Chapter 27
Anne heard footsteps echo down the corridor the next morning. Captain Johnson seemed to prefer morning appointments.
She sprang to her feet. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Anne didn’t know she was capable of “springing” in this rathole in her miserable condition.
The baby kicked, and Anne rolled her eyes. “It’s not you that’s miserable,” she shot in an affectionate whisper. Just the carrying part. She’d rather kiss the Devil’s ass than go through this again. One month left.
And then?
She couldn’t think of it.
“How is Mary?” Anne said, arms draped over the boulder of her stomach. She hoped she didn’t sound as desperate as she felt.
“Good morning to you too, Miss Bonny,” Captain Johnson said as the guard locked him inside the cell. He wore a gray velvet jacket and the ridiculous, oversized tricorn she had come to associate with him.
Fools. What was the point? Anne wasn’t going anywhere without Mary.
The gombeen perched on his usual stool and handed her another guava. His forced smile made her all the more anxious. He removed his hat.
She placed the fruit aside. “How bad?”
“Fever dreams. Some hallucinations, maybe. But she can speak—and does so when she is able. She told me some curious stories.” His eyes grew at the memory, and he shook his head with lingering astonishment. “The doctor is doing what he can.”
Anne turned away and cursed.
“I am doing what I can on that account. You may think many things about me, but I am a man of my word.”
Anne looked over her shoulder and studied him. A gentleman? She’d known a few of those. Ellen’s despicable brother, Nathaniel, being one.
But Captain Johnson was not of that sort. She believed him. Even if he only wanted her and Mary to live for his own selfish sake, at least they shared the urgency of this goal.
“Did she ask about me?” Anne asked.
Captain Johnson gave her a strange look. “No.”
Anne bit her lip. A stupid question—she was a halfwit to ask it. But perhaps no word about her was better than any word against her. Anne would make it up to Mary. She would do anything it took.
“Miss Read told me about her marriage. There was nothing about her being wedded to a Fleming in the trial papers.”
Anne paced. “There are a great many things not included in those trial papers.”
“So I understand,” Johnson said, steadying his writing desk on his lap and inking his quill.
“Which is, might I remind you, the reason I am here.” He peered up, expectant.
Perhaps a bit too expectant. Anne had to remind herself that the next move was hers.
God have mercy, she needed that quill and paper.
“Can you tell me what happened after she married the Fleming?”
Anne scoffed. “That’s her story to tell.”
“You’re making this conversation unnecessarily hostile,” the captain said, with more agitation than usual.
She paused to consider his words, and then continued pacing. “I promised you my story, but not hers. And you still owe me the second part of my bargain.”
“I have not forgotten.” He tapped his thick fingers on his knee.
“I have also not forgotten where you left me in your own tale. While Miss Read’s marriage is still a mystery to me—though your response has at least confirmed that, indeed, there was a marriage—your own marriage to Bonny is much more well known, despite your creative use of an alias. ”
Anne decided that she’d had enough of her pacing, so she picked up the guava and sat on the cot.
She took a bite, trying not to show how delicious and appreciated it was.
Gratitude would get her nowhere. Groveling and freezing and inaction had swallowed up too much of her former life, her former self.
And a lot of bloody good that old self got her.
“You won’t tell me what happened after Miss Read married. I understand. But you can tell me what happened after you proposed marriage to James Bonny.”
“Per our agreement, yes. But you still owe me something more.” She bit into the guava and looked anywhere but at the damn quill he held in his hand.
“I forget nothing,” the captain said. “Man of my word, remember?”
Anne tossed the skin into the waste bucket, with perfect aim. Then she turned to the captain. They were not exactly friendly, but she did feel that they were coming to understand each other. He took her seriously, and she insisted on nothing less.
“Another fragment of my life,” Anne said. “Not the whole of it. But next time, you must bring what you promised—in addition to attending to Mary.”
He leaned back, waiting for more.
“I will do as you say, on one condition,” Captain Johnson said.
She glared so hard she thought her eyeballs might burst. “We already made our agreement, Captain.”
“Yes, but there are certain challenges, as you might suspect, that come with your second request.” He’d dropped his niceties, and Anne preferred it. “Questions others, and myself I might add, could pose. Timing is a delicate thing for you, but especially for Miss Read.”
Anne swallowed at what he implied.
“I will expedite your request for writing materials, with no further questions, if you promise me one more thing.”
Anne leaned against the wall, searching for strength, feeling the blow coming.
“If Mary Read is, for whatever reason, incapable of completing her tale, you must fill in the gaps as needed.”
Anne shut her eyes and her head fell forward, her matted hair a curtain. “Mary will pull through,” Anne ground out. Mary could fight her way out of anything. If not for herself, then for her child.
“Of course she will,” Captain Johnson soothed. “But if—”
Anne held up a hand. “Enough.”
He leaned back, the stool squealing below him in protest.
“I accept but will hear nothing more of that talk again. Do you damn well understand?”
He bowed his head like a perfect gentleman. “I understand.” He dipped his quill into the inkwell. “Now,” he said, clearing his throat. “Where were we?”