Blackhearts (14 page)

Not that Teach would mind. After all these years Henry

still had to resort to deception in order to win a single hand. He was as incompetent as Teach remembered. Teach wasn’t worried

about Henry recognizing him, for Henry had already enjoyed

his fair share of ale.

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If only William were here,
Teach thought idly. William would take great pleasure in winning Henry’s ill-gotten gains

from him, for William was the superior player.

Drawing in a deep breath, Teach pulled John’s coat more

closely around his shoulders. After a few more hands were

played, the game was over. Barrett reached out his meaty arms

and drew the coins toward him. They fell into a drawstring

pouch that he shoved into his longcoat.

Pushing back his chair, Henry slipped the cards into his

pocket, before staggering toward the door. No one would

know that he’d cheated. That didn’t sit well with Teach, so he

slipped out the back of the room, through the grease-filled

kitchen, ignoring the angry calls of the cook. The stench in

the alley nearly choked him. Henry Barrett walked down

the middle of the street, his thick legs unsteady beneath his

bulk.

Teach longed to settle the score with Barrett, and decided

now would be the best time to do it. If fate had led him to the

tavern that night, who was he to question it?

Swaying down the dark street, Henry appeared unaware

of the stealthy figure following him. Shadows swirled around

Teach’s feet, and he clenched his hands, anticipation coursing

through him as he thought how to best his opponent.

Luckily for Teach, Henry was the one who presented the

opportunity. He approached a park, the outlines of the bushes

and shrubbery creating enough cover for Teach to move closer.

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Henry strolled toward a tree, clearly intent on relieving himself of his countless pints of ale.

While Henry was otherwise engaged, Teach drew forward,

picked up a branch lying nearby, and poked the tip into Henry’s

back, all in one swift movement.

Turning, Henry scrambled to reach for his weapon.

Teach was too speedy for him. With deft movements he

knocked Barrett’s pistol away while at the same time pushing

him to the ground.

Teach stood over him, clearly with the advantage. It took

considerable effort on his part to refrain from laughing as

Barrett looked up at him, fear and shock in his eyes, the

smell of urine overpowering the air.

“I will take that purse,” Teach said, flicking the stick in

Barrett’s face.

“Bugger off,” Henry snarled. “That’s not even a sword.”

Teach clucked his tongue. “I never claimed it was. Now

hand over the purse, and I will release you unharmed. If you

don’t, I will take you back to the tavern to explain the cards in your pocket.”

Henry stared at Teach, peering in the darkness up at his

face. “I know you,” he mumbled, his speech slurred.

“Hand over the coins,” Teach said, undeterred. The chances

of Henry remembering this encounter were slim.

After a moment Henry reached into his pocket and tossed

the drawstring bag several feet away.

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Teach slid to the side and bent down, his eyes never leaving his victim. Once he secured the pouch in his hands, he hefted

it, testing its weight.

In that instant Henry lunged forward, diving toward Teach’s

feet. Expecting just such a move, Teach sidestepped the tackle,

but Henry still managed to hook an arm around one leg. Teach

landed on his back, the breath knocked out of him. Momentar-

ily stunned, he lay there until he saw the large rock in Henry’s hand.

Teach scrambled out of the way and jumped to his feet.

With a deft movement he grabbed Henry by the hair and

slammed his fist into his face. Henry splayed in the dirt, like a pig on a spit, and didn’t move again.

“You should have listened to me,” Teach muttered, getting

to his feet. He picked up his hat and dusted it off before retrieving the drawstring bag. He took out one coin and flicked it,

and it landed near Henry Barrett’s face. With one last disgusted look in Henry’s direction, Teach turned and disappeared into

the dark.

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C H A P T E R 1 2

Anne

When Anne got up the next morning, the sky was a light gray,

the sun hidden just below the horizon. She discovered a note

addressed to Margery on the small sideboard in the hallway near

the kitchen. She would have read it if it hadn’t been sealed. The handwriting was bold and strong, and Anne wondered when

Teach had returned, for there was no question it was from him.

Was it a reprimand for Margery’s behavior the previous

night? A part of Anne hoped it was, even though she knew that

would create more problems than it would solve.

Anne had not heard Teach return last night. Or perhaps it

had been in the morning. She couldn’t help wondering where

he’d been.

When Margery saw the note, she ripped it open, clearly

uneasy, and scanned the contents. With a sigh of relief she

stuffed it into her pocket and turned to the three girls, who

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stood nearby awaiting their assignments for the day. “It appears the young master has an errand for me in the city. You will continue with your chores until I return.”

Anne exchanged looks with Sara and Mary, but the three

remained silent. Margery turned on her heel and started up the

stairs.

In a matter of minutes the sound of the carriage could be

heard as it drove away, taking Margery with it.

The girls collected their cleaning supplies, and Mary and Sara

started whispering. “She forgot to tell us what to do,” Sara said.

“Aye, she was off in quite a rush.”

“What do you suppose the note said?”

“Don’t know. Just be glad to have her out of the house,”

Mary muttered, her plump face flushed from the exertion of

washing the hall floor.

Anne shook her head and left the two girls to their duties.

She usually polished the furniture in Master Drummond’s

room but hadn’t been able to get to it that week because of the

time she’d spent tending Teach. She hoped to finish before he

awakened.

The upstairs was silent as Anne began her labor. Starting at

one end of the room, she worked as quickly and efficiently as

possible. She’d been at it for some time when the sound of foot-

steps approached, but they were too light to belong to Teach.

Sara poked her head in the doorway as Anne knelt beside

Master Drummond’s armchair.

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“Have ye seen Mary?” Sara asked.

Anne shook her head. “No, I thought she was with you.”

“Aye, she was, but she said she left a candle burning in her

room and ran to put it out. That was a while ago, and I haven’t

seen her since.”

Anne was not surprised. With Margery gone, Mary would

take any opportunity to shirk her responsibilities. “Have you

checked in the pantry? Or perhaps the stable?”

Sara made a face. “Of course. I suppose I’ll have to go and

get her away from Tom again.”

Shaking her head, Anne listened to the footsteps fade down

the hallway. She didn’t want to think about what would happen

if Master Drummond ever found out about Mary and Tom.

Somehow Mary had managed to keep her liaisons a secret even

from Margery.

As Anne bent over to smooth one corner of the rug, her

foot connected with the bottom of the bedside table, and some-

thing dropped with a solid
clank
. Turning, she discovered a tur-tle-shell spyglass, inlaid with silver and gold, wedged between

the table leg and the wall. It was covered in dust. Picking it up, Anne felt her pulse accelerate at the find. From the looks of it, it was quite old, and the metal was tarnished, but Anne still

recognized a valuable item when she saw one.

It appeared to have been there for quite some time. When

she bumped the table, it must have dislodged it. She hesitated,

weighing the object in her hands. It obviously meant something

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to Master Drummond. Otherwise it would not have been beside his bed. He kept only his most valued treasures closest to him,

which was why the room was practically barren.

But the condition of the spyglass showed that the master

hadn’t thought about it for quite a while. It could have been

hidden there for years without his knowledge.

For Anne, it could very well be the final piece she needed

in order to afford a new life somewhere else. With a quick

look behind her, she slid it into the pocket of her dress, her

fingers slick with perspiration as she told herself he wouldn’t

miss it.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she stood, prepared to

resume her work. Instead she froze when she noticed the large

portrait hanging above the fireplace. It was of the lady of the

house, Teach’s mother, Mrs. Catherine Drummond. Anne had

dusted it countless times before, admiring the burgundy dress

and serene face, but she’d never felt those eyes staring back at her, accusing, as they appeared to be now.

Anne had heard stories from the gardener about Catherine

Drummond. He was the only servant left who had known her,

and he’d said that Mrs. Drummond had always gone out of

her way to help someone in need, showing kindness even when

there’d been no benefit for herself.

If Mrs. Drummond could see Anne now, what would she

say? Would she encourage Anne, and give her money to help

her escape?

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Fingering the spyglass in her pocket, Anne pulled it out once more.

Or would Mrs. Drummond—

“What are you doing?”

Startled, Anne whirled, automatically hiding her hands

behind her back. Mary stood in the doorway, glaring at her.

“I’m working. Which is what you should be doing,” Anne

said, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

Mary’s eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding?”

Anne cursed the guilty flush that rose in her cheeks. “Nothing.”

Mary raised an eyebrow at her. “Nothing? I don’t believe

you. Show me what you have behind your back.”

“It’s nothing. I was simply cleaning. You startled me.”

“I cleaned this room yesterday,” Mary said, looking uncon-

vinced.

“I didn’t know. No one told me it had been done.” Anne

glanced nervously toward the door, unsure how long the girl

had been standing there.

Mary folded her arms over her ample chest. “What would

Margery say if she knew you were polishing things when they

didn’t need it? There’s enough work to go around without doing

everything twice, don’t you think?”

“What would Master Drummond say if he knew you were

dallying with the groom?” Anne shot back, feeling more than a

little defensive. “That is where Sara just found you, wasn’t it?”

Mary’s face flushed a deep red. “No, I was in the pantry.”

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“Alone? Or was Tom with you?”

“That’s none of your business, now, is it?”

“No, but it is Master Drummond’s business.”

There was fear in Mary’s eyes. “You have no proof.”

Anne could not bring herself to feel any pity for the girl.

“Mr. Edward said he caught you with Tom. I believe that’s

proof enough.”

“Did he tell you that? Well, you better watch yourself,”

Mary sneered. “I don’t think Master Drummond would take

too kindly to you spending so much time with his son.”

“Mr. Edward was ill, and both Margery and Master

Drummond know it. I was simply doing my job.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t doing my job?”

“Because I’ve never heard of a maid working side by side

with a groom before. And I’m quite sure Master Drummond

hasn’t either,” Anne said.

With a toss of her head, Mary stomped off, muttering

under her breath.

Exhaling, Anne slipped the spyglass once more into her

pocket, her knees shaking. She would have to watch herself

where Mary was concerned. The girl was trouble.

Until now Anne had done her best to choose less obvious

objects, of lesser value, and she’d always made sure she was quite alone before she took anything.

The incident just now had been close.

Too close.

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But Anne wasn’t willing to give up the spyglass. Not if she wanted to reach her goal.

Drummond was notorious for his stinginess, and Anne was

actually surprised that more people hadn’t stolen from him. Or

perhaps others had taken from him, but they’d been too smart

to get caught.

With less than three weeks left to plan her escape on the

Deliverance
, Anne would have to be extra careful. If anyone was to be caught, it would definitely not be her.

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C H A P T E R 1 3

Teach

Teach had just slipped into a fresh shirt and breeches when an

incessant pounding sounded at the front door. Closing his eyes,

he was tempted to climb back into bed. His tongue was still

thick and dry from the ale the previous night, and his efforts to erase Anne’s image from his head had been futile.

He’d visited two different taverns on his way home, try-

ing to figure out how he could talk his father into letting him

command the
Deliverance
before he married Patience. But the more he drank, the less control he had, and it hadn’t taken long before a pair of blue eyes had occupied his mind completely.