Love's Rescue (Keys Of Promise Book 1) (Historical Romance)

by Christine Johnson

  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?”

  Anabelle drew a shaky breath. “Mrs. Mallory’s boardinghouse, but he is likely already gone.”

  That was enough. Elizabeth’s mind whirled with a daring plan. She would call on the boardinghouse and pry the location of the Windsprite from Tom. Then . . . She eyed the tamarind. She hadn’t shinnied down it since she was a girl. It was time to give it a try.

  17

  When Tom didn’t return by the third night, Rourke assumed that
the young man either had failed to reach Anabelle or had been discovered. Both left him in an awkward position with the planned escape just two days away. Rourke gripped the rail. He was a man of action. All this sitting and waiting, each day risking detection, was driving him mad. He needed to do something, anything.

  “I’m going ashore,” he told John.

  “How you go ta shore seein’ as Master Tom has de boat?”

  As usual, his mate’s logic couldn’t be questioned, but it didn’t improve Rourke’s temper. “I can’t just sit here swatting at mosquitoes.”

  “Don’t see dat you got much choice.”

  John was right, but Rourke couldn’t sit still when every crewman’s future was at stake. This had to succeed. John knew that as well as anyone.

  “How can you be so calm? If I were you, I’d be swimming for shore.”

  John grinned. “We do our part. De rest in God’s hands.”

  Simple enough to say. Tough to believe. “Your faith is stronger than mine.”

  “God bring my Anabelle home in His time. He bring Miz Lizbeth home in His time.”

  That was what kept Rourke awake at night. Four years of uncertainty had been difficult. He couldn’t wait another four years. “I’m no Jacob, working seven years only to have her father hold her back and ask for seven more.”

  John guffawed and slapped his thigh. “Dat be you, aw right. But remember, in de end, Jacob get his Rachel.”

  Rourke shook his head. “I have my doubts.”

  “She wait.”

  Even if she did, Rourke might never be able to return. If Charles Benjamin discovered Rourke had helped Anabelle escape, he could never again set foot on Key West soil. To do so meant prison.

  So he waited.

  Aside from the rustle of mangrove leaves, nighttime brought relative quiet. Few animals inhabited the smaller islands. Most had no source of fresh water. Those living creatures that could exist in the harsh environment were small and relatively quiet. Crabs, lizards, and snakes might be on the move, but no human would hear them. Occasionally a school of small fish skittered across the surface, racing to escape sharks or barracuda.

  A whistle rang through the air. Startled, Rourke glanced up to where the lookout had been perched since nightfall. He crossed to the mast and waited for Rander to climb down.

  “Tom or trouble?” Rourke asked the moment the man’s feet hit the deck.

  “Dunno. Skiff looks ’bout the right size, but if it’s him, he’s hurt. He stops ta rest every couple strokes.”

  “Stand by to haul anchor at my command.” Rourke rushed to the bow where he could get a first look at the incoming boat. If this wasn’t Tom, if it was a traitor, he would give the signal. The tide was still strong enough to carry them through the narrow opening without the assistance of sail. He trained his gaze on that opening and motioned for the men to be silent.

  Dark mangroves lined each side of the cut and limited his view to dead ahead, but he could hear the erratic splash of oars. Instead of a regular pull, each shallow dip came at a different pace. Either Tom was wounded, as the lookout had surmised, or they were about to face an uninvited guest.

  Rourke motioned for each man to arm himself. John held out his hand for the key to the gun locker. Rourke reached for it but reconsidered. In the darkness, gunfire could do more harm than good. One jumpy crewman could fire early and set off a cascade of bullets.

  He waved off the request. They would use blades.

  Rourke listened for the egret croak but heard only the erratic splashing. This could not be Tom unless the lad was too badly injured to call out. Rourke wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his cutlass. If this was a foe, he intended to win the confrontation.

  The bow of a skiff slid past the edge of the mangroves. Rourke motioned for his men to line both gunwales. Until he knew which side the boat would approach, he had to prepare for both. The lookout had seen just one man at the oars. Rourke’s crew of nine could take a single man handily.

  The next pull of the oars brought the boat squarely into the channel. Even in the moonlight, he recognized his ship’s boat. Tom? No, the stature of the rower wasn’t right. Too small. The oars drooped.

  “Ahoy, the Windsprite.” The weak, high-pitched call from the skiff did not belong to Tom. It sounded like a young boy.

  Why would a boy seek them out? Unless . . . Would Tom have sent him? If so, wouldn’t he have given the boy the signal?

  Confused, Rourke lowered his weapon and pulled out his spyglass.

  The boy in the boat stood. He appeared to be wearing some sort of cloak, judging from the shape. Rourke could not make out a face, but he could see that the boy was alone.

  The boy lifted his hands to his mouth as the boat wobbled unsteadily. “Rourke?”

  He hesitated. The voice sounded familiar. Moreover, the boy knew him by name. Maybe Tom had hired a local lad to bring a message. Someone Rourke knew. Or it could be a trap. Poppinclerk’s warning sprang to mind.

  John tapped him on the shoulder. He wanted to know what to do.

  Rourke wasn’t sure. He motioned for John to wait and peered into the spyglass again.

  At that moment, the lad lost his balance. Arms flailed, and a high-pitched screech rent the night air. The hood fell off, and in the last instant before the rower plunged into the water, the moonlight revealed long, golden hair.

  Elizabeth!

  Rourke threw aside the spyglass and dove over the ship’s side.

  “What are you doing here?” Rourke squatted in front of her, his eyes blazing in the glow of the lantern.

  Elizabeth pulled the wool blanket tight around her shoulders. Seawater from her skirts pooled on the deck of the Windsprite, and the cooler night air made her shiver, but she hadn’t felt this alive in four years. “I rowed the skiff across. It wasn’t terribly difficult. Walking to where it was hidden was far worse.”

  “I didn’t ask how. I asked why.”

  He was being unreasonable. “I want to go with you.” She’d told him this a dozen times, but he refused to believe her.

  “Don’t you know how dangerous this little adventure was? You could have been hurt. You might have drowned.”

  “I wasn’t and I didn’t.”

  Rourke rocked to his feet and paced a short distance away before pivoting back to face her. “How did you find us? Tell me that. Only one person in Key West knows where we’re anchored.”

  “Tom.”

  “Tom told you? I’ll make him pay.”

  “You will do no such thing.” She jutted out her chin. “I found him, not the other way around, and he refused to say a thing for the longest time. I forced it out of him.”

  “You? Forced it from him? How? Did you hold a pistol to his head?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Common sense and persuasion go much farther than violence.”

  Rourke growled. “What common sense and persuasion?”

  She tugged the blanket a little tighter. “I needed to see you. He needed to get a message to you. Our purposes matched.”

  “Not good enough.” He walked away from her again, clearly incensed.

  “He told me not to let anyone see me. I was very careful, even though I have no idea why you insist on all this secrecy. I promise not to tell a soul. Moreover, if you take me with you, it will be impossible for me to tell anyone.”

  “Not possible.” He stalked back toward her. “How did you even know Tom was in town?”

  “I saw him talking to Anabelle.”

  He growled again. “Then she knows you’re here too.”

  “She knows I wanted to see Tom. That’s all.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Safe at home. Where else? I can’t bring a maid with me.”

  This time, Rourke’s Negro mate muttered something unintelligible.

  Rourke shot the man a warning glare before returning his attention to her. “What was the message Tom asked you to bring to me?”

  Elizabeth closed her eyes and p
ictured the words she had memorized. “He said to tell you that all is done as directed and the man in the alley is Mr. Poppinclerk. What does that mean?”

  Rourke ran a crooked finger below his lower lip, back and forth, deep in thought. “It means exactly what he said. Now that you’ve relayed the message, we need to get you home.”

  The man took stubbornness to a new height. “Like I told you, I can’t go home.” Why wouldn’t he believe her? “I love you, not Mr. Finch. If I go home, Father will announce that we are engaged. I could never marry him.”

  “Then don’t. No one can force you to marry.”

  She shuddered at the memory of Mr. Finch’s attempted kiss. How far would he go to claim her? Something had led Mother to marry Father even though she did not love him. She had assumed Mother obeyed Grandmama and Grandpapa. What if that wasn’t the only reason?

  Rourke knelt before her again and gently lifted her chin. “Look at me, Elizabeth. You are a strong woman. Remember that. No one can force you to do something you do not want to do.”

  He knew what she faced, and yet he would not help. Elizabeth choked back tears. “For an entire year?”

  “Perhaps.” He smoothed a lock of hair from her forehead, and she leaned into the caress.

  She had to make him understand. “I can’t live without you.”

  “You managed for four years. You can last a little longer.”

  “I shouldn’t have left without word last time. I’ve changed. I would never do that again.”

  “I know.”

  “Then why not take me with you? Is it because I let you take the blame for what happened to Charlie?” She knew what she must do, but it was so difficult. “I shouldn’t have. I never should have. It was my fault. I’m sorry.”

  He touched her cheek. “Look at me, Elizabeth.”

  “I can’t.” How could she look him in the eye? He would see her guilt, her shame, the cowardice buried deep inside.

  He lifted her chin and caught her gaze. “There is nothing to forgive.”

  “Yes, there is.” A terrible trembling began in her limbs. How weak, how frail, how flawed she was.