He drew closer, subtle accusation in his tone. “Going over to the Indians? And Mademoiselle Hopewell is aiding you, I see.”
“My business is none of yours,” Xander replied evenly, gaze never lifting from the purchased goods. “And Mistress Hopewell is simply doing my bidding.”
With a dismissive snort, Laurent sauntered about, examining the merchandise, occasionally reaching out to touch some new or novel item. Eventually he stilled before the apothecary jars along a far wall, the tools of his trade as colony physic. But what he dispensed Selah wanted nothing of.
Quickly, she packed up what Xander bought, taking care not to damage his wares.
The sudden, protracted silence brought her father out of his accounting room at the back of the store. “Well, Xander. You are about your business early.”
“A fine ride to town on a May morn,” he replied. “This wind makes water travel chancy.”
“Indeed.” Ustis’s gaze took in the burgeoning knapsacks. “Though your purchases might fare better by shallop.”
Selah reached out a discreet hand and pressed her father’s arm in warning. Realizing Laurent was in their midst, Ustis recovered quickly, taking up a knapsack and accompanying Xander out the door. Selah followed.
Standing out on the dusty street, well beyond overhearing, Ustis spoke his mind. “Tobacco is not your only business, aye? You are journeying to the Powhatans. But not in your official role of emissary since I see no pearl chain about your neck.” Spying a pendant on the ground, a favorite of the tribes, he stooped to return it to its sack. “Need I remind you that no man shall purposely go to any Indian towns, habitation, or places of resort without leave from the governor or commander of that place where he lives . . .”
Xander finished reciting colony law. “. . . upon pain of paying forty shillings to public uses as aforesaid.”
Ustis stood and adjusted his spectacles. “Granted, forty shillings is a pittance to a tobacco lord.”
“I would rather pay thrice that than ask high-minded Governor Harvey’s permission.”
Selah drew nearer, the scent of horseflesh strong. “Father, you forget yourself.” At his blank stare she said quietly, “You are speaking to the recently appointed commander of his shire.”
“Ah, of course.” Ustis looked to Xander as if seeing him in a new light. “And as such you are free to go and do as you please. With certain limitations.”
Selah gestured to Helion Laurent’s tethered horse. “Such an endeavor is fraught with risk.”
“Risk?” Xander looked down at her, amusement in his tone. “Going over to the Naturals or wrangling with the governor and his councilors?”
She nearly rolled her eyes in exasperation at his teasing. “Both.”
Yet this bewhiskered English warrior would go unflinchingly into hostile territory, come what may.
She tried a tone of supplication. “You cannot dismiss what happened to those hapless settlers who agreed to Chief Opechancanough’s last summons.”
“Tomahawked to the last man, despite being armed to the teeth,” he returned matter-of-factly. “That I cannot deny. Pray for me, aye?”
The earnest plea tumbled forth, and Selah’s hand shot out to touch his sleeve. “I will pray for you.” That God has mercy on your stubborn, mercenary soul.
His gaze fastened on her hand, and she released him, the burn of embarrassment following.
But Ustis was not finished. “What brings you to their camp?”
“I know not.”
The terse reply did not allay Selah’s alarm.
“Might I beg you to reconsider?” Ustis asked him. “Take adequate weapons? A guard?”
“And give the appearance of an invading army?” Xander shook his head. “Meihtawk brought the summons from the Powhatans’ principal stronghold of Menmend. I trust him with my life.”
“Aye, he has not failed us in friendship yet. But I would not turn my back on the wily chief, no matter what treaty was recently struck. As for our own government, beware of Harvey and Laurent and their minions lest they get word of what you are about and accuse you of spy.”
With that, her father returned to the store while Selah tarried outside. All around them James Towne was slowly awakening, the saltwater air heavy with the scent of hot cross buns from the bake shop across the shell-strewn street. Gulls careened overhead, screeching and scavenging, further raking her nerves.
“Let us return to more amusing matters.” Xander tied a bulging saddlebag shut. “Has Cecily Ward made her choice?”
Selah looked hard at him, surprised at so personal a mention. Was he partial to Cecily at first meeting? “Nay, not yet. No bride should be pressured, the council has said.”
Xander swung himself into the saddle. “Tell that to a great many overeager men.”
“Truly, several matches have been made already.” She smiled, or tried to, still uneasy at his going. “How long will you be away from Rose-n-Vale?”
“Not overlong. Plantation work doesn’t allow for extended leave.” He winked as he looked down at her. “Don’t look so downcast, Mistress Hopewell.”
He that winketh with the eye causeth sorrow.
The timely proverb did nothing to weaken Xander Renick’s spell.
She looked to her feet rather than dwell on him. “I cannot make peace with your dangerous mission.”
“What does it matter to you?”
“It matters to all of Virginia, Master Renick.” Especially your young son. “You are . . . irreplaceable.”
“And you, fair lady, are generous with your praise.” He reined west. “Your prayers go with me and are a far more formidable weapon than any rusted matchlock or rapier.”
Their eyes met a final time. Throat knotted, she watched him go up the street between rowhouses till he was out of sight. Another gull swept down, pecking at some garbage. Its frantic scavenging sent her back into the store, smack into Laurent. She looked about in vain. Shay and her father were occupied elsewhere.
“I’m in need of your assistance in deciding a feminine matter.”
Oh, how he provoked her simply by the overtaxed patience in his oiled tone.
Taking her by the elbow, he led her toward a shelf of fripperies, his cologne overpowering. “What is your personal recommendation for a woman of exceptional taste?”
Shrinking from his touch, Selah led him to more coveted items. “These lambskin gloves here? Or perhaps this blue vial of toilet water?” She refused to lift her eyes to his. “Why not purchase both and let the lady herself decide?”
He laughed. “Well played by the cape merchant’s daughter. Are you always so pecuniary, Mistress Hopewell?”
“If you mean am I trying to pick your pocket, sir, nay.” She moved away from him, relief flooding her when the shop door opened with a jingle and another customer entered in.
To her disdain, Laurent went out without so much as an adieu and bought nothing. Nothing at all.
4
“Father, I must go to Mother for a spell.” Selah fled through the store’s back door toward the outskirts of town, seeking their timbered house with its well-laid garden of four acres. Mulberry trees, planted when the colony was first founded, offered shade on all sides.