Jeanne sat quietly at the Jamestown Councilor's table, taking Farlow's seat while the man sat in her uncle's. Farlow had decided to have the young woman sit with them, which Redwick had frowned upon. Still, Farlow was adamant that having her there, acting as the Governor's shadow would calm the people, especially the womenfolk. Jeanne found it odd to be sitting up on the stage, overlooking those who'd gather that morning, most being the men who served under Marshall Redwick due to the importance of today's agenda. But as her uncle's niece, the governor's niece, she would play the role put in front of her by Farlow, yet she couldn't help but wonder if the secretary wanted her there as a way to help control the situations as if he didn't trust his business partner.
In front of the stage stood young Nathan Bailey, the man Jeanne had encountered when Chacrow had been captured, but now he stood before her and the town, chains hanging from his wrists. He had been charged with the murder of one of his fellow militia. After a night of drinking at Rutter's tavern, he shot a man named Fletcher in a drunken fight. Jeanne looked to her right, eyes landing on Farlow as he pursed his lips down at Bailey, clearly not impressed with the allegations against the young man.
"Mister Bailey," Farlow spoke with bite, his head angling high to show off his current position of power. "You have been found guilty of murder. Last night, in drunken revelry, you shot Mister Fletcher with your pistol. We have plenty of witnesses, but what do you have to say in your defence?" Jeanne looked back to the young man, watching as he hung his head low, shame clear on his face.
"Mistress Rutter," Bailey started, glancing back at the Irish woman who stood behind him with her husband. "She kept telling us, 'Come on boys, drink up. Drink some more'. She was saying sweet things to me, Marshall, sitting on my lap." The young man mumbled, only to have his story called out as lies by Meredith Rutter, who sought to defend his wife's honour. Marshall Redwick ordered the tavern owner to be quiet multiple times as the man spoke out against Bailey. "Fletcher kept trying to pull mistress Rutter to him, and she would run her hand across his face. Put a finger to his lips, then dart away, sir."
Jeanne and Farlow shared a look. Both had noticed how the young man had avoided eye contact the entire time he spoke, not the sign of an honest man. Jeanne cleared her throat, leaning forward on the table, everyone's attention moving to her as her eyes landed on Bailey. "Mister Bailey," She spoke, a soft smile forming on her lips. "If what your saying is true, you implicate that both you and Fletcher fell for the charms of a tavern wife, who simply wanted to sell you more ale. Is that correct?" Bailey opened his mouth, stammering to respond as Jeanne cut him off. "If this so, all I'll need to do is flutter my eyelashes to you, and you'll confess to murder?" Farlow bit his tongue, trying to refrain from releasing the bark of laughter that threatened to escape his mouth. Jeanne turned her head, looking past the Secretary to Redwick. "Marshall, are you failing to see to your men's training that you have them acting like lust-crazed animals over the townswomen?"
"Jeanne," Farlow spoke, silencing the woman, more to stop her from making him laugh than angering his business partner.
"I forgot to mention. She kissed me!" Bailey spoke loudly, finally looking up from the ground. "She asked me to meet her outside the tavern."
"Did anyone bear witness to this kiss?" Farlow asked, scrutinising the man.
Bailey looked away again at his feet. "Fletcher did."
"And then you killed the witness." Jeanne sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"She planned it. She kissed Fletcher too. Planned for him to meet her as well. She wanted us to fight!" Bailey spoke again, earning more retorts from Meredith Rutter.
"Silence!" Redwick barked, quieting the room before he spoke. "Bailey, you were duped with drink into a folley at the hands of the tavern keeper's wife. You're free to go."
Both Jeanne's and Farlwo's attention turned to the Marshall as the room erupted into murmurs. They stared at the man in bewilderment as a guard step forwards to unlock the shackles around Nathan's wrists and escorted the man through the crowd outside. The townsfolk piled out after him, Rutter yelling abuse at the young man over the claims he made against his wife.
"Redwick," Farlow seethed, his gaze hard as he stared at his companion. "We have zero evidence, and the only witness is dead."
"I concur!" Jeanne added, leaning forward again. "The allegations against Vereity Rutter need to be investigated. Bailey accused her of adultery."
Redwick stood, facing the two of them. "I will look into it." He spat, glaring at Jeanne as he stepped off the stage and exited the hall. Recorder Castell stood, bowing a farewell to Farlow and Jeanne as he exited the hall, leaving the pair to sit alone at the table. Farlow's jaw tensed as he faced the doorway, watching the retreating back of his partner. His first instance of leadership had gone poorly, as the Marshall had undermined him in front of everyone. While it was the Marshall's job to see to the jailing and punishment of those who broke the law, he still had to follow the Governor's ruling, including the acting Governor.
"Shall I poison him?" Jeanne asked as she looked towards the doorway. Farlow's mouth twitched, finding the idea tempting.
"No," He looked at her. "I am not sure what has become of our Marshall to make such a ruling, nor why he didn't choose to punish Mistress Rutter." Jeanne looked at him, her eyes dropping as she thought on the matter.
"He's planning something." She muttered, her eyes raising to meet his. Farlow nodded, agreeing with her. "I will speak to Meredith and Verity and see if I can't get to the bottom of this."
"Maybe try fluttering your eyelashes at his soldiers?" Farlow enquired as he stood, a humourous smirk playing on his lips, the joke making Jeanne laugh.
"Aye, I can do that." She stood. Farlow took her hand, guiding her down off the stage and out the hall's doors. "I take it you'll speak to Redwick and try to understand what he might be planning." She looked at the man as he released her hand. He nodded. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to see to my uncle's wellbeing." She curtsied before she turned around to leave the man.
"Jeanne," He called out to her, making her look over her shoulder at him. "You did well today." The smile Farlow was sincere. In truth, he was proud of her. She held herself well with the allegations that were made and spoke with the convictions of a proper English Lady. Jeanne shot him a wink before she carried on to the Yeardley residence, leaving Farlow to continue smiling after her.
The length of the walk home, the smile couldn't leave Jeanne's face. While others would have found Fralow's compliment of the woman questionable, Jeanne found it endearing, as she'd never been given such a compliment before, especially by a man who used to mistrust her. Jeanne was fortunate that she'd been experienced in her uncle's household for close to a decade to have the insight she processed, and she was also grateful to her mother, who had the hindsight to ensure her daughter was a learned woman. The front door was unexpectedly wide open when she entered the family home. She heard her aunt's raised voices coming from the master bedroom. Fearing the worst, Jeanne rushed in, only to find Jocelyn sitting on the bed next to her aunt as Temperance tended to her husband with a damped cloth.
"My husband is suffering! Can you see nothing in of it but your own benefit!" Temperance barked, removing the fabric from her husband's head and dipping it back into a bowl of water beside her on a stool.
"What I see, Lady Yeardley, is that a simpering rag to the governor's brow might swell your woman's heart, but it will make a gift of the colony to your husband's enemies."
"You are from Banbury, aren't you? Mistress Castell? In Oxfordshire?" Temperance didn't spare the young blonde a single glance as she tended to her husband, dabbing at his forehead.
Jocelyn gave the woman a quizzical look, unsure what she was getting at. "Not far from Banbury."
"Then you must know my cousin? Elizabeth Margham." Temperance finally looked at her and, in doing so, spotted her niece standing by the bedroom door, Jeanne having witnessed a bit of their conversation. "I am certain that Elizabeth will know who you are. Indeed. I have written to ask her." The two women sat silently as Temperance stared Jocelyn down, the young blonde having turned to stone as the news hit her. "Jeanne will show you out."
It was only then that Jocelyn moved, the woman jumping to her feet and spinning to spot the redhead as she stood in the doorway, arms crossed and a frown now gracing her youthful features. Before Jocelyn could utter a word, Jeanne reached for her, pulling her from the master bedroom and into the parlour, swinging the bedroom door shut behind them. "Mistress Castell." Jeanne hissed, stepping closer to the woman. "It seems you don't take to warnings."
"I was merely–" Jocelyn started but was cut off by Jeanne.
"Cease your lies and hold your tongue, or I will remove it." To further her point, Jeanne hoisted her skirt, showing the woman the blade on her calf. Jocelyn's eyes widened as she stepped back, her gaze locked onto the blade. "If I ever see you in this home again, none shall see you again." Jeanne watched the woman bolt from the house, skirts in hand so as not to trip as she ran. While releasing a deep breath through her nose, Jeanne dropped her skirt, the knife hidden once again. After closing the front door and throwing down the latch to keep others out, the Scot returned to her master bedroom, finding her aunt waiting for her.
"You threatened her again?" Temperance asked, but the look on her face said she already knew the answer.
Jeanne sighed, moving to take the position on the bed where Jocelyn had been sitting. "Can we not argue, please, for his sake." Her blue eyes fell on her uncle as the man sweated in his sleep. "Just know," Jeanne spoke, looking up at her aunt, their eyes meeting. "That everything I do, is for him and you."
Temperance's jaw clenched as her niece's words hit her, and all the woman could do was manage to nod. Temperance loved her husband with all her heart, for for the last thirty years of marriage, it was as perfect as it could be despite her husband's obligations and duties to the crown. But Goerge Yeardley chose her. He chose love over a marriage of convenience, just as Jeanne's mother had. "We shall not argue," Temperance whispered, reaching out with her free hand to grip her niece's hands that were folded in the young woman's lap. "For your uncle."
Temperance entered the bedroom she shared with her husband, sitting at the foot of the bed as Jeanne stood by the bedside table. George Yeardley had awoken early that morning, requesting that Jeanne be by his side as he asked his wife to bring him the small box that held De La Warr's map. Temperance offered the box to him to take, but he refused, saying it was for her told to keep, as he had decided to go through with the surgery to remove the kidney stone. And that if God decided to take him, Temperance would give the box to Samuel Castell, naming the man as the next Governor. Jeanne couldn't help but purse her lips at the idea, knowing Jocelyn would get what she desired for herself, not what her husband wished. Temperance pulled the box onto her lap, holding it tight, like it would be the last memento she ever got from her beloved husband, but it also came with a warning. George advised her and Jeanne never to open the box, afraid it would lead to their deaths.
"I will return this to you when you are recovered," Temperance promised, reaching out to grab her husband's hand, clutching it tightly. "And recover you shall." George smiled as a brief pained chuckle left his lips at his wife's positivity, making him winch.
"Uncle," Jeanne crunch down low beside him. "I shall go inform Doctor Priestley so that Aunt Temperance may stay by your side."
George nodded. "You're doing so well, my darling girl. Your mother would be so proud of you." Jeanne chuckled, a blush forming on her face that left her uncle and aunt, sending her a questioning look. She shook her head before answering, explaining that Secretary Farlow had said something similar the yesterday after the council meeting. George smiled, his hand leaving his wife's grip to reach out to his niece. Jeanne took his hand, allowing him to squeeze weakly.
With a goodbye to her aunt and uncle, Jeanne stood, exiting from their bedroom and the home, needing to seek out the Doctor at his place of work and residence. But as she got to the town centre, she stopped, watching two men lugging broken furniture out of the tavern, making Jeanne's brows furrow. She swore under her breath, knowing she would be side-tracked, making a beeline for the tavern. When Jeanne entered, she found an utter mess of broken furniture and bottles and ale staining the floors. Alice stood in the centre of the room, broom in hand, as she swept the floors, trying to gather up any mess to toss into a bucket by her feet. Behind her stood Verity, the redheaded woman glaring out of the open window.
"What happened here?" Jeanne asked, stepping further into the room and gaining the focus of her friends.
"Bailey." Verity spat, stepping away from the window. "He and his fellow guards came busting in here late last night, and well…" She gestured to the room dramatically, making her fellow redhead sigh. Verity stepped back to the window, looking out again. "Now that the Governor's sick, the Marshall is plotting something." Jeanne came up beside her as Alice went back to sweeping. Marshall Redwick and Secretary Farlow stood outside the window, both men watching as the broken furniture was taken out of the tavern, unaware they were being observed by the two women. Verity glanced at Jeanne. "You're close with the pompous Farlow…"
Jeanne returned the look. "He isn't impressed with the Marshall's actions as of late either. He didn't believe Bailey should have been let go without a proper investigation." Verity's brow furrowed comically as she stared at her friend, finding the notion that the righthand man of the war-hungry Marshall would have stood up for her. But she knew Jeanne would never lie to her. "I'll handle this…" Jeanne stepped away from the window, but Alice reached out for her.
"Jeanne," She mused, looking over the Scot with a worrisome look. "You've done so much for us. See to your uncle. Let us handle this."
"No, Alice." Jeanne shook her head. "It is my duty to see to the care of the women of Jamestown, and right now, the Marshall is a threat to Verity." Jeanne left the tavern, making for the front of the jailhouse where Farlow now stood alone, a deep frown on his face. "Farlow?" His head turned to her, taking in the raw emotion on the woman's face. Anger. He merely held out his arm, waiting for her to take it, and she did. They walked quietly as Farlow guided her to his residence, the anger wafting off of his just as it was of her. As soon as they entered, Farlow dropped his arm, moving to the side table where he kept his wine and wasting no time pouring himself and Jeanne a glass. The two sat at his table, each taking a large gulp of the sweet liquid.
"I am more tempted to let you poison him now," Farlow spoke, not looking at her. Without a word, Jeanne stood, grabbing the decanter and moving it to the table between them, feeling that Farlow would need a lot more wine than what was in his glass. "Thank you."
"What did he say?" She was hesitant to ask.
Farlow snorted, taking another sip. "He believes that politics can only be enforced when men at arms let it be so."
"Farlow!" Jeanne was in shock over the news. "He wishes to control all of Jamestown with his men. That's treason!" Farlow nodded along with her statement as he refilled his glass. "I am to speak to Doctor Priestley. My uncle plans to go through with the surgery."
He looked at her with a glimmer of hope and concern. "His survival might hinder whatever plans Thomas has rolling around in that thick skull of his."
"Yes, but you must know, he named Recorder Castell the next Governor." She waited for his reaction as she spoke, taking in how he sat quietly and observed the words, his lips pursed. He obviously wasn't happy with the news, both that he wasn't named heir and that the position had been given to someone weak-willed. Samuel Castell could be easily broken and controlled by Redwick and Massinger. "And I shall return with my aunt to London."
Farlow's face changed at her last words, softening as he stared at her. "You won't stay in Jamestown?"
Jeanne shook her head. "I doubt the Company would let me stay unless I am to marry a man under their service, and Temperance would never let me marry a man of low status." As the man thought, he continued to eye her with an unknown look.
Placing his glass down on the table, Farlow spoke. "I could marry you." The statement caused his guest to choke on her drink as she took a sip, struggling to control herself as she coughed. "A marriage of convenience." Farlow chuckled, partly enjoying her reaction. "You get to stay in Jamestown with your friends, and you aid in keeping the Masrhsall and Master Massinger in line."
"And warm your bed?" She arched a brow at him, but Farlow scoffed.
"You'd get your own private chambers. I wouldn't expect you to force your legs wide for my enjoyment or marital duties." Farlow returned to drinking his wine as it was now Jeanne's turn to eye the man off. "You can even take a lover for all I care." He added, leaving the young Scot to be even more confused. Secretary Farlow was giving her the perfect option, to stay in Jamestown in comfort while still seeing her friends and tending to her duties to ensure the safety of the women of Jamestown. It wouldn't cost her anything but loyalty. To not be expected to warm his bed and bear his children, to have the freedom to find love. It was a tempting offer.
Jeanne smiled at the man after a moment. "I'll have to think about that."
"Always think about any offer that anyone gives you," Farlow advised, returning the smile. In the short time he'd come to know the young woman that sat beside him at his parlour table, he found one of the few people who could match him for a turn of phrase, which was tolerable. "Now, how about I do the gentlemanly thing and escort you to the Doctor's residence."
"I would love that. Thank you, Nicholas." Jeanne smiled. She quickly swallowed the last of her wine as she rose, Farlow following suit. Before leaving his home, Farlow put away the decanter and glasses. Taking the arm offered to her, the pair walked the brief trek to Doctor Preistley's residence, with Farlow opening the door for Jeanne to enter first. Inside, the Scot and Secretary found Doctor Priestley and Jocelyn Castell in a rather compromising position, the pair standing far too close. Priestly stepped back quickly, turning his back on all of them, muttering about being happy to join Jocelyn and her husband for dinner. The blonde made a hasty escape from the home, Farlow and Jeanne watching the woman go with suspicion.
"Is it not unwise to be alone with another man's wife?" Farlow spoke, stepping towards the table in the middle of the room that separated him and the Doctor.
Priestley turned, his eyes darting between Farlow and Jeanne. "Is it not unwise to be alone with the Governor's niece?" He retorted back, making Jeanne snort with a roll of her eyes.
She stepped forward to stand beside Farlow. "I am not another man's wife and any who seek to besmirch my honour? Well, I have a dagger well secured to denounce such allegations." Jeanne's eyes narrowed at Priestley. "And you wouldn't want my uncle to hear that you were insinuating such vulgar claims." She and Farlow smirked when they noticed the Doctor's jaw clench. "But that's beside the point," Jeanne reach forward, picking up a small cutting tool from the table to examine it, twirling it in her fingers. "My uncle has decided to go through with the surgery."
"Should the Governor die under your knife, Doctor Priestley, you could see how some might come to blame you." Farlow glanced at the woman beside him, who was staring the Doctor down as she continued playing with the small blade. "And others may not. But you must do your duty." It was Farlow's turn to stare the man down in a stern warning. Farlow didn't need the prideful Doctor stepping outside his role and interfering with things above him. "Jeanne," A smile formed on Farlow's thin lips as he addressed the young woman. "I will leave you to discuss the matters of your uncle's surgery, good day." The Secretary bowed to the Scot but chose not to acknowledge Preistley before he left.
After the door to the home shut, signalling Farlow's departure, Jeanne sighed, placing the knife back down on the table. She leaned against the table, eying off Priestley as he gathered his tools together for the surgery. "You're playing a dangerous game challenging Farlow like that."
"And what game are you playing?" He spoke, pausing to return the glance.
Jeanne's eyes narrowed. "The game my uncle ordered me to play." Priestley's brows furrowed as he considered the woman's words, coming to understand her actions and reasonings behind what she was doing.
Doctor Priestley nodded. "Forgive me. But perhaps you can help me with your uncle's surgery." He turned around, collected a jar from the shelf behind him, and placed it on the table between them. Jeanne picked it up, inspecting the content. "Liriodendron tulipifera, also known as Tulip Tree. The Pamunkey use it for pain relief, so you can understand how it would benefit your uncle."
Jeanne shook the jar. "Not much in here."
"No," Priestley sighed, "A tea can be made from the flowers. When ingested, it helps with pain and inflammation." He pulled out a small leather book, opening up to a page featuring a flower drawing. He rotated the book towards her so she could observe it. It was tulip shaped with six petals, a large pistil, and numerous stamens. "The flower is yellow in the centre, while the petals start off as orange at the base and change to green."
"You want me to go find this?" Jeanne gave him a sceptical look, placing the jar back down on the table. He nodded, making her sigh. "Fine, I'll go get some of these flowers so you can make the tea." Priestley closed the book and handed it over to her, thanking her. Jeanne just rolled her eyes as she left. If it weren't for the fact that it was for her uncle, she'd tell the Doctor to go find the flowers himself.
When she stepped outside the house, she found Farlow was long gone. With a shrug, Jeanne made the journey out of Jamestown and into the surrounding forests, book open in her hands. She followed the same road that led to Massinger's plantation, observing the trees as she went, trying to spot the tulip-shaped flowers that matched the drawing on the page. Jeanne stopped when she felt the hairs on her neck prick up, the familiar sense of being watched washing over her. Sighed, she closed the book.
"Chacrow!" She yelled, her eyes tracing over the forest, trying to stop the native man. "I know you're there!" Her head spun when she heard the sound of bushes rustling, her eyes landing on him as he stepped out, a playful smile on his lips that made her pout at the sight of him. Jeanne's eyes looked at the healing wound on his chest she'd given him just days ago, healing well.
"Jeanne." He spoke as his head dipped slightly in greeting.
Jeanne clicked her tongue as he walked towards her, stopping before the woman. "Since you've come to pester me again, maybe you can be of assistance." His brows quirked at her words, but the smile never left at her taunt, finding it to be a tease. Jeanne opened the book again, showing the flower to Chacrow. His fingers brushed over the page as he mumbled something in his native tongue, Jeanne guessing it was the Powhatan word for the tree.
"Why do you seek this?" He asked, his eyes scrutinising her.
Jeanne sighed, closing the book again. "My uncle is ill. He needs it to get better."
"Your Governor," Chacrow started, a faint twitch in his smile, alerting her that that man found her uncle's current state to be pleasurable knowledge. "Is unwell. But this plant won't fix his sickness."
"I know. The town Doctor needs my uncle to drink the tea made from this flower," She tapped the closed book. "Because he can begin surgery." Chacrow's smile dropped as he listened to explain, his brow quirking again when she said 'surgery'. Understanding that he may not have known this word, Jeanne explained further. "He needs to be cut open. There is something inside his body making him unwell."
"Ah!" Chacrow's smile returned as he understood. "Then this plant is what you need." He reached over, tapping the book to mirror her movements. "But how do you plan to reach it?"
"Reach it?"
Chacrow laughed faintly. He stepped away from her, gesturing to the forest that surrounded them. "It grows high. High enough that there would need to be thirty of you to reach it." He looked back at her, watching the redhead frown, an English curse being muttered under her breath, making him chuckle again. "I shall offer you a trade."
"Trade?" Jeanne asked, her eyes narrowing once more. "Let me guess, you help me get this flower, and I tell you stories about Scotland?" Chacrow smiled at her, giving her his answer. "Very well, I accept." Without missing a beat, Chacrow reached out, grabbing her free hand and pulling her off the road and into the forest. With the hand holding the book, Jeanne had to reach down and awkwardly grab her skirt, hoisting the material up so it did not catch on anything or trip her up. Chacrow had led her deep into the forest until they entered a patch of tall trees with trunks that were about three metres wide.
"Look," Chacrow said, pointing up at the sky. When Jeanne followed his hand, her eyes landed upon a tree that stood at least eighty feet tall, the closest flower being about five times her height away. She was going to kill Priestley when she saw him. Before Jeanne could speak or comment, Chacrow was already moving, letting go of her hand and climbing up the thick trunk, moving with a skill Jeanne thought no man could possess.
"You sure that's safe?" She yelled up to him, watching him go, but lowered her gaze when the man reached a height that would almost allow her to see up his coverings. Jeanne stepped back away from the tree when she heard the man laughing at her question. She paced underneath Chacrow as she waited for him to return. It only took about ten minutes for him to return, a large branch in his hands consisting of a dozen flowers. Jeanne beamed as he offered it to her. "This should be plenty! Thank you, Chacrow!"
Chacrow smiled as she accepted the branch. "I shall let you return home, but in three days' time, when your uncle is well, I shall meet you on the path." He said as he led her back the way they'd come. "I expect to hear your stories."
"And I shall share them," Jeanne stated, holding the branch close to her so as not to damage the flowers, once again picking up her skirt with the hand that held the book. When the pair reached the road, Chacrow offered her a farewell with a dip of his head before he moved back into the foliage, moving out of sight, Jeanne smiling as she watched him go.
Jeanne's first stop upon returning to Jamestown was Priestley's home. The doctor did not question how she managed to get the flowers, even after she gave him a lecture on not telling her about the size of the tree, as she'd thrown the book and branch down on his work table. It was after that she returned home to her aunt and uncle, readying herself for that night. It had been decided that after her uncle drank the tea from the tulip tree flowers, a stick would be placed in his mouth as Jeanne and Castell would hold him down, as Priestley would cut into his back and kidney, where he would remove the stone. Originally, Temperance was to be in the room with them, but George Yeardley had spoken out against it, not wanting his beloved wife to see him in such a state. So she was to remain in the parlour, praying over her bible for her husband's health.
Jeanne had spent most of the morning by her uncle's bedside with her aunt while the man recovered from his surgery the night prior, only for Secretary Farlow to visit, with the need of her for a council meeting. She had hesitated to step away from her uncle but did her duty to Jamestown, allowing Farlow to escort her to the town hall where Marshall Redwick was waiting for them, sitting at his seat on the far right and Recorder Castell at the back. Farlow took the governor's position in the middle as Jeanne sat on his left, ready to begin the meeting. James Read stood before the raised platform, announcing that Henry Sharrow was alive. Jeanne's jaw tensed as her gaze locked onto Alice, seeing the fear in her friend's eyes.
"That ain't possible," Silas Sharrow spoke, confusion clear on his face as he addressed the council. "I saw my brother. He was bound in flame. There is no man who can live through that."
"Well," Read interjected, taking casual steps forwards. "I spoke to the Appomattuck, and they found him. Took him in till he recovered."
"Then why has he not come back to us?" Pepper Sharrow asked as Silas stepped away, trying to process the information shared by the blacksmith, the youngest Sharrow needing to know why his eldest brother would continue to let the boy think him dead.
Read shrugged. "The Indians told me Henry has gone up towards the uplands."
"Why does it take the blacksmith to discover your brother still living, Sharrow?" Redwick spoke, addressing Silas as he stepped back to Alice's and Pepper's sides.
"Marshall, you and I both know why," Jeanne interjected to the Marshall before giving Read a pointed look. "Alice is now married under God, and bringing her betrothed back from the dead will have no effect on Henry's desires or yours, James Read." Read's jaw tensed as the redheaded woman spoke down to him, lecturing him. "I suggest someone should attend to his prayers and ask God for forgiveness for his sins."
"I agree," Farlow spoke before the Marshall could. "Coveting another man's wife is of ill repute."
"You got his land and his woman!" Messinger yelled from the back of the room, where he was leaning against a pillar. "Eh, Sharrow? Maybe it is no accident?"
"If Henry was here, he would tell you as much himself." Silas gritted out, turning away from the plantation owner to the council.
"Then, if you are to clear your name, shouldn't you seek to find him?" Farlow asked, his tone hinting that he wanted this matter solved immediately.
Read raised his hand. "If it were my brother–"
"Enough from you, Mister Read." Jeanne snapped, cutting the man off. "This council thanks you for bringing to our attention that Henry Sharrow might be alive, given that the reports from the Appomattuck and yourself speak true."
Marshall Redwick turned down the table to look at the woman, glaring. "You believe these reports false, woman?"
Jeanne returned the look. "And you do? Can someone look outside and tell me if they see fire and brimstone falling from the sky?" Jeanne addressed those gathered in the town hall, many chuckling at the woman's jab at the war-crazed Marshall. Even Farlow couldn't resist the urge to smirk at the comment before he addressed her by name, attempting to silence her teasing.
"Henry Sharrow is out there alone. Don't you care what has happened to him?" Farlow spoke, moving his gaze off the woman beside him to Silas Sharrow.
"Henry Sharrow has gone into Monacan territory," Jeanne interjected, "We have no treaty with them. If Silas is to go, he will go alone and face dangers. The Monacan won't hesitate to kill him on sight." The redhead lectured, turning to her fellow council members. She was fortunate that her uncle had educated her on the native tribes that existed outside the Powhatan Chiefdom. "Henry Sharrow has chosen to go into foreign territory. We can not force any Englishman to do the same." Farlow and Redwick shared a look, understanding the woman's words and impressed by her knowledge of the tribes of Virginia.
Farlow rapped his fingers on the wooden tabletop as he looked at Redwick, waiting on his fellow council member. The Marshall nodded. Secretary Farlow turned to the crowd. "This council cannot decide on this matter, as Henry Sharrow, if alive, has gone outside of the Powhatan territory. All we can do is wait patiently for his return." The crowd began to murmur as Farlow dismissed the matter, bringing an end to the meeting. Jeanne and Farlow sat at the crowd dispersed, Marshall Redwick and Recorder Castell leaving too. "Jeanne?"
"Hmm?" She looked at the Secretary, seeing his eyes on her as he smiled.
"Where did you learn to do that?" He asked, a single brow raised at the woman.
She chuckled. "Learn what?"
He looked away to the doorway as he thought. "The way you hold yourself and speak with such eloquence. If it weren't for that accent of yours, one would think you were a proper lady of the English court. So, I ask again. Where did you learn to do it?" Farlow looked back at her, joy expressed on his face.
Jeanne sighed, leaning back in her chair. "My mother." She spoke as if the answer was obvious. "After she left London, joined by father in Scotland, she found the woman there, while lacking the education of a Lady, were free." Jeanne looked at the man, observing how he listened. "Scottish women didn't serve their husbands but worked alongside them. So my mother wanted to raise me with both mindsets.
"Creating the powerful young woman you are today," Farlow commented, smiling at her. "Far more than worthy than any English Lord deserves."
"Worthy or trouble?" Jeanne joked, making the man laugh. The pair stood, and Farlow guided her to the entrance by the arm. "I need to see if there's been any change to my uncle's condition."
"I heard that you obtained the flowers for his tea," Farlow asked, earning a nod from the woman. "How did you manage that? The trees grow well over seventy feet tall." He stopped her at the doorway, not letting the woman slip away just yet. "And something tells me you didn't climb them all the way to the top."
Jeanne pursed her lips, glancing around to ensure they held no one's attention. "I didn't." She answered, facing him. "Chacrow did." Farlow frowned at hearing the native man's name, he opened his mouth to speak his concerns, but Jeanne was just as quick to interrupt. "All he asked for in return is for me to tell him stories."
"Scotland again?" Farlow was still frowning as he enquired. "Jeanne, need I remind you to be careful?"
"Nicholas, need I remind you I have a knife strapped to my calf?" Jeanne shot him a matching frown as the man tried not to smirk at her jab. "He has a fondness for me." She sighed, her blue eyes downcast.
"Hench, why you must be careful," Farlow muttered, patting her hand that was still gripped on his elbow. "I do not know if your uncle explained the customs of his people, but they have a custom of stealing away women."
Her eyes rose, meeting his concerned look. "He is smart enough not to insight war unless ordered to." Farlow pouted but nodded. Chacrow was loyal to Chief Opechancanough and wouldn't do anything that would offend his king, even if the native man had a blooming fancy for the redheaded woman. Farlow finally let the woman take back her hand. "I'll be alright, Nicholas. I know how to work a musket too." She stepped backwards away from him.
"That doesn't surprise me at all," Farlow muttered, shaking his head. "See to our Governor's swift recovery."
Jeanne waved at the man as she turned around, making her way home to check on her aunt and uncle, but when she got there, she found Verity arguing with her aunt in the parlour, demanding to speak to the Governor. The two women spared Jeanne a glance. The Irish woman once again tried to please her case.
"Ma'am, the militiamen," Verity sighed, her eyes moving past Temperance to the hallway leading to the master bedroom. "I fear what they might do." Jeanne moved further into the home, shutting the front door behind her as she stood beside her friend as Temperance tried waving the woman off. Jeanne opened her mouth to question why Verity had come to see her uncle when the Governor called out from the bedroom for the Irish woman to come into his chambers, gaining everyones full attention. Temperance led the two young redheads into the bedroom, where they found the Governor, now awake but still in bed.
"Who told you this?" His voice was weak as he addressed Verity, making Jeanne glance at her, wondering what conversation she missed.
"Look, sir. I'm only here to warn you," Verity mumbled, her fingers fidgeting in her lap as she stood before the Governor. She looked at Temperance and Jeanne before returning her eyes to the man. "You both were kind to me on the ship, and Jeanne is a dearest friend. Trouble and blood. The militia are intent on mutiny on what I was told." Jeanne's mouth dropped as she heard the woman speak, her eyes shifting to her uncle.
"Was it Bailey? The man who fired his pistol in town?" The governor's voice turned rough as a wave of anger burned inside of him.
Verity took a bold step forward, defending the guardsmen despite his claim against her just days ago. "Sir, he's little more than a boy."
"Thank you, Verity." He spoke, the tone hinting that the conversation was over, which Temperance understood as she made to shoo the younger woman from the bed chamber and her home, but Verity didn't budge.
"Sir." The Irish woman spoke with an authority that Jeanne knew was customary with her friend. "I fear it is you they intend to turn against."
"Thank you, Verity." The Governor spoke again, his eyes landing on his niece as his wife escorted Verity from their home. Without being told to, Jeanne moved closer to her uncle's side, kneeling down by the bed. "What do you know?"
"If they truly intend on this, Farlow has nothing to do with it," Jeanne answered, seeing her uncle respond dismissively. "He was in a stupor yesterday. The Marshall all but threatened him with the fear of a treasonous act. He said he believes politics can only be enforced when men at arms let them be enforced."
George Yeardley looked away from his niece, his lips pursing as his wife returned to the room and sat by his feet at the end of the bed, the aged woman naturally reaching out for his hand to comfort the man. "Fetch me Castell and Preistley. Now." He seethed.
Jeanne didn't have to be told twice. She rose to her feet and bolted from the house, reaching Doctor Preistleys first, ordering him straight to her uncle before she went to collect Recorder Castell, the thin man rushing behind her back to the house where she proceeded to throw down that latch, securing the home from intruded upon while Castell joined Priestley in the master bedroom. As Jeanne was looking at the window, looking for any of the Miltilia men, Castell had come out of the bedroom, stepped over to the weapons chest by the Governor's desk, and threw back the lid to retrieve a pistol from inside. Jeanne watched him take it back into the bedroom, no doubt to her uncle. Despite his current condition, the Governor wouldn't sit by while men wanted him dead. With no choice of her own, Jeanne pulled another pistol from the cheat, making sure it was loading with powered and lead balls. Priestley and Castell assisted her uncle into the parlour when she turned around, pistol at her side.
"Jeanne…" Yeardley bit out from the pain as his eyes landed on the weapon in her hand.
She frowned at him, stepping forward. "I will not lose you to wicked men." Jeanne hissed over her aunt's protests, but her husband silenced the woman. George Yeardley nodded to his niece, knowing he couldn't fight her on the matter. She'd lost her father and mother while she was still a girl, and now a woman, she wouldn't lose the last blood relation she had left if she could help it.
Yeardley stood out of the grasp of the two men loyal to him, stepping outside his home with his niece beside him, Castell and Priestley following behind while Temperance stood in the doorway of her home, watching her husband go with a deep fear far worse than the one she held for him last night. "Soldiers respect nothing more than a military man." Yeardley hissed, gazing at the men in the distance as they stood on the wall lookouts. "Is there a better way for a man to die than at a man at arms?"
"Being pleasured by a beautiful woman?" Jeanne chimed, earning a look from her uncle. He wanted to scold her for the poorly-timed joke but knew she was just trying to lighten the dark mood caused by the fear of the mutiny.
Yeardley stepped away from the men, walking out towards the wall with his niece just behind him, a look of determination on both their faces. "I'm a fighting man. Like you. I saw battle against the Spanish in the Netherlands as a foot soldier." He reached under his shirt and pressed at the fresh cut from his surgery, Jeanne's eyes following his movements. "It is a wound from that time that has stopped me from talking to you until now." He retracted his hand, showing the men the fresh blood on his hands that was leaking from the incension. "So, we are the same, are we not?" Yeardley pointed his pistol towards the men before dropping it back to his side. "I am one of you."
Jeanne's jaw tensed as her eyes washed over the ten men standing on the wall, each with a musket in their hands until they landed on Verity, who stood at the bottom of the ramp that led up to the soldiers. The two women shared a look, Jeanne reading the fear in her friend's eyes.
"I wore the uniform to serve God and country. And now I am the Governor of the colony of Virginia, knighted and entrusted by our king. And I have this office as I showed obedience and loyalty." Yeardley continued to speak, once more raising his pistol to point at the men. "And you…good men. Every one of you." His arm dropped as he began to list the names of each soldier that stood there, listening and watching him speak, but Yeardley stopped when he spoke Bailey's name, his eyes landing on the thin, dark-haired man, who was stepping out of the crowd and making his way down the ramp to his Governor. "Bailey. I was like you. A boy soldier in a foreign land. No way to see how I might prosper until a good captain saw in me what I see in you."
Jeanne studied Bailey as he stood midway down the ramp, eyeing off her uncle. She stepped forward further, standing beside her uncle as she tightened the grip on the pistol in her hand. The redhead wondered if her presence threatened the men and if the small lass could harm them.
"Suppose I were to offer you a position of authority, the Governor of Virginia's personal guard. A fine uniform. Recognition. Advancement. Would you like that?" Yeardley questioned the man. It was a generous offer that would see young Bailey as a man worthy of his own title in years to come and even one day the role of Marshall.
"I would like that, sir," Bailey spoke, a smile finally gracing his serious face, making Yeardley and his niece smile too, hopeful of ending the brewing conflict.
"Come here," Yeardley signalled for the man to come down, the two standing just metres apart as they stared at one another, their pistols by their sides. "Bailey, what had brought you to this?" It was a foolish question for the Governor to ask, as he knew that Marshall Redwick was behind it, but without the young soldier's confession, Yeardley had no proof.
A shot rang out as Bailey opened his mouth to speak, knocking the young man forward as he was hit in the back. Yeardley jolted at the sound and sight, having been taken by surprise, but Jeanne, expecting the worst to happen, reacted, her own pistol raised as she shot at the doorway where the front of a musket could be seen and fired. A loud swear rang out as the musket fell from the shooter's hands, and Jeanne moved forwards, not lowering the weapon in her hand as she ran past Bailey's body and stared into the building, her pistol pointed at Marshall Redwick. Behind him stood Secretary Farlow, who was staring at the Scottish lass with wide eyes as Redwick shook his hand. Her shot had hit the musket, the force having stuck at the large man's wrist.
"Verity? Is Bailey alright?" Jeanne yelled out behind her over the screams and yells of the populace. Her blue eyes were locked onto the Marshall as she heard the movement of her friend's skirts as Verity ran to Bailey, checking to see if the man was alive, muttering a weak 'oh gods no', alerting Jeanne that Bailey had died from the shot. Jeanne stepped back, signally for the Marshall and Secretary to come out with the pistol.
The two men stepped out, Farlow standing beside Jeanne as the Marshall stepped out, moving towards Bailey. "The man was a traitor. The ring leader." The Marshall spoke as his eyes moved from the body to the governor. "He wanted to get close to you so that he might kill you."
Yeardley pursed his lips as he moved forward, eyes locked onto Redwick, all proof of the real ringleader gone. "Jeanne." At hearing her name, his niece lowered her weapon off the Marshall's back, but she continued to glare at the man.
Redwick turned around, a smirk on his lips as his eyes landed on Jeanne before he addressed the soldiers on the wall. "It's over—every one of you. Get back to work. We will have order here." The men came down the ramp, moving past the Marshall and the Governor, returning to their posts.
Governor glared at Redwick just as much as Jeanne did. "Thank you, Marshall." Yearley hissed out before returning to his home and getting the rest he needed after pushing his limits, leaving poor Verity to mourn over her friend's body.
"Nice shot," Farlow whispered to Jeanne, his eyes on his partner's back as Redwick observed Verity crying. Redwick was now gripping his wrist that had been shaken by the blast, rubbing to soothe the injury the redheaded woman had caused.
Jeanne looked at him from the corner of her eye. "Told you I can work a musket."