- Arrival in Williamsburg, Friday, 28 March 1755

York Road, the path they had been traveling on, showed a sign changing the name of the road to Woodpecker Street as they neared the city of Williamsburg, the capital city of Colonial Virginia. The afternoon light had strengthened and then begun to soften.

Woodpecker Street passed houses more frequently and enclosed lots. Workshops appeared between dwellings, and riders traveled in both directions. A wagon loaded with flour moved eastward, while another carrying empty barrels creaked west.

At midday, the first clear view of the Capitol building came suddenly.

The brick building stood at the eastern end of the town, formal and symmetrical. Both wings were circular in shape joined by the connecting structure above the passage. There was a chest-high wall of bricks that enclosed the courtyard that was now empty. It closed off the long perspective of the main street, with sincere and deliberate authority, as though Williamsburg had been arranged to make government the first thing seen by anyone arriving from Yorktown.

The Capitol building was the home of the House of Burgesses, elected from local citizens to pass laws of the Colony, and the Governor’s Council, the upper house and advisory body to the Royal Governor appointed by the King of England. The House of Burgesses were elected from local citizens and businessmen, while the Governor’s Council were important citizens appointed by the Royal Governor and the King.

Julian could see beyond the Capitol building, the famed Duke of Gloucester Street stretched - the main street, as Pike described it, running west through the town from the Capitol to the edge of town. Many buildings lined both sides at irregular intervals: houses, shops, taverns, offices, fenced gardens, sheds, kitchens, stables, and work yards. Far in the distance, partly obscured by haze and trees, rose the College of William and Mary.

Between the Capitol and the College laid the capital city of the Royal of the Colony of Virginia. Julian had expected something far larger. He had not expected something so concentrated. The city packed a lot of buildings in a small area, most made of brick and some of wood. There were three taverns farther along the route as well.

Pike slowed among pedestrians and horses. “That’s the Capitol,” he said unnecessarily.

“I recognized the ambition,” admired Julian.

North of it stood the Public Gaol or jail, enclosed and ominously severe. East of Capitol Square, a smaller brick building housed the colony’s records, Pike explained. Men entered and left carrying bundles, boxes, and folded documents. Julian’s attention was fixed upon that building.

Thomas Harcourt had spent much of his life inside that building or in offices connected with it. Patents, commissions, deeds, court papers, and official correspondence passed through those rooms. Land became ownership there. Testimony became record. Errors became precedent, if preserved long enough.

A gentleman on a dark horse emerged from near the records building accompanied by two other riders. He was broad-shouldered and richly, but soberly dressed, with a gray wig, dark red coat, and silver at his shoes and wrists. He sat his horse easily. Men greeted him as he passed, and he acknowledged each with practiced attention.

Pike lowered his voice, “Colonel Rooke.” Julian looked on in disinterest.

Rooke turned his head. For one improbable instant, his gaze met Julian’s through the movement of the street. He spoke to his companions, handed one of them a folded paper, and guided his horse toward the chair.

“Mr. Harcourt, I presume?” asked Colonel Rooke, not expecting an answer.

Julian removed his hat and nodded, “Colonel Rooke. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. My father speaks well of your reputation.”

Rooke’s expression was one of measured welcome. “The pleasure is mine. You have your father’s face.”

“I have been accused of that,” replied Julian.

“And Thomas’s manner, unless I am mistaken,” noticed Rooke.

“That accusation is only more recent,” smiled Julian.

Rooke smiled. It was a practiced and convincing smile, neither too broad nor too intimate. “I had expected your ship yesterday.”

“So had the captain. The river declined to cooperate with us,” blamed Julian.

“Virginia often does that.” The phrase recalled Mr. Pym’s defense of the misplaced pin.

Rooke’s horse shifted slightly. The colonel controlled it with the smallest movement of his hand on the reins. “I regret that business obliges me to leave town this afternoon,” he said. “Otherwise, I would insist that you dine with me. You must permit me to call upon you tomorrow.”

“At my uncle’s house?” asked Julian.

After a fractional pause, Rooke stated, “If you mean to stay there.”

“I had.” Julian had loved his uncle, and was itching to uncover what had happened to him. He believed not in the ‘accident’ story he had been told.

“Thomas had not kept it in comfort during his final months,” noticed Rooke.

“Comfort was not among my father’s instructions,” chided Julian.

“No. Sir Reginald has always preferred economy in other men,” stated Rooke.

Julian looked at him more closely. Rooke’s face revealed only mild amusement. “You knew my father well?” asked Julian.

“We have corresponded,” said Rooke.

The sealed letter inside Julian’s coat seemed to press against his ribs. “I carry something for you.”

Rooke’s measured facial expressions lightened, ever so slightly. “So, I understand.” Rooke made no move to receive it. “Tomorrow will be soon enough. You have traveled far, and written business should not be conducted in a road.”

Julian nodded. Julian wondered how Rooke knew of the letter’s existence and immediately answered his own question: ‘his father had told him’.

Behind the colonel, a clerk hurried from the records office and stopped upon seeing them. The man carried a volume wrapped in canvas. Rooke glanced at him once, and the clerk retreated beneath the building’s eaves.

“Hiding something?” Julian asked himself. “Did you know my uncle well?” Julian asked Colonel Rooke.

Rooke’s expression altered. The warmth remained, but grief, or a credible imitation of it, entered his eyes. “I knew him well, for more than twenty years.”

“Then perhaps you can tell me how he died?” asked Julian. The street noise seemed momentarily to recede. Pike stared at the horse’s harness.

Rooke answered without haste. “Your uncle fell from a bridge after dark.”

“I know that,” said Julian.

“You asked how,” explained Rooke.

“Yes, but that is not what I meant by it,” said Julian.

“Thomas had become troubled. He had worked too long among damaged papers and old disputes. He began seeing design where there was error, and conspiracy where there was only confusion. He turned to drink,” answered Rooked.

“What sort of conspiracy?” asked Julian.

Rooke looked toward the Public Records Office. “Land.” One word, spoken quietly.

Then the Colonel returned his gaze to Julian. “In Virginia, Mr. Harcourt, land produces more quarrels than tobacco, religion, and women combined. Thomas began to believe every disputed boundary concealed a deliberate theft.”

“Did it?” Julian tried not sound surprised, but he failed.

Rooke smiled again, though this time the smile did not reach his eyes. “Tomorrow.” He inclined his head.

“Welcome to Williamsburg, Mr. Harcourt,” he said with a mock salute. Rooke turned his horse and rode east with his companions. The clerk carrying the canvas-wrapped volume waited until the colonel had passed, then crossed quickly toward a side entrance of the Capitol.

Julian watched both men disappear. Pike started forward. “You might have waited a day before asking Colonel Rooke whether or not he killed your uncle.”

“I asked how Thomas died,” explained Julian.

“Some men hear the question beneath the question,” explained Pike.

“Colonel Rooke did not appear offended,” Julian said.

“That is why I should worry,” explained Pike.

They entered the main street. The town’s activity increased as they moved west from the Capitol. Signboards swung above doors. Servants carried baskets between kitchens and houses. A blacksmith’s hammer rang from a work yard. Dogs crossed without regard for rank or traffic.

Near the Raleigh Tavern, men gathered beneath the sign and crowded the entrance. Some wore sober coats of lawyers and clerks. Others were dressed for travel. Pike explained that the General Court would begin on the tenth of April, and that would cause Williamsburg’s population to swell during the public times.

Julian looked at the tavern’s doorway. “Where law gathers, drink follows?”

“Usually arrives first,” explained Pike.

Next Chapter: Chapter 4: The Printer