brought Anne’s mother back from one of his trips to the West
Indies. Anne was born two years later. Although Andrew Barrett had provided a roof over Anne’s head and taught her to read and write, he had never openly claimed her as his daughter, and as a servant, she rarely had need of a surname.
Nevertheless, she didn’t wish to test Henry. She’d often been
the target of Henry’s anger and had spent much of her child—
hood locked in a closet. It was his favorite form of punishment
and one of the reasons Anne enjoyed spending her time out—
doors.
Sara and Mary pushed each other aside, each one trying
to glance into the small looking glass that hung near the back
door and check her appearance. They straightened their caps
and collars, pressing their lips together in the hope that they
would stay red. The two of them would assist Margery with the
serving of the food.
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Mary had a steady beau, a sailor by the name of John, and was soon to be married, though her engagement did not seem to prevent her from flirting with Tom, Master Drummond’s
groom. More than once Anne had noticed bits of hay stick—
ing out of Mary’s hair, despite the fact that involvement among
staff was strictly forbidden.
The moment Sara and Mary left the kitchen with the first
course, Anne escaped out to the garden to hide the coins she’d
kept from that morning’s trip to the market, her skirts whirling about her ankles. The rest of the chores demanding her attention could wait. She had a favorite place on the other side of the back wall, in a shelter of trees. It was there that she kept a small chest with her growing treasure.
Within the property, the level ground, clipped hedges, and
molded trees all showed the master’s desire to reshape nature to his specifications. But in her little corner, through a low archway, two willow trees grew together, wild and untamed, their branches hanging down, the leaves forming a curtain behind
which she could hide. Her space was an unoccupied piece of
land that led out of the city, one that very rarely received any traffic.
The chimney tops of the manor were barely visible from
her vantage point. Anne remembered the first time she’d found
the spot, the same day she’d arrived at the house more than five months ago. It had been after supper, and Margery had slapped her for dropping one of the dishes. Anne had taken off, deter-
3 2
mined to leave that awful house. She’d made it only as far as the two willows, for she’d realized she had nowhere else to go. A girl with no funds, and no family to claim her, she’d been helpless and at the mercy of Master Drummond.
She had decided she would scrimp and save money, even
steal if she had to, in order to leave this place. Somewhere out there, Anne hoped she had family—people who would accept her, despite their differences. Although she’d been born and
raised in England, not on one of the far off isles of the West
Indies, that was where she planned to go.
Once the coins were safely tucked away in the chest, Anne
returned it to its hiding place in the trunk of the tree. She hoped to visit the market within the week and sell more of the items she had stolen. The goblet and two silver spoons she’d sold had
already earned her a tidy sum, but not enough to start her own
life elsewhere.
Anne sat down on a small stump, relieved to be away from
the house. The air surrounding her smelled like freshly cut hay, and a small beetle crawled on the ground. She watched its progress through the blades of grass, until a cry pierced the air.
It was Mary, and her voice was frantic.
“Anne! Anne!”
Groaning, Anne quickly ran back through the low archway
and into the garden, unwilling to let Mary find her secret hiding place.
Mary clutched a hand to her chest, her cap falling from her
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head. “There you are! Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you.”
An exaggeration, Anne was sure. “I’ve been collecting rose—
mary,” she said, wondering at her ability to lie to everyone in
this household. Until five months ago she had never told an
untruth or stolen anything in her life. There was something
about this place that almost demanded it.
“Quickly, you must come and help Margery and me serve
dinner.”
“But I’ve never done that before. I wouldn’t know what to
do,” Anne protested, taking a step back. Although her father
had never required her to work, she’d never been present when
he entertained guests. She had always eaten in the kitchen with
her mother and the rest of the household servants. Anne had
been caught between two worlds, unsure of her exact place in
either of them.
Mary shook her head, grabbing Anne by the wrist and
pulling her along. Shorter than Anne, Mary was strongly built.
Anne dragged her heels, but Mary didn’t seem to notice, intent
as she was on hauling Anne to her doom.
Ignoring Anne’s protests, Mary made it back to the kitchen