Chapter 12
Charles Town, South Carolina
A thwack on the desk startled Anne back into her history lesson.
“En quelle année la guerre a-t-elle commencée?” asked her new tutor, Monsieur Perrin, without a trace of impatience.
Anne blinked. The dappled leaves on the laurel oak outside the window disappeared as the face of her Huguenot tutor came into view.
His gentle russet eyes behind spectacles.
She’d longed for a tutor for years, realizing now how she’d glorified those days in Da’s office when she was a child.
Had she forgotten what serious study entailed?
Difficulty, however, did not diminish an education’s importance—a wisdom Anne had at nineteen that she’d not enjoyed eleven years prior. And at her late age, she hadn’t a moment to lose.
“Can you please repeat the question?” Anne asked. She worried this lengthy lesson might delay her first outing with Ellen Fulworth. The young lady had extended an invitation to shop for finery in preparation for her family’s upcoming ball. “A real honor,” Mam had declared.
Anne still didn’t know what to wear. The proper way to style her red hair, which frizzed something terrible in South Carolina.
Monsieur Perrin offered a small smile. “Your mind seems elsewhere today,” he said in English through a thick nasal accent.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Anne said as a knot of shame coiled in her chest. Da invested significantly in these lessons now that he’d opened his law office in Charles Town last month.
The loan, he assured, covered all manner of luxuries.
Mam had the finest dresses—Anne, too. The lost years of struggling in London seemed a world away, replaced with parlor visits, sugar-dusted cakes, long church services on Sundays, and a doctor to cure Mam’s cough.
The supposed “London of the Low Country” boasted a varied society, though the Irish clung together like thistles.
“Très bien. Enough for today. We can continue the Hundred Years’ War tomorr—”
“Thank you, Monsieur Perrin!” Anne was already gathering her books.
To Anne’s relief, she arrived before Miss Fulworth at the agreed-upon spot.
Smoothing down her hair, Anne observed riders on horseback and barkeeps sweeping thresholds.
The roads here stretched out in long, straight rows.
Buildings with multiple stories housed residences on the upper levels and businesses on the ground level.
The butcher smoked meats while clusters of rough men swayed outside the Red Star Tavern.
A few feet to her left, Anne watched two dark-skinned women who sat beside a stack of baskets. Their fingers flew as they braided long strands of grass. One weaver leaned in to whisper something, which made the other let out a peal of laughter.
Were they cousins? Friends? Did they work for the same estate? She’d never seen people of such varied skin tones in Europe.
Anne felt her pocket, where she kept the money Da had given her.
“Shopping for finery,” as Ellen had called their planned excursion, clearly meant something beyond picking up supplies to make dinner—a task Anne still needed to do for Mam.
And in her haste and fuss about clothes, she’d forgotten a satchel to carry her purchases. She could use a basket.
Anne took a step closer. “Are these for sale?” she asked.
The two women stopped speaking at her approach. One looked down while the other—who’d laughed earlier—held Anne’s gaze with flashing eyes. “They can be.” She named a price.
Anne took a small coin and, in return, the woman gave her a basket. Anne tied it to her belt, then studied the lovely weave. “I’ve never seen anything this intricate. What’s the material?”
“Sweetgrass,” the weaver said. “Sometimes bulrush. We use these to harvest rice.”
Anne turned the basket over, surveying the tan-and-brown pattern. She’d become quite good at embroidery, but nothing to match this skill. “Where did you learn?”
“Mother to daughter, for generations. We—”
“There you are!” came a shout from across the street.
Anne turned to see Miss Fulworth hurtling toward her, one hand clutching her straw hat.
Offering a quick shrug of apology to the weavers, Anne dashed across the road to meet her.
“I thought you’d gotten lost,” the young lady said, her violet-blue eyes dancing.
“I searched the neighboring shops.” She hooked an elbow through Anne’s and steered her toward the wharf.
This close, the beautiful Miss Fulworth smelled of lilies and ash soap.
“Is your family settling in?” Her attention snagged on Anne’s basket.
“Ah. What do you think of Charles Town?”
How much to betray, how much to conceal?
Anne stiffened, too aware of the arm wrapped effortlessly around hers.
Anne hadn’t experienced much opportunity to form friendships.
With Da and Mam properly—secretly—married by a South Carolina preacher who knew nothing of Da’s former wife, Anne had been elevated from bastard to gentleman’s daughter.
They were the Cormacs now, of the distinguished Cormacs of Ireland.
Miss Ellen Fulworth of fine English breeding would not be impressed with the prejudice or financial suffering they’d experienced before arriving, and Mam—who’d bloomed in this society like a rose enjoying a late-summer growing season—wouldn’t want the town knowing either.
“The green reminds me of Ireland,” Anne said.
Her heart pulsed with recognition of that truth.
“I’m sorry my lessons went long, Miss Fulworth. ”
“Ellen will do. What lessons?” She pulled a face as they threaded through the backstreets.
Her expression didn’t match her perfect, ebony curls.
As the youngest daughter of a wealthy merchant who ran a warehouse filled with furniture, spices, cloth, and other coveted treasures, Ellen surely modeled what all refined ladies did.
“History. French. That kind of thing,” Anne said with a dismissive casualness. Da had gone to great lengths, including debt, to support this dream. Why did she feel the need to minimize it for Ellen? The realization tasted sour on her tongue.
“Sounds dreadful, especially at our age,” Ellen said as a gust pelted them from the harbor.
A brigantine was sailing in, and the Ashley River sparkled beneath the lowering sun.
“I went through countless governesses before my parents gave up. The only one I liked, they dismissed.” Ellen threw her head back to laugh—far too dramatically—and Anne steadied her friend to keep her from crashing into a man pushing an apple cart.
Anne bit back a curse. “I never had a governess.”
“Is it also true that your household doesn’t employ help of any kind?” Ellen said.
Anne detected an evaluating tone in Ellen’s words.
“My mother is suspicious of servants.” That felt safer than explaining Mam’s past or that Mam—once a servant herself—had never let go of the pride of maintaining her own home.
Anne fulfilled all the chores when Mam was too ill. But what did Ellen care?
“Such a curiosity,” Ellen said with what sounded like relief. “You’re nothing like the others here. It’s about time I found a best friend like you.”
Best friend? Her stomach flipped. Before Anne could come up with a response, Ellen stopped abruptly. She tugged on Anne’s arm and untied her hat.
“Are you ready to ‘shop’?” Ellen giggled.
Anne followed Ellen’s line of vision to a pair of young sailors. Ellen dropped her black lashes as they passed. “Oh, no!” Ellen burst. Then, to Anne’s confusion, Ellen knocked her own hat into the breeze.
“I have it,” the taller of the sailors hollered as he chased the hat down the docks. The other, a sullen fellow with stringy blond hair, merely watched.
Anne’s cheeks burned. She wondered what Mam would say about this brash behavior. What would Ellen’s parents think?
If she wasn’t so ashamed, Anne might have admired the hell out of Ellen. Anne hadn’t been that untamed since her days of running with Seán O’Brien’s pack.
“For you, Miss Fulworth,” the tall sailor said, presenting the hat to Ellen on one knee as if she were a queen. Dimples punctuated his boyish grin.
Ellen removed her clapped palm from her lips and extended her hand. “How very kind, Mr. Taylor.”
“Anything for you, Miss Fulworth,” he beamed.
Anne shifted her weight, trying to make sense of a game she’d never played before. She’d been played. A pawn. A safe accomplice for this spectacle.
Did she mind, if these silly antics got her out of the house? Earned her a friend?
The sullen man looked at Anne, his gray eyes widening with sudden interest. He might be decent looking after a bath. But Anne broke his gaze, distracted by Ellen’s theatrics.
“Ah, forgive me. Where are my manners?” said Mr. Taylor. He gestured toward his companion. “Ladies, this is Mr. James Bonny.”
“A pleasure,” Ellen said. “I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m new to this port,” Mr. Bonny muttered. When Anne finally glanced up, he was still staring at her.
“My dear friend is also recently arrived,” Ellen said. “May I introduce Miss Anne Cormac?”
“So pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Taylor said while Mr. Bonny nodded, unable or unwilling to say another word. He tucked a strand of oily hair behind one ear.
“Will you be in town long?” Ellen probed, securing her hat atop her head as she stared hard at Mr. Taylor.
“I certainly hope so,” he said with a deep bow. They locked eyes for a heartbeat longer than necessary before the sailors continued on.
Anne’s flimsy facade of refinement cracked as Ellen stared after them. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Anne whispered, forgetting to leash her cursing. “This is what you call ‘shopping for finery’?”
“Precisely.” Ellen’s face shifted from stupid flirtation into a look of complete satisfaction.
“I invited you here today not because I think you’ll make another pretty friend—I’ve had enough of those—but because you’re not a fool.
You’ve just confirmed my hope. And besides, I’m desperate to escape my family by any means necessary. Particularly my brute of a brother.”
Anne opened her mouth, then closed it. She truly did not understand friendship.
“I’m bored to tears, Anne. But mostly, I’m angry.
Really angry.” She reached out and touched the basket tied to Anne’s belt.
“This place isn’t what it seems. My father talks of moving to the Bahamas, taking his trade with him.
I can’t imagine what my life might look like on some hunk of sand in the middle of the ocean.
I long for a new city—a real, liberal-minded city.
Only the Devil could stop me from trying to break free. ”
Anne crossed her arms. She didn’t know whether she should be irritated by this spoiled young lady or impressed.
“You’re bored too, don’t deny it,” Ellen said. “I’ve seen you at church; your face betrays your every thought.” She huffed. “You’re an only child, stuck half the day with a tutor, and the other half spent alone while your father works and your mother makes visits or keeps to her bed.”
At this, Anne’s blood boiled. “You know nothing about me,” she snapped. How did Ellen, or anyone, know of Mam’s condition? “What gives you the right—”
Ellen held up a hand. “Don’t be defensive.
It doesn’t suit your complexion—not with that hair.
How long have you been here—two months? Three?
People talk. Your mother sees the wrong doctor.
Your father is trusting the wrong people.
Maybe my eavesdropping can finally be of use.
I can help. And in return, you can help me. ”
Wrong doctor? Her guilt and protectiveness of Mam reared like a spooked horse.
“You’re insufferable,” Anne growled. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to hate Ellen, love her, or be her. To her annoyance, Ellen seemed only more pleased by her reaction.
“Challenge me. Fight me. Swear your pretty Irish head off, I don’t care,” Ellen said. “It’s all better than the alternative.”
“The alternative being …?”
“Pretending,” Ellen exhaled, her fire extinguished, replaced with sorrow. “Like all these other masquerading hypocrites.”
Anne unclenched her fists. Ellen looped her arm through Anne’s again, holding her chin high as they strode home, the chimney smoke from cooking fires wafting.
“If I’m lucky,” Ellen continued, this time with bitterness, “I’ll snag a husband who can take me away from this horrid place and family.”
Anne preferred this version of Ellen to the earlier one. With this Ellen, Anne needn’t hold back. “I trust what you say about your family. But there are more horrid places, I assure you,” Anne said.
Ellen gave her a hard look. “I’ll give you a proper tour if you call on me tomorrow.”