My Sister's Prayer

by Mindy Starns Clark

  “I told you there was nothing here,” Celeste said.

  He turned toward her and held up his pouch. “This is quite enough, I assure you. So far it appears you’ve stolen from passengers on the Royal Mary, and then you fabricated a story that the ring originated in Paris and a soldier, who is betrothed to another, gave you a brooch. How can you, an indentured servant, have a family who is wealthy enough to own a ring worth more than you will ever see in your entire life? And how could you, an indentured servant, have managed to captivate the interest of a soldier—who, I’ll say once again, is betrothed to another.”

  “I’m not lying. Both things are true. I was betrothed to him before Miss Vines was, back in London. He’s the reason I came here.”

  Wharton looked at Jones. “Even you must admit this is highly suspicious.”

  Jones shrugged. “Do you have any evidence that she actually stole the items?”

  “I’ll go speak with the Vines family tomorrow. Surely I’ll have evidence then. In the meantime, I’m arresting Miss Talbot on charges of theft.”

  “No!” Celeste gasped.

  “No is right!” Mr. Edwards bellowed up the ladder. “You cannot incarcerate my kitchen maid.”

  “Of course I can,” Constable Wharton responded.

  Jones crossed his arms. “I need to question Lieutenant Gray.”

  “Fine.” Constable Wharton jerked his head toward Celeste. “Descend.” As she did, he said to Jones, “Send the young man after him and tell him to meet us at the jail.”

  When they reached the bottom, Jones directed Spenser to go to the barracks and summon Lieutenant Gray.

  Spenser answered, “Of course.”

  Celeste reached for his sleeve. “After you do that, please check on Berta. And when the governor returns, would you let me know immediately?”

  “Yes. I’ll do everything I can.” Spenser hurried toward the door.

  Mr. Edwards folded his arms across his chest and confronted Wharton. “This isn’t right. I’ve had no problems with her. Nothing has gone missing. She’s not a thief.”

  Wharton grabbed Celeste’s arm, squeezing it tightly, and hissed to Mr. Edwards, “This is none of your business.”

  “It certainly is. I cannot run my inn without her.”

  “That’s not my problem. And if you interfere further, I’ll charge you with harboring a criminal.”

  Mr. Edwards took a step backward, bumping against the shelf, a look of misery on his face.

  “Send the boy with our meals,” Jones said to Mr. Edwards. “We’ll get to the bottom of this as soon as we can.”

  Celeste stifled a smile. Constable Jones’s love of Sary’s cooking was probably the only hope she had.

  As Wharton dragged her from the room, Celeste quickly told Sary what was going on. “I’ll be back soon,” she added. “Don’t worry.”

  But Sary clearly was worried.

  Once they reached the street, Wharton kept his grip on Celeste’s arm as they followed Constable Jones, taking the usual route to the jail.

  The two men led her through the gate and into the courtyard. “Take her upstairs,” Wharton said. After all these months of delivering food, this would be her first look inside a cell.

  Daylight was fading as Jones unlocked the gate and led her through. A man shouted from the closest cell, “Where’s my dinner?”

  “Pipe down!” Jones called out.

  “Who do you have there?”

  “None of your concern!” Jones barked. He led Celeste through a doorway and then up a ladder to a trapdoor. He opened it and led the way to the loft. She knew that was where the women stayed, not that any had been jailed since she arrived in Williamsburg that she knew of. She crawled inside, dragging her skirt through a puddle of water that had come in through the open window. The room smelled of mold. It was cold and dark, except for slivers of light making their way through the bars in the window.

  “I’ll close the shutters.” Jones reached for the wood panels. “There’s a blanket in the corner, and I’ll bring your dinner when it arrives.”

  “Will I be released as soon as Jonathan verifies my story?”

  He hesitated. “I hope so.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he secured the shutters, the room fell dark. He started to descend the ladder but then stopped. “I’m sorry about this, Miss Talbot. I don’t believe you stole anything either.”

  Before she could respond, he was gone. A moment later, Constable Wharton said something to Jones in a harsh tone, but Celeste couldn’t make out the words.

  She crawled across the rough floorboards, searching each corner until she found a musty blanket and a chamber pot. She pulled the blanket over her cloak, wrapping herself in it, and then collapsed on the floor, trying not to think of Berta.

  She stayed awake for as long as she could, hoping Jonathan would arrive soon and wishing for some sort of dinner. By the yelling from the two cells below, none of the men had received their meals either. Celeste could imagine the chaos at the inn with Benjamin and Mr. Edwards serving. Aline was probably helping too.

  As she waited, she felt more and more disoriented in the pitch-dark, and it wasn’t long until she fell asleep.

  A knocking sound woke Celeste. It took her a moment to remember where she was, and once she did she couldn’t tell if an hour had passed or an entire night. Then it all came back. She was in the jail’s loft. She pulled the blanket around her as she rose to her knees, wondering why no one had woken her once Jonathan was found.

  The trapdoor creaked. “It’s Jones,” the constable said. “I have breakfast for you—and a visitor.”

  Celeste scooted over to the shutters and opened them, letting in more of the cold air, hoping Jonathan had come at last. No one was below. After straightening her cap over her disheveled hair, she pulled the blanket tighter, anticipating that Jonathan was on the ladder too.

  The trapdoor popped up and then clunked heavily against the rough boards of the floor. Instead of Jonathan, Spenser appeared, holding a bucket.

  For a moment disappointment washed through her, but Spenser’s face reflected so much sympathy that she couldn’t help but be thrilled to see him.

  “Are you all right?” He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

  She nodded. “Where’s Jonathan? Why didn’t he come last night?”

  “He took off to the east in his carriage yesterday morning. No one has seen him since.”

  Celeste sank back on her heels, speechless for a long moment. Once Spenser made his way through the hatch, she managed to say, “Well, if he’s at the Vines’s plantation, he’s soon in for a big surprise.” Celeste was certain Constable Wharton would mention her and the relationship she claimed to have with Jonathan. It wasn’t her concern how Miss Vines would react.

  “He’ll tell Wharton about the brooch. And about his treatment of you, I’m sure of it.” He handed her the bucket. “Sary made you biscuits and tea for breakfast.” Lowering his voice, he added, “And she sent along some smoked pork for later.”

  She thanked him, taking the half-full pewter mug first. It certainly wasn’t the way tea was usually served, but it was still warm. She wrapped her hands around it, grateful.

  “I’ve made some inquiries into a solicitor for you.”

  “I don’t have enough money to pay for one.” Celeste still had some funds left, but she would need every bit to pay for Berta’s care in the coming weeks.

  He shrugged. “We’ll figure it out. Hopefully, your case can be heard in the General Court next week. The sooner this is settled, the better, but it sounds like the judicial system here doesn’t work the same as in England. Things don’t seem to be as—uniform.”

  Celeste inhaled deeply, knowing it was pointless to ask anymore questions. Spenser couldn’t predict how things might turn out. “How’s Berta?”

  His face darkened. “Wharton took her with him.”

  Celeste gasped.

  “He declared the contract void, of course.
In his mind, he’s reclaiming his property.”

  “Is he taking Berta with him to the Vines’s Plantation?”

  “Apparently so.”

  Celeste held the mug closer, as if she could find comfort in its warmth. She was terrified for Berta. And though Spenser surely was too, he had a calmness about him that she admired. Perhaps he’d prayed for Berta and had faith she would be all right.

  She took a sip of tea, hoping it would calm her, as Constable Jones called up the ladder, “That’s enough time.”

  Celeste thanked Spenser and then added, “Make sure to let me know when the governor gets back. He might help me.” She wasn’t sure that he would, but she had to try.

  Spenser nodded. “We’ll get you out as soon as possible.” He turned to go.

  “Wait.” Reaching toward the bucket, Celeste removed the cloth covering to reveal two biscuits. She took one for herself, along with the pork, and then she slid the bucket toward Spenser and directed him to give the other to Constable Jones. “He’s probably hungry.”

  “Good idea. I’m sure he’ll be grateful.” Spenser stuck an arm through the bucket’s handle so he could grip the ladder with both hands.

  “And you should take mine.” She held her biscuit out.

  He shook his head and grinned. “You keep it. Sary already gave me two.”

  Celeste couldn’t help but smile back.

  After he was gone, she scooted close to the window, wrapped the pork in the cloth, and tucked it away. Then she bit into the biscuit. Warm butter filled her mouth. “God, please bless Sary,” Celeste whispered. Tears stung her eyes. She’d prayed without realizing it. She wiggled her toes in her boots. Mr. Edwards had known it would grow cold and wet and muddy. He’d cared for her too. “Thank You for Mr. Edwards and for the boots.”

  She thought of her parents teaching her that all good things came from God. She believed that. Then she thought of her catechism lessons, of what it meant to honor God. To call upon Him in all our necessities, seeking salvation and every good thing that can be desired in Him.

  Honoring him was a simple thing, and yet all these months she hadn’t been able to. She’d sinned against God, but she sensed He still wanted her to call upon Him for her necessities. For Berta’s safety. For justice. For salvation. For life itself. But first for something else.

  “Forgive me,” she prayed. “I sinned against You and my parents.” She would write to them again as soon as she could.

  “Please help me,” she whispered. “Please help us.”

  She had no right to ask for anything good from God—but she would anyway, especially when it came to the safety of her sister. “Please keep her safe. Please get me out of here and show me what to do.”

  She took another bite of biscuit and thanked God for that small blessing. Sary cared about her. So did Mr. Edwards. So did Spenser.

  So did God.

  She was not alone.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Celeste

  Celeste woke later that afternoon to the rat-a-tat of the drums. As she stretched, voices came up through the window from the courtyard below. She crawled to where she could see through the bars, pulled out her little cloth packet, and nibbled on the pork as she watched what was happening below.

  Mr. Edwards spoke with Constable Jones. “Don’t make me hire a solicitor, who’ll take the case before the governor.”

  “You know Wharton will have my job if he comes back and she’s not here.”

  “He won’t be back,” Mr. Edwards said. “He has the ring and his servant. Wharton can try her in the General Court, probably in the spring session instead of this next one, if he has enough evidence. Making her stay in jail until then is pointless. She’ll die from the cold when she could be helping me run my inn. Do you want her demise on your hungry conscience?”

  “I don’t see how I can let her go—”

  “I don’t see how you can’t,” Mr. Edwards countered. “Otherwise, no one is getting any food out of my kitchen, and a ship is docking in a few hours.” Celeste had heard a ship was on its way with a big load of supplies. It wasn’t that more ships wouldn’t come during the winter, but sometimes they were delayed.

  “Well, that would be a problem.” Jones patted his belly. The sound of knocking distracted him, and he stepped from view. A few moments later he said, “I didn’t think any food was coming from your kitchen.”

  “This is just for Celeste.” It was Spenser’s voice, and a moment later he stepped into view. “Sary sent it. It’s some sort of soufflé.”

  “What?” Jones stepped back into view too. “No breakfast, and now no dinner either?”

  Spenser shrugged. “I’m just following orders.” Celeste couldn’t see his eyes, but she could imagine the twinkle in them.

  “You may have the soufflé if you let Celeste out,” Mr. Edwards said.

  “I can’t do that.” Jones sounded angry—and defeated.

  “I’ll just take this up to her,” Spenser said, stepping out of view.

  “Wait a minute!” Jones turned back toward Mr. Edwards. “You could pay bail.”

  “I’d rather do that than watch my business fall apart.”

  “It still might get me in trouble with Wharton…” Jones scratched the side of his head. “Do you trust her?”

  “Yes, I do,” Mr. Edwards said. “I already told you that last night.”

  Spenser rejoined the other men. “She won’t go anywhere.”

  “How about back to Norfolk, to try to protect her sister?” Jones asked. “She seems awfully devoted to her. I’ve seen her going back and forth to Monsieur Petit’s house and all.”

  “Sure, she would want to if she could,” Spenser answered. “But she won’t have any money to get down there. She’ll stay here. Besides, she wouldn’t betray Mr. Edwards and go without his permission. Not after all he’s done for her.”

  Celeste scooted a little closer to the window.

  “How about if Spenser lets her out while you and I talk through the bail amount? Then you can eat the soufflé.”

  Celeste guessed the two men had planned this encounter with Constable Jones, making sure it happened at dinnertime. That must be why the pork had been included with breakfast, so she wouldn’t go hungry now.

  Spenser handed Mr. Edwards the soufflé.

  Constable Jones hesitated and then shrugged. “You’ll lose the bail if she leaves the village.”

  “She won’t,” Mr. Edwards said. “I can assure you.”

  Finally, the constable handed Spenser the key. A few moments later, as she popped the last bite into her mouth, Celeste could hear him scurrying up the ladder, and then the trap door flipped open.

  “The constable’s letting you out on bail,” Spenser said.

  “I heard.” Turning, she pulled the shutter closed, wanting the loft to be drier for the next woman forced to stay in it. She hoped it wouldn’t be her again. Then she folded the blanket and placed it away from the window.

  “Ready to go, then?”

  “Yes!” Relief swept through Celeste as she followed Spenser down the ladder, blinking in the brightness. God was using him and Mr. Edwards to meet her needs.

  As she stepped out into the courtyard, her employer told her to go on back to the inn, get herself cleaned up, and then get right to work. “Remind Sary we’ll have extra people to feed this evening. Tell her to roast the ducks the hunter dropped by this morning and bake the squash. And also to make a compote.”

  “I will.”

  Spenser walked with her for the first block but then they parted ways. “Thank you so much,” she called over her shoulder as he veered off. “And don’t worry. We’ll get Berta back here as soon as we can.”

  He nodded, waved, and disappeared into the trees.

  She pulled her cloak tight and hurried on toward the inn, keeping to the edge of the street to avoid the worst of the mud. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky, threatening more rain. Leaves drifted down from the trees, littering the groun
d with patches of orange, yellow, and red. She brushed a strand of hair from her face. As Mr. Edwards had said, she would take a moment to wash up and repin her hair. She felt as if she’d spent a week in the jail—not just a night.

  After dinner was finished, she would write a letter to her parents, asking for their forgiveness. She hoped one of the sailors on the ship that would soon be docking would deliver it to London for her.

  She went through the back gate of the property, through the orchard, and then toward the garden. As she passed the grape vines, she thought about what it meant to abide in Christ and vowed to pray and ask for His help each day.

  As she came around the chicken coop, she heard voices yelling. First a man and then Sary. Even if Mr. Edwards were in the kitchen—and she knew he wasn’t—he wouldn’t have been so harsh. Celeste hurried to the door and flung it open. Benjamin cowered under the table, while Mr. Horn confronted Sary, his hand raised.

  “What’s going on?” Celeste cried.

  Horn spoke without looking her way. “It’s time someone taught her a lesson. Edwards has ruined her. She hasn’t done a thing all day.” He shifted just enough for Celeste to see the whip in his hand.

  “Mr. Horn, I’m back now.” She tried to stay calm as she stepped into the room. “Everything will be fine.”

  “That’s right,” Horn said. “And it will be better than fine after I’m done with her. I never should have leased her to Edwards. He’s only made her worse. I’ll never get what she could have been worth now.”

  As he pulled his arm back, Celeste rushed forward, throwing herself between the man and Sary. When the whip came down, it lashed across Celeste’s face, along her cheekbone. Sary screamed. The whip came down again, this time on Sary’s shoulder, sending her toward the fire. She banged her hand against the pot suspended over the flames, sending hot water across her skin.

  Celeste started to pull Sary to the table to get a better look at her hand, but Mr. Horn raised the whip again. Celeste jerked up her free arm, blocking the man and sending him off balance. He stumbled and then fell toward the fireplace, screaming as he landed. He struggled in the flames, trying to get out. Celeste let go of Sary and reached for Mr. Horn. He grabbed her hands but then slipped away in a panic and fell back into the flames. Celeste stepped forward, reaching down again and grabbing him under his arms this time, yanking with all of her might. He wasn’t a big man, but the angle was awkward, and he didn’t seem to be cooperating.