Blacksouls Page 6

  At the moment, Anne’s future was bleak. Until she heard from her solicitor, she had no money. She hadn’t been sure what kind of situation her relatives might be in, which was why she’d planned to steal so much from Drummond. She’d taken a goblet and cutlery, and any of the coins she’d had left over from the market. The most valuable piece she’d taken had been the spyglass belonging to Drummond. But it had all been for naught. Margery had caught her and sent her off on the Providence penniless, unable to help herself, let alone her relatives.

  If any of them were alive, she would help them in whatever way she could, including purchasing their freedom. She never imagined finding her family might mean rescuing them from the hands of slavers. But she’d do it, even if it meant using the rest of her inheritance. She hadn’t allowed herself to think that she was the only one left of her entire family, but it was a definite possibility.

  Anxiety crept in once more and Anne pushed the bowl away. “Thank you.”

  “You’re free to stay for as long as you like.”

  That, at least, was something. Sitting up straight, she met Alastair’s eyes. “I can help in the tavern. Or back here in the kitchen with Beth. My mother taught me how to cook.”

  “Beth has all the help she needs in the kitchen. But I could definitely use your help out in the tavern.” He paused, once again exchanging a knowing glance with Beth. It almost seemed as if the two of them could communicate without the use of speech. “They’re a rowdy lot, but I’ll pay you well, and I’ll do all I can to keep you safe.”

  Working in a tavern wasn’t Anne’s first choice for employment, but at the moment, it was her only one. At least it provided her with a place to stay until she knew where Teach was. “All right. When shall I start?”

  “Tonight will be soon enough. You can keep me company in the kitchen until then,” Beth said. “Or you can still rest if you need.”

  As much as Anne wanted to crawl back into bed, she knew it wouldn’t do her any good. For someone who always liked to plan ahead, she’d felt adrift since setting foot on shore in Nassau, not unlike when she first arrived in the Drummond household. Then, the loneliness and sadness had nearly overwhelmed her. Everything had been so similar and yet so very different from her earlier life growing up in her father’s household. After a few weeks, she’d managed to overcome the loneliness and fight back.

  Here in Nassau she could do the same thing. Although her surroundings were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, she wasn’t alone, and that gave her courage to fight and move on. Despite the rough introduction to the island, perhaps the Bahamas wouldn’t be as bad as Anne had first feared.

  CHAPTER 8

  Anne

  The patrons of The Laughing Fox enjoyed their ale. Anne’s arms ached from carrying heavy trays laden with foaming tankards. As soon as one group left, another noisy crowd swarmed in, demanding drinks.

  Coyle and Benjamin stood at different ends of the room, keeping an eye out in case anyone became too unruly. Cara wove through the tables with amazing ease, laughing and flirting with the men where they sat speaking loudly and singing off-key.

  Anne tried to tell herself that her present situation wasn’t much different from working in Drummond’s household. Instead of food, she simply served drinks. Alastair had confirmed that many of the patrons were indeed pirates, although Anne had a hard time differentiating between normal sailors and the more outrageous seamen. None of them looked as hardened and cynical as the group of men she’d seen in the streets of Bristol. They’d been taken to London and died on the noose. None of the clientele in the Fox appeared concerned about capture.

  Rolling her head from side to side to loosen the tension in her neck, Anne stopped next to the bar and called out to the barkeep to give her three more tankards. Coyle caught her attention and winked at her. Anne rolled her eyes. Coyle might find their present situation entertaining, but Anne did not. Unless anyone caused a problem, he didn’t have to contend with the thirsty mariners and dockworkers. Anne and Cara did, and it was obvious who did a better job of it. Cara’s pockets jingled with coins. Anne’s were decidedly bare.

  Gritting her teeth, Anne returned with another round of drinks. She longed for her bed, but the tavern would be open for another three hours. Rest would have to wait.

  The door to the Fox opened, allowing a fresh ocean breeze to blow through the smell of unwashed bodies and tallow. Four men walked in, dressed in simple breeches, their shirts and waistcoats were more ostentatious and colorful than any of the present occupants. Two of them wore wigs, but the headpieces didn’t fit properly. Their appearance caused a stir. The din in the room lessened and the occupants of the nearest table stood up and vacated their chairs. The men took the empty seats without question. Several people eyed the newcomers, their voices lowered.

  Anne looked to Benjamin to see his reaction to the strangers. He’d worked for Alastair for some time and knew many of the regular patrons. At the moment, his face was inscrutable, but he no longer lounged against the wall. Instead, he stood straight, his arms folded across his chest as he inspected the table.

  Cara was on the far side near the kitchen door, smiling and chatting with a young sailor, who had his hands at Cara’s waist. Coyle watched his sister with a frown on his face and took a few steps in her direction, oblivious to the tension in the room.

  Knowing it was up to her to approach the table, Anne hoped the four men didn’t cause her any problems. There was something different about them, an air of confidence that many others in the room didn’t possess. Here, at last, were pirates. “What’ll it be?” Anne asked.

  “Four ales,” a feminine voice replied.

  Anne’s mouth fell open, shocked to discover that one of the four was actually a young woman. She had tanned skin and deep brown eyes, and she wore her dark hair in multiple braids, pulled back with a thin strip of leather. Her waistcoat and shirt revealed curves that were not immediately noticeable.

  Anne had focused on the two men with wigs, and she hadn’t paid much attention to the shortest figure in the group. Recovering from her surprise, Anne nodded, flushing as the four of them laughed at her expression.

  “She thought you was a lad, Reva,” one of the wigged men said.

  Instead of being insulted, Reva’s smile grew. “I’m a far prettier lad than any of you would ever make.” She had a slight Spanish accent.

  Anne had never seen a woman wear breeches, not even in the slums of Bristol. She left them to go and place their order.

  “Get into the kitchen,” Benjamin said, appearing at Anne’s elbow beside the bar. His face was hard. Anne followed his gaze, only to discover that he watched the door, not Reva and her trio of friends. “And take Cara with you. There’s going to be—” The door to the Fox opened and several men rushed in, their pistols drawn.

  Anne finished Benjamin’s sentence in her head. Trouble.

  Benjamin drew his own weapon and Anne rushed behind the bar while the first shot rang out. Crouching low, she searched for Cara and Coyle as chaos erupted around her. People scrambled and overturned tables while the men in the doorway shoved their way inside the crowded tavern.

  Coyle dragged Cara toward the kitchen, his eyes frantically searching the room. Clutching the tray in her hands, Anne ducked as a tankard smashed into the wall above her head. Beside her, the barkeep pulled out two pistols of his own. Anne had only a second to drop the tray and cover her ears as he shot into the air. If he’d hoped to gain some kind of control over the fray, he was sorely mistaken. He vaulted over the bar and narrowly missed kicking Anne in the face.

  Peering up from her hiding spot, Anne saw Alastair thundering down the stairs, shouting above the commotion, but the breaking of glass and the frenzied cries of the throng drowned out his words.

  Coyle dropped unexpectedly to Anne’s side and she stifled a scream. His shirt was ripped and blood dripped down the side of his face from a gash in his forehead. Heedless of his appearance, he caught her to
his chest as glass rained down around them.

  “I’m all right,” she said, her voice muffled. He didn’t release his hold. Pushing against his muscled torso, Anne pulled back. “I’m all right. Go help Alastair,” she yelled.

  Coyle’s brown eyes were conflicted. It was clear he wanted to make sure she was safe, but he also needed to help restore some semblance of peace. With a quick nod, he vaulted back over the top of the bar.

  Anne crouched low, prepared to race to the safety of the kitchen, but her way was blocked. The sounds of fists striking flesh reverberated in the room, with Benjamin and Coyle in the thick of it. Anne couldn’t see Alastair amongst the twisting figures.

  Reva was on the ground, struggling against a man kneeling on her chest, his hands around her throat. A wicked-looking knife lay beside them. Wide eyed, Anne watched as Reva’s face turned red. Anne’s own breath came in short, fast breaths, like she was trying to compensate for the other girl’s lack of air. Intent glistened in the man’s grim expression as he clenched harder around Reva’s throat. He was trying to kill her.

  Unable to sit by and watch the girl die, Anne snatched up the nearest bottle and rushed at the pair. She stumbled over her own skirts, barely managing to stay upright before smashing the bottle over the back of the man’s head. The glass shattered and the amber liquid rained down on Reva.

  The man froze for a moment, before toppling to the ground like a felled tree.

  Reva gave Anne a grateful smile as she scrambled to her feet and disappeared through the door to the kitchen, with Anne close on her heels. Cara shrieked as Reva dashed past her and headed out into the moonlit night. Anne braced her hands on her knees, her breathing harsh.

  “Was that a girl?” Cara asked.

  “It was.”

  Cara shook her head. “This place is madness.”

  Anne was glad the pirate had escaped. Living in Bristol, Anne had once accused all pirates of being scoundrels and crooks, but after seeing Reva, Anne had felt a tinge of grudging respect. Something had obviously happened in Reva’s life to cause her to wear breeches and carry two pistols. It didn’t necessarily mean she was a thief. It meant she was desperate. Perhaps that’s why men turned to piracy. They did what was necessary in order to survive. Anne could certainly relate to the feeling.

  The girls listened as the commotion in the next room slowly died down. It seemed as if Alastair, Benjamin, and Coyle finally had things under control. The majority of law-abiding citizens had long fled the island, leaving behind only a small number of plantation owners determined to make their sugar crops succeed. The rest of Nassau’s inhabitants were a collection of brigands and bandits who were quick to anger and use violence. Anne had heard from sailors on the Providence that there were nightly brawls and fights in the streets or taverns. It appeared those reports were right.

  “I think I might like to have a pair of breeches, especially if we’re to stay here for very long,” Cara whispered, a mischievous smile on her face. “Can you imagine what my brother would say?”

  Anne laughed, having thought the same thing. “Perhaps you should sew some so we can find out.”

  • • •

  A trickle of sweat ran down Anne’s back as she pulled out the sliver of glass piercing her palm. The crimson shard caught the morning sunlight streaming in through the windows of the Fox.

  Cara sat beside Anne on the floor as they sorted through the unbroken bottles of alcohol. Cara glanced over her shoulder and frowned. “Is that another one?” Cara asked. “I’m sorry, Anne. I thought I swept them all last night.”

  More than half of Alastair’s supply of alcohol was gone, but he expected a new shipment in a few days. They’d cleaned up the majority of the glass and splintered wood the previous night, but Alastair had insisted they get some rest. “This mess will be here for us in the morning,” he had said.

  And what a mess it was.

  Benjamin repaired one of the few chairs that could be salvaged. Most of the tables were still intact, but Alastair would have to purchase new benches and stools, as well as replace the railing leading upstairs.

  It was a miracle no one had been killed. Remembering the look on that man’s face as he’d knelt over Reva, Anne knew it wasn’t for lack of trying.

  Coyle strode into the room, interrupting Anne’s thoughts. He and Alastair had gone to the docks to commission a carpenter to help with repairs. “Alastair wants you to start carrying these,” he said to Anne and Cara as he placed two pistols on the bar.

  Wiping her palm on her skirts, Anne eyed the weapons, a cold fist clenching her heart. She’d never held a weapon before, let alone fired one. Once, when she’d accompanied her father to the docks, someone had fired a pistol. To her young mind, it had resembled the roar of a cannon. People had scattered, and although Anne had never seen exactly what happened, she still remembered the fear on people’s faces.

  Cara laughed outright. “You’re daft if you think I’m going to carry one of those.”

  Her brother scowled. “If you plan on staying here, you’re going to do just that, Cara. And so will you, Anne.”

  An image of Reva flashed in Anne’s head. The girl had worn two pistols, although neither of them had helped her in the end. Curious, Anne picked up the weapon. It was surprisingly compact and almost fit in the palm of her hand. It seemed strange that something so small could wield such power.

  Seeing her interest, Coyle moved forward. “Don’t worry. It’s not loaded. These are flintlock coat pistols. You can carry them with your pistolman’s pouch, which will hold your ammunition.” Coyle took the weapon from her and attached it to the leather pouch hanging across his chest. Lifting it over his head, he draped it across Anne’s shoulder, where it fit snugly, resting on her hip.

  It felt foreign and heavy. “I can’t wear this,” she protested.

  “It’s better for people to see you’re armed, so no one will bother you. Besides, that’s a dainty pistol.”

  It might have been smaller than the two Coyle carried with him, but it was still quite solid. “I wouldn’t know how to use it,” Anne said.

  “I’ll teach you,” Coyle said without hesitation.

  Seeing Anne’s deliberation, Cara swept by her and stalked toward the kitchen. “I’m going to speak with Uncle Alastair. You can’t make us do this if we don’t want to.”

  With a muttered curse, Coyle turned on his heel and followed his sister. “It’s for your own good, Cara.” His voice faded as they went to find Alastair.

  Anne removed the pouch and pistol and placed them on the bar. Looking at Benjamin, she saw him studying her. He could not have been more than three years her senior, but his quiet dignity made him seem older.

  He seemed to sense her indecision. “Beth carries one with her whenever she leaves the Fox.”

  Biting her lip, Anne reached for the watch in her pocket, her gaze returning to the two pistols. They seemed so benign, yet she knew they could inflict considerable damage, even death. “I’d be more afraid of injuring myself than I would of protecting myself.”

  “You might be surprised what you can do in the face of fear.”

  Before Anne had a chance to respond, the front door of the tavern opened unexpectedly and in walked two men. She recognized the shortest one. It took her a moment to place him because he wore a powdered wig and a brocaded long coat, but he was the same one who’d tried to kill Reva the night before. He was clearly a man of importance, at least in his own eyes, for he gave Anne and Benjamin a disparaging look when he saw them.

  So surprised by their appearance, Anne was unprepared when the taller man kicked over the chair Benjamin had just repaired. She curled her hands into fists as it skidded across the room. Benjamin stayed where he was, his expression cold and unflinching.

  “Get back to the kitchen where you belong,” the small man sneered at her before turning to Benjamin. “And you, get back to your chores, boy. Don’t you have some manure to shovel somewhere? What’s Alastair thinking—?”


  “I’m thinking you have no business coming into my establishment and telling me or my friends what we can and cannot do,” Alastair said, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Especially after what happened last night. Did you come to admire your handiwork, Pelham?”

  “Someone’s got to try to keep the peace.”

  “Things were plenty peaceful around here until you showed up.”

  “What would you say if I told you the governor sent me?” Pelham asked.

  “I’d say you’re lying. Webb’s thugs only come in and wreck the place. You tried to kill one of my patrons last night.”

  Pelham looked unrepentant. “I heard there were pirates in the vicinity and wanted to make sure you and your customers were safe. After all, that’s why I was sent here. Webb’s not doing a good enough job.”

  “There are always pirates in the vicinity, Pelham. Save your stories for someone who’ll believe them. I know you’re after one particular pirate. She’s leading you on quite a merry chase.”

  Anne was even more pleased that she’d helped Reva escape, as color rose in the smaller man’s face and fury gleamed in his eyes. “It would be wise to remember who you’re dealing with, Alastair. I’m a peer of the realm.”

  “You might have a title, but titles mean significantly less here in the islands. Your backers are far, far away, so don’t you dare come here and threaten me, Lord Pelham.”

  Pelham practically shook, his expression threatening retribution for Alastair’s insolence. “It wouldn’t be wise to underestimate me or the power of my title. Webb’s told us some of the things you’ve done and we aren’t pleased with your decisions.”

  “Some of the things I’ve done? What about some of the things Webb has done?” Alastair demanded.

  “Your refusal to join us is unacceptable. We need your ships if we want to compete against other merchants. They’re willing to do whatever it takes.”

  “I’m not. I told Webb the same thing I told Trott. I will not engage in the bartering of human lives. My ships will transport any number of raw materials. Sugar, coffee, tobacco. I will gladly fuel Britain’s addictions, but I will never transport slaves.”