and just reached the collar of his longcoat. He raised an eyebrow at her when he caught her staring.
She stumbled slightly and moved on.
When the baron’s daughter saw Anne at her side, she jerked
away as if scalded, dropping her spoon onto the floor.
Talking ceased, and everyone turned to look.
Bending to retrieve the spoon, Anne willed the ground to
swallow her whole.
Nobody spoke.
Iron bands squeezed Anne’s lungs, and the bowls clanked
slightly in her shaking hands.
“What interesting help you have. I’ve heard people from
the islands bring all kinds of diseases with them. I find it charitable of you to allow one into your household,” Patience said.
Master Drummond gave Patience a small nod. “My staff
have learned and understand the benefits of cleanliness and the
importance of a sound moral character.”
The air was heavy, the room quiet. Anne waited for someone to say something, anything to break the awful silence.
Margery stepped forward to announce the next course, creating a much appreciated distraction. As everyone turned to
admire the roasted pheasant and boiled shrimp, a pair of green
eyes followed Anne from the other side of the table. As if Miss
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Patience’s and Master Drummond’s words hadn’t been humili-ating enough, of all people, he had had to witness them.
Anne was sorely tempted to see what would happen if she
threw the china at their heads, and it was only with the greatest effort that she took the other bowls from Mary and returned to the kitchen.
Sara scrubbed the pots and pans, looking up when Anne
entered. Depositing the dishes onto the kitchen table, Anne
clutched the back of the chair, her heart beating out of her chest.
“Got to you, too, did she?” Sara asked, her expression sym—
pathetic.
Anne nodded.
“Did you go and spill anything on anyone?”
“No, nothing like that,” Anne said, unwilling to share exactly
what had transpired. Sara would hear it from Mary soon enough.
Sara frowned. “Watch her. She’s a crooked one, she is. Miss
Patience will smile at your face and reach around and stick a
knife into your back if you’re not careful.”
Although Sara and Anne had never seen eye to eye before
now, for once Anne agreed with her. “The devil hang them, I
don’t want to go back in there,” Anne muttered.
When dinner was over, there would be a few hours of reprieve
before they were forced to serve a light supper later that evening.
Sara shook her head. “But you must. Any minute now I
expect the master to send me packing. Please, Anne. You’ve got
to do it for me,” she begged, her voice plaintive.
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Smoothing the front of her dress, Anne didn’t mention that Miss Patience was only one of her worries. If the young master continued to watch her every move, she’d go mad before the
end of the day.
What was the worst that could happen if Anne left this place?
If she did run away, where would she go? She didn’t have enough
funds yet to travel, and there was no guarantee she would be able to improve her situation in a different household in England. At least with Mary and Sara, she knew what she had.
Neither of them had been overly kind to her since her arrival.
In many prosperous families it was fashionable to have servants of a different race to indicate wealth and rank. The girls had initially thought Anne’s chief function was to look decorative. Mary was the worst and had made all sorts of callous remarks about Anne’s hair and skin color, not caring if she was within earshot or not.
Margery had sometimes joined in. Their cruel comments had
stung. Anne had done her best to ignore them, but she’d been
overwhelmed and depressed by her new situation.
Over time Anne had learned when to keep her mouth shut
and when to strike back, for if she aimed at two, she would not
hit a single one.
Now they all simply lived under the same roof. They were
neither friends nor enemies. They simply existed.
“You have to get back in there, Anne,” Mary said, arriving
in the doorway and holding an empty platter in her hands. “I
can’t do it myself. The master will have my head if you don’t.”
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Anne often wondered what they would say if they knew she was the daughter of another wealthy merchant. It was obvious Anne was educated, whereas the two maids were not, just one
more thing that set Anne apart from them.
She could have shared her background, but had decided to
remain silent. After all, it hadn’t stopped Henry from kicking
her and her mother out onto the street once Andrew Barrett
had died a year ago. Her mother had been forced to take a job
in the home of an earl, a less than ideal situation that had eventually led to her death. With no discernable skills, Anne had been forced to clean alongside the poor inhabitants of the city.
No one had come to their aid then. Why would strangers
care about her now? Especially in this cold house.