Blackhearts

by Nicole Castroman

  Should I take the tea back down? Or simply leave it by his bedside and hope that he wakes up before it’s too cold?

  Pushing the knob, Anne stepped into the shadowy interior, the room so dark that she could barely make out a form lying in the bed. After setting the tea on the table, being careful not to wake him, she turned to leave, and tripped over something on the floor.

  It was a book, the pages weathered and worn. Crossing to the window, she held it up to the sliver of light falling between the heavy curtains, so as to read the title. A New Voyage Round the World by someone by the name of William Dampier. This was most likely the same volume he’d gone searching for yesterday after the picnic. Right before he’d vomited on his bride-to-be.

  This was not some silly book. A “voyage” meant “traveling other than by a land route.” It meant the open sea.

  It meant freedom.

  Curious, she read a page, for it had been more than a year since she’d last held something this dear in her hands.

  I first set out of England on this voyage at the beginning of the year 1679, in the Loyal Merchant of London, bound for Jamaica, Captain Knapman Commander. I went a passenger, designing when I came thither, to go from thence to the Bay of Campeachy, in the Gulf of

  Anne did not face the bed but suddenly knew he was awake. The skin prickled on the back of her neck, and she turned slowly, guilt causing her features to flush.

  Teach watched her, no longer reclining but sitting up in his bed, his features pallid. “Are they gone?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

  It took her a moment to register his words, for she saw that his nightshirt gaped open at the collar, clinging to his chest, drenched with sweat.

  He repeated his question. “The houseguests. My father. Are they gone?”

  “Ye . . . yes,” Anne stammered. “About a quarter of an hour ago, sir.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes.

  Returning to the bedside, she placed the book next to the tray and poured him a cup of tea. “Drink this, sir,” she said, holding it out to him.

  Opening his eyes, he glanced in her direction. He took the cup but had trouble holding it, and she did not release her grip. His hand clasped hers as he brought the cup to his parched lips. Her skin fairly burned beneath his touch, but he continued to drink like a person lost in the desert, seemingly unaware of any assistance.

  Anne had trouble reconciling this image with the person who’d confronted her about the price of shrimp, and was surprised by an unexpected twinge of sympathy.

  After replacing the cup in the saucer, she walked to the other side of the bed and wetted a damp cloth in the washbasin. His black hair was plastered to his brow, and she smoothed it away, just like her mother had done for her when she’d been sick with fever. She wiped the cloth across his forehead, and he turned in her direction, a relieved sigh escaping his lips as he watched her through heavy lids.

  Anne pretended not to notice and wet the cloth once more.

  “You’re not going to run away again, are you?” he asked softly.

  Every impulse told her she should, but for some reason she could not. “I should call a doctor,” Anne said, still trying to cool his fevered skin.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want a doctor.”

  “But you need—”

  “Read to me,” he said.

  Her hands paused, for his words were unexpected. “Sir?”

  Leaning to the other side of the bed, the blankets pulled taut, he picked up the book. “Read to me. I know you know how.” It was not a request.

  Anne swallowed, the blood quickening in her veins. She remembered the familiarity with which he and Miss Patience had addressed each other. “It would not be right for me to read to you. You are betrothed to another.”

  His jaw clenched. “Which is exactly why there is no harm in it. You can rest assured that your virtue is yours to keep. I merely asked you to read,” he said.

  Anne bit her lip, returning the cloth to the basin. He was mocking her. He knew she’d heard his exchange with Miss Patience. It was clear his and Miss Patience’s relationship was closer than either of their parents suspected.

  Drying her hands on her apron, Anne searched her mind for a logical excuse not to remain. There were many.

  Despite Teach’s assurances, it would not be appropriate.

  There were chores to be done.

  Margery would come looking for her.

  If Miss Patience found out, she would be livid.

  Unfortunately, Anne did not give a whit about Miss Patience, and no matter if she read or not, there would always be chores to be done.

  What could be the harm if she stayed? He was much too weak to get out of bed. He could be no threat in his present state, and she had been given specific instructions to tend to him.

  If she left the door ajar as it was, there would be no cause for censure. He was to wed another; they simply needed to agree upon a date. There could be no harm in fulfilling his demand.

  Teach waited, as if aware of the inner battle waging within her. In truth, Anne longed to find out more about William Dampier’s voyage round the world. She imagined it was filled with glorious images and descriptions from destinations unknown.

  “You may sit there,” he said, pointing to the large armchair situated parallel to him.

  Her mind made up, Anne took the book from his hands, walked back to the windows, and pulled the curtains aside. Settling herself in the armchair, she opened the pages once more.

  Clearing her throat, she cast one last look at Teach. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, and she began.

  “Before the reader proceed any further in the perusal of this work I must bespeak a little of his patience here to take along with him this short account of it. It is composed of a mixed relation of places and actions in the same order of time in which they occurred: for which end I kept a journal of every day’s observations.”

  For the next two hours Dampier’s story wrapped the two of them in a foreign world. While other travelers at the time robbed and raided, Dampier wrote vibrant and detailed notes, describing the vegetation and bringing to life the inhabitants of the places he visited. Anne was transported in a merchant ship, similar to her father’s, to the distant shores of the West Indies. She marched with the buccaneers through the jungles ahead of Spanish soldiers, raiding and pillaging small villages and large forts.

  Anne felt Teach’s gaze on her face. Eventually he closed his eyes, drifting in and out of sleep.

  She was fascinated by Dampier’s report of the Miskito ­Indians, a most remarkable race, and she was grateful he devoted several pages of his journal to their description. They were tall and strong, with copper-colored faces, long black hair, and stern expressions. Two Indians alone could supply an entire ship of buccaneers with food because of their fishing and hunting skills.

  Anne paused, trying to picture such men. Her mother had told her stories about their ancestors, who’d come from the Spanish Main and settled on the island of Curazon. ­Mapmakers had later changed the name to Curaçao, but the early Spaniards had referred to it as the Isla de los Gigantes, because of the Arawak tribesmen’s formidable build.

  There had not been enough gold or water to make staking a claim on the island worthwhile. The Dutch West India Company had eventually settled there in 1634, after the Spanish had left.

  Because the land had been considered too dry to support large-scale plantations of sugar, coffee, or tobacco, hundreds of natives, including Anne’s mother and her family, had been forced to raise food to feed the thousands of slaves awaiting shipment elsewhere.

  Anne couldn’t help wanting to know more about her mother’s past, especially now that she was gone.

  Teach opened his eyes. “Why have you stopped?” he asked.

  She was unsure how to respond, afraid to reveal her tr
ue feelings.

  He had an uncanny way of seeing through her, discerning her thoughts when she least expected or wanted him to. “You favor them, you know. The Miskito Indians.”

  “You’ve seen them?” she asked, incapable of hiding her enthusiasm.

  He nodded weakly, a faint smile appearing on his face. “Oh yes. And if I were to ever command a ship myself, I’d want a whole crew of them. They’re bold in a fight and excellent marksmen if supplied with proper guns and ammunition. They have extraordinary sight and can spot a sail at sea farther and better than anyone else I’ve met.”

  “I should so like to meet one,” she said.

  At that moment Margery appeared in the door, a disapproving frown on her face. “Excuse me, sir, but I need Anne downstairs in the kitchen to help with the cooking.”

  Teach’s jaw tightened, but he merely nodded.

  Disappointed, Anne closed the book and laid it on the bed beside him. “In case you want to continue reading,” she said.

  Teach shook his head. “No. When you bring me my dinner at noon, then we may continue the story,” he said, loud enough for his words to reach Margery.

  Nodding, Anne took the tea tray in her hands, attempting to hide her smile, but he caught her eye and winked. As Anne left his room, Margery closed the door behind her, but not before they heard a pleased sigh coming from the interior.

  CHAPTER 9

  Teach

  Teach was asleep in his bed the next afternoon when he heard a commotion outside his room. He awoke, confused from a strange dream. In his dream he was the captain of a great ship and a large crew, but a sharp-tongued maid with copper-colored skin and thick black hair questioned his every command.

  It was a surprise to wake to the sound of her voice. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming, until he recognized the sound of the other voice. It was Mary’s, the blond maid in the house.

  He waited, hoping their discussion would find an end, but it seemed to go on forever.

  Too weak to move, he called out, “Anne? Anne!” It was no use. Groaning, he pulled the blankets up to his chin, willing the two girls to go away. Well, he hoped one of the girls would go away.

  He wouldn’t mind if Anne came to read to him again.

  When she’d helped him out in the garden, he’d been rather surprised. Up until then their interactions had been anything but civil, yet she’d assisted him when he’d needed it most.

  Even if he hadn’t vomited on Patience, he wasn’t convinced she would have come to his aid.

  It was not the first time he’d been sick like this. The fever had a nasty habit of striking whenever Teach switched climates. Although it wouldn’t last long, fever and chills would rack his body.

  Rest was the only cure.

  Outside his room the voices stopped. He heard footsteps marching down the hall.

  Silence.

  Teach tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment he felt. Anne should be coming within the hour with his food. He was looking forward to seeing her more than he cared to admit.

  He was engaged, he reminded himself.

  To Patience.

  He had known Patience for several years now, and he was quite comfortable with her. She was like a well-worn shoe.

  Teach cringed, imagining Patience’s reaction to that description.

  Anne was different. She intrigued him, for not only was she familiar with John Milton, but she claimed to know how to ride a horse. Patience had already proven she’d never heard of the poet, and the closest she ever got to a horse was when she stepped in and out of a carriage.

  What could be the harm in getting to know Anne a little better? An acquaintance with her could prove useful if he hoped to help his father catch the thief in the house.

  Closing his eyes, he began to doze off again, his thoughts turning once more to the sea and the mysterious maid under his father’s roof.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Yes?” he said, his heartbeat accelerating.

  The door opened a moment later. Rolling over, Teach saw Mary coming toward him, a bowl of steaming broth on a tray. He frowned. “Where’s Anne?”

  Mary gave him a strained smile. “She’s cleaning out the fireplaces in the guest rooms, sir,” she said. “I brought you a little something for your sickness.”

  “Why can’t you clean out the fireplaces?”

  Mary’s smile faltered. “I just thought that since Anne brought you breakfast, I’d give her a hand and bring you your dinner.”

  “You thought wrong. I made my instructions clear. Anne is the only one to bring me my food,” Teach continued. His justification for the demand was that she had already been exposed to him. He didn’t want to risk anyone else getting sick.

  “But don’t you want—”

  “I want you to leave. From now on Anne is the only one to wait on me. You may go.”

  Mary still hesitated, clearly unwilling to give up so easily. She moistened her lips and glanced back at the door. He watched her through narrowed eyes.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do for you?” she asked, her voice full of innuendo, as she placed the tray on his bedside table.

  Teach’s head pounded. “Absolutely sure. Now I suggest you leave. Otherwise, I’ll be forced to tell your beau, John, about your cheating ways.”

  Mary blinked in surprise at the rebuff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, holding her hand up to her generous bosom.

  Teach took a deep breath, wishing, not for the first time, that he were still at sea. “Yes, you do. When William and I came back the day before yesterday from our morning ride, you and the groom were . . . how shall I say it? Otherwise engaged. If I catch you doing that again, I will have no choice but to let my friend John know exactly what kind of girl he plans to marry.”

  “I . . . Tom, he . . . he helped me . . . because I fell . . .”

  Teach watched, unimpressed, as Mary tried to defend herself. She was clearly not quick-witted. “It appears you both fell,” he said.

  Scowling, Mary stomped toward the door, muttering something beneath her breath about seeking a different position elsewhere.

  “Tell Anne to come here,” he commanded before she closed the door with a loud bang.

  Teach sighed, hoping Mary would make good on her threat and leave. He wouldn’t be surprised if she turned out to be the crook. The less he knew about her exploits, the better. When he’d met John last year on the merchant ship, they had become close friends. John had mentioned that his girl was seeking a situation within a respectable household.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing respectable about Mary, and Teach now regretted having asked his father to give her a job. Even if he hadn’t been engaged to Patience, Teach would never have considered Mary as a prospect. She was too eager.

  Teach liked a challenge.

  He remembered fondly his first few attempts at wooing Patience. She’d played hard to get in the beginning, but he knew she’d enjoyed the attention. If there was one thing Patience loved, it was being the center of attention.

  A knock at the door brought him back to the present. “Come in,” he said.

  Anne poked her head in, a wary look on her face. The girl was constantly on edge. He had the distinct impression that it took her a while to trust someone.

  She stepped inside, rubbing her hands down her apron. It was covered with gray ash, and several strands of hair had crept out of her cap.

  Teach’s hand itched to touch them. She reminded him of an exotic flower growing on the islands of the West Indies and seemed out of place in this cold, sterile environment.

  “Sir?” she said.

  His eyes met hers. Teach was aware how he must look, with his jaw covered with stubble, his face flushed. Everything was as she’d left it a few hours earlier, with the
exception of one window being open, allowing a cool breeze to drift through the room. The chicken broth steamed in the bowl, filling the air with its scent. “You’re late,” he said, his voice rough.

  She pointed to the tray at his side. “You have your soup,” she said.

  “Yes, but you are the only one I wish to bring me my meals. That includes breakfast, dinner, and supper.”

  “But surely the others are capable of bringing you your meals?” she asked incredulously.

  “No doubt.”

  “If you’d like me to read to you, I can come later—”

  “I do want you to read to me, and that is precisely why I wish for you to bring me my food, no one else,” he said, pulling at the collar of his nightshirt. “Especially not that fool Mary,” he muttered beneath his breath. “You’re to let me know at once if you catch her anywhere near Tom, the groom. Is that understood?”

  Anne bristled at his words. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly shut it again.

  “What?” Teach asked.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “That’s not true. You were about to say something. Does it have anything to do with Mary?”

  “It’s not my place to say.”

  “It is if I’m asking. What do you know about Mary?”

  There was a long pause before Anne spoke. He could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Out with it,” he said.

  “I have reason to believe that she engaged in an inappropriate relationship with one of your guests.”

  Teach’s eyes widened in surprise. A guest? “You do? Why?”

  Once more she hesitated.

  “Come closer. Now tell me why you suspect that.”

  Anne took a few steps forward until she came to stand at the foot of his bed. Teach was keenly aware that he did not look his best. Sweat glistened on his brow, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks.

  “Your father has made it very clear that he doesn’t want any sort of involvement among the household staff. I’m sure that extends to your guests as well.”

  Teach squirmed beneath her steady gaze, remembering his earlier conduct. “I’m well aware of my father’s rules. You don’t need to remind me,” he said.