Blackhearts (20 page)

to find out as much as he could about Henry Barrett and

Anne.

After knocking on the third door on his left, he waited,

looking down the dark-paneled walls stretching away in the

gloom. His father’s voice called for him to enter.

“There you are,” Drummond said from the large armchair

positioned near one of the windows. Still dressed in his shirt

and breeches, he held a book in his hands. A tall candelabra

stood sentinel beside him, giving the room a warm glow. “I

heard you arrive.”

Teach closed the door behind him. “Yes, sir. Miss Patience

wished to see me first—”

“As she should. I was beginning to wonder if we would be

planning your funeral instead of your wedding. I was most con-

cerned.”

Teach nearly laughed out loud. If his father had been so

concerned, why had he left with the Herveys instead of stay-

ing behind to help him? “Never fear. I have fully recovered.”

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He took a few tentative steps forward, disliking how his father always managed to make him feel like a disobedient schoolboy.

“You had a visitor while you were gone.”

“Oh?”

Teach nodded. “Yes. Henry Barrett.”

Drummond’s eyebrows drew together. “What did he want?”

“He said he had some business with you,” Teach said, unsure

if this was the best way to introduce the topic. Should he ask his father outright if he knew Anne was Andrew Barrett’s daughter?

If Teach did, his father wouldn’t take kindly to having his

actions questioned by his son. On the other hand, if Drummond

didn’t know, he would be upset to think that someone had deceived him. Either way, Teach had to tread carefully.

“Did he?” his father asked, his frown deepening.

“Yes. He made it sound as though the two of you were in

the habit of discussing business matters. Does he have anything

to do with the
Deliverance
?”

Drummond snapped his book shut. “Hardly. I haven’t had

or wanted anything to do with him since he showed up five

months ago with that girl.”

Teach’s nerves prickled with awareness. “What girl?” he asked.

His father stood and walked toward the night table. “One

of the kitchen maids.”

It wasn’t a surprise that his father didn’t know Anne’s name.

He never showed any interest in his hired help. Even Margery,

who’d worked for him for years, was still a relative stranger.

18 2

“You mean Anne?” Teach asked, his stomach clenching.

Drummond stretched, rolling his neck from side to side.

“Hmm? Yes, yes, I believe that’s her name. Several months after

his father’s death, he came and said she had worked in his house, but he had enough kitchen staff and wondered if she couldn’t

come and work for me.”

“Did he give a reason why?”

His father’s face was thoughtful. “Andrew had had a cook,

a woman by the name of Jacqueline. Your mother and I were

quite fond of her cooking. When your mother was ill, Jacque-

line sent soups and salves to help ease her discomfort. Normally I would never hire an islander, but Henry obviously knew I

would take in anyone who had learned at the hands of that

woman.”

Teach struggled to keep his expression neutral, shamed and

angered by his father’s obvious prejudice. “Did he mention any-

thing else about Anne? Her surname, perhaps?”

“Good heavens, no. Why would I need to know that? I

don’t make it a habit to learn everything about the help. I sug-

gest you don’t either.”

“How long had it been since you’d last had contact with

Andrew Barrett?”

Drummond was silent, fingering a small frame on the night

table with the painted likeness of his wife. He’d had it commis-

sioned when Teach had been a boy, and Drummond never left

the house without it. It matched the large portrait hanging over 18 3

the fireplace in Drummond’s bedchamber back at the estate.

“A year or two before his death, Andrew sent me a letter

asking me to look after Jacqueline and her daughter should any-

thing happen to him. We hadn’t had much contact for some

time, but I told him I would.”

Teach knew Andrew Barrett was one of the few men his

father had called a friend. The two had been close, or as close as Drummond would allow.

“After his death I received a letter informing me I was the

executor of an account under Jacqueline’s name. I replied to the solicitor, who said he would send word once he learned more.”

“But you didn’t hear anything else?”

“No. When Henry came to the house with that girl, I asked

after Jacqueline. Barrett told me she had decided to return to

the West Indies for a time and had taken her daughter with

her. I remembered Andrew once telling me the name of the

town when Jacqueline had been born, and I sent a letter there,

hoping to learn of their fate, but all to no avail. They’re quite primitive, I believe.”

“So you never heard from Henry Barrett again?” Teach asked.

“No. Perhaps that’s why he came by.”

“No, that’s not the reason. He was looking for something.”

Drummond’s eyebrows drew together. “What was he look-

ing for?”

“Nothing of significance. So Barrett told you that Anne had

worked for him?”

18 4

“Yes, which was why I hired her to help Margery in the kitchen. Since I’d failed to fulfill Andrew’s other wishes, I felt it couldn’t hurt to employ one of his servants. I had just fired my own cook and was on the lookout for a new one.”

“Did Henry say anything else? Anything about Anne’s

background or where she came from?”

Drummond looked up. “Heavens, no. Nor did I ask. The

girl is a servant. All I care about is that she performs her duties satisfactorily. Why the devil are you asking all of these questions?”

“Because Henry lied to you, Father. Anne isn’t a servant.

She happens to be Andrew Barrett’s daughter.”

His father’s face turned red, and his eyes widened with

shock. “Good Lord! That girl is Andrew Barrett’s daughter?” he

asked, clearly stunned.

Teach should have known better. He could accuse his father

of many things, but Drummond would never have employed

the daughter of one of his closest friends. Especially not when

he’d been asked to look out for her.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Drummond asked. Teach

was fairly certain his father had barely spoken a word to many

of his servants, including Anne, and he could not imagine a

sixteen-year-old maid asking to speak with the master of the

house. It simply wasn’t done.

“She doesn’t trust easily. When her father died, Henry Barrett

kicked them out onto the street. I believe they had a hard time of 18 5

it, and no one came to their aid. Anne didn’t think it would make a difference if you knew her true identity.”

“They?”

“Yes, Anne and her mother, Jacqueline.”

Visibly shaken, Drummond sat on the edge of the bed.

“Where is her mother now?” he asked, his voice subdued, as if

he already knew the answer.

“Anne said she passed away. I don’t know how or when, but

it must have been before Henry brought Anne to you.”

Closing his eyes, Drummond leaned forward, his arms rest-

ing on his knees. “Oh no. Oh no. I see it now. Good Lord, why

didn’t I see it before? She has his eyes. His eyes,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Teach was surprised at the depth of emotion on his father’s

face. “You couldn’t have known. If Barrett didn’t say any-

thing—” Teach began, but his father wasn’t listening.

“I’ve failed him. He asked me to look after her, after
them
, and I failed him.”

Teach stepped forward, a surge of sympathy washing over

him. “It’s not your fault. You had no idea. Barrett never said she was his daughter—”

“No, but I should have seen the resemblance. The minute

she entered my house, I should have noticed the similarities.

The cooking, the attention to detail.” His eyes had a distant

look in them. “Anne is just like her mother and is as proud as

her father. And I have failed them all.”

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The room was eerily silent. Teach’s mind filled with visions of what he would do to Henry when he found him. Not just on

Anne’s behalf but also on his father’s. And his own.

Drummond stood abruptly and paced the floor. “I must go

back. I must return and make this right.”

Teach nodded in agreement. “Excellent idea. Tomorrow, we

shall both—”

His father’s head whipped around, and he fixed his son

with a penetrating glare. “No. Tomorrow I will return. You

will stay here.”

“But I want to go with you,” Teach insisted.

“No.
You
need to make things right with Miss Patience. I’ve spent enough time under this roof and must return to Bristol

at once. In less than three weeks’ time, the
Deliverance
will set sail, and there is still much to prepare. You will leave the matter of Anne to me.”

Teach glowered at his father, wondering how he could

have ever felt sorry for the man. Teach also wondered how he

could ever convince the man to let him captain a ship, if Teach

couldn’t even talk his father into letting him return home. “If it hadn’t been for me, you would not be aware of the situation,”

he pointed out icily.

Drummond’s voice was just as cold. “And do you care to

explain why you were conversing with the kitchen staff about

their status in my household?”

“I’ve noticed Margery dealing rather harshly with Anne and

18 7

was curious as to why. I believe you should get rid of Margery.”

“Could it be you have other reasons for being concerned for

Anne’s welfare?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m engaged to be married,” Teach

snapped.

“Good. And don’t you forget that. Drummonds are honor

bound to keep their promises.”

“It is hardly a crime to speak with subordinates, Father. You

could learn a lesson from Andrew Barrett in that regard. He

took an active interest in his staff.”

“Yes. I’ve seen how active an interest it was,” Drummond

said. “Andrew was a good man, but there is no denying his

questionable judgment at times. Nevertheless, I will do as he

asked and care for the girl.”

“But you still need my help watching the servants because

of the thefts. If you’re too busy, I can—”

“I haven’t noticed anything else missing. Perhaps I was mis-

taken. Anyone would be a fool to steal from me. Now, if you’ll

excuse me, I wish to retire. I’ll return home first thing in the morning.”

Teach reached the door in swift, angry strides. “Good night,

Father. Have a safe journey back,” he snapped, closing the door

solidly behind him.

18 8

C H A P T E R 1 7

Anne

Anne clutched the pocket watch in her hand as she entered the

drawing room. Master Drummond rarely asked to have a word

with one of his staff. When he did, the person was typically

dismissed. Anne’s insides flipped uncomfortably as she closed

the door behind her. She wasn’t sure if she was still an employee, which made her even more anxious.

“You wished to see me, sir?” she asked, attempting to keep

her voice level, pressing the pocket watch into her palm.

Master Drummond turned from the window. His sharp

green eyes, so similar to Teach’s, studied her. “Yes, I did. Please, won’t you have a seat?”

Anne’s heart pounded in her chest, but she did as he

requested.

He sat down across from her. “I don’t know exactly where

to begin, as I have apparently made quite a mess of things. But

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I shall attempt to rectify the situation.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned forward and looked Anne squarely in the eyes. “I believe

I owe you an apology.”

If Anne hadn’t been sitting, her legs would have given out

beneath her at his words.

Master Drummond continued. “A long time ago your

father asked me to look after his cook and her daughter in the

event that something happened to him. When you came to this

house, I had no idea who you really were. Henry Barrett merely

mentioned that you’d been employed in his father’s household.

If I’d known you were Andrew’s daughter, I would never have

agreed to let you work for me.”

The pocket watch slipped from Anne’s hand and fell to the

floor. Too stunned to move, she watched as Master Drummond

picked it up and examined it, turning it over in his palm.

“I know this watch. I was with your father in London

when he bought it,” he said softly. Popping it open, he read the inscription inside, which said
For my Jacqueline
, before handing it back to her.

“Thank you.”

Master Drummond sighed. “No. You have nothing to

thank me for. At least not yet.”

Anne remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

“Looking at you, I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. Andrew never told me he had a daughter
with
Jacqueline, but I should have guessed as much. He was lonely after his wife died.”

19 0

Anne did not like the insinuation that loneliness was the only reason her father had turned to her mother. “They cared

for each other.”

Master Drummond’s gaze did not quite meet hers. It was

clear he was uncomfortable speaking about the relationship

between Anne’s parents.