It had all made perfect sense when she wrote the letter, but as she considered what she might bring with her, problems cropped up. First, she would be wearing dainty slippers, not sturdy shoes. The path to the eastern end of the island was treacherous. Slippers offered little protection. Her feet would be bleeding and bruised by the time she reached the ship, but it was a cost worth paying. Second, she could not carry anything with her but the tiniest bag, sufficient for handkerchief and smelling salts and not much else.
She fingered the few coins in her keepsake chest. They would not purchase much, if anything, in the Bahamas. Her mother’s miniature might fetch a price, but she could not sell it. At least it would fit in the bag. Mama’s Bible would not. Neither would her diary. She would leave them with Charlie.
Her brother. A pang of guilt ripped through her, making this plan seem terribly selfish. What had Rourke said? That Charlie needed a sister?
Her hand trembled. Would Rourke again refuse to take her with him? Was this plan of hers founded in selfish desperation and cowardice? Father was counting on her to save the family from financial ruin. All she had to do was marry a man she despised.
Anabelle rapped on the door and entered. “Sorry, miss. Your aunt insisted I assist her to bed first.”
“She did?” Elizabeth pulled herself from her gloomy thoughts. Aunt Virginia never wanted Anabelle’s assistance, even on the voyage from Charleston. “How peculiar. Is Florie ill?”
Anabelle shook her head. “She warned that my days here are numbered.”
“What?” The tightness in her throat turned to anger. “How dare she. You are my maid, not hers. Mine.”
Anabelle removed Elizabeth’s cap. “I believe, in fact, that I belong to your father.”
“For now, but I asked him to give you to me.” As soon as she said the words, she remembered the terms of that agreement. She had asked for Anabelle as a pledge. He had offered her as a wedding gift.
“He agreed?” Anabelle plucked out the hairpins as she unwound Elizabeth’s coiled hair.
Elizabeth swallowed hard. “Not outright, but I did ask to bring you with me to the ball.”
Anabelle’s fingers stilled. “What did he say?”
There was no way to cushion the news. “No.”
The hairpins fell to the floor.
“Forgive me,” Anabelle murmured, dropping to her knees.
“We will find another way to arrange a meeting with your love,” Elizabeth said, ignoring the fact that after tomorrow night she would be gone. “Perhaps tomorrow morning.”
“No.” Anabelle’s cry came out in a strangled sob. “The ball is my only chance.” She swiped at the spilled hairpins and scattered them again.
Elizabeth dropped to the floor beside her and gathered the pins. “Why?”
Anabelle lifted red-rimmed eyes. “He will be gone.”
“Sold?”
Anabelle shook her head. “He is free.”
“Then . . . I don’t understand. Why would he leave?”
“He leaves for home. Harbour Island.”
“The same as . . .” Elizabeth sat back as she made the connection. Rourke had an entire crew, including a Negro chief mate. He was the one who had rescued Anabelle. First. Ahead of the whites. Despite Aunt Virginia’s protests. Moreover, Rourke had approved it. Aboard the Windsprite, Anabelle had watched the man’s every move. “John?”
Anabelle straightened at the sound of his name, finger to her lips before she whispered, “My husband.”
Elizabeth drew in her breath. “How? When?”
Again her maid motioned for quiet. “Before the storm four years ago.”
Elizabeth reeled. “Four years?” Anabelle had kept this secret from her for four years. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What would you have done?”
“Come home sooner.”
Anabelle shook her head, and Elizabeth knew she was right. Returning early could never have happened. Aside from not having the fare for passage, she hadn’t had the will to defy her parents’ wishes.
“I must go to the ball,” Anabelle whispered.
Elizabeth gathered her scattered thoughts. If John was leaving tomorrow night, that meant Rourke was leaving also. It was her only chance. Thank goodness she’d sent the letter to him through Tom. He would come for her. She was sure of it. But could she risk bringing Anabelle? Two women racing through the dark streets would be twice as difficult to disguise. Moreover, Father had forbidden Anabelle’s attendance.
“I don’t know how. Father refused.”
Anabelle grasped Elizabeth’s shoulders. “You must convince him.”
Elizabeth pulled away from her crushing grip. “How? His mind is set.”
“I must go.” Anabelle rocked, arms wrapped around her midsection. “Don’t you see? If I can’t meet up with him, I will never see him again. My baby will be taken away.” She grabbed Elizabeth again. “Please, help me.”
Agitated, Elizabeth slipped from Anabelle’s grasp and rose to her feet. “I can’t.” She backed to the window. “Please don’t ask such a thing. I can’t.”
Anabelle collapsed face-first on the floor. Her shoulders heaved from suppressed sobs.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Though Elizabeth felt for Anabelle, she couldn’t give up the man she loved. “If there was any other way . . .”
Anabelle raised a tear-streaked face. “You will not help a friend?”
Elizabeth felt ill. “It has nothing to do with our friendship.”