Love's Rescue (22 page)

“But I do want to help.” She grasped his hand. “That’s why I came home. I don’t need a new ball gown. I will ask Mrs. Evanston to find another buyer.”

“No, my dear. That is the one thing you need most of all. Don’t you see? You are my shining hope. Your marriage will not only bring healing and hope to this family, but it will secure your brother’s future.”

“My marriage?” The words sank into the pit of her stomach. He could not know of Rourke’s pledge and the ring that had secured it. He was referring to Mr. Finch.

“That’s why I told you about the inheritance. Your great-aunt has approved Mr. Finch. The inheritance will be released when you marry him. Then you will truly be able to help your brother.”

Her head spun. “Me? It all rests upon me?”

“Your engagement announcement at the ball is the first step. I’m so proud of you.”

The noose tightened around her neck. How could she find a way out?

Father patted her hand. “You alone can keep our family together.”

Family included Anabelle. Father would agree to anything if she did as he wished. She looked her father in the eye. “Will you give me Anabelle?”

“Give her to you? As a wedding gift?”

“As a pledge.” She would not be forced down that road. “And I wish to bring her with me to the ball.”

A dark cloud rolled over his countenance. “There is no reason for a maid to go to a ball.”

“I need her assistance. After all, a woman about to announce her engagement must look her very best.” She did not name her betrothed.

His displeasure did not ease. Instead, he watched her, assessing the veracity of her statement. She pasted on a hopeful expression despite the pounding in her ears. He thrummed his fingers on the desktop, beating out the ramifications of his decision.

At last he stopped. “No, Elizabeth. The ball is no place for Anabelle.”

“But—”

He lifted a hand. “No debate. That is my final decision.”

Since Mrs. Evanston delivered the gown that morning, Elizabeth could not leave the house until late afternoon. Even then, she had to bring Anabelle along, ostensibly on an errand to locate shoes suitable for her ball gown. The shoes were easy to find. She’d seen them when surveying shop windows with Caroline. Speaking with Tom would not be so easy.

To maintain propriety, she must send Anabelle to the boardinghouse and have her bring Tom to a public place where Elizabeth could meet him seemingly by chance.

She waited near the custom house. Though the streets were crowded, Elizabeth had the distinct feeling that someone was watching her. She looked around but saw no one suspicious. It must be nerves. Rourke had stressed the importance of this message. She could not fail him.

“Miss Benjamin. Fancy meeting you here.” Tom appeared from behind and stopped at her elbow.

Elizabeth slipped the note from her watch pocket. “From your captain.”

“Hush.” His gaze drifted left and right before he slipped the note into his jacket pocket. “Is that all?”

Elizabeth withdrew from her bag the letter she had penned after speaking with her father that morning. “Please give this to him before tomorrow evening.”

“I can’t promise to see him.”

“Please try. It’s vital. Tell him that I will be at the ball.”

Tom took the sealed letter and secreted it in the same pocket. His gaze darted left and right again. “With your maid?”

It was her turn to be puzzled. “How did you know about that? Did Anabelle tell you?”

Instead of answering, he offered his arm. “Would you care to walk, Miss Benjamin?”

She sensed he wanted to say something that he couldn’t reveal in such a busy, public place. “I would enjoy a brief stroll, Mr. Worthington.”

They walked into the less busy residential area between the harbor and the hospital. Anabelle followed a short distance behind.

Tom spoke only when they were alone. “Did you notice anyone following you?”

A shiver raced down her spine. “I had a peculiar feeling that I was being watched, but I didn’t see anyone.”

His frown deepened. “Return home and tell no one that you saw me.”

“Why? What do you suspect?”

“Probably nothing. Just jumpy from waiting.” His laugh rang false.

Further questioning got her nowhere. He returned her to the custom house before bidding farewell. She left feeling that everything was unraveling at precisely the wrong time, and she had no idea how to stop it.

E
lizabeth had to believe Rourke would come for her. Her instructions had been very specific. During the break between dancing and supper, she would excuse herself to use the necessary and slip away into the night. She would meet him at the little chapel where he had played piano. From there they would hurry to the
Windsprite
and set sail for his homeland.

It had all made perfect sense when she wrote the letter, but as she considered what she might bring with her, problems cropped up. First, she would be wearing dainty slippers, not sturdy shoes. The path to the eastern end of the island was treacherous. Slippers offered little protection. Her feet would be bleeding and bruised by the time she reached the ship, but it was a cost worth paying. Second, she could not carry anything with her but the tiniest bag, sufficient for handkerchief and smelling salts and not much else.

She fingered the few coins in her keepsake chest. They would not purchase much, if anything, in the Bahamas. Her mother’s miniature might fetch a price, but she could not sell it. At least
it would fit in the bag. Mama’s Bible would not. Neither would her diary. She would leave them with Charlie.

Her brother. A pang of guilt ripped through her, making this plan seem terribly selfish. What had Rourke said? That Charlie needed a sister?

Her hand trembled. Would Rourke again refuse to take her with him? Was this plan of hers founded in selfish desperation and cowardice? Father was counting on her to save the family from financial ruin. All she had to do was marry a man she despised.

Anabelle rapped on the door and entered. “Sorry, miss. Your aunt insisted I assist her to bed first.”

“She did?” Elizabeth pulled herself from her gloomy thoughts. Aunt Virginia never wanted Anabelle’s assistance, even on the voyage from Charleston. “How peculiar. Is Florie ill?”

Anabelle shook her head. “She warned that my days here are numbered.”

“What?” The tightness in her throat turned to anger. “How dare she. You are my maid, not hers. Mine.”

Anabelle removed Elizabeth’s cap. “I believe, in fact, that I belong to your father.”

“For now, but I asked him to give you to me.” As soon as she said the words, she remembered the terms of that agreement. She had asked for Anabelle as a pledge. He had offered her as a wedding gift.

“He agreed?” Anabelle plucked out the hairpins as she unwound Elizabeth’s coiled hair.

Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Not outright, but I did ask to bring you with me to the ball.”

Anabelle’s fingers stilled. “What did he say?”

There was no way to cushion the news. “No.”

The hairpins fell to the floor.

“Forgive me,” Anabelle murmured, dropping to her knees.

“We will find another way to arrange a meeting with your love,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the fact that after tomorrow night she would be gone. “Perhaps tomorrow morning.”

“No.” Anabelle’s cry came out in a strangled sob. “The ball is my only chance.” She swiped at the spilled hairpins and scattered them again.

Elizabeth dropped to the floor beside her and gathered the pins. “Why?”

Anabelle lifted red-rimmed eyes. “He will be gone.”

“Sold?”

Anabelle shook her head. “He is free.”

“Then . . . I don’t understand. Why would he leave?”

“He leaves for home. Harbour Island.”

“The same as . . .” Elizabeth sat back as she made the connection. Rourke had an entire crew, including a Negro chief mate. He was the one who had rescued Anabelle. First. Ahead of the whites. Despite Aunt Virginia’s protests. Moreover, Rourke had approved it. Aboard the
Windsprite
, Anabelle had watched the man’s every move. “John?”

Anabelle straightened at the sound of his name, finger to her lips before she whispered, “My husband.”

Elizabeth drew in her breath. “How? When?”

Again her maid motioned for quiet. “Before the storm four years ago.”

Elizabeth reeled. “Four years?” Anabelle had kept this secret from her for four years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?”

“Come home sooner.”

Anabelle shook her head, and Elizabeth knew she was right.
Returning early could never have happened. Aside from not having the fare for passage, she hadn’t had the will to defy her parents’ wishes.

“I must go to the ball,” Anabelle whispered.

Elizabeth gathered her scattered thoughts. If John was leaving tomorrow night, that meant Rourke was leaving also. It was her only chance. Thank goodness she’d sent the letter to him through Tom. He would come for her. She was sure of it. But could she risk bringing Anabelle? Two women racing through the dark streets would be twice as difficult to disguise. Moreover, Father had forbidden Anabelle’s attendance.

“I don’t know how. Father refused.”

Anabelle grasped Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You must convince him.”

Elizabeth pulled away from her crushing grip. “How? His mind is set.”

“I must go.” Anabelle rocked, arms wrapped around her midsection. “Don’t you see? If I can’t meet up with him, I will never see him again. My baby will be taken away.” She grabbed Elizabeth again. “Please, help me.”

Agitated, Elizabeth slipped from Anabelle’s grasp and rose to her feet. “I can’t.” She backed to the window. “Please don’t ask such a thing. I can’t.”

Anabelle collapsed face-first on the floor. Her shoulders heaved from suppressed sobs.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Though Elizabeth felt for Anabelle, she couldn’t give up the man she loved. “If there was any other way . . .”

Anabelle raised a tear-streaked face. “You will not help a friend?”

Elizabeth felt ill. “It has nothing to do with our friendship.”

“Doesn’t it?” Anabelle said bitterly. “Would you do more for a sister?”

“Of course, but I don’t have a sister.” Elizabeth caught herself. She did have a half sister. One whose identity only her late mother and Mammy knew. Unless . . . She stared at Anabelle. “You know, don’t you? That’s why Mammy was sent away. She knew about the baby, and she told you.”

“Of course she knows. The mother always knows.”

“Mother?” Elizabeth jerked back. “Mammy was the mother?”

“She is my mother, sister.”

The Lord blessed the chosen day with a brisk wind from the southeast. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, Rourke paced the deck, anxious to begin. Time had moved slower than a sea slug the last week. It would stand still today.

He had heard nothing from Tom, but then he hadn’t expected to. Rourke assumed Elizabeth had given his message to Anabelle, who would then inform Tom. The lad would bring Anabelle to the meeting spot tonight. Rourke would converge from the east, and together they would bring Anabelle to the
Windsprite
and freedom.

Any number of things could go wrong. Elizabeth might have forgotten to give Anabelle the message. She might not bring Anabelle to the ball. Tom might get waylaid en route. They might have to help Anabelle out of the gated yard. The salt company’s manager might pick tonight to reflood the ponds.

He scrubbed his whiskers.

“No worry.” John brought a steaming cup of coffee and a handful of hardtack.

Rourke took the coffee but declined the biscuits. “I’m not hungry.”

“You eat.” John shoved the biscuits at him. “Need strength.”

For John’s sake, Rourke nibbled at one. It was stale. No weevils yet, at least none he could see in the pre-dawn light. He dunked the biscuit in the coffee. Better but still unpalatable. It took another gulp of coffee to wash it down. “Fish would taste better.”

“We catch some, soon as de light touches de water.”

Rourke’s mate appeared relaxed, even jovial. “How can you be so cheerful when everything is at stake?”

John snatched at the air and held it tight. “God hold us. God see us home.”

Rourke hoped his mate’s faith paid off.

Elizabeth could not stop shaking. Sleep was impossible. Instead she lived over and over the terrible moment when Anabelle claimed to be her sister. Elizabeth had stared, unwilling to believe. To think some unknown woman walked the world as her half sister was bad enough, but Anabelle?

“You’re lying,” she had cried.

Anabelle stood tall, unbending. She neither insisted nor denied her claim.

“You’re younger than me. The illegitimate baby was older.”

“I am older,” Anabelle said quietly. “My mama told me never to tell a soul.”

“Lies, lies,” Elizabeth sobbed. She pressed a pillow to her mouth lest the sound send Aunt and Father running to her rescue.

For the truth stood before her. From their unusual height to
similar noses, chins, and short fingers, they were alike. Yet how could this be? Her father and Mammy?

Elizabeth’s stomach churned. “Leave me.”

Anabelle had gone, but her departure didn’t take away the pain. If anything, it grew worse. Her father and Mammy? Father would never have done such a thing, and Mother would never have allowed it under her roof.

Yet Mother’s diary confirmed it. Every word now made sense. Mother’s distress at her new husband’s “perversions.” The agony over another woman. Elizabeth had assumed—had wanted to assume—that the mistress was another settler. She did not want to believe her father could have an unholy alliance with a slave. Yet Mother’s insistence that the girl be raised with the same benefits as her own daughter spoke the truth. Anabelle had learned to read and write, unusual among slaves. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears.

Mammy was beautiful, with exotic almond eyes and the same regal bearing as Anabelle. Her scolding over Elizabeth and Anabelle playing on the throne chairs now made sense, as did Anabelle’s banishment to the cookhouse.

In the wee hours, when the world stood still and thoughts tormented, Elizabeth knew.

It was not only possible, it was fact.

She hadn’t truly prayed since the hurricane. Oh, she had cast off those quick pleas in times of desperation, but her heart hadn’t turned to God. No, she could stand on her own. Faith was for the weak and hopeless.

Anabelle’s revelation had left her weak and hopeless.

“Why?” she cried out to God. Over and over through the long night.

The pages of Mother’s Bible had yielded familiar stories
but no answers. What would she do? What could she do? As much as she wanted to claim Anabelle was lying, the proof stood before her. From Anabelle’s features to Mother’s words to every little reaction of her parents through the years. Every single thing validated the fact that Anabelle was her half sister.

Friend was one thing. But sister?

Elizabeth buried her face in the pillow again to drown the sobs. How could she accept this? Why had Mother insisted Anabelle be raised as her equal? How could she even think such a thing? They weren’t and never would be equals. Elizabeth could inherit her mother’s family fortune. She was an heiress. She was legitimate.

Even worse, Mother forgave Father. How could she? How could she keep his mistress and illegitimate daughter under the same roof? Elizabeth pounded the bolster, the pillows, the mattress. Mother’s reasons had gone to the grave with her.

Did Charlie know? He and Mother had spent many hours together during his recovery. Perhaps he already knew the terrible truth. Did everyone but her know?