Move over Susan B. Anthony. There’s an unsung woman asking for the vote 224 years before you, and murderous rebels and bigoted gentlemen can’t prevent spinster Lady Margaret Brent from wielding her power to defend Maryland settlers from plunder and obliteration.
Their cousin Cecil, the second Lord Baltimore, addressed the men. “I’ve spoken of colonization before. You’ve listened politely, but your loyalties remain with your king and England. I understand, as do mine.”
“Then you’ve no need to speak more of this.” Edward said.
“But I do.” Cecil narrowed his eyes.
Richard said, “You forgot something rather important, my friend.”
Cecil hesitated.
“You must consider the king’s act that restrains the popishly bred from going beyond the seas and the punishments for those who assist.”
Giles looked up from the map. “Popish—the hell. King Charles can’t even bring himself to say Catholic.”
“Silly. Everyone but those of us who are says ‘popish.’” Margaret now waited for her father to reprimand her, but he said nothing.
“A serious point, my friend. Dangerous times, indeed,” said Cecil. “King Charles’s wrath increases and will come down on those who refuse to conform to the Church of England.”
Fulke shut his eyes a moment before saying, “You’re a kind gentleman, sir. But if you pursue this, you will certainly lose everything you and your father have acquired. Even your mentioning this to us puts you in jeopardy.”
“Every second of every day puts us all in jeopardy. Today and the weeks forward, your family may suffer destruction beyond your imagination.” He took several paces then stopped and studied each of the men. “Please, friends, decide to take my offer. It takes time and special negotiations to arrange a safe passage for you. Remember, a most disagreeable mood has overtaken England concerning passengers who refuse to take the oath of allegiance and acknowledge the king’s supremacy. We need to be clever so as not to be entrapped.”
A tap on the door stopped the conversation. Mary glanced at her father, then rose, and opened it.
Pursell stood waiting to be acknowledged.
“Yes?” said Richard.
“Sir, supper will be served within the hour, and also there’s a man at the back door. He’s asked to speak with you.”
“Cecil, good friend, will you join us in a late supper?”
“It’s past time for me to be on my way to Ilmington. Please consider what we’ve discussed. I’ll send word where we may engage in a private meeting.”
“Pursell,” Richard said, “have Dary see Lord Calvert’s carriage and horse are brought forth.”
Lord Calvert strode to the table. He placed with great care what must have been his cherished map on top and slid the stack into a burgundy, embossed leather folio. Gathering his cape and hat and in good cheer, bowed his farewell.
Her father squinted at his servant. “Tell me, what brings this fellow to our door at this hour?”
“He says his name is John Coates, sir. It seems a young girl saw Lady Margaret talking with his son earlier this afternoon. His son has gone missing, and the sheriff has found a dead man.”
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