Jeanne walked beside her aunt and uncle as they exited the church, midday bells ringing throughout Jamestown. The old couple were happily discussing the sermon as Jeanne merely listened to them, enjoying the happy sounds of their voices. It was odd to find them so peaceful after the eventful last few days, the incident of the grave robbing and the attempted hanging of the blacksmith, James Read, but Jeanne thought not to question it yet but simply enjoy it. The moment was ruined when Jocelyn Castell, dressed far too fashionably for church, approached, leaving her husband's side. As soon as she opened her mouth, the blonde began to pester the Governor about the accursed map yet again. Jeanne was kicking herself for still not telling the other woman off.
Yeardley kept dismissing the woman, despite her insisting on talking to the man over the matter. Temperance pulled her husband away, silencing Jocelyn with a simple farewell. Jeanne side-eyed the woman as she went past. A warning. She just prayed that the blonde with take it. But Jeanne should have known better. Nothing stopped Jocelyn Castell when she got an idea in that pretty little head of hers. Nothing.
As the trio entered their home, Jeanne quickly aided her uncle in removing his jacket and steering him towards his desk, going carefully so as not to pain him. He had revealed to her only the night before that he wasn't well, that he was suffering from pains in his gut and back, and worst of all, peeing blood. Temperance and his niece had urged the man to seek out Doctor Priestley, but the Governor was stubborn. He knew that if the Virginia Company were to learn of his sudden illness, they would send someone to replace him or put Redwick and Farlow in charge, and no one saw that ending well. Yeardley dug around his desk, pulled out a small old marble lockbox, and took a faded parchment from its contents. Jeanne eyed it over his shoulder as he struggled to unravel it, with her just about to reach over to aid him when the door to their home opened. Jeanne didn't have time to turn around as she heard her aunt call out to Jocelyn, calling her 'Mistress Castell' as the young woman entered their home without knocking or permission.
"I saw your husband falter, ma'am, and my tender consideration got the better of me." Jocelyn spoke, looking past Temperance to eye Yeardley, who was struggling to stand. Jeanne wasted no time physically accosting the woman, roughly pulling her outside by the arm, Jocelyn protesting the entire time fighting the firm grip of the Scottish woman.
Jeanne flung her against the home's outer wall, not caring if any of the residents of Jamestown bore witness to the digression. "I have had enough of your insistent pestering and nosing into other's business." Jeanne lectured, standing unnervingly close to the blonde, a smile tempting to spread over her face as Jocelyn took hesitant steps away. Jeanne was thrilled that she was affecting the woman. "And I am not the only one! Several people have complained to me. If I find you continuing to do so, you and your husband will return to England on the first possible ship. I am the Governor's niece. I will make it happen."
Jocelyn stood, her back flat against the wall behind her. The poor woman almost struggled to breathe as Jeanne's words rushed over her, knowing that by the Scottish woman's tone that she wasn't lying. Jeanne would personally see to her exile from Jamestown.
"Also," Jeanne started, leaning close to the blonde's ear to whisper so no one else could hear her. "Alice told me that you murdered someone, is that why you were so desperate to be here? With that fear, I can understand not wanting to return to England." Jeanne leaned away, scowling. That was the final straw. Jocelyn bolted, almost knocking the redhead to the ground as she ran to the safety of her home. Jeanne watched her go, face still frowning at the thought of Jocelyn. Some would think Jeanne's actions and words cruel, but Jocelyn Castell was a woman who needed to be knocked down a peg or two. She was too proud of a woman who was clearly reaching for a status that wasn't hers nor her husband's. After taking a few breaths to calm herself, Jeanne returned inside, where her uncle had collapsed at his desk chair while Temperance was whipping the sweat that had formed at his brow with a damp cloth. They both turned to look at her, expecting an explanation. Jeanne sighed. She told them what she had done and said, leaving out the comments about Jocelyn's murdering a man. They didn't need to know that, at least not yet. Jeanne would hold onto that tidbit until she needed it.
Temperance tutted at her. "While warranted for Mistress Castell's actions, it should have been your uncle's place to speak with her husband over the matter." Jeanne had to fight herself not to roll her eyes. Trust Temperance Yeardley to lecture her niece on decorum. George merely laughed, abid weakly at the situation, finding the humour in his niece standing up for her family in a way that upset his wife. Temperance began to lecture him about it, how he shouldn't laugh at it as it would only encourage his niece to act out further, and how he should really see Doctor Priestley. Jeanne watched them interact, unsure of what to do other than go and see Farlow and inform him that she could finally have the conversation with Jocelyn that she promised to do. That would make the man happy.
Offering her aunt and uncle a farewell, Jeanne left the residence and sought out Farlow. If he weren't at his home, he'd most likely be out at Master Massinger's plantation, where he and Redwick would be checking up on their associate's business. A quick visit to his home proved her thoughts correct. He wasn't in Jamestown. The next stop would be Master Massinger's plantation. Jeanne hadn't stepped out of Jamestown in days, her uncle not wishing her to leave simply because of the fear of her being taken by the Pamunkey. But Jeanne wasn't going to share those fears. Without hesitation, she left the palisade walls of Jamestown behind, taking the forested road.
It wasn't long until Jeanne felt she was being watched. She knew the feeling. It happened when she arrived in London as a Scottish woman and again when she arrived on her uncle's arm off The Speedwell. Jeanne stopped off to the side of the dirt road, pretending to bend over to fix her shoes as she carefully slipped her knife from the stocking ties under her skirt, manoeuvering it to be hidden in her right hand as she walked in preparation for what she suspected might be following her. After Alice's rape, Jeanne knew she had to be more cautious of the men of Jamestown. She focused on hearing her surroundings as she continued to walk, listening keenly to any slight sound, almost pausing in her step as she heard it. It was faint, the little crunch of leaves under a deft foot. She fought against craning her head towards the sound, so wanting to alert her follower that she knew of their presence. As she continued to listen, she gathered that it was only one person, nor was it an animal. The sound patterns didn't line up. Making a split-second decision, veering off into the woods, moving as fast as her legs could carry her. Jeanne was smart enough to know that this trek through the woods would be faster than following the road.
She didn't look behind her as she heard her pursuer take chase, their footfalls heavier as they raced to keep up with her. Jeanne hiked up her skirts to avoid the fabric snagging on any plants or twigs as she moved in a zig-zag pattern, trying to trick her follower into losing sight of her. She wasn't successful. The grip on her arms was firm, pulling her back flush against the stranger's form. Jeanne wiggled her right arm free, breaking it from their grasp and swaying her arm back against them, blade no longer hidden in her hand. She felt them hiss as the dagger connected with their chest, cutting across the skin. Her attacker grabbed her wrist and pushed her front into a large oak tree. They held her other wrist as she continued to fight back, even going as far as to kick back against them.
"Jeanne." They hissed out, their accent making the woman stop.
The redhead sucked in a breath as she registered his voice, turning her head slightly to take them in finally. Chacrow. He gave her space as he held the woman against the tree, not wanting to get the blood that was slowly dripping from his chest on her dress. He let her go once she had calmed, her eyes landing on the wound she had caused the man. He could see the guilt in her eyes.
"Chacrow…" She sighed, her soft blue eyes moving up to his face. The dagger almost slipped from her weak grasp on the handle. "You're hurt."
He raised a single hand to his chest, his nimble fingers tracing the cut. It wasn't deep, having only just hit the surface of his skin. "I am fine." Chacrow looked at her, his words doing little to comfort her. "I shouldn't have grabbed you so."
She breathed heavily as she studied him, his face calm despite the injury he suffered from her actions. "Why are you here? Why did you try to sneak up on me?" Jeanne sighed, lifting up her skirts to tuck away her blade, not before wiping the little blood on the metal on her stockings.
He rubbed at his chest, aggravating the wound a little. "I was only watching, and then you took off like a spooked buck, bolting through the woods." He explained, crouching a little as he mimicked her movements with his hands.
"I ran because I heard someone following me." She spat at him, glaring when she noticed his smile responding to her retort. Jeanne groaned, making to move away from him back to the road, but he stopped her, his hands once again wrapping around her wrist, but this time it was gentle. "Chacrow, why are you here?" She seethed out at him.
"I wanted to see the woman with hair like fire." He reached out to take a strand of her hair, twisting the curls through his fingers, studying how it held tightly wrapped around his finger, like shaped dried grass. Her eyes tightened as she took him in, unsure of what to make of his comment or actions. Back home, his actions would have been seen as bold and crass, socially unbecoming of how a man would act towards a woman, especially one who was unmarried. Chacrow had been too captivated by her hair that he hadn't noticed her wrist leave his grasp. While he had interacted with a mixture of English men since their appearance on their lands, he had not seen hair like hers on any of them. He looked from the curl still in his grasp to her, taking in how she looked at him. Puzzled yet curious. She found no offence in his actions and didn't try to push him away. She merely wanted to know why he was doing as he did. Chacrow smiled at her.
"Well, now you've seen her." She turned away from him, pulling the curl from his fingers.
"Jeanne," He called out to her, wanting her to stop. She complied but didn't turn around to face him. "I want to hear your stories."
She faced him now, eying him as she wasn't sure what he meant. "Stories?"
Chacrow nodded. "Of your home. I have heard many tales of the English homelands but nothing of your Scotland." Jeanne smiled weakly at him. His interest in the land of her birth warmed her heart as it comforted her bubbling urges to return how to the surface of her mind. They weren't sad or sour thoughts, but sweet ones, calming and gentle thoughts of her childhood and her parents, and everything she left behind when she was forced to London. The part of herself that she left behind.
She tilted her head at the man, curiosity evident. "Why? Why do you wish to know about Scotland?"
He looked at her, honestly looked at her, not like some object to be fascinated with or a new toy, but her as a person. "I wish to you know." Jeanne's brows tightened, unsure of his intent. Did Chacrow speak from a place of genuine curiosity for her, or was it buried in man's desire? She wasn't stupid. She knew the way he had looked at her when they first met. Chacrow had stared at her and only her any chance he got as if she was a flame in a dark night. She looked away from him as she continued to think about his words, only dragging her attention back to him when he spoke again after several moments. His tone was light, teasing almost. "You do owe me this for the harm you caused me." His fingers retraced the cut on his chest, drawing her eyes over the swallow cut.
Jeanne didn't know whether to laugh or scoff at him. She pulled a silken handkerchief from inside her bodice, pressing it up against the wound. "Happy now?" She mocked, creating pressure that would stop the injury from bleeding. Chacrow bought a hand up to cup her own. The caress was gentle and soft despite the roughness of his hands. Jeanne wanted to flinch away, yet his deep brown eyes held her in place. Jeanne had never had a man look at her so like she was a precious gem, something too beautiful and serene. She felt her heart quicken. The situation was unnerving for her.
"The warmth of your hand comforts my soul. You are a kind woman, Jeanne." He whispered, tilting and leaning his head closer to her own. She slightly retreated from his form. Jeanne found her emotions mixed. While she wished to flee from him, she was also drawn in, wanting to be pulled closer towards him. Everything was improper. It was wrong. She slid her hand out from under his own fast, leaving him to grip the silk fabric against his chest.
"Good day, Chacrow." She stammered the farewell, bolting back through the underbrush before he could stop her, wanting to put enough space between her and the native man. Chacrow didn't try to stop her, just merely watching her go, a smile on his face as he clutched the handkerchief tighter.
Jeanne found Farlow at Master Messingers Plantation, resting at a table under a two-walled shed. He has been watching over the workers while Messinger and Redwick talked about what Jeanne had no idea, nor did she want to know. Farlow rose when he spotted her, offering a curt bow, which she returned with a curtsy. As he was bowing, Farlow noticed her somewhat haggard appearance. Her once neat gown was dirty, small twigs and glass sticking to her skirts. Had the woman clung to the roads, the dress wouldn't be in such a state. Farlow glanced at his companions, glad they hadn't turned around to notice the woman. Farlow hooked his arm around her own, dragging her off towards where his horse was stabled so that they could be alone.
"Your skirts." He simply commented, causing her to glance down. Her lips tightened. "May I enquire as to why you obviously took a walts through the forest?"
She sighed. "If I do tell you, will you keep it to yourself?" Farlow pursed his lips as he thought before nodding, agreeing to keep her secret. He owed her that for the friendship that was starting to bloom between them. "I veered off the road to escape a pursuer."
Farlow span her to him, his face becoming grim. "A pursuer? Are you alright?"
Jeanne nodded, pulling him along to continue walking. "Yes, and you won't believe who it was." He stared at her, waiting for her to continue. "Chacrow." He leaned back, eyes wide as the thought consumed him. His mind struggled to make sense of it. Farlow had noticed how the native man had looked at the Scottish woman back when he had been held prisoner in Jamestown and how upon returning to his village, he continued to pester the Governor about Jeanne. "He hadn't meant to scare me. He just wanted to see me again."
Fallow's brows furrowed. "What possible reason could that man have for wishing to see you?"
"Stories," Jeanne answered. "He wants me to tell him stories of Scotland."
"Will you?"
They continued to walk until they reached the Plantation stables. Jeanne brushed a hand down the mane of Farlow's horse, smiling faintly as it moved closer to her, seeking the attention. "I do not know." Part of Jeanne never wanted to see the man again, knowing that if she did, he could be killed. There were such ill tensions between Jamestown and the Pamunkey that if Chacrow was seen with Jeanne, her uncle would order for the native to be killed on sight, and then Chacrow's people could insight war. "I don't want death, Farlow."
Farlow nodded, understanding her predicament. "Come, I shall escort you back to town." He offered her aid onto his horse as she slid on to sit side-saddle, with him taking up the space behind her, reins in his hands as he guided the mount. Fallow hadn't wanted her walking back alone, not if that native was still lurking about. As they rode, Jeanne filled Farlow in on that morning's conversation with Jacolyn, had the Scot had to put the fear of God itself into the woman to silence her actions. Farlow found himself smirking as Jeanne shared her tale, enjoying the fact that Jocelyn had finally been put in her place. One could only hope she'd stay there.
The follower day had been chaotic for the residents of Jamestown. The Governor collapsed during a town meeting, where Alice and Silas Sharrow accused Messinger of slitting the throat of the cow given to them as a wedding present, causing his illness to become known. And while he had been taken to his residence by Recorder Castel and Doctor Priestly, guided by Temperance Yeardley, Jeanne stayed behind, trying to calm the people of Jamestown. In the moments of panic, Farlow stood beside Jeanne, announcing that he would be acting Governor until Goerge Yeardley was well again. The pair shared a look, Jeanne in confusion, while Farlow asked for her support.
Jeanne sighed, facing the crowd. "Nicholas Farlow is the Secretary of Jamestown. I ask you all to trust in him as I do. And when my uncle is well, all shall be as it intends to be." Her voice was commanding as she spoke to the crowd, silencing the murmurs. Farlow felt pride for Jeanne as he saw her in a different light. Not as some Scottish woman or Yeardley's niece, but a proper Lady of the British Court, just as he was sure her late mother would have been. Farlow and Jeanne stayed standing as the townspeople dispersed from the hall, even as Marshall Redwick left with a sneer on his face.
"Jeanne," Farlow turned to address her. "I must thank you for your support."
She looked at the man, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Better you than Redwick," Farlow smirked at the comment. While the word was meant to tease, it was also true. Farlow was a far better option to lead Jamestown over Redwick. Despite the two men being business partners, Farlow did was he did for money, while Redwick's actions seem influenced by his desire for war. Farlow offered the woman a curt bow before leaving, no doubt to seek out his now upset business partner. Jeanne sighed, knowing that she needed to return home, check up on her uncle, and inform him of what happened after his immediate departure. When Jeanne did arrive home to her uncle's residence, finding him, her aunt, and both Recorder Castell and Doctor Priestley in the master bedroom.
"Where have you been?" Temperance shot up from her spot on the bed beside her husband, anger focused towards her niece. "Your uncle has been here in pain, and you've been off elsewhere!"
"Silence, wife!" George barked, his voice trembling from the pain. Temperance sat done quickly, looking down to avoid her husband's gaze.
"I was seeing to the panic of the residence of Jamestown." Jeanne bit before looking at Doctor Priestley. "What is my uncle's condition?"
Priestley looked to the Governor, asking for silent permission before speaking. "Kidney stone. It requires surgery." Jeanne frowned, which only deepened when Yeardley admitted not wanting surgery, as it could mean death but could not get it. All that mattered was what was the greater risk.
"May I speak to my uncle alone?" Jeanne sighed, her eyes passing over the people in the room. "Please?" George Yeardley didn't hesitate to order everyone to leave so that it was just him and his niece. Jeanne took her aunt's spot on the bed, sitting beside her uncle as the man struggled to breathe from his pain. He weakly reached his hand out for her, which she took. "I can't lose you. I'd want to be alone."
George frowned. "You have your aunt–"
"No," Jeanne cut him off. "The moment you're gone, Temperance won't hesitate to marry me off like some sow at a market. I won't be some idiot lord's breeding fodder. I will run, face the wilds of this savage New World before I allow that to happen." She bit her bottom lip, fighting back the tears that pricked at her eyes.
George chuckled despite the pain, making his niece eyes him questionably. "Your mother once said something so similar right before she vanished with your father. I won't let that happen. I forbid Temperance to do that to you." He squeezed her hand, the grip weak but enough to comfort the young woman. "What happened at the meeting?"
"Farlow stepped up to assume leadership. I backed him." Jeanne bit the inside of her cheek, afraid of the man's reaction. He frowned at her, waiting for her to explain. "While I do not fully agree with anyone replacing you now, compared to Redwick, Farlow is the better option."
George nodded. "Work with him."
"Spy on him, you mean?" Jeanne asked, eying off her uncle.
"Work with him," George repeated, finally letting go of his niece's hand. Jeanne sighed but nodded. She stood and stepped out of the bedroom into the parlour, where everyone was waiting. Temperance rushed past her to tend to her husband, leaving Jeanne alone with Castell and Priestley. The two men nodded to her before also returning to their Governor.
Jeanne stood alone, her brows furrowed as she thought deeply about her uncle's words. He had previously asked her to spy on Redwick and Farlow but was now asking her to support the Secretary. It didn't make sense in her mind. Was her uncle planning something that he had yet to share with her, or was the man's thoughts being addled by his pain. Jeanne's eyes moved to her uncle's desk, to the small box that sat on top of it, De La Warr's map inside. She knew her uncle's actions involved that curses paper. Part of her wanted to take it and cast it into a fire. The other half was desperate to know her uncle's future plans for that map and the possible gold it led to.