Blackhearts (Blackhearts, #1)(96)

gray eyes searching the gloomy interior.

Anne shrugged, forgetting momentarily that Martha’s eye—

sight prevented her from seeing very clearly. “I’m not hungry.”

Martha’s hands shook slightly as she carried the broth. “It

won’t do you any good to starve yourself. You’ll need all your strength when we take you to the ship shortly.”

Anne held out her hands. “I can’t eat tied like this.”

“You can sip it at least. It’s your fault, you know. If you’d

just come quiet like, instead of jumping out o’ the carriage, my Bartholomew wouldn’t have had to use the ropes. He didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Then why didn’t your Bartholomew take me to the White Stag like Mr. Drummond told him to?” Anne asked.

“Stop your fussing.”

“What do you think Mr. Drummond will say when he

finds out you didn’t do as he said?”

An ugly smile crossed Martha’s lips. “He won’t never find

out, now, will he? He won’t know we kept the money he gave





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us for the White Stag. If I was you, I’d mind my words. I’d hate for such a pretty thing to meet with an accident. These parts of the docks are dangerous. Girls like you go missing all the time.”

Part of Anne longed to fly into a rage, but she knew it would

not help her cause any. It would be much better to retain her

wits and try to think of a way out of the situation.

“It was very kind of Master Drummond to secure your passage,” Martha continued. “He’s a generous man, not turning

you over to the constable. Any other master woulda done just

that, and you’d be swinging from the gallows. My sister, Margery, warned me about you. She said you’re a crooked one.”

That was how Martha had come to be Anne’s lady’s maid.

“It was Margery’s idea not to take you to the White Stag.

Says you didn’t deserve it, not after what you done.”

Not even Margery was above stealing from Drummond.

Martha continued to speak, rambling on about merchant

ships and how none of them could compare to the grandness of

the Deliverance and how a large crowd would no doubt come to watch it set sail.

Lying back against the small pillow, Anne tuned Martha

out, closing her eyes against the physical discomfort. Anne had tried to loosen the ropes that bound her but had been unsuc—

cessful. Her side still throbbed from where she’d fallen, as did her hands and knees.

Anne needed to conserve her strength if she wanted to

escape. If there was indeed a large crowd when the ship set sail, 3 4 7

that might be to her benefit if she could not get away earlier.

If she was unable to flee . . .

The Deliverance was bound for the West Indies, but Anne was not sure where it would call ashore first. She knew the

island her mother was from, but she did not know if she had

any living relatives there.

Which brought up the question of where she should go.

Drummond had said he would send part of her inheritance

along to the White Stag. What would he do if he discovered

Anne wasn’t at the inn? Would he search for her?

And did Martha and Margery know about that arrange—

ment? They would surely steal the money if they did, and Anne

would be left destitute once more.

Unfortunately, Anne did not know the answer to any of

these questions, and despite her best efforts, tears formed once again in her eyes.

Anne’s stomach churned, and her palms were slick with perspiration. She eyed the bowl Martha had brought, but doubted

she’d be able to keep anything down if she tried.

The sound of Martha’s voice brought her out of her reverie.

“I’ll leave the broth here in case you change your mind, and

I’ll check back in a bit. I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it if I was you,” Martha said, a sneer pinching her lips. “If Bartholomew hears you’re not eating, he might not feel so inclined to give you anything again.”

Fire surged through Anne’s blood as she watched the old





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maid quit the room. Only when she was alone and Martha’s footsteps had faded in the distance did Anne once again fight to free herself from her bonds.

Martha might come back, but by then Anne hoped to be

long gone.





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C H A P T E R 3 5

Teach

Teach went straight to his room to gather his clothes. He

intended to search the docks for Anne, and when he found her,

they would leave on the next available ship. It didn’t matter

where it was headed, as long as it took them far away from

England. And his father.

A soft knock at the door halted his movements. He ignored it.

He rolled up a shirt and threw it into the small bag he

would take with him. He would not be returning.

The knock became more insistent. “Sir! Please! It’s urgent I

speak with you.”

That was not his father’s voice. The amber glow from the