Love's Rescue (19 page)

“I could write articles for the newspaper.”

“I doubt Mr. Finch would want his wife to stoop to working,” Anabelle said as she untied the crinoline. “In my experience, husbands make all the decisions.”

Perhaps that was what terrified her. “Like Father.”

“Like your father.” Anabelle hung up the underpinnings. “Do you want a nightgown, Miss Lizzie?”

The airy cotton chemise felt wonderful, but it was even better to hear Anabelle use her nickname. Elizabeth was transported back to when they’d giggled under the covers late into the night.

She scooted over and patted the bed. “Why don’t we pretend we’re girls again? I’ll tell you a secret, and you can tell me one.”

Anabelle looked at Elizabeth as if she wasn’t quite sure she should trust her. She glanced at the closed door. “Your aunt will wonder where I am.”

“You’re with me. I’m mistress of the house now, and I want
you here tonight.” It felt good to take charge, to finally do what she wanted, not what everyone else said she should do. “I want to talk with you.”

“Very well.” Anabelle sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. “What do you want to discuss?”

Elizabeth had to laugh. “Goodness, you’re acting like you’re afraid of me. What happened to the old Anabelle?”

“She grew up.”

Elizabeth hugged her knees to her chin. How glorious it felt to go back in time! One day soon she’d have to step forward into the dismal future, but she deserved just one night as a girl, didn’t she? “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Anabelle didn’t ask what she meant. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I suppose not.” Elizabeth examined her soft, pale hands, so different from Anabelle’s lean, callused fingers. Instead of inheriting Mother’s long, graceful hands, Elizabeth had gotten Father’s. Who else walked this earth with Father’s features? Mammy was the only one still alive who might have known.

“Your mother,” she began.

Anabelle jerked as if shot. “My mother is gone.”

“I’m sorry. It must hurt to not be able to see your mother. Maybe one day I’ll take you to her.”

Anabelle laughed harshly. “Your husband would never allow it.”

“I am not marrying Mr. Finch, even if it means I never marry.”

“Your father won’t stand for that.”

“My father will learn to accept it.” Elizabeth bit her lip. Anabelle had distracted her from the question she was dying to ask. “I wanted to ask about your mother. Mammy lived here before I was born.”

Anabelle gave her an odd look.

Elizabeth pressed on. “Did she ever mention another baby?” She hesitated, unsure how to say this. “An illegitimate baby?”

Anabelle’s gaze bored through her, unreadable. “No.”

Elizabeth slumped against the pillows. “Then there’s no one who knows.”

“God knows all.”

The simple truth caught her by surprise. “He might be the only one.”

“Sometimes that’s best.” Then Anabelle squeezed her hand, like a friend commiserating with her, not a servant. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Anabelle,” Elizabeth cried, throwing her arms around the woman she’d called friend for so many years. “I missed you.”

After stiffening at first, Anabelle hugged her back.

Elizabeth swiped at a tear. “I’m sorry for getting so emotional. So many things have gone awry lately.”

“You miss him.”

“Him?” Elizabeth echoed, though she knew full well who Anabelle meant.

“I heard a rumor that he is gone, but I don’t believe it.”

A clot formed in Elizabeth’s throat. She couldn’t bear to speak his words aloud, so she retrieved Rourke’s letter from her rosewood box and handed it to Anabelle. Her friend slowly opened the paper and then read the lines. She clutched a hand to her waist and rocked forward, eyes closed as if in pain.

Elizabeth held on to her. “Are you all right?”

Anabelle grimaced. “A spasm is all.” After a moment, she sat up, somewhat paler. “Then the rumor is true.”

Elizabeth nodded.

Anabelle squeezed her eyes shut again, and the letter drifted to the floor.

E
lizabeth took Anabelle with her to the final dress fitting the next morning. Surprisingly, Aunt Virginia didn’t put up a fuss. Apparently anything that related to the fast-approaching event went above scrutiny. Elizabeth was simply glad to leave the house. She still needed to tell Father that she would not marry Mr. Finch, and he was still avoiding her.

Anabelle said little, which was to be expected, but her brow was pinched with worry beneath the plain straw hat. Elizabeth had forgone her oppressive bonnet for a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with a broad dark blue ribbon. Though its cheerfulness opposed both her mood and her mourning gown, she couldn’t bear to don the heavy black bonnet again.

The sun sparkled off the windows. The white sand shimmered. Many people crowded the streets. Since they must pass the harbor, Elizabeth instinctively checked the numerous vessels anchored and moored. The
Windsprite
was not among them.

One year. One full year. Would he miss her? She imagined Rourke striding across the deck barefoot, his hair a bit too long and his face clean-shaven in opposition to the dictates of
fashion. Rourke was his own man, sure of his place. Such a man would wait one more year. So would she.

The scents of salt and fish permeated the air. The bustle of stevedores and the crunch of wagon wheels mingled with the ringing of bells and the slap of halyards against masts. This was home. This was where she belonged, not caged inside a lovely house.

“He is not here,” Anabelle murmured.

“No, but all he loves is here.”

“Mrs. Evanston will be waiting.”

“I suppose I must,” Elizabeth said with a sigh, “even though I would rather be out on the sea.”

“Yes, miss.”

Anabelle’s sudden formality drew her attention. A claret-colored gig with green wheels drew to a stop beside them.

“Miss Benjamin?”

Elizabeth had to tilt her head to see who had called her name. “Captain Poppinclerk.”

He secured the reins and hopped down from the high seat. “May I escort you somewhere? My carriage is at your disposal.”

She eyed the high seat. “No, thank you. I prefer to walk.”

The pilot looked surprised. “Extraordinary. Most ladies would leap at the chance to ride in style.”

“I do not leap, Captain, nor do I prefer the jolting of a carriage to a leisurely stroll.”

Mr. Poppinclerk bowed. “My error. Perhaps you would enjoy company on your stroll.”

To Elizabeth’s consternation, Anabelle slipped away.

Elizabeth attempted the aloof disinterest practiced by many of the ladies she had known in Charleston. “I fear I have an appointment with Mrs. Evanston and have no time for a stroll.”

“Ah, Mrs. Evanston is the finest seamstress in Key West. I suspect she is making you an evening gown for the coming ball.”

Elizabeth looked for Anabelle, who had disappeared. “My aunt believes I need one.”

“A lady as beautiful as you deserves many new gowns.”

His flattery was even worse than that of Mr. Finch. “I am in mourning, Mr. Poppinclerk, and have not yet decided to attend.”

“But you must. The Harvest Ball is the event of the season. Everyone of note will be there. If you were not in attendance, Key West would miss its brightest flower.”

Elizabeth strained this way and that looking for Anabelle. This man’s platitudes sickened her. Why did every man treat her with such obvious artifice? Every man except Rourke. She smiled at the thought of him.

“Ah, you agree,” Poppinclerk said. “I, for one, am very glad. Perhaps you will save me a dance?”

Startled, Elizabeth looked at him and finally saw Anabelle. Her maid stood across the street talking to . . . impossible. She took a step to her right in order to see past Mr. Poppinclerk’s horse.

“Dear Miss Benjamin, I hope I have not offended you.” Mr. Poppinclerk followed her as she tried to get a view.

“Not at all. I’m simply looking for my maid. We must hurry to my appointment.”

“Of course.” He bowed in front of her, blocking her path. “Then may I assume you will save me a dance?”

“Of course,” she murmured in order to get rid of the man.

“Excellent. Good day, Miss Benjamin.” He bowed yet again and returned to his gig.

Thank goodness. Elizabeth walked a little farther until she
could get a better view. A big wagon from the wharves blocked the street for a moment, but after it passed, Anabelle’s companion came into view. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

What was Tom Worthington doing in town? He should be on the
Windsprite
headed for the Bahamas. Did that mean Rourke had returned?

She started to cross the street, but Mr. Poppinclerk drove past in his gig. After he shouted another greeting, the street finally cleared enough for her to see Tom talking to Anabelle. He handed her maid something. She nodded, and he turned toward the harbor.

“Tom,” Elizabeth called out, waving her hand.

Both Tom and Anabelle started. His eyes widened. She dropped something small and square and white that she hastily scooped up and shoved in her apron pocket.

Elizabeth hurried across the street. “Tom, I did not expect to see you here. I thought Captain O’Malley left for the Bahamas.”

“Yes, miss.” He looked pale. “He said any of the crew that didn’t want to go could stay and look for another berth.”

Elizabeth sucked back the disappointment. “Then he is gone, truly gone.”

“Yes, miss.” Tom touched a finger to his hat. “I ought to be getting along now, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

He hurried off, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

“I wonder what that was all about.” As she looked to Anabelle, she remembered the exchange between the two of them. “I saw him hand you something. It looked like a note.”

“No, miss.” Anabelle pulled a folded handkerchief from her apron pocket.

“Oh, I see.” But she didn’t. Not entirely. Anabelle didn’t lack
for handkerchiefs. Why would she ask for one from Tom? And why did both of them look so guilty?

“We’d best be going to Mrs. Evanston’s,” Anabelle said, her face taking on that impassive expression that meant she would say no more.

Elizabeth would go to her appointment, but this matter was not forgotten, not at all.

The rest of the day Elizabeth worked through what she’d seen on the street that morning. Tom wouldn’t leave Rourke. He had spoken so reverently of him on the
Dinah Hale
and had been so eager to return. This morning, when Elizabeth asked if Rourke was truly gone, he hadn’t been able to look her in the eye. No, something was afoot.

As for Anabelle, that was not a handkerchief that had fallen to the ground. Elizabeth tested how a folded handkerchief fell. Then she compared it to a falling note. Tom had definitely given her a note. Maybe he had told Anabelle where the
Windsprite
went. Since Aunt Virginia had interrupted the fitting and hovered over Anabelle’s mending, Elizabeth had had no opportunity to speak with her maid until bedtime.

“If you don’t hold still, I’ll never get this nightgown on,” Anabelle chided.

Elizabeth stopped pacing long enough for Anabelle to slip the gown over her head. Her maid was acting differently tonight. The regal posture and firm speech were replaced by an averted gaze and rounded shoulders.

Oh yes. Something was going on.

When Anabelle took up the hairbrush, Elizabeth held out her hand. “I can do that.”

Anabelle hesitated. “It’s easier for me to brush out your hair.”

“I need to do things for myself. You might not always be with me.”

Anabelle jumped and dropped the brush. Before Elizabeth could question her, her maid dropped to her hands and knees. “I’m sorry, miss. Your mama gave you this brush. Thank God it didn’t break. I would deserve a whuppin’ if it broke.” She stood and began brushing.

Elizabeth pulled away. “Why did you jump just then?”

Anabelle trembled, a hand pressing to her midsection. “Are you going to send me away like my mama?”

“Of course not. Why would you think that?” But it did explain Anabelle’s reaction. Elizabeth softened her tone. “Did Father or Aunt Virginia say something to you?”

Anabelle bowed her head. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I know my father and great-aunt.” Elizabeth blew out a sigh. Handling servants was much more difficult than it looked. “How did my mother do it?”

“Do what?”

“Manage the household.”

Anabelle was silent for some moments. “Your mama knew God’s grace.”

“What do you mean?”

“She cared about people.”

“But then why send me to Charleston? Why promote a man I don’t like? Why send Mammy away?” Elizabeth caught her breath. Mammy wasn’t just her nurse, she was Anabelle’s mother. “Why did she leave?”

Bitterness stole across Anabelle’s face. “She didn’t leave. She was sold.”

“Why?” Was that her fault too? Had Elizabeth’s mistakes sent Mammy away?

“Some things it’s best not to know.”

A chill shivered up Elizabeth’s spine. “It was my fault.”

Anabelle’s lip curled with disgust. “It wasn’t your fault. It’s the way it is.”

“She must have told you why. She must have said something.”

Anabelle wouldn’t look her in the eye. “One night Cook woke me up saying my mama was going away.”

Elizabeth could not imagine watching her mother being taken away by force. “Did you see her before she left? Did you get to talk?”

“She told me enough.”

The bitterness in Anabelle’s voice should have warned Elizabeth, but she had to try again. Mammy was the only one who’d been around at the time of the illegitimate baby. “And she never told you about . . . about . . . another baby?”

Anabelle neither nodded nor shook her head. “Your mama would have known.”

“I know. She kept a diary. I found it in her room and I read it.” Elizabeth reached into the rosewood chest and fumbled retrieving the volume. “She wrote it all in here, but she never gave names. Do you know who?” She held out the diary to Anabelle.

She didn’t take it. “Forget the past. Look to your future.”

Rourke was her future. If Anabelle wouldn’t talk about what happened years ago, she might help Elizabeth move forward. She took a shaky breath. “You know where to find him, don’t you?”

“Find who?”

“You know who. He hasn’t left for home yet, has he?”

Anabelle looked away. “I don’t know where he is.”

Elizabeth wouldn’t let this go so easily. Her entire future
depended on finding Rourke. Under no circumstances could she marry Mr. Finch. Rourke was her escape. “Tom must know. I saw him talking to you. Where is he staying? Tell me.” She grabbed Anabelle’s shoulders. “Tell me.”

“What good will it do? Your father locks the gates at night.”

Elizabeth drew in her breath. “Why would he do that?”

“Why do you think?”

“He thinks I will run off? But that makes no sense. I can go out the front door anytime.”

“Can you?”

Elizabeth knew the truth of Anabelle’s question. No doubt Father in his nighttime pacing would hear her open the door, but she could not give up this opportunity. “I will find a way. Tell me where Tom is staying.”

Anabelle stared into her eyes. “I will tell you if you take me with you to the Harvest Ball.”

“To the ball? Why?” Of all the things that Anabelle might request, this made no sense. “How on earth would I explain that?”

“Many ladies will bring a maid to ensure they look their best throughout the evening.”

Elizabeth doubted that, but it was a simple thing to grant, especially since she had no intention of attending. “All right.”

“Do you promise upon your mama’s grave?”

That made the request more serious and even more perplexing. “Why do you want to go to a ball? You would only sit outside with the other servants.”

Her maid’s gaze dipped. “I want to see it.”

“Why?”

“Please.” Anabelle wrapped her arms around her midsection and rocked, her expression so desperate that Elizabeth feared
she would do herself harm if not granted this request. “It’s not much to ask of someone who grew up as your friend.”

Pain closed Elizabeth’s throat at the memory of what they had once shared. It was little price to pay for a chance to find Rourke. “I promise upon my mother’s grave. Now where is Tom?”