Blackhearts (3 page)

“That’s what I’m telling you, girl. Are you daft?”

Anne pictured the young sailor on his knees, his green eyes

flashing fire, promising revenge if he ever caught up to her

again. Had he simply given them back to the fishmonger? Why

would he do that? The sailor had told her
he
had an important meal. It didn’t make any sense for him to change his mind.

Even if he had, why on earth would the fishmonger have

brought the whole barrel to the house? Anne had told him she

needed only two pounds, not the whole lot.

Masking her confusion, Anne brushed past Margery and

emptied the contents of her pail. “I’ll get to the shrimp as soon as I dress the pheasants and start the vegetables,” she said, a knot of unease forming in her chest. What would the fishmonger

demand in return, she wondered. Would she have to look for

another stall at the docks as well?

Pushing those unsavory thoughts aside, she worked quickly

and efficiently for the next few hours. An excellent cook, Anne’s mother had taught Anne how to prepare delicious meals, and

Anne took special care to make sure things were done according

to Master Drummond’s specifications. Most of the time there

weren’t any problems.

That day, Margery had hired a young girl to help with the

cooking. Normally Margery and Anne were able to handle all

the duties in the kitchen themselves—Master Drummond

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typically ate alone and never had much company. But the return of the master’s son was an important occasion, and Anne

was grateful for the extra help.

Twelve-year-old Ruth peeled and chopped the potatoes

with practiced ease. She was slight in stature and pale, her light blond hair plaited down her back in a thin rope. Anne felt the

girl studying her as they worked.

“Do you have any family?” Anne asked, trying to fill the

awkward silence between them.

Ruth dipped her head, her small hands flying. “Aye, ma’am.”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

“Aye, ma’am. Three brothers and two sisters.”

“Are you the eldest?” Anne asked.

“No, ma’am, the youngest. My sister Elizabeth is the eldest.

My grandfather is the gardener here.”

“Ah, so that’s how you came to get the job.”

Ruth nodded.

Trying to extract information from her was painful. Anne

bit her lip, working silently for a few minutes. Once the vege-

tables and pheasants were roasting, they turned their attention

to the shrimp. Anne showed Ruth where the cistern was to

gather water to fill the large pot.

“All right, then. We just wait for the water to boil, and then

we’ll add the shrimp. Have you ever tasted shrimp before?”

Anne asked.

Ruth shook her head. “No, ma’am.”

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“Please, call me Anne,” Anne said gently. “I’m not much older than you and much too young to be called ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ruth said automatically.

Anne laughed. “Tell you what. Once the shrimp are ready,

I’ll let you try one. It can be our secret.”

Ruth’s brown eyes lit up, and she gave Anne a timid smile.

“Yes, ma—”

Anne raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, Anne,” she said.

“Good girl. But don’t tell Margery.”

“Don’t tell Margery what?” came a shrill voice behind Anne.

Anne’s back stiffened. “That I might have added too much

salt to the water.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

“Well, that’s easily fixed. Go and get fresh water,” Margery

said gruffly.

Making a face at Ruth, Anne dutifully took the heavy pot

and dumped the perfectly good water out the back door, effec-

tively washing the step for the second time that day. Instead

of making Ruth take the trip down to the cistern again, Anne

filled the pot herself. It was cool and dark in the lower story, and she enjoyed the solitude.

While there she heard a commotion coming from upstairs.

The master’s son, Mr. Edward, had apparently returned. He had

been expected the previous evening, but a storm had delayed

his arrival, and Master Drummond had not been pleased, espe-

cially with company coming later that afternoon.

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Anne stayed where she was. If he was anything like his father, she certainly wasn’t in a hurry to greet him. The master was a cold and angry man, preoccupied with improving

his social status in the community, and he was well aware that

many aristocrats mocked him behind his back. Wealth wouldn’t

be enough if Master Drummond were ever to attain the higher

circles to which he aspired, which was why he’d arranged for his son to wed Miss Patience Hervey, the daughter of a local baron.

Although Anne had yet to meet either party, she thought it

might be a most fortuitous match. She’d heard it said that God

had made men and women, and then he’d made the Herveys.

The family was known for their overbearing and overconfident

manner.

Margery had said the master would have liked nothing

more than to set his sights higher and have his son marry the

daughter of an earl or a duke. But a baron was one of the few

peerages that could descend through female lines, and by Mr.

Edward’s marrying Miss Patience, any Drummond offspring

would be titled.

Once Anne returned to the kitchen, she set the pot in

the hearth. It would take some time for the water to boil. She

looked around for Ruth, but the girl was nowhere to be found.

The two housemaids were in the washing kitchen, fighting

over the flowers in one vase, each girl wanting to take the large red blossoms to the respective guest rooms.

“I heard the young Miss Patience likes red roses,” Sara spat,

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her slender fingers white from holding the vase so tightly. She was a handsome girl with dark hair and wide brown eyes.

Leaning back, Mary, the plumper of the two, shook her

head, her blond curls shaking. Her normally pretty face had

turned pink from exertion. “I don’t care. The baroness should

have them.”

Rolling her eyes, Anne marched past them on her way out-

side. She debated about telling them that the female members

of the Hervey family would most likely bring their own lady’s

maids, and any attempt on the housemaids’ part to take over

that position would surely be wasted.

She had no sooner finished her thought than there was a

loud crash from behind her, followed by two shrill cries.

Now they’ve gone and done it.

Anne returned to the scene and discovered both girls crying

and wringing their hands. There were glass shards everywhere,

and the water was forming small puddles on the stone floor. The

stems and blossoms of the flowers were unharmed, and Margery

swooped in and plucked them up, turning on both girls. She gave

them each a swift smack upside the head. Both Sara and Mary

clutched their ears, recoiling from Margery’s rage.

“What do you think you’re doing? We don’t have time for

this kind of nonsense. Sara, you clean up this mess. Mary, you go and find another vase, and don’t you dare touch any of the tartlets in the pantry. Those are for dessert.” She pointed an accusing finger at Anne. “Where were you earlier when Mr. Edward arrived?”

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“I didn’t know my presence was needed.”

Margery took a threatening step toward her, the glass

crunching underfoot. “Don’t act so smart with me. Take the

young master some water, since you’re so fond of the cistern.

He’ll be wanting a bath.”

Relieved to leave the bickering behind, but loath to face

the new master, Anne headed down the cold, stone steps once

more, grumbling to herself. It took her twelve trips up the many flights of stairs to fill the large brass hip tub in the young sir’s second-story chamber.

By the time she was finished, her back was drenched with

sweat, her face flushed with heat. The last few buckets had been filled with steaming water. Master Drummond insisted they

keep a pot of water in the washing kitchen for such purposes.

He was fanatical about cleanliness, as it was next to godliness

in his eyes.

There was still no sign of the young master, and Anne stuck

her arm into the tub, swirling the water to mix the hot with the cold. She was tempted to climb in herself, and laughed out loud

at the thought.

A low voice behind her stopped her heart cold. “So, you’ve

changed your mind, have you? Come to talk to me about the

price of the shrimp after all?”

19

C H A P T E R 3

Teach

The girl jumped to her feet, the backs of her legs hitting the

tub. Water sloshed over both sides, soaking her dress and shoes.

No sound escaped her. She simply stared at him, her mouth

gaping like a cod on a hook.

Teach smiled grimly as he closed the door with a firm hand.

His footsteps were measured as he crossed the distance between

them, despite the fact that he walked with a slight limp.

“So,
Anne
, you thought you got the better of me,” he said softly, enjoying the look of fear on her face. She reminded him of a rabbit caught in a snare. Served her right after what she’d done to him.

Her eyes widened. She was clearly surprised at his familiar-

ity with her name.

“Oh, yes, I already know who you are. Imagine my surprise

when the fishmonger told me you worked in my father’s house.”

Anne’s mouth snapped shut, but she did not move.

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“I’ve been looking for you. You weren’t downstairs when I arrived.” He could not have planned their reunion any better

himself.

Anne licked her lips nervously.

“You’re not so confident now that you aren’t armed, are you?”

Her eyes flicked to the bucket near her feet, but Teach

snatched it away before she could wrap her fingers around the

handle. Like a snake about to strike, he blocked her escape. She stumbled to the other side of the tub, using it as a shield. A

smile crossed his face, but it lacked mirth.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Five—” Her voice came out as a squeak, and she cleared

her throat. “Five months.”

“I could have you punished for what you did,” he said,

watching her closely.

She nodded. “Yes, you could.”

“After that, I could have you fired.”

“Yes, you could. But I’d rather you didn’t,” she said.

“And why not?” he growled.

She held her breath but said nothing more.

Scowling, he leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of

the tub. “By Jupiter, you’re an arrogant maid. How did you ever

land in my father’s house? More important, how in the world

have you managed to stay for so long?” Teach was surprised his

father had employed someone of mixed race. Richard Drum-

mond was not known for his tolerance and open-mindedness.

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Any reply Anne might have had was cut off by some commotion coming from the hallway. It was Master Drummond’s

voice, calling out for his son.

“Damnation!” Teach breathed, closing his eyes briefly. His

father had terrible timing.

A hesitant sound brought his head up sharply. Anne had

moved, and his eyes pinned her to the spot. Pointing a finger at her, as if she were a child for him to command, he said, “Stay,”

before striding to the door. He rested his hand a moment on the

knob, feeling like a guilty schoolboy called before the headmaster.

The minute his head was turned, Anne took the opportunity

to slip through the side door that connected to his sitting room.

He listened as she fled into the back hall and down the stairs.

Although Teach would have liked nothing more than to

chase after her and continue their conversation,
Master Drummond’s
voice demanded his immediate attention. He would

deal with Anne later.

Straightening his shoulders, he pulled open the door and

stepped out to meet his father. It had been a little more than

a year since they’d last seen each other, and time had not been

kind. Richard Drummond was still a handsome man, even in his

advanced years, with his square jaw and rugged looks, but there

was no denying the signs of age. New wrinkles spread out from

his eyes, and dark circles smudged his cheeks beneath.

“It’s good to see you, Father,” Teach said, wondering if the

older man would embrace him. A part of him hoped that he

2 2

would. His father had not been down in the courtyard to greet him upon arrival, and Teach had tried to hide his disappointment.

“You need to hurry,” Drummond said. “You’re late, as

usual.”

Teach nodded, doing his best to control his temper. He

should have known better. His father had never been an affec-

tionate man. Teach hadn’t wanted to come home in the first

place. He would have remained at sea, but his father had threat-

ened to cut him out of his will if he did not return.

Ever since he’d set foot on land this morning, Teach had

been met with nothing but obstacles. First in the form of the

arrogant maid. Now with his own father. He wondered if his

inheritance was worth all of the trouble. “It couldn’t be helped.

The storm was too strong to attempt reaching the shore.”

“But when you landed this morning, you didn’t come home

immediately, did you?”

Teach was convinced his father had some mystical ball

through which he looked and controlled everyone else’s life. It