I'm honoured you were so honest with me, seeing that you played me last time we were in this position." Jeanne tried not to smirk at the memory of fooling him with the lie of banning tobacco. It seems he was trying to do the same. "Massinger is acting on his own. Redwick and I had no part."
"But you went along with it? And now an innocent man might be put to death."
"He wouldn't be the first nor the last." He stated flatly, finishing the last of his wine.
Jeanne had finished her, offering him thanks and farewell. Farlow had wished her good luck in whatever she was planning, making her wonder if he wanted her to succeed. She pushed the thought from her mind, only wishing to get to the jailhouse to speak with Silas, hoping he could give some insight into the situation and a possible lead to fix it all. Silas used to work for Massinger, so Jeanne expected him to have some dirt or an advantage against the miserable brute.
It was already afternoon when she found herself at the jailhouse, Nathan Bailey standing outside with another guard. Young Alice was arguing with the men, demanding to be let in to see Silas, but the soldiers stood firm, saying they had orders to follow. Jeanne rolled her eyes, stomping up behind her friend. Upon spotting her, both guards straightened up like she was some noble lady who needed respect, or it was just the fear of her being the Governor's niece. Either way, she was happy for them to shift uncomfortably.
"Nathan." She greeted the familiar man, but her eyes shifted to the other soldier whose name she didn't know. Nathan greeted her back. "I will ask you once to step aside and let Alice and I speak to Silas."
He swallowed hard. "I understand, but the Marshall was evident on the safety-"
"Don't make me hike up my skirts again." She warned, cutting the man off. The unknown soldier almost fell as her words hit him, utter shock on his face at what she had said. Alice was staring at her with wide eyes.
"Please, no, Jeanne…" Nathan mumbled nervously, hoping no one else had heard her. He stepped slightly to the side, giving them both clear entrance to the door. "Not too long, and call for me if you need assistance."
She thanked the man, moving inside the jailhouse with Alice tailing behind her. Once inside, Alice had bolted past her to the jail cell, reaching out for Silas, who returned her gesture. Chacrow had been leaning against the far wall, his eyes shining as they landed on Jeanne. She gave the native man only a glance before traversing to her friends.
"Massinger came to speak with me," Silas said, holding Alice's hand for dear life. "If I agree to his terms, he'll tell the Marshall I didn't steal the musket." Alice tried to comfort him, begging him not to give in to the bully's demands. "Trading weapons is a hanging offence. What other choice do we have, Alice?"
Jeanne had wanted to find the plantation owner and give him a piece of her mind, but Farlow's warning was there. And she wasn't sure just what Massinger was capable of yet. "Is there someone else who could translate for Chacrow to get your innocence?" Jeanne glanced at the man, who was still staring at her. She was beginning to wonder if he even knew how to blink.
Silas shook his head. "Who would believe him? They didn't believe me."
"Then we'll find proof," Alice spoke up. She was determined to save him. She loved Silas, and she wanted to marry him. "I will get you out of here. Jeanne too." Alice looked to the redhead, a smile on her features begging for reassurance. Jeanne nodded.
"I've already been to interrogate Farlow. He or Redwick had no involvement in this, and it seems he'll not be involved." She explained. Silas frowned. He questioned whether the Secretary could be trusted, but Jeanne said he could. She and Farlow had become somewhat friends in their short interaction. "He advised me to play it safe, so my life may not be at risk."
"Does he think it will?" Alice sobbed, reaching out to her friend while her left was still in Silas' grasp.
Before Jeanne could answer, Chacrow began to speak, with Silas having to translate for the women. Chacrow's people used to count the English with marks to a stick, but now that they keep coming, now with women, he believes that there are as many of them as there are stars in the sky. Jeanne found the words sad. To Chacrow's people, the settlers of Jamestown were invaders, land stealers and murderers. While the Pamunkey were used to fighting with other bordering tribes, they had the English to deal with, who brought muskets and canons.
"If it were up to me, I'd be home in Scotland," Jeanne spoke somberly, eyes not leaving Chacrows. Silas translated, which earned a look of confusion from the man. The two men began to converse. Silas turned back to Jeanne.
"He thought you were English too. I just had to explain to him you weren't. He asked If the English had taken your people's land too."
"They did."
When Jeanne arrived home from the jailhouse, she could hear Marshal Redwick's screams from outside. She figured the aggressive man was arguing with her uncle about what to do with Chacrow. She could imagine that Redwick still wanted to execute the native and go to war with the rest of the Pamunkey. Yeardley must have been working well to keep his cool and not yell back at the Marshall's defiance. When she stepped into the parlour, she found her uncle at his desk, was shoved into a far corner, and surrounded by his council. They all looked at her, and she them. Marshall Redwick's face was red, and he was pacing around the room.
"Marshall," Yeardley took his gaze from his niece to Redwick, leaning forward in his chair. "Prepare a troop of militia to make the trip. For tomorrow." He bit the last words. It meant he was done talking. He leaned back, picking up a pipe to smoke.
Redwick continued to pace, but Farlow cleared his throat, looking at Jeanne, hoping she wouldn't reject the request he was about to make. "Might I suggest that if our newly appointed Governor were to lead the party to return the captive, hand him over to Chief Opechancanough himself? Such a gesture would reap the rewards that you deserve?"
Jeanne wasn't sure what games Farlow was playing or what he intended, but it wouldn't be their little dance if she didn't provide her input. "I agree." Everyone's heads snapped to her, and Farlow looked surprised she agreed with him. "Uncle, you told me you met with Opechancanough before he became Chief. You're both leaders. To meet with him and show your respect, it would do well to foster good relations."
Redwick scoffed but was ignored by everyone. The council said farewell as they left, leaving Jeanne alone with her uncle. She wasn't sure where her aunt was and didn't care. Yeardley continued to suck on his pipe, his facial expression clearly showing he was deep in thought. She went to fetch him some mead, knowing it would help calm him down just as much as the pipe could. He thanked her when she placed it on his desk.
"Farlow is up to something." He stated, finally pulling the pipe from his lips.
Jeanne smiled at her uncle's words. "When is he not? Though I scare him, I think, when I agreed with him." Yeardley chuckled, nodding.
"We must be prepared for the worst. I do not know how Opechancanough will act. It has been many years since I saw him last."
Jeanne frowned. "You speak as if you might not return." Her uncle didn't respond to her statement. The redhead sucked in a breath. The thought of him dying so soon wasn't easy for her, and if he did, who would that possibly leave in charge of Jamestown? She prayed that if anyone were to die at the native village, it would be Marshall Redwick. As a precaution, Yeardley had written a letter of an act, of who would replace him, signed and sealed with the signet ring that the king had given him. The letter was stored in one of his desk drawers, a place only his niece would know to look for it. For emergencies, she'd pray she never act upon.
The following day the town was a buzz with the final preparations for returning Chacrow to his people. Jeanne was happy that he was going home, but being a day's journey by boat, there was no telling what they could encounter on the way, the worst being Chacrow's people attacking them from the river's edge as they neared the village. Governor Yeardley had already had several meetings that morning, one from Jocelyn Castell, which got a raised eyebrow from the redhead. Her husband didn't wish to attend the journey to Chacrow's village, and Jocelyn wanted him to. Yeardley planned to order the thin man to come, as the recorder was the initial one who went to the Governor with the idea to return the native.
Jeanne found it odd that Jocelyn was always trying to meddle her way into the social politics of Jamestown, when she was merely the wife of the recorder. For Jeanne, she was her uncle's niece, serving as his assistant. That was her excuse. But Jocelyn's inserts had gained the attention of Temperance Yeardley. Jeanne had almost choked from laughter when her aunt had come stalking into the parlour after having met the blonde outside, fretful pacing and muttering. She couldn't remember if she'd ever seen her aunt so worked up before. Jeanne thought it best to flee the house before her aunt channelled that anger onto her.
She had unknowingly found her feet taking her to the jailhouse, standing by James' blacksmith station, staring at the building. James would glance at her now and then as he hammered metals, the dings of metal hitting metal never separating her from her thoughts. She didn't know why the native man held her attention so. It was obvious to her why he seemed to stare at her, she had been the first white woman his eyes had landed upon, and her hair had always been a topic in England. Who knew how strange it was here for a land whose native people only had black hair?
"You okay, Miss Gardner?" James' question broke her musings. She sighed, turning to him and nodding. "Don't think you should worry about the tensions between the Pamunkey and us. They've always been there, won't go away from interactions from a single warrior." Jeanne wanted to snort at the comment. He assumed she was here, playing the scared and worried woman. Her gaze turned to the jailhouse when she saw Doctor Priestley exit alongside Recorder Castell and his wife, Jocelyn. That bloody woman again. They had been in talks with Chacrow—no doubt, about Samuel Castell's involvement in being returned home. Jeanne needed to chat with that woman about ceasing her meddling. Heaven's sake, Jeanne was starting to understand how Farlow felt towards her. "That woman is more trouble than she's worth." James Read muttered, having too witnessed the trio leaving the building.
"Absolutely." Jeanne sighed, moving away from the blacksmithing station as she noticed Master Massinger walking over, his gaze focused on Read. "And it looks like you're wanted. Another time, James." Jeanne said her goodbyes.
A while later, Jeanne found herself on the docks, the same she had arrived at only weeks ago, now watching as soldiers loaded up a small boat to venture upriver. Farlow stood beside her. He wasn't the type to get his hands dirty by lifting a few supplies crates.
"You take care of yourself out there. You hear me."
Jeanne's mumbles had surprised him, but he still smiled at her words. "I intend to. I'll keep an eye on our Governor too."
"So you should." She joked, smiling alongside him. The pair watched as Marshall Redwick led Chacrow out in ropes, militia on either side of him. He looked to Jeanne as he went past, his eyes taking her and Farlow in, glaring at the closeness of the two.
Farlow had watched the interact with rapt interest. "Jeanne." He bowed to the redhead, which she curtseyed back. He joined his companion and the rest of the Company on the boat while they waited for Governor Yeardley, who was offering farewells to his wife.
He provided his niece with a brief nod as he went by her. Yeardley had told her it would be three days. She would have to wait for her uncle to come back alive for three long days.