Page 30 of The Indigo Heiress

29

Our country is that spot to which our heart is bound.

Voltaire

With more determination than he’d ever mustered, Leith left the Williamsburg townhouse. Ravenal accompanied him in the coach, a gut-wrenching ride of thirteen miles that spilled them onto York Town’s sunny, teeming harbor in sight of the ship that would take him home.

Home.

How little consideration he’d given to the word in the past. Now, with fierce longing, he craved the familiar plainstanes at the foot of King William’s statue in the square ... the sunrise over the Clyde ... the blast of the six o’clock mail gun announcing the post-horse from Edinburgh with the newspapers. He needed to smell the ink and leather of his office and hear the tap of his Malacca cane across the marble floor of the exchange. He wanted to meet his fellow lords at the Saracen’s Head and have a meridian while discussing market prices and cargo.

But a fathomless ocean lay between him and what he wanted. He stood by, wishing he had his cane to help keep him upright in the bitter, gusting wind while Ravenal helped him manage his trunks and papers. For once Leith regretted he had no manservant to help him.

Ravenal clasped him firmly by the hand. “You’ll write when you land.”

Leith nodded, too worn for much speech. “I canna thank you enough for your many kindnesses.”

“I’ll pray for your continued recovery.” Ravenal’s eyes reflected serious concern. “I wouldn’t agree to your going unless you’d convinced me a ship’s surgeon was aboard.”

“There’s also a parson,” Leith replied wryly. Ignoring the rattle in his chest, he kept his breathing shallow to refrain from coughing. “And a newly outfitted honeymoon suite.”

Ravenal winced. “Let us get you aboard, then.”

The next hour was a tumult of trunks and gangplanks and companionways till Leith was finally aboard the Glasgow Lass , more than ready to leave Virginia and its bitter memories behind.

Juliet had saturated the coming night in prayer. Surely that would protect them. The weather was clement if cold. Dawn would bring a hard frost. Staying away from the quarters was her goal, especially if Riggs had a spy there. She chose the little-used path from the side of the house that crossed the main road leading to Williamsburg and eventually York.

With Loveday standing watch in the unlit cupola for a half hour before their leaving, Juliet helped ready the fugitives, providing warm clothing and sturdy shoes for travel, the baby bundled securely to her mother in a linen, fur-lined sling.

Silent, Juliet led the way without a single light, letting the moon suffice. The wintry January ground seemed to seep past her thick leather soles and freeze her stockinged feet. Enveloped in her black mourning cape and hood, she blended in with the night and had taken pains to make sure the fugitives were darkly clad as well.

They reached the old oak that had stood since Rose-n-Vale’s founding more than a century before and marked the farthest edge of the plantation. The trees were thicker here, providing cover as they crept forward, the stirring of an animal causing them to pause now and then. When they came to the road that led east, Juliet considered both directions as it snaked out of sight.

Few Virginians traveled by night in winter. Even the owls were silent, busy roosting in the coldest weather. When Mary gave a mewling cry, they all halted, and Juliet sensed the parents’ panic.

Lord, have mercy. Please grant us safety.

They crossed the road and kept east, still on Catesby land. Mary cried again then quieted as they skirted an open meadow with a pond at its heart, shiny as a shilling in the moonlight. For a moment the beauty stilled the tumult inside Juliet as they pressed on toward the safety of Ravenal land. She wouldn’t go beyond the boundary stone of Royal Vale. The fugitives must make their way alone. ’Twas always a moment brimming with hope yet blackened with dread. She’d get no sleep this night, nor would they.

She tripped over a root, righted herself, then looked behind to make sure they were following. When she turned back around, she saw not the empty path but the black, motionless silhouette of a horse and rider.

Lord, nay.

Her pulse, already adance, seemed to beat out of her chest. Not far behind her, Ambrose drew up short, Grace and the baby between them. Motioning for them to stay where they were, Juliet started toward the rider, who kneed his bay horse and moved around her swiftly, coming between her and the runaways.

Slave patrollers? Riggs?

The whip in his hand slashed like lightning, the snap of it magnified in the stillness. Ambrose’s startled cry turned her to ice. Was he hurt? Riggs’s horse whirled about with a distressed whinny as if struck too. Juliet rushed toward the uneasy animal, grabbed hold of Riggs’s cape, and yanked the rough fabric with all her might. Unseating him, she tumbled him onto the frozen ground.

Ambrose flashed by her with Grace and the baby in the direction they’d been traveling. A few feet away, Riggs lay strangely still. Afraid to approach him, Juliet came near enough to snatch the whip from his lax hand. Roused like a wounded bear, he rolled over and pulled himself to his feet before lunging at her. The braided leather hung heavy in her fist, weighted with lead.

Backing away from him, she brought the whip down across his shoulder and chest in one forceful, catlike swipe. Riggs’s scream of pain rent the woods. His nervy horse shied away with another whinny. Grabbing for the reins, Juliet hoisted herself into the unfamiliar saddle. She leaned forward, prodded the horse toward the main road, and galloped to Royal Vale.

It was the longest ride of her life. As she dismounted near the stables, her legs nearly gave way. Loveday suddenly appeared, her face bloodless in the lamplight. Her eyes fastened on the whip in her sister’s hand.

Had she seen Riggs ride ahead of them from the cupola?

Shaking, Juliet started toward the house. “I struck Riggs with his own whip, then took his horse and left him where he ambushed us.”

“Then the jig is up and we must be away,” Loveday replied, sounding as calm as Juliet was rattled and riled. “I’ll have Hosea ready the coach.”

Juliet took a last look at Royal Vale in the darkness, its shadowed, lamplit lines more menacing than welcoming. Still, her throat knotted as she battled wanting to waste precious minutes by returning inside the house a final time. But they had no choice. Sensing their emergency, the house servants hurried to help, bringing trunks and baggage or whatever could be grabbed in haste.

At the last, Loveday caught Juliet’s hand, hastening her toward the coach. As they piled into the conveyance, their baggage lashed on top, Juliet handed up the whip to Hosea. Who knew but they might need it yet?

“To the Ravenal townhouse—Williamsburg.” Her words came out breathless and broken, just short of a sob.

“Wait!” Rilla’s voice sounded as she pushed a small crate through the coach window.

A distressed meow followed as Loveday took her offering. Hobbes? At such a time as this? Did Rilla sense they were fleeing, perhaps for good?

The coach lurched forward, clearing the stables and turning east toward the main road. Juliet sank back against the upholstered seat by Loveday, hands clasped, Hobbes at their feet. Neither spoke. It was to be the second-longest ride of Juliet’s life.

Just before midnight, Nathaniel Ravenal escorted Juliet and Loveday into his study. Still rattled, Juliet poured out her tale of woe behind closed doors, the coach out of view behind the townhouse.

“You’re wise to leave Royal Vale.” Nathaniel stood by the hearth and studied them gravely. “With your father away, Riggs could have done you harm this very night, volatile as he is.”

“I’m most concerned about the repercussions of all this,” Juliet told him. “Legally and otherwise.”

“If Riggs goes to the authorities, there’ll likely be a warrant issued for your arrest,” Nathaniel said, well acquainted with the law. “Not only for assault of Riggs but for helping harbor, conceal, and assist slaves to freedom. There’s also a hefty fine.”

Juliet stood by the hearth, more visibly composed if only because of Nathaniel’s steady presence. “Go on.”

“Unless your father can convince the law otherwise, a trial will follow, and then branding, imprisonment, or whatever punishment the court decides. Because you’re a woman and a planter’s daughter, the case—if it comes to that—will garner considerably more attention than it would ordinarily.”

She had never delved into the consequences of her slave assisting lest it deter her. Knowing Riggs’s vengeful nature would exact a frightful toll, she feared the Ravenals might be tainted by association. But for now, one thought gained the upper hand, and it had nothing to do with Riggs.

Her gaze rose to the ceiling. “How is Mr. Buchanan?” She had sent a note to inquire after his health just two days ago but as yet had received no answer.

“He recovered enough to travel to York Town yesterday. There he boarded his ship to return to Scotland.”

Gone.

Though she set her jaw, the tears she’d kept in check began to trail to her chin in mute misery. They dripped onto her cloak and caused a fierce ache in her throat. Reaching into her pocket for a lavender-scented handkerchief, she touched the miniature instead. It held the sting of a hornet. Finally her fingers found the linen.

Drying her eyes, she could do nothing for the sinking in her spirit. “I assumed his illness would prevent him from sailing. I wronged him and hoped to ... make amends, apologize.”

Nathaniel studied her in the light of a sole candle. “I don’t know that the Glasgow Lass has weighed anchor. There was some delay with cargo. He may yet be in York Town.”

She stared at him. He may yet. But if not?

His gaze sharpened. “We could go to the harbor immediately and find out.”

We. Such strength and reassurance in that word. But miles more in the wintry dark?

The clock chimed midnight. Bone weary, she felt she couldn’t take another step, yet she mustn’t let the past jeopardize the future.

“Then let us be away,” she said with a last look at Loveday before starting toward the door.