of the head. Luckily, she never used much force.
Anne’s cap flew off, but she caught it with her hands as
her thick braid fell down her back, setting loose several more
strands of hair.
“What? No venison? The master said he wanted venison
for tonight, what with his son being gone for so long. The next
time he requests it, make sure you get to the market earlier.”
Anne nodded, preparing herself for a second strike. She
didn’t mention that she’d been up since before dawn. Any
earlier, and she could have milked the cows for the farmer down the road.
12
“It’s a good thing I made the master’s favorite tartlets. At least you did right with the shrimp,” Margery said, limping over to the fireplace to stoke the embers.
“Shrimp?” Anne asked, her head snapping up.
Margery gave Anne an odd look. “Aye, shrimp. I didn’t
think I’d given you enough for a whole barrelful, but that’ll
feed the lot of them, to be sure.”
Confused, Anne left the pail and pheasants on the table and
followed Margery into the pantry. There on a shelf was a barrel
of shrimp. The same barrel Anne had seen earlier that morning.
Margery read the surprise on her face and hesitated. “You
did ask the fishmonger to deliver them, didn’t you?”
What was the right thing to say? Anne truly could not
explain how the shrimp had gotten here. She was merely grateful that they had, for it meant that she would have a roof over
her head, at least for one more night. And it meant that she
could keep the leftover coins still in her pocket.
Every time Anne went to market, she saved whatever
change she had left, for Master Drummond did not pay her
nearly enough so that she might eventually afford passage on a
ship bound for the West Indies. She’d also taken to pilfering the odd spoon or empty goblet from the household.
In a few weeks’ time she would sell it all and leave on the
Deliverance. Surely no one would expect her to be so bold as to depart on her master’s ship.
Margery waited. “Well?” she asked.
13
“The fishmonger delivered them,” Anne said, not quite phrasing her statement as a question.
“That’s what I’m telling you, girl. Are you daft?”
Anne pictured the young sailor on his knees, his green eyes
flashing fire, promising revenge if he ever caught up to her
again. Had he simply given them back to the fishmonger? Why
would he do that? The sailor had told her he had an important meal. It didn’t make any sense for him to change his mind.
Even if he had, why on earth would the fishmonger have
brought the whole barrel to the house? Anne had told him she
needed only two pounds, not the whole lot.
Masking her confusion, Anne brushed past Margery and
emptied the contents of her pail. “I’ll get to the shrimp as soon as I dress the pheasants and start the vegetables,” she said, a knot of unease forming in her chest. What would the fishmonger demand in return, she wondered. Would she have to look for
another stall at the docks as well?
Pushing those unsavory thoughts aside, she worked quickly
and efficiently for the next few hours. An excellent cook, Anne’s mother had taught Anne how to prepare delicious meals, and Anne took special care to make sure things were done according
to Master Drummond’s specifications. Most of the time there
weren’t any problems.
That day, Margery had hired a young girl to help with the
cooking. Normally Margery and Anne were able to handle all
the duties in the kitchen themselves—Master Drummond
14
typically ate alone and never had much company. But the return of the master’s son was an important occasion, and Anne was grateful for the extra help.
Twelve-year-old Ruth peeled and chopped the potatoes
with practiced ease. She was slight in stature and pale, her light blond hair plaited down her back in a thin rope. Anne felt the girl studying her as they worked.
“Do you have any family?” Anne asked, trying to fill the
awkward silence between them.
Ruth dipped her head, her small hands flying. “Aye, ma’am.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Aye, ma’am. Three brothers and two sisters.”
“Are you the eldest?” Anne asked.
“No, ma’am, the youngest. My sister Elizabeth is the eldest.
My grandfather is the gardener here.”
“Ah, so that’s how you came to get the job.”
Ruth nodded.
Trying to extract information from her was painful. Anne
bit her lip, working silently for a few minutes. Once the vegetables and pheasants were roasting, they turned their attention
to the shrimp. Anne showed Ruth where the cistern was to
gather water to fill the large pot.
“All right, then. We just wait for the water to boil, and then
we’ll add the shrimp. Have you ever tasted shrimp before?”
Anne asked.
Ruth shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
15
“Please, call me Anne,” Anne said gently. “I’m not much older than you and much too young to be called ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ruth said automatically.