“But how many people did you take safely through?”
After Virginia had abruptly given up her career as a guide and settled temporarily in San Francisco, a newspaper article—just one—had told her story. Lady Franklin must have seen it, and it included the number she was asking for. There was no reason to hedge. “By my best estimation, 563.”
“I believe you have the skill and strength to do what I need, Miss Reeve. The terrain will be different, but the party is much smaller than what you’re used to. You have my confidence. I only need your agreement.”
Virginia’s mind was whirling, starting to seize at the particulars. “You propose for me to lead this expedition alone? Myself?”
“Yes. You will be in charge. At different points, yes, you will need to work closely with others—the experienced voyageurs with the canoes, for example, and the captain of the schooner that carries you north through the Bay. That’s why I chose you. You worked with a man to lead those parties through the mountains, if I recall correctly.”
And there was the rub. She needn’t have avoided mentioning Ames; Lady Franklin obviously knew why Virginia wasn’t leading wagon trains through the pass anymore. Why her number of saved souls would never climb any higher than 563. Because she could no longer do it with Ames, and she would not do it alone.
Perhaps this expedition—this mad, ridiculous idea of an expedition—was actually exactly what she needed.
And then she remembered the last verse of “Lady Franklin’s Lament,” heard it as warm and strong as if Ames were standing right next to her, his scratchy baritone singing directly into her ear. It took real effort to keep from smiling at the memory.
And now my burden it gives me pain,
For my long-lost Franklin I would cross the main.
Ten thousand pounds I would freely give
To know on earth that my Franklin do live.
There was a reward. Real money. She would almost do it only for the adventure, but what could she do with that money if she had it? Anything. Nothing. She could live as she liked, where she liked, and never feel even the slightest hunger. Money would free her from so many questions, so many concerns. One could not even put a price on that freedom. There was no other realistic way for her to earn so much money so fast—and become so free. “And if we find him, the reward is ours?”
“Yours alone. To share with the rest of the expedition however you see fit. Like a whaling captain shares with his crew.”
“And if we fail?”
“I’m betting that you won’t,” said Lady Franklin. “You should be willing to make the same bet.”
Virginia thought. She was on the cusp of something extraordinary. Whether it was something fantastic or fatal, she did not know. But there was excitement here, and wonder. There was potential she had not thought she could ever embrace again.
At her silence, incongruously, Lady Franklin smiled. “When I read about you, I knew you would be qualified, but whether you’d be interested in taking on the work, that I didn’t know. Having met you, talked to you, I’m completely sure you are the right choice. I feel confident no one else could do as well.”
Virginia said, “I’m…flattered, Lady Franklin.”
“Of course you are. You’ll leave for the first leg of the journey in a week. I have a few other things to discuss, like some letters you’ll carry for me. Very important letters, including one to deliver to my husband when you find him. We can go over the particulars at the desk here, if you’ll please?” She gestured for Virginia to sit.
Virginia remained standing. “I said I was flattered. I didn’t say I’d do it.”
The older woman’s brow knotted in discontent. “What could possibly stand in your way?”
“Those particulars you mentioned. We need to discuss them first. Who else will go? And how? How much will you pay if we follow the route but return empty-handed? What are the dangers, and how will we be prepared for them?”
Lady Franklin’s brow eased, and she met Virginia’s gaze with confidence and calm. “I have an answer for every one of your questions, I assure you. I do have certain conditions, which I will spell out. But first, you must sit.”
Virginia didn’t know why Lady Franklin cared so much whether she was sitting or standing, but she knew that when someone cared very much about a thing and you didn’t, you might as well give them what they wanted. Goodwill was a good like any other, to be traded and hoarded and spent.
So this time, when Lady Franklin told Virginia to sit down, she did as she was told and smiled her prettiest smile. “Let’s begin.”
Chapter Three
Virginia
Massachusetts Superior Court, Boston
October 1854
“Very well. Proceed,” says Judge Miller.
The prosecutor poses in the front of the courtroom as if Charles Loring Elliott himself were engaged to paint his portrait. The man looks like a textbook illustration of an attorney: tiny spectacles, rigid posture. Prominent belly and jowls to match. Virginia’s judgment is clouded a bit by the circumstances, but she believes that even if he weren’t rabid to see her hanged for a crime he can’t prove she committed, she still would not like him.
She likes him even less when he launches into what is supposed to pass for his opening statement. To her ears, it sounds a great deal more like a schoolmaster’s harangue.
“Society has rules,” lectures the prosecutor, whose name she has not caught. “Some say we should be kind to those who flout them. Forgive them, for they know not what they do, as we read in the Good Book. But those who choose not to move in society are rarely the gems we wish them to be. You have not heard the name Virginia Reeve before. No doubt, before your time in this courtroom ends, you will be sorry you have heard it at all. Nor will you want to hear the details of how our own Caprice Collins, a native daughter of Boston—upstanding and sorely missed—met a horrible death at the hands of this cast-out, unknown girl. I want to thank you, as her family thanks you, for your service. Because you are taking on this unpleasant task, hearing things no good gentleman should ever have to hear, you may be able to stop a fiend from murdering again.”
Virginia stays as motionless as a statue. Or a corpse.
“This girl, she claims that her expedition was initiated and paid for by Lady Jane Franklin. But I ask you, why would a highborn British lady do such an outrageous thing? Gin up a misfit band of American women—women and girls!—to search for two British Royal Navy ships that not even the world’s most qualified, experienced seamen have been able to find? It’s a foolish argument on the face of it. And I tell you, though I regret to do so, there is nothing to learn beyond the face.”