Elizabeth Lount drew a shaky breath, willing her heart to stop pounding. She dried her sweaty palms on the bodice of her dress. Her Sunday best. His life depended on her and that weight pressed heavy. What if this didn’t work? What if her attempt to free Samuel failed? Her confidence faltered.

Steps leading up to the Governor House loomed before her. Behind those foreboding doors sat one who had the power. One who could, with just a word, reverse the sentence of death. One who could restore hope and equity. The punishment far exceeded the crime… if protesting government overreach could be called a crime.

Tears sprang to her eyes and Elizabeth adjusted the roll under her arm.  It was a petition filled with 8000 signatures. So many signatures. Surely that would convince anyone of Samuel’s innocence… wouldn’t it? A man just like any other, who despite weaknesses and struggles, had followed a higher call to stand for truth. Exercising his rights. Even citizens loyal to the government had recognized the honour in Samuel’s actions and had added their names to the growing list of those asking for clemency. At great cost. So many people willing to put their own freedom at risk in a call for justice. The very act of signing was illegal and could result in their own imprisonment.

The hour was early, yet there was a bustle of activity on the streets. Earnest looking businessmen milled around her. Elizabeth looked down at her home spun Sunday clothes. She felt frumpy. Taking another deep breath, she refused to give way to her desperation. Refused to let them see her weakness. She would not cry.

Elizabeth mounted the steps, chin high, shoulders square.

A thin, long-nosed man instructed her to take a seat before his footsteps clipped down the hallway. Elizabeth sat tall and stiff on the hard wooden chairs. He returned and bid her follow him. She was soon ushered into the presence of the great Sir George Arthur. The one with the power.

 Elizabeth studied the man. His military uniform was pressed, creased in just the right places. His lean face housed neat whiskers. The hand holding his pen was thin, fingers bony. His head was cocked in the most efficient manner. He ignored her presence.

Elizabeth cleared her throat. ‘Thank you for seein–“

“One moment.” Sir George interrupted her without lifting his eyes from the papers on his desk.

Elizabeth felt the blood rush to her face. Obediently, she rested the roll on her lap and folded her hands and waited. The clock ticked loudly.

Finally, cold eyes lifted from his desk and flickered over her. “What is the nature of your business?’

Elizabeth met his gaze. “I am here to plead for my husband’s life.” Her voice sounded foreign to her ears, confident and clear.

“And who would your husband be?” His gaze darted back to the important work waiting on his desk.

“Mr. Samuel Lount, sir.” Elizabeth swallowed hard. “He has been harshly judged and unfairly sentenced. I have with me a petition, sir. Signed by 8000 of your countrymen. Asking for clemency.” Elizabeth handed the roll over demanding his attention.

Sir George humphed. “I am familiar. A case of treason, if I am not mistaken.” He set the roll on his desk without opening it.

“If you but open the roll, sir, you would see the names of many influential men. Men willing to attest to the honourable character and worth of my Samuel. My husband is a good man. A wise businessman. He has done so much to help others. Perhaps the only crime he has committed was to love his country too much. To expect in those who rule our country, the same honourable character he expected of himself.

“Are you suggesting, Mrs…,” Sir George struggled for a moment to remember her name before giving up, “that the sway of justice could be influenced by names or money?” His voice was cold, devoid of emotion. “You presume wrongly, woman.”

“If it really were justice, I wouldn’t suggest any such thing, sir. But my husband has done nothing wrong.” She took a deep breath ready to launch into her prepared speech.

“I won’t change his sentence.” George interrupted her again. “I will not question the wisdom of my fellow magistrates who deemed his crime worthy of death. If your husband were so wise he would have stayed home with you, taken care of business, and hence would not find himself in such a position.”

“If you would but look at the petition, sir. I know—”

“I care not that you have collected names. The fact remains: your husband led a rebellion against the monarchy. Insubordination will not be tolerated.”  Prior to his appointment in Canada, George Arthur had served as the head of a penal colony. He was unmoved by pleas for mercy and insistence on innocence. Every convict claimed it.  He knew it was best to swiftly and harshly execute punishment for results. “Unless your husband is willing to rat out his accomplices. In such a case, I would be persuaded to revisit the sentencing. However, if he is as noble as you claim, I suspect such a thing would be beneath him.” Abruptly, he returned his attention to the papers on his desk.

Elizabeth froze. Was he dismissing her so quickly? Would he not even open the roll? Would he so callously and harshly condemn the actions of her husband? Was her one chance to change her husband’s fate gone?

As that reality sunk in, Elizabeth could help herself no longer. She flung herself at the arrogant man’s feet. “I beg you, sir! Would you leave me a widow and my seven children fatherless? Have you no mercy?!” Sobs wracked her body.

Sir George watched her outburst completely unmoved by her passion. “Your husband has made his choice. Insurrection will not be tolerated. The price must be paid.”

Slowly, Elizabeth drew herself up and wiped her eyes. She felt a rage building up inside her. “His blood be upon your hands.” Her voice was a whisper and Sir Geroge had to strain to hear her. “My husband dies with honour.” 

Elizabeth left his office with her chin high, shoulders square.

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