Elizabeth looked for Anabelle, who had disappeared. “My aunt believes I need one.”
“A lady as beautiful as you deserves many new gowns.”
His flattery was even worse than that of Mr. Finch. “I am in mourning, Mr. Poppinclerk, and have not yet decided to attend.”
“But you must. The Harvest Ball is the event of the season. Everyone of note will be there. If you were not in attendance, Key West would miss its brightest flower.”
Elizabeth strained this way and that looking for Anabelle. This man’s platitudes sickened her. Why did every man treat her with such obvious artifice? Every man except Rourke. She smiled at the thought of him.
“Ah, you agree,” Poppinclerk said. “I, for one, am very glad. Perhaps you will save me a dance?”
Startled, Elizabeth looked at him and finally saw Anabelle. Her maid stood across the street talking to . . . impossible. She took a step to her right in order to see past Mr. Poppinclerk’s horse.
“Dear Miss Benjamin, I hope I have not offended you.” Mr. Poppinclerk followed her as she tried to get a view.
“Not at all. I’m simply looking for my maid. We must hurry to my appointment.”
“Of course.” He bowed in front of her, blocking her path. “Then may I assume you will save me a dance?”
“Of course,” she murmured in order to get rid of the man.
“Excellent. Good day, Miss Benjamin.” He bowed yet again and returned to his gig.
Thank goodness. Elizabeth walked a little farther until she could get a better view. A big wagon from the wharves blocked the street for a moment, but after it passed, Anabelle’s companion came into view. She clapped a hand to her mouth.
What was Tom Worthington doing in town? He should be on the Windsprite headed for the Bahamas. Did that mean Rourke had returned?
She started to cross the street, but Mr. Poppinclerk drove past in his gig. After he shouted another greeting, the street finally cleared enough for her to see Tom talking to Anabelle. He handed her maid something. She nodded, and he turned toward the harbor.
“Tom,” Elizabeth called out, waving her hand.
Both Tom and Anabelle started. His eyes widened. She dropped something small and square and white that she hastily scooped up and shoved in her apron pocket.
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.