Blackhearts (5 page)

“Anne! Anne!”

Groaning, Anne quickly ran back through the low archway

and into the garden, unwilling to let Mary find her secret hid-

ing place.

Mary clutched a hand to her chest, her cap falling from her

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head. “There you are! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

An exaggeration, Anne was sure. “I’ve been collecting rose-

mary,” she said, wondering at her ability to lie to everyone in

this household. Until five months ago she had never told an

untruth or stolen anything in her life. There was something

about this place that almost demanded it.

“Quickly, you must come and help Margery and me serve

dinner.”

“But I’ve never done that before. I wouldn’t know what to

do,” Anne protested, taking a step back. Although her father

had never required her to work, she’d never been present when

he entertained guests. She had always eaten in the kitchen with

her mother and the rest of the household servants. Anne had

been caught between two worlds, unsure of her exact place in

either of them.

Mary shook her head, grabbing Anne by the wrist and

pulling her along. Shorter than Anne, Mary was strongly built.

Anne dragged her heels, but Mary didn’t seem to notice, intent

as she was on hauling Anne to her doom.

Ignoring Anne’s protests, Mary made it back to the kitchen

and threw Anne through the door, barring her escape.

“Here she is, Sara. Tell her what you told me,” Mary said,

picking up a tartlet from the table and taking a large bite.

Sara sat on a stool near the fireplace, her face wet with tears.

“It wasn’t my fault! She tripped me! She tripped me, she did.

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She saw the young sir watching me, and she was jealous.”

Anne could barely comprehend what she was saying. “Who

tripped you, Sara?” she asked. “Tell me what happened.” Surely

it couldn’t be bad enough that it would prevent her from fin-

ishing the dinner service. Sara was far too sensitive to work as a maid, Anne thought irritably.

“Aye, I’ll tell you what happened. It was Miss Patience. She

isn’t as pretty as we thought. She’s ugly inside, and it shows.

The young sir winked at me. He winked at
me
, he did, and she didn’t like it.”

Although Anne had yet to see Miss Patience Hervey, she
had

met the young master of the house and could understand how

Sara would catch his eye. Mary, too, was pleasing, despite her

generous middle.

Sara sniffed and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “She

tripped me, and I dropped the soup onto the young master’s

lap. Master Drummond was furious! Oooh, I’ve never seen him

so furious before.”

In this house, people had been fired for less grievous

acts than pitching a bowl of soup into someone’s lap. Master

Drummond often let maids or butlers go without so much as

a warning if their collar wasn’t stiff enough or if their shoes

weren’t polished. It depended on his mood and if he was feel-

ing charitable or not.

Anne patted Sara’s back in an attempt to calm her, just

as Margery flew in. She pointed at Anne, her hand shaking.

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Whether it was from rage or exertion, Anne could not tell. “Go and get changed. Quickly now. Wash up!”

“But I’ve never had to help with a meal. Surely you and

Mary—” Anne’s head snapped back from the impact of Margery’s

hand.

“I said now! Take a bucket, wash yourself, and be back

down here in two minutes. The young master has changed, and

the guests are ready for their next course.”

The appearance of Mr. Edward had turned the entire

household on its head.

Anne raced upstairs, her ear still ringing, and hastily tore

off her dress and shift. The water splashed onto the floor as she filled the washbasin and quickly cleaned herself. Moments later, as she retraced her steps wearing a fresh dress and apron, a pit settled in her stomach.

With one last look at Sara’s shaking form, Anne twisted her

unruly braid under her cap and followed Mary and Margery toward

the dining room, like a sacrificial lamb prepared for slaughter.

Even with her limp, Margery moved with amazing speed.

Anne was breathless by the time they reached their destination,

afraid she would be sick over the polished floor. With each footstep her anxiety rose, till it was all she could do to remain upright.

The sound of muted voices could be heard through the

door. Silverware clinked against the porcelain tableware, and a

woman’s shrill laugh pierced the air.

Margery turned to Anne and whispered, “All right, now. Look

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lively. You watch what Mary’s doing and simply do as she does.”

Anne nodded, her stomach twisting.

Straightening her shoulders, Margery turned and pushed

open the door. She became a different person entirely, at once

confident and discreet. Anne had a hard time reconciling the

image of this competent woman with the hissing witch who’d

slapped her not ten minutes ago.

Anne felt the young master’s eyes on her the moment she

walked in. A flush crept into her cheeks, and she kept her head

averted. The walls of the dining room were covered with lavish

frames filled with maps made by the most sought after cartog-

raphers. The charts marked the routes of Master Drummond’s

merchant fleet. Unlike in other prominent households, there

were no portraits of distinguished ancestors here, as the master himself was the son of a soap maker.

Mary stepped up to the table to clear away the soup bowls,

and Anne had no choice but to follow her example.

The conversation swirled around the room, and Anne took

surreptitious glances at the guests, noticing with irritation that Mary had left her to clear Miss Patience’s place. Miss Patience

was quite the sight in her light blue dress, which boasted a

broad neckline and long sleeves. It was corseted so tightly that she seemed to have trouble handling her cutlery. Her blond hair

was a mass of curls, cascading elegantly over one pale shoulder.

Despite her elegance, her features were pinched, like the sharp

pleats in Anne’s best dress.

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Curious about the young master’s appearance, Anne looked over, and gave a start when she saw his handsome face, now

devoid of the shabby beard. His hair, too, had been trimmed

and just reached the collar of his longcoat. He raised an eye-

brow at her when he caught her staring.

She stumbled slightly and moved on.

When the baron’s daughter saw Anne at her side, she jerked

away as if scalded, dropping her spoon onto the floor.

Talking ceased, and everyone turned to look.

Bending to retrieve the spoon, Anne willed the ground to

swallow her whole.

Nobody spoke.

Iron bands squeezed Anne’s lungs, and the bowls clanked

slightly in her shaking hands.

“What interesting help you have. I’ve heard people from

the islands bring all kinds of diseases with them. I find it charitable of you to allow one into your household,” Patience said.

Master Drummond gave Patience a small nod. “My staff

have learned and understand the benefits of cleanliness and the

importance of a sound moral character.”

The air was heavy, the room quiet. Anne waited for some-

one to say something,
anything
to break the awful silence.

Margery stepped forward to announce the next course, cre-

ating a much appreciated distraction. As everyone turned to

admire the roasted pheasant and boiled shrimp, a pair of green

eyes followed Anne from the other side of the table. As if Miss

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Patience’s and Master Drummond’s words hadn’t been humili-ating enough, of all people,
he
had had to witness them.

Anne was sorely tempted to see what would happen if she

threw the china at their heads, and it was only with the greatest effort that she took the other bowls from Mary and returned to

the kitchen.

Sara scrubbed the pots and pans, looking up when Anne

entered. Depositing the dishes onto the kitchen table, Anne

clutched the back of the chair, her heart beating out of her chest.

“Got to you, too, did she?” Sara asked, her expression sym-

pathetic.

Anne nodded.

“Did you go and spill anything on anyone?”

“No, nothing like that,” Anne said, unwilling to share exactly

what had transpired. Sara would hear it from Mary soon enough.

Sara frowned. “Watch her. She’s a crooked one, she is. Miss

Patience will smile at your face and reach around and stick a

knife into your back if you’re not careful.”

Although Sara and Anne had never seen eye to eye before

now, for once Anne agreed with her. “The devil hang them, I

don’t want to go back in there,” Anne muttered.

When dinner was over, there would be a few hours of reprieve

before they were forced to serve a light supper later that evening.

Sara shook her head. “But you must. Any minute now I

expect the master to send me packing. Please, Anne. You’ve got

to do it for me,” she begged, her voice plaintive.

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Smoothing the front of her dress, Anne didn’t mention that Miss Patience was only one of her worries. If the young master

continued to watch her every move, she’d go mad before the

end of the day.

What was the worst that could happen if Anne left this place?

If she did run away, where would she go? She didn’t have enough

funds yet to travel, and there was no guarantee she would be able to improve her situation in a different household in England. At least with Mary and Sara, she knew what she had.

Neither of them had been overly kind to her since her arrival.

In many prosperous families it was fashionable to have servants of a different race to indicate wealth and rank. The girls had initially thought Anne’s chief function was to look decorative. Mary was

the worst and had made all sorts of callous remarks about Anne’s hair and skin color, not caring if she was within earshot or not.

Margery had sometimes joined in. Their cruel comments had

stung. Anne had done her best to ignore them, but she’d been

overwhelmed and depressed by her new situation.

Over time Anne had learned when to keep her mouth shut

and when to strike back, for if she aimed at two, she would not

hit a single one.

Now they all simply lived under the same roof. They were

neither friends nor enemies. They simply existed.

“You have to get back in there, Anne,” Mary said, arriving

in the doorway and holding an empty platter in her hands. “I

can’t do it myself. The master will have my head if you don’t.”

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Anne often wondered what they would say if they knew she was the daughter of another wealthy merchant. It was obvious

Anne was educated, whereas the two maids were not, just one

more thing that set Anne apart from them.

She could have shared her background, but had decided to

remain silent. After all, it hadn’t stopped Henry from kicking

her and her mother out onto the street once Andrew Barrett

had died a year ago. Her mother had been forced to take a job

in the home of an earl, a less than ideal situation that had eventually led to her death. With no discernable skills, Anne had

been forced to clean alongside the poor inhabitants of the city.

No one had come to their aid then. Why would strangers

care about her now? Especially in this cold house.

“Please, Anne. Will you do it for me?” Sara asked, her voice

pleading. Her mother was sick, and it was up to Sara to earn

money for the family. She could not afford to lose her job.

“All right. I’ll go.”

Sara gave her what she no doubt thought was an encourag-

ing smile but actually resembled a grimace, before turning back

to the dishes.

Impulsively Anne slipped into the pantry and scanned the

different earthenware jars that lined the shelves. She settled

upon a small, red one. Ginnie pepper. Her mother had often

used it in her cooking. The seeds were very hot and dry. She

grabbed a few and slid them into her apron pocket, determined

to return to the fight with her own form of ammunition.

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C H A P T E R 5

Teach

The dining room door swung open, and Teach watched as

Anne reentered, her back straight, her expression closed. She

kept her gaze on the carpet, crossing to the buffet and following the other maid’s movements.

He wondered what was going through her mind at the

moment, amazed she had the nerve to come back after Patience’s

and his father’s comments. His father no doubt believed he was

helping Anne by allowing her to work in his household.

Patience was another matter. Teach noticed the frown on

his betrothed’s lips, a sure sign of her unease. He was quite

certain it had more to do with Anne’s beauty than with her

suitability as a maid, or her race. Patience did not take well to competition, especially in the form of a house servant.

When Teach had been younger and had first been attracted

to Patience, he’d found her caustic nature amusing. He’d never

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been on the receiving end and had often laughed at her cutting remarks when she’d discussed other members of the aristocracy.

But now he recognized her comments for what they were: