Chapter 17
“Take me with you,” Anne begged Ellen for the hundredth time.
But now, standing at the docks in the colorless morning as men paraded sea chests aboard a Fulworth merchant ship, it would be the last.
“My family is not one worth joining,” Ellen said through gritted teeth, squeezing Anne’s hands.
“Careful with that!” Mrs. Fulworth roared when a sailor dropped a trunk. Mr. Fulworth busied himself with double-checking the manifest as the Fulworth children readied themselves to board the ship bound for the Bahamas.
“My father has become impossible,” Anne whispered. She’d already told Ellen of his latest behavior and erratic plans. Too unstable to continue law, Da had arranged for another loan, with interest, to buy a plantation away from town and pay back his debts.
A plantation run by enslaved people.
Anne had argued with Da, using Christianity and the flimsy comparison of Irish oppression to appeal to his heart. Where was his compassion? His conscience? Enraged, he threw a bottle at her, which shattered on the wall behind Anne—a mere foot from her head.
Ellen had been right about the futility of tears. But Anne could not—would not—bear his sins any longer.
“Say I am your sister. ‘Anne Fulworth.’ Isn’t that lovely?”
“Drop it, Anne,” Ellen said with exasperation. “If you want to run, at least run in the right direction.” Her violet-blue eyes shone with regret. “Don’t be like me, wasting time on pointless schemes like pursuing Mr. Taylor.”
Anne shifted her weight. Mr. Taylor was nowhere to be seen on the docks today, though she’d spotted his crew and his friend, Mr. Bonny.
Mr. Taylor had not made an offer of marriage—whatever his true feelings and Ellen’s clear willingness to abscond.
Anne thought Ellen had understood why Mr. Taylor would not ask for the hand of a woman who was so obviously above his station.
She suspected that Ellen did understand in her better moments. But anyone could be blinded by hope.
“Children, come!” Mrs. Fulworth called.
Anne stared at her feet. She’d cried enough in the year since Mam died to last a lifetime and had no more left to give.
“I may not be an heir, not with two brothers and five sisters,” Ellen said. “But you, Miss Anne Cormac—an only child—are.” Ellen scanned Anne’s face for understanding.
“But we’ve sold it all. And the debts—?”
Ellen held up a finger. “Play the game better than the rest of the hypocrites. A marriageable man doesn’t have to know the details.”
“Isn’t that a lie?” Anne whispered.
Someone cleared their throat, causing Anne and Ellen to jump.
“You startled us, Nathaniel,” Ellen said in a false tone as she smoothed her dress and stared at her boots.
“I’ll miss you too, Ellen,” Nathaniel said.
Anne’s gut squeezed. She looked at Nathaniel’s smug expression, then back at her friend.
“You’re not—?” Anne began to say.
“I’ll follow the family in a few weeks, but my main operations will remain here in Charles Town.” He paused. “How lonely we’ll be without my sister’s company. Shall I call on you soon to see how you’re faring?” His finger flicked her ass before he stalked away.
Did he just—?
Did she imagine it?
Nathaniel would stay behind. It was only when Ellen shook her shoulder that Anne came back to herself.
“Listen, Anne,” Ellen said with increased urgency after Nathaniel left them.
“You’re clever, more clever than you give yourself credit for.
Stop underestimating yourself—it’s irritating—and quit studying everyone like a starved pet in need of affection.
People aren’t worth your groveling, so find your food elsewhere.
Feed yourself. I wouldn’t be your friend if I didn’t tell you the truth, no?
We have always told each other the truth. ”
“I am not a damn dog,” Anne said.
But Ellen continued on, silencing her with a raised hand but looking pleased at Anne’s response. “For God’s sake, run, but with your head on your shoulders. Aim your shot and don’t miss.” She hugged Anne one last time. “Don’t be like me.”
Anne was not Queen Maeve fighting Furbaide. She was not the fierce Grace O’Malley or the brave Joan of Arc. But Ellen made Anne feel that she could be more.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Why were there always so many goodbyes? “I don’t even have a gift for you to remember me by,” Anne said.
“As if I could forget my first and only true friend,” Ellen said, somewhere between a scold and a sob. They held each other until Mrs. Fulworth pulled Ellen away.
Dread pooled in Anne’s stomach with each day that passed. She refused to receive any visitors. For a week, she spent most of her time outdoors, visiting Mam’s grave or staring at the river as she pondered Ellen’s words. At home, she studied Da’s papers whenever he was away.
This afternoon, she occupied herself by writing a letter to Monsieur Perrin in the drawing room.
Though Da had dismissed him as she’d anticipated, she wondered if Monsieur Perrin might recommend her as a governess.
Where did people post such positions? Could she be a teacher of any kind?
He might laugh, if her tutor was capable of laughing.
But being laughed at was hardly the worst of her problems.
She’d take anything. Any way out of this situation with Da.
Footsteps sounded outside the door. She covered her writing materials with a shawl. Da was home early. Too early to finish her day’s goal. She had to start on dinner.
Then came a knock—it wasn’t Da.
One rap.
Two.
The hair on the back of Anne’s neck rose. To her horror, the door to the drawing room swung open.
She’d locked it. She swore she’d locked it. Anne’s stomach plummeted at the visage in the entryway.
“Good afternoon, Miss Cormac,” Nathaniel Fulworth said warily.
He scanned the drawing room. “Forgive my imprudence, but I’d heard you were most unwell.
And with circumstances as they are, and my dear sister gone, I thought you could use a friend.
” His attention flicked to the staircase.
“I had especially hoped to catch your father, to lend him some advice. He is, I understand, not home?”
Anne felt her cheeks burn, aware it sent the opposite message than the one she intended.
“I’m feeling terribly unwell. If you don’t mind—”
But Nathaniel was already shutting the door with a click. The sound of a coffin closing.
Her breathing stopped.
“The town speaks of your Da’s neglect.” He glanced at the papers and inkwell peeking out from under the shawl, then moved forward to see what Anne was working on. “Ah, are you writing to Ellen?”
She didn’t answer him. “I’m sure my father would be delighted to talk about business—and his duty as my father—another time.” She stood from the desk, her fingers brushing against a paper knife for opening correspondence.
No, for this.
Anne tucked the blade into the pocket of her skirt and moved away, creating distance between herself and Nathaniel. “I think you should—”
But before she could finish her sentence, he pressed his mouth against hers. She gasped. “I knew what was between us,” he breathed when he finally pulled away. “From the first moment we met.” Nathaniel’s voice was heavy with longing. He pushed a hand through her hair. “That fire in you.”
Anne’s heart raced with terror, and her eyes darted around the room. The door, blocked. The window, impossible. Then Nathaniel kissed her again, hard. She ripped away, and he held her wrist with a force that made her wince.
“Let go of me,” she demanded. “I’ll—”
He leaned in, pressing her back against a wall.
Moving against her, his mouth trailed her throat where no scream emerged.
“You don’t have to hide your reason for all those visits to Ellen.
” He ran his hands through her hair, then dragged them down her chest. She shrieked with fear, and he sighed with pleasure, his mouth on hers, stealing her air away.
Every nerve of her screamed. And yet her body stiffened, rigid with fear. Frozen in place. Like a trapped animal.
No, like a little girl. Standing in front of her grandparents’ estate. Unable to speak. A dog lunging but never pouncing. Her treacherous feet moving, running. Away from the home she might have saved.
“Shh,” he smiled. “I won’t hurt you.”
Anne squeezed her eyes shut as Nathaniel ran his hands over every curve of her dress.
A cry from the little girl inside her.
Not this, Anne thought.
Never again.
“No,” she said aloud, squeaky and quiet, but a no all the same.
This seemed to embolden Nathaniel, who fumbled with the laces of her dress.
Act, Anne thought, forcing her eyes open. Think.
Nathaniel moaned and found her mouth again, biting her lip. She tasted blood—metallic and bitter. She twisted in his grasp, kicking and fighting, but it only seemed to encourage him.
You are clever, Anne told herself, channeling Ellen. What would Ellen do? What would Ellen say?
Ellen, with her bruised wrist.
She couldn’t be Ellen. She couldn’t be any person but herself.
Be watchful, like Mam warned.
Be cunning, like Grace O’Malley.
Her pocket.
The paper knife.
Fight, like Queen Maeve.
Trust yourself, like Joan of Arc.
Nathaniel tore off his shirt. Flustered by her gown’s many laces, he hiked her dress up and gripped her ass. Anne clenched her teeth hard enough to grind bone. She reached for the knife.
Nathaniel groped one of her breasts. She wanted to vomit at his noises. Her trembling fingers closed around the paper knife.
Anne didn’t have time to reconsider. She breathed in, exhaled, then used all her strength to plunge the metal into his stomach.
Nathaniel bellowed as if shot, but Anne was already racing for the door, flying down the stairs, the road, her heart hammering like a battle ax as she sprinted for the docks. Her feet knew where to take her, even as her mind struggled to keep up.
Anne found Mr. Bonny loading cargo onto a ship alongside his crewmates. Mr. Taylor was nowhere in sight. But perhaps that was for the best. Whatever his feelings toward Ellen—even if Anne never saw her friend again—she would never seek out Ellen’s intended.
Mr. Bonny looked up when she approached. She would turn away if she had anything to turn back to.
Go boldly, she thought, remembering Monsieur Perrin’s lesson.
“Mr. Taylor isn’t here,” Mr. Bonny said. “He joined a man-of-war headed north.”
It took Anne a moment to register his meaning.
“I didn’t come for him. Can I have a word?
” she asked, heaving and wild-eyed after Nathaniel’s attack.
She could only imagine what she looked like: unchaperoned, unruly hair, blood wiped on the inside hem of her dress.
The limited traces of red said what she already knew: she’d not dealt a serious blow to Nathaniel—she’d barely punctured his skin.
Nathaniel would be after her. With a tale of how she’d welcomed him into her house.
Mr. Bonny’s companions laughed. One slapped him on the shoulder as he rose.
“You remember me, then?” Anne said, her arms folded to keep herself together while they stood on the far edge of the wharf. She could smell the sweat drenching his armpits.
“You’d be hard to forget,” Mr. Bonny said, gray eyes fixed on her.
She studied him carefully. “But do you know who I am?”
He shifted his weight and scratched his ear. “The lawyer, Mr. Cormac’s daughter.”
“His only daughter,” Anne said, remembering Ellen’s words. “His only child.”
His forehead wrinkled as he studied her anew. “What are you saying, Miss Cormac?”
“I need immediate passage from Charles Town,” Anne said. An escape route without a trace. She hoped, with everything in her body, that he would not ask her to explain why. She would fall apart at the seams.
“We leave for Nassau under Captain Eford tonight,” Mr. Bonny said, gesturing toward the ship.
Was it enough time? It would have to be enough. With any luck, Anne might even find Ellen once she got to the Bahamas.
“My father has fewer means than others in this town.” She looked him over, his threadbare clothes and oily hair.
“But he does have some.” She cleared her throat.
It was not a lie, though it was not the full truth.
“We would dissolve the union as soon as possible. You could go your way, and I would go mine, but you’d have more shillings to show for your troubles. ”
“You are actually proposing that—”
“Yes. I am proposing.”
His jaw dropped.
“Will you marry me, James Bonny?”