Chapter 29
The crew attended to their posts as they brought the Swallow around Hog Island to enter Nassau Harbor. Looking down, Anne could see every reed and coral lining the ocean floor. She felt a chilly calm as she tied off a line before helping Alby and Dutton drop anchor into the clear, turquoise sea.
“Mrs. Bonny and I will take the first rowboat to shore,” James said.
He carried a single bag and gave no signs of his plans to abandon and betray them.
Anne had nothing of value. All she’d managed to smuggle was a handful of coins, shaved off the top of her illicit deliveries, and a knife for self-defense.
The dagger wrapped against her thigh was no bigger than the paper knife from two years earlier. She hoped her kerchief would hold the blade in place. But mostly, she hoped she wouldn’t need to use it.
“Any special parcels to deliver, Captain?” Anne asked as Alby aided James in untethering the rowboat hitched to the side of the Swallow.
Captain Eford handed her a squat black bottle wrapped in cloth, just as Anne slipped him a note.
His wiry brows shot up, and Anne shook her head to signal silence.
He gave a slight nod of understanding, then slipped the paper into his gray jacket.
“Take this to the merchant who goes by ‘Tom’ at Beardsley’s Barrel,” Captain Eford said.
“He’ll be at the second-to-last business on Bay Street. We’ll be an hour or two behind you.”
Anne took a step back, surveying the familiar faces, the familiar shape of the Swallow.
Murphy and his sunburned nose. Alby and his crooked grin.
Dutton and the yellowing quality of his eyes.
Her friends’ tar-stained fingers from weatherproofing the lines.
The smell of musty cedar. The ivory sails.
The planks she’d scoured until her palms developed calluses.
Mops whimpered, and she scratched the spaniel’s floppy ears one last time. She would not, could not, look at her without falling apart and betraying her plan.
“Goodbye,” Anne breathed.
“Ladies first,” James mumbled, gesturing for her to descend the ladder. He offered a hand, which she did not take.
“The governor’s mansion is due south above Old Church Hill,” James said once they logged the Swallow and reached shore.
His urgency was palpable as he picked up his pace on the beach-covered path into the shantytown.
A few drunken men passed, along with a horse-drawn cart and a pack of sheep wearing bells.
Anne did not move.
Study the sand, she decided, rooting herself to the earth. It was so bright that it glowed.
James flung down his heavy bag and glared. “Enough of these womanly sensitivities.”
The sand was finer than sifted flour. The very opposite of gunpowder.
“We’re wasting time.”
We?
Anne lifted her chin and watched his eyes shift from her to the horizon. At the Swallow in the distance.
James lunged and knocked her aside with his shoulder, his mouth agape as he watched with horror as the Swallow raised her sails, getting ready to make way.
He wheeled on her, eyes narrowed to slits. “You.”
Anne felt panic rise in her chest, but she steadied herself.
James shoved a finger in her face. “After everything I’ve done for you.” He knocked the bottle Captain Eford had given her to the side of the road. The glass shattered against a rock.
“They are good men. They had a right to know.” Captain Eford and her friends were not rogues and violent criminals.
They deserved better than a hangman’s noose.
“You should be thanking me. If I’d told them before we left, they might have tossed you overboard.
If anything, I’ve saved your life. We’re even—more than even.
” She didn’t love James Bonny, but that didn’t mean she wished him dead.
“You’ve thrown away our chance! The captain alone would have been worth a hundred pounds.”
“There is no ‘our’ anymore.”
His eyes bulged and he shook with rage. Anne took a step back, remembering the knife hidden under her skirts.
“I’m invoking Brehon law,” she said, the rehearsed sentences on the tip of her tongue.
“According to ancient custom, it is my right as a woman to end this marriage. I release us both from the bargain and will take what coin you owe me for my labors.”
The louse of a man had the nerve to look injured.
Then, his face twisted and he laughed. “Brehon law? You’re not in provincial Ireland anymore.
If it’s divorce you fancy, you might better acquaint yourself with the laws of the English.
I own you until death, and there isn’t a thing you can do about that. ”
Anne’s throat constricted, but she squared her shoulders. “You despise me, and my latest defiance should make my own feelings clear. I’ll not be married to a turncoat coward. Let me be and go your own way. We can pretend this never happened.”
She needed to pause, rein in her pride and rage. She needed money. He could sulk on his own time.
He stepped closer, his nose an inch away from hers.
She stopped breathing, unwilling to inhale his foul breath.
He stared at her lips, and for a horrible moment, she feared he might kiss her.
“You won’t find Nassau to be hospitable to an unaccompanied woman of a mere twenty-one years, Mrs. Bonny.
Not with nine ill-bred men to every one woman skulking about.
We’ll see how you fare after a few months alone on this dune without a man to protect you.
When I return for you, my wife as the town well knows, I hope you’ll have returned to your senses. ”
“You’re mad,” Anne scoffed. She tasted bile.
“And you’re alone—in a notorious nest of pirates. I’ll find an honest crew to sail with by nightfall. You, on the other hand …” he scoffed. Then, without finishing his sentence, he stormed away.
For hours, Anne walked the sandy streets, avoiding glances and shouts from passing packs of sailors.
Her whole body felt taut as a halyard line.
Why hadn’t she invented some excuse to take Toddy Mops for company and protection?
She missed the spaniel already. She mentally counted the coins she’d managed to smuggle behind James’s back, but she needed a miracle.
The smell of meat wafted from a chimney.
Her stomach growled and she ignored it. As the white sun traveled through the sky like an unblinking orb, her heart pounded at the threat of dusk.
James, that horrible man, was right. She was alone—more alone than ever. The Swallow was her home and safety.
But no more.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Her friends had better appreciate this sacrifice.
Anne did not bother to remove the sand that had collected in her sweaty boots.
Holy God above, were there white grains everywhere?
Sand in her hair. Sand in her ears. Sand in her teeth.
She might ignore her blisters. She might ignore hunger.
But her whole body demanded a safe place to rest for the night. And the night after that.
She’d never missed Ellen more. Where the bloody hell was she?
Anne turned onto a quieter street, reading the signs atop the shops, taverns, and brothels with names like The Pour House, The Poisonwood Tap, and The Coin & Cutlass. An image of Nathaniel invaded her mind, and she pushed it out, picturing instead the hidden knife.
“Would ya look at this firecracker.”
“Say, you think her hair is that color everywhere?”
“How much for the hour, lass?”
Anne whirled, her heart pounding as she studied the two drunkards. “I am not for sale.”
“Don’t be like that, missy. Everyone has a price.”
She pulled out the knife. It trembled in her fingers. “Stay back.”
“Pussy has claws,” one purred. He reeked of rum. The other put up his hands in mock surrender.
“That’s enough, Boris,” came a fierce, firm voice.
Anne spun around, her small dagger raised.
The man—Anne now saw it was a man who’d spoken despite the melodic timbre of the voice—did not react. He kept his striking dark eyes on the two men. “You and your lot know better. Hire a proper prostitute up the road at the Siren’s Swig.”
The two men muttered. “As you say, Read. An honest misunderstanding is all.”
Anne gathered her nerves as she watched the men leave. Then her shoulders dropped and her whole body convulsed.
“Go home before the true brutes come out,” the stranger said, his short, lean frame turning for the door of a two-story brick tavern. “It isn’t safe.”
“Wait,” Anne said, holding up a hand.
The man turned, and Anne felt his steady mahogany eyes survey her disheveled appearance. “Are you a runaway?”
Anne shook her head, still fumbling for words.
“A pirate’s mistress?”
Anne had no answer. She felt tears sting her eyes.
The man tucked a rag into his belt, then folded his arms. He must have been a barkeep.
He was skinny, but strong, and he had an unnerving, poignant gaze, prominent cheekbones, and circles like he hadn’t slept in all his thirty-something years.
“I don’t want any trouble, you understand? I’ve got enough problems of my own.”
Anne nodded, finally putting away her weapon. But she did not budge. Neither did the barkeep.
With a long sigh, the barkeep opened the door wider. “Come in before I change my mind.”
Anne didn’t need to be told twice. Inside, an assortment of long tables and round tables crowded the large room with an enormous hearth.
Pipe smoke lingered in the air. A bar ran along the length of one wall, and to the side of that, an entry to the kitchen.
Opposite the bar, a set of stairs led to a second level.
The man moved to clear a table, and Anne followed. A few other tables were occupied with well-dressed sailors and plates of salmagundi—roasted fish, sliced eggs, nuts, and pickles atop a salad. Anne salivated. The men laughed, clinking glasses and swapping stories.
“Here,” the barkeep said, handing Anne a basin of soapy water. “Ever worked in a tavern?”
Anne’s nerves from the encounter with the men still pummeled through her, and she merely shook her head.
“Have you ever worked at all?” he added.
Something snapped back into place, and Anne felt her temper flare like a lifeline. “I’m a sailor.” That, Anne hoped, sounded better than citing her experience with embroidery—even if the former sounded a bit absurd.
The barkeep didn’t react.
“Read!” came a voice from the end of the room. “Another round of ale for these rascals.”
He acknowledged the order, then returned to Anne.
“You can call me Mark or Read—either suits. I’ve no power or influence with the owner of the Jubilee.
But I can find you a corner behind the bar to sleep for the night.
” He flashed a ghost of a smile. “Keep your secrets safe. Anyone in this den of pirates has them. I’ll not be asking you for yours. ”
He tossed Anne the damp rag, then sped away to handle the customers.