Prepare everyone.
She folded the note and wrote Tom’s name on the outside. All it needed was a seal. She rose to fetch the sealing wax when Aunt Virginia’s strident voice rose from the floor below.
“It’s gone, I tell you.”
Aunt must be in the dining room, which was situated directly under Elizabeth’s bedroom.
“I didn’t lose it,” Aunt Virginia declared. “Someone stole it.”
Not the string of pearls. Elizabeth hoped Aunt hadn’t misplaced her pearls or the entire household would be turned upside down looking for them.
Father’s reply was so muted that she could not make out a single word. Doubtless he knew that voices carried. He also didn’t rattle easily, even though Aunt Virginia could discombobulate the most placid soul.
“Impossible,” Aunt cried. “My trunks were locked. I made sure of it by giving my keys to Captain Poppinclerk as soon as I reached safety. I was not going to let those pirates and darkies near my belongings. They would have stolen everything.”
That explained how Aunt’s trunks had gotten locked.
“Someone in this house must have stolen it,” Aunt continued. “If you ask me, it was that maid of your daughter’s. I don’t trust her.”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Any number of people had entered this house. Aside from the servants, dozens of callers had passed through, as had Mr. Finch. True, only the servants had been granted access to Aunt’s bedroom, but it was still possible that someone had wandered upstairs unchecked. Yet in Aunt’s eyes, Anabelle was automatically guilty. Elizabeth could not understand why Aunt hated Anabelle so much. It made no sense. Anabelle had shown the utmost deference in Charleston. She obeyed every order, yet Aunt still treated her with contempt.
Elizabeth glanced to the closed door. Had Anabelle heard this latest tirade?
“In my opinion”—Aunt gathered steam and volume—“that girl thinks she’s above her station and needs to be brought into line. I’ve told Elizabeth to discipline her time and again, but she refuses. At most she gives the girl a slap on the hand. If nothing is done, the hens will be running the henhouse. You must step in. Do what must be done, like you did with her mother. The missing document gives you the perfect reason.”
The scrape of a chair indicated the conversation was over, but it left Elizabeth both puzzled and disturbed. Mammy had been sent away. Surely Father wouldn’t sell Anabelle simply because Elizabeth had refused to punish her. Moreover, Aunt said the fuss was all over some missing document. What document? Was she referring to the inheritance? But that made no sense. Father had informed her of the inheritance when they first arrived. He had said nothing about needing a document.
The sound of a door clicking shut roused her from her thoughts. She turned to see Anabelle standing with her back against the door, eyes wide and countenance pale. Her hand trembled where it rested on the doorknob. She had heard.
“Don’t let him sell me,” Anabelle whispered.
Elizabeth had never seen her friend more terrified and unsure. “He wouldn’t do that.”
Anabelle’s lips pursed and then quivered. “Help me. Please.”
“Father won’t send you away,” Elizabeth repeated, this time taking Anabelle by the shoulders. “I won’t let him.”
Anabelle averted her eyes, gulped, and then looked straight at Elizabeth. “Perhaps you can save me, but—” She drew in a rasping breath, clearly struggling over what she wanted to say.
“But what? What’s wrong? You can tell me.”
Anabelle shook. Her lips worked. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. “I might be with child.”
The revelation shot through Elizabeth with the speed and pain of an arrow. “How is this possible?”
What man could Anabelle have known? The only Negro male in the household was Nathan, and he had been with Cook for as long as she could remember. Aunt’s only male servant was aged. None served aboard the Victory. Her head spun as horrible thoughts wiggled into her mind. No, impossible. She would not believe ill of her friend.
Then she remembered Anabelle’s nighttime outings. She must have gone to meet someone.
“Who is it?” she hissed.
Anabelle drew back, her expression hard. “Does it matter? A slave’s baby will be sold once it’s weaned.” Despair curled around every word.
“Not always,” she offered weakly. “Father kept Florie.”
“Your mama did.”
Elizabeth recalled her last conversation with Anabelle. “That’s why you wanted to go to the ball, isn’t it? To see him.”
Anabelle said nothing.
Elizabeth would not accept silence. “What did you think you would do? Escape with him? There’s nowhere to go. Even if you could get to the next key, the hounds would find you.” She ignored the fact that she had made that journey without being detected. “Well, what were you planning to do?”