Bristol,
England 1697
After
Anne’s father died, her mother often said that sorrow was the only sun that
rose for them. Her mother had since followed him into the darkness of death,
leaving Anne to face the dawn alone.
That
morning was no different, the thick clouds overhead were determined once again
to release their pent-up frustration on her. In the crowded marketplace and its
stalls, the air smelled of sweet water on damp stone and wood, accompanied by
the tang of blood.
Other maids
and cooks from the large homes in the city bartered and bought, their weary
voices calling for pheasant, venison, and veal. Anne stood in line with her
pail of fruits and vegetables, hoping she wasn’t too late to get the better
cuts of meat. At last she stepped up to the butcher, the many coins in her
pocket reminding her of her errand’s importance.
The butcher
winked, his brown eyes almost black. “Good to see you, Anne. What’ll it be
today?”
“Master
Drummond wants venison tonight,” she said, inspecting the haunches and
shoulders hanging from the stall’s center beam. The butcher’s eyes followed her
with the same consideration. With his fair hair, some might have called him
handsome, but she only saw his yellowed teeth and smelled his rank breath. If
Master Drummond hadn’t insisted she buy from this particular butcher, she would
have found a different one long ago. He was at least twice her sixteen years,
and though his apron was clean, the look on his face was not.
“Aye, his
son is coming home, isn’t he?” he said, leaning forward across the table. “Been
gone a year at sea.”
Anne took a
step back, pulling her shawl more firmly around her, and finally met his gaze.
“Yes, which means there’s no time to waste. I must return to the house as
quickly as possible. I’ll take that one,” she said, pointing to a fleshy red
hindquarter.
The name
Drummond was always on someone’s lips, for Richard Drummond was one of the
wealthiest merchants in the city. In four weeks’ time one of the largest ships
ever built, the Deliverance, would set sail from Bristol. It was Master Drummond’s
showpiece.
“Oi, you
can’t have that one. This one’ll have to do,” the butcher said, poking a knife
into a thin portion of meat in front of him. It was old, the flesh tough and
hard, the fat contracted.
Anne’s face
flushed with anger, and she wished for the hundredth
time that she could purchase elsewhere. “And why would I want that piece?” she
asked sharply. “Do you know what the master would do if I served that for
dinner tonight?”
The butcher
grinned. “I know what I’d do,” he said.
Gritting
her teeth, she gave him what she hoped was a haughty look. “What else do you
have?”
Unexpectedly,
he grabbed her arm, pulling her close so that her pail hit the table, spilling
the produce onto the cobblestones beneath their feet.
“Don’t act
so high and mighty with me. I’ve already told you. I’ll give you the best cuts,
but this time it’ll cost you a little extra,” he sneered. “I’ve been a patient
man. If you want to please your master, you’re going to have to please me
first.”
Like a
dragonfly caught under glass, her heart fluttered. She’d become accustomed to
his lewd suggestions, but the grip of his grimy fingers on her arm filled her
with a new sense of panic.
“You can
please yourself,” she hissed, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. With shaking
hands she quickly picked up the fruits and vegetables, not bothering to wipe
the dirt from their skins. The butcher laughed, an ugly sound that made her
stomach churn. She glared at him, turned on her heel, and barreled through the
crowd in an attempt to put as much distance between herself and his stall as
possible.
The devil
hang him. If Master Drummond wants venison for his son’s return, he should come
down here and buy it himself. If the
butcher tries to touch me again, I’ll stick him like the pig he is.
Only after
she was several rows away did Anne stop and lean against a brick wall to catch
her breath, aware of the suspicious glances thrown her way.
Despite the
fact that it was a major seaport, most of the inhabitants of Bristol were still
unused to Anne’s appearance. She was the illegitimate daughter of a prosperous
English merchant and a West Indies slave, and people didn’t know how to react
to the mix of her mother’s coppery skin and her father’s blue eyes. It was
obvious Anne didn’t fully belong to either race, and others often viewed her
with either distaste or distrust.
Wearily she
straightened, her fingers reaching for her mother’s small, gold watch hidden in
her pocket, a habit whenever she was upset or distressed. She needed to find
something else to cook for dinner, and quickly. With rows and rows of stalls,
it would not be too difficult to find a new butcher, but she doubted she’d be
able to find the same quality.
The church
bell chimed the top of the hour, which meant Anne needed to head back to the
manor, but there was no decent venison to be found. Desperate, Anne settled
instead upon a clean stall near the edge of the market and bought two pheasants
from a small, elderly woman with a hunched back and frail shoulders.
The woman
took the coins Anne handed her and slipped them into her pocket, watching Anne
intently the entire time. Anne ignored it, used to the scrutiny by now, after
years of prying glances. “Do you
ever have venison?” Anne asked, the poultry safely tucked beneath her arm.
The old
woman nodded. “Aye, but we sold out first thing this morning.”
Just my
luck.
“I’ll be
back in the future,” Anne assured her, before heading into the busy horde. From
now on she would buy from the old woman’s stall. Anne was the only one that
Master Drummond sent to the market. There was no need for him to discover where
Anne acquired his meals—she did not understand why he took such an active
interest in his purchases anyway.
Part of her
hair escaped her thick braid and cap, and she impatiently stuffed the stubborn
black strands underneath, thinking of all the work that had yet to be done. A
party of six would be eating dinner that afternoon, and she needed to get the
pheasants home as quickly as possible.
Her feet
turned in the direction of the harbor. Shrimp was a favorite treat of Master
Drummond’s, and she had enough money left over. Although it wouldn’t be a lot,
it might be enough to dampen his ire. If she could not secure the shrimp, she
feared he might send her back to the workhouse, where she’d have to labor
alongside the rest of the city’s penniless inhabitants in exchange for
handouts. The thought sent a shiver running down her back.
As Anne
approached the docks, the sound of seagulls intensified and the bells on
distant boats could be heard more clearly.
Her father had sometimes brought her here very early in the morning or late at
night, when not many people were about. He’d said that the presence of the sea
gave the very skies a special quality, one that could not be duplicated.
There was
freedom here. It flowed through the air and lifted the sails of the vessels as
they left. How often in the last five months had she been tempted to stow away,
sail off, and leave this life behind? Her mother had filled her head with
stories of the West Indies, and her father had always promised to take her to
her mother’s island one day.
The
familiar sights and sounds of the waterfront drew Anne in. It was hard to take
a breath without inhaling the scent of salt and fish, and no one could speak
without having to raise their voice over the cries of the gulls. Anne managed a
smile, her first one all week.
The
fishmonger she usually bought from saw her coming and straightened, returning
her smile. “Good morning, Anne. You’re a bit late this morning, aren’t you?”
She nodded
regretfully. “Yes, indeed. I don’t have much time, but I need some shrimp,” she
said, referring to the small barrel behind him, full of the plump, gray
crustaceans. “Two pounds should do.”
He
flinched. “I’m truly sorry, but those have been purchased.”
Fear
sharpened Anne’s voice. “What? The whole barrel?”
“Aye.
Someone came in and bought the lot.”
“But I must
have two pounds. Surely you can spare some,” she said.
“They’re not
mine to spare. Though, you can ask him yourself, if you like,” the fishmonger
said, pointing at someone over Anne’s shoulder.
She turned
in time to see a large figure approaching. He was at least a head taller than
she, with a broad chest, and muscular legs clearly visible in the brown
breeches he wore. A cutlass hung from his waist, beneath his short jacket. He
was tanned, and the hair on his head and the beard on his face were as black as
the thatched roofs surrounding the dock.
She took an
involuntary step backward as he stopped beside her. He gave her a cursory
glance, his green eyes bright, before turning his attention to the fishmonger.
His voice was smooth and low when he spoke. “Instead of taking them myself, I’d
like you to deliver—”
Desperation
drove Anne to interrupt him. “Please, sir. Might I have a word with you?”
Once again
those green eyes turned in her direction. This time he afforded her a more
complete perusal, and she swallowed the distaste in her mouth. He was no
gentleman. His appearance suggested a simple sailor, someone who could not
possibly afford the entire barrel.
“Yes?” he
asked.
“It’s about
the shrimp. I was wondering if I could take two pounds from the top and pay you
for them.”
A woman
came from behind and called to the fishmonger. He turned to help her, leaving
the shabby sailor and Anne to their conversation.
When he had
first approached, she’d thought him much older, for he was taller than most
men. On closer inspection, she realized he couldn’t have been more than
nineteen. His expression warmed as he considered her. He was interested,
clearly, but Anne wasn’t sure if it was her proposal or her appearance.
“There is
more than one stall that sells shrimp,” he said.
She was not
to be deterred. She’d already lost one battle this morning and could not afford
to lose another. The last cook who hadn’t provided the master’s favorite meal
for a special occasion had been fired and kicked out onto the streets.
As much as
Anne disliked living in the Drummond household, it was preferable to the
gutter. And if she went to another household, there was no guarantee she could
secure enough funds to begin a new life. “Yes, but this man has the most honest
scales and the freshest fish. Since I am unable to buy from him, I have no
choice but to ask you. Surely you would not miss two pounds,” she pressed.
The corners
of his mouth lifted, and his green eyes twinkled. “Ah, but I would. Have you
considered oysters as a substitute?”
Anne pursed
her lips. Master Drummond hated oysters. “No, it must be shrimp. Please, I have
a very important meal—”
It was his
turn to interrupt. “I, too, have an important meal, for which I need the entire
barrel.”
No doubt
trying to impress some girl and her family. “I have enough coin. How much would
it take?” she asked briskly.
He paused
for a moment, still considering her. She shifted uncomfortably beneath his gaze
but refused to back down. The crowd surrounding them thinned, evidence that
time was wasting. Her eyes begged him to comply.
“Perhaps
I’ve been too hasty. We could discuss the price,” he said, reaching boldly for
her arm.
An image of
the butcher flashed before her eyes, but this time there was no table to
separate her from her attacker. Jerking free of his hold, Anne brought the pail
forward, hitting the sailor soundly between the legs. He dropped to his knees,
the breath escaping his lungs with a pained “Ooof,” his eyes no longer
twinkling.
“Keep your
hands to yourself, you filthy sea rat! Even if you were to offer me the full
barrel, I wouldn’t go anywhere with the likes of you!”
For the
second time that morning, Anne rushed away from an unwelcome advance, cursing
softly beneath her breath. She felt the sailor’s eyes following her, burning a
hole into the back of her head, but she didn’t turn around. He was in no
condition to give chase, at least not now.
Hurrying
from the docks, she reached once again for her mother’s pocket watch. A shiver
ran down her spine and she sent up a silent prayer, asking that Master
Drummond’s heart would be
softened and that she wouldn’t find herself on the receiving end of his fury.
Anne also prayed that her path would not cross
again with that of the sailor’s, for if it did, she knew with certainty that
she would not leave the encounter unscathed.
Nicole was lucky enough to come with her very own best friend...she has a twin sister who can read her mind and finish her sentences for her.
