Blackhearts

by Nicole Castroman

  Left alone in the hallway, Teach watched his father’s back, resentment boiling within. He should have known it would be like this. His father had always pushed him to be more mature than his friends. Perhaps that was why Teach had always enjoyed William’s company. Although he carried the title of an earl, William acted every bit like the eighteen-year-old he was, and his father, the duke, did not seem to object.

  Richard Drummond did. He claimed he wanted only the best for his son, and no child of his would work on a merchant ship. He’d eventually agreed to let Teach try it out for a year, thinking it would rid Teach of his “unhealthy obsession” with the sea.

  But his father’s plan had backfired.

  Teach was more determined than ever to set sail once more. The boy looked longingly out the window at the swirling gray sky, wishing for the hundredth time that the storm had postponed his return for at least one more day.

  CHAPTER 4

  Anne

  Downstairs in the kitchen Anne was having the same thoughts, but for entirely different reasons. Anne pulled up sharply at the look on Margery’s face, her heart pounding in her chest.

  “They’re here! They’re here! The baron and his family are here. Quick, make sure Sara and Mary have the chambers ready. No, wait, have you added the shrimp yet? The water is boiling.” ­Margery turned in a circle, wringing her hands in her apron, her limp more pronounced than ever. “No, no. First I need you to check the pheasants. Oh, we should have venison. The master wanted— Stop! What in the world happened to your dress? You were supposed to set a bath for the master’s son, not take a dip in it yourself.”

  Margery’s mouth continued to run, and Anne had a hard time concentrating. Anxious, she constantly checked over her shoulder, convinced the young Mr. Edward would come charging after her.

  It took considerable effort on her part to focus on the tasks at hand. Her movements were jerky as she took the birds from the spit. She nearly dropped them, and burned her thumbs in the process. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she dunked her seared flesh into a bucket of water near the door.

  The chaos surrounding her matched her insides, and it was all she could do not to run from the house.

  He was here. The ragged sailor whom she’d hoped never to see again had reappeared, to live in this very house.

  He was the master’s son.

  And he was angry.

  How long could she hide from him? How long would it be before he exacted his revenge?

  The next hour was torture, as Anne was forced to listen to Sara’s and Mary’s constant chatter with a combination of pity, fear, and disgust. They went on and on about how they wished they were a baron’s daughter and how they’d heard that the young master had come downstairs to await dinner, looking very sharp, and what a fine pair he and Miss Patience would make, as they were both so handsome.

  By the time the platters of food stood ready and waiting, Anne’s head pounded. Margery had already spoken with the master about the meal. While he wasn’t pleased, Margery said he hadn’t said much else, occupied as he was by his houseful of guests.

  Anne was grateful for the distraction they created.

  Five months ago Henry Barrett, her half-brother from her father’s marriage, had brought her to the Drummond household to work. Given a choice between starvation and employment, she’d naturally stayed. Henry had said he would make her pay if he heard she’d caused any problems for Master Drummond. Hitting the master’s son between the legs with a pail was certainly problematic.

  She wondered how Henry could possibly carry out his threat. No one knew they were related. Henry’s mother had died when he was an infant, shortly before Andrew Barrett had brought Anne’s mother back from one of his trips to the West Indies. Anne was born two years later. Although Andrew ­Barrett had provided a roof over Anne’s head and taught her to read and write, he had never openly claimed her as his daughter, and as a servant, she rarely had need of a surname.

  Nevertheless, she didn’t wish to test Henry. She’d often been the target of Henry’s anger and had spent much of her childhood locked in a closet. It was his favorite form of punishment and one of the reasons Anne enjoyed spending her time outdoors.

  Sara and Mary pushed each other aside, each one trying to glance into the small looking glass that hung near the back door and check her appearance. They straightened their caps and collars, pressing their lips together in the hope that they would stay red. The two of them would assist Margery with the serving of the food.

  Mary had a steady beau, a sailor by the name of John, and was soon to be married, though her engagement did not seem to prevent her from flirting with Tom, Master Drummond’s groom. More than once Anne had noticed bits of hay sticking out of Mary’s hair, despite the fact that involvement among staff was strictly forbidden.

  The moment Sara and Mary left the kitchen with the first course, Anne escaped out to the garden to hide the coins she’d kept from that morning’s trip to the market, her skirts whirling about her ankles. The rest of the chores demanding her attention could wait. She had a favorite place on the other side of the back wall, in a shelter of trees. It was there that she kept a small chest with her growing treasure.

  Within the property, the level ground, clipped hedges, and molded trees all showed the master’s desire to reshape nature to his specifications. But in her little corner, through a low archway, two willow trees grew together, wild and untamed, their branches hanging down, the leaves forming a curtain behind which she could hide. Her space was an unoccupied piece of land that led out of the city, one that very rarely received any traffic.

  The chimney tops of the manor were barely visible from her vantage point. Anne remembered the first time she’d found the spot, the same day she’d arrived at the house more than five months ago. It had been after supper, and Margery had slapped her for dropping one of the dishes. Anne had taken off, determined to leave that awful house. She’d made it only as far as the two willows, for she’d realized she had nowhere else to go. A girl with no funds, and no family to claim her, she’d been helpless and at the mercy of Master Drummond.

  She had decided she would scrimp and save money, even steal if she had to, in order to leave this place. Somewhere out there, Anne hoped she had family—people who would accept her, despite their differences. Although she’d been born and raised in England, not on one of the far off isles of the West Indies, that was where she planned to go.

  Once the coins were safely tucked away in the chest, Anne returned it to its hiding place in the trunk of the tree. She hoped to visit the market within the week and sell more of the items she had stolen. The goblet and two silver spoons she’d sold had already earned her a tidy sum, but not enough to start her own life elsewhere.

  Anne sat down on a small stump, relieved to be away from the house. The air surrounding her smelled like freshly cut hay, and a small beetle crawled on the ground. She watched its progress through the blades of grass, until a cry pierced the air.

  It was Mary, and her voice was frantic.

  “Anne! Anne!”

  Groaning, Anne quickly ran back through the low archway and into the garden, unwilling to let Mary find her secret hiding place.

  Mary clutched a hand to her chest, her cap falling from her 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 rosemary,” 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. 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 finishing 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 feeling 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. 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 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 cartographers. 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.

  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 eyebrow 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 someone to say something, anything to break the awful silence.

  Margery stepped forward to announce the next course, creating 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 Patience’s and Master Drummond’s words hadn’t been humiliating 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 sympathetic.

  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.

  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 h
er 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.”

  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.