She bowed her head and her fingers fiddled with the end of the silk tie joining her bodice. She knew he must think her an orphan. Most people assumed she needed a protector because they believed the history Zechariah had created for her when she came to work for him at Brixton Hall. “Aye, most tragic.”
She looked beyond him to the calm river and marshy green banks that stretched as far as the eye could see. In truth, her situation was grim for entirely different reasons. She’d come to work for Zechariah because of her stepfather’s greed. After Roger wed her mother, Anne, he’d claimed the Virginia land and slaves as Anne’s property, then sold everything off for a tidy sum.
When Roger sold Prin to Zechariah, Elise did all she could to see her set free. Sayer refused to sell her, but had offered Prin’s freedom as the prize in exchange for Elise’s loyalty and work as a spy until the war’s end.
At the time, she’d been praying for a way to escape Roger and thought the Lord had made a way. For half her spy’s pay, she and Prin received room and board. In exchange for his silence, Roger gleaned another quarter of her profits though he never let her forget he could make just as much or more by turning her over to the British if she refused to compensate him for his silence.
Up until the night of Hawk’s death, she’d been convinced the Lord would see her through. That her success as a spy had been God’s reward for serving a just cause. Now, racked by guilt for her part in a man’s death, she wasn’t so certain.
“Have you been in shipping long?” she asked in an effort to draw the conversation back to Drake.
“Twelve years, counting my stint in the Royal Navy.”
“The navy?” Elise asked with interest.
“Aye, I left home at sixteen and went to sea. Over the next two years, I learned to love all things nautical and decided to make my fortune in shipping. When my father and older brother passed away unexpectedly, I took on the responsibilities of family matters, though I never forgot my own aspirations. I bought my first ship at twenty. Since then, I’m happy to say, I’ve steadily added to the line and hope to see its continued growth and prosperity.”
“From the moment I saw you last evening, I knew you were a determined man.”
He shrugged. “I suppose so. However, I must confess my determination is born from a fear of being idle. My family has farmed for years. Unfortunately, it bores me senseless.”
“How coincidental. My father farmed near the western border of Virginia.”
“Virginia? I’ve heard the land is rich and untamed, but that living there is nearly impossible with the savages roaming hither and yon.”
“It can be,” she acknowledged. “We did well enough in our dealings with the natives. My father made treaties with their leaders, and we respected one another. It was beautiful there. Untouched country with trees so high the mist settled in their branches and an abundance of game that would feed an army for a score of years.”
“The place sounds like Eden.” His expression turned thoughtful. “I was under the impression land grants were given by the king for service rendered. Did your father begin as a military man?”
She lowered her eyes. “No, I’m ashamed to say he didn’t believe in the king’s sovereignty.”
His eyes darkened. “He spoke treason.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter now. He died two years ago.”
“I apologize,” he said and quickly changed the subject. “What did you like best about living in Virginia?”
“More than anything else, I enjoyed the solitude and freedom. A blessing I’ve had to relinquish since I came to live at Brixton Hall.”
“Little wonder you named your horse as a reminder.”
The ferry’s bell rang and the craft lurched as it shifted course. Drake looked over his shoulder. “Obviously we’re not to Charles Towne. Where are we?”
“We’re docking at Riverwood Plantation. Its owner, Robert Gray, is a friend of the Sayers. Did you happen to make his acquaintance at the ball last night?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“He’s a pleasant man. Last fall a storm struck and ruined many of the Grays’ fields right before the harvest. Zechariah is exchanging rice for other supplies to aid him.”
“Is Gray one of the rebels or is he Tory?”
Elise thought of the gunpowder and muskets being traded for rice. “I believe his politics match those of Zechariah. I don’t usually pay attention to such things. Men are always preaching to us women that we shouldn’t bother with politics. They say our minds are too simple and can’t grasp the intricacies required to understand. They’re probably right. I have enough trouble counting my cross stitch.”
Elise almost choked on her words. She expected Amberly to agree with her in typical male fashion, but he surprised her.
“I don’t believe it,” he said. “I find that women, given the right encouragement, have no difficulty understanding any given subject. Some are even more clever than men, while the majority are more cunning.”
The ferry jarred against the dock. Watching the deckhands rush to tie the mooring lines, Elise noted the cynicism in Drake’s voice. She wondered what foolish woman had hurt him.
A loud crash drew Elise’s attention to a crate being hauled aboard. She drew in a sharp breath. The box contained weapons and ammunition sorely needed by the patriots. French and American privateers smuggled the weapons as far as Riverwood. From there, she or Christian supervised their removal to Brixton Hall, then saw them farther upriver, and that much closer to the swamps that provided protection for the war-ravaged militia.
It was dangerous to transport munitions to Charles Towne, especially in broad daylight. Under normal circumstances she would have collected them under the cover of night. She didn’t have that option today. At the ball last night, a loyal agent had warned Zechariah that the British had gotten wind of Riverwood’s stash and planned to raid this afternoon. Now when the Brits arrived on Gray’s doorstep, they’d find nothing stored but indigo and cotton, the very crops English merchants demanded of their Colonial brethren.
Seeing the box was safe, she released a sigh of relief, which quickly disappeared when she noticed Amberly’s interest in the crate. Hoping to distract him, she entwined her arm with his and acted as though she might faint. “I declare the sun is blinding me. It’s strong enough to set my skin afire.”
“Would you care for a drink?” he said with concern.
“No, thank you. I just need to sit down.” She hated to play the roll of insipid female, but she wanted him as far from the crate as possible. After all, he was English and subject to suspicion.
The ferry rocked again, announcing its departure from Riverwood. She heard the slap of water on the sides of the ferry and felt safe for the time being. The crate would be hidden away from notice. All would be well as long as they avoided the British patrolling the river.
They arrived in Charles Towne a short time later. The British-held city provided the main port for English supplies entering the Southern colonies. From the ferry’s deck, Elise watched as ship after ship filled every available berth, their tall masts rising high like a forest of leafless, swaying trees. Seagulls squawked as they dipped and dived in the cloudless blue sky.
With no berth available, the ferry captain anchored in the harbor. He signaled a pair of skiffs to transport his passengers ashore. Grateful for the development, Elise viewed the situation as a blessing. With the ferry anchored away from shore, enemy soldiers would be less tempted to search the nondescript craft. Evidently the Lord had taken pity on her after all.