“Arrangements change,” Whitby said. “Particularly during war.”
“And the wagons?” someone else asked.
“Delayed, but not lost,” Captain Whitby said.
Anna’s pulse quickened. Wagons. A ship. Delayed, but not lost? It was too little to understand and too much to ignore.
She reached the door and entered with her eyes lowered. “Tea, Captain Whitby.”
“Ah, good girl. Set it there.” He motioned to a small table.
Anna crossed to the table near the hearth and placed the tray where he’d indicated. The parlor was bright with afternoon sun, though the room itself felt heavy. Whitby stood by the mantel, one arm braced above it, while Lieutenant Rothborneoccupied a chair near the window. The third officer, a tall man with a narrow face and silver buttons on his uniform, stood with his back to Anna, examining one of Mrs. Pembroke’s porcelain shepherdesses on the side table.
Mrs. Pembroke wouldn’t approve of that. Woe to the man if she caught him with it.
Anna arranged the cups and poured. The ordinary task steadied her. Pour the tea, lift a cup, add the saucer. Ask about sugar and cream and, for heaven’s sake, remember to breathe.
“Will there be anything else, sir?” she asked. Drat. She was holding her breath.
Whitby took the first cup from her. “No. That will do.”
Anna curtsied and turned to go, letting her breath out.
“The cargo is what concerns me,” the third officer said.
Anna’s steps almost faltered. What cargo? She continued toward the door, slower than she should have, but not so much anyone would notice. At least she prayed no one did.
Whitby made a sound of impatience. “The cargo will be accounted for when it arrives.”
“And if it has already been noticed?” Rothborne asked.
“By whom?” Captain Whitby scoffed.
There was a pause. Anna reached the doorway.
“People notice things, Captain,” the third officer said. “Particularly in towns like this.”
Anna kept walking, though every part of her wanted to remain where she was.
“People also value their necks,” Whitby replied. “Today’s example should remind them of that.”
The words followed Anna into the hallway and settled cold in her chest.
She didn’t stop until she reached the servants’ passage. Only then did she press one hand to the wall and draw in some air. She had to stop holding her breath like this. The ship had cargo.Important cargo from the sound of it. And Captain Whitby wasn’t concerned someone might notice?
Anna hurried back toward the kitchen. She would have to inform Elias, the footman. He in turn would create the code she would use to relay the message.
She’d almost reached the staircase leading down into the kitchen when Mrs. Pembroke stopped her. “There you are, Anna. You already served tea, didn’t you?” She waved her hand with a flourish. “Dash it all, I left my embroidery in the parlor, and that blasted Captain Whitby is entertaining his guests in there!”
Anna gasped.
“Yes, I said blasted. Captain Whitby has occupied my parlor more than I’d like, Anna. Under the circumstances, I believe the word blasted is entirely justified. Can I help it if my house has been taken up by that Captain Whitby? Did you know that one of his men was raiding my garden the other day? The nerve of that man!”
“Yes, Mrs. Pembroke, a horrible thing,” Anna agreed. It was the quickest way to escape the woman.
“And he plucked my petunias! The lout!” Mrs. Pembroke went on. “And, well, you know there’s no sense telling Mr. Pembroke about it. He just waves it away and reads his paper or one of his silly books, or goes hunting! He plans to hunt a lot in the next few weeks. Traitor.”
She shoved past Anna and continued down the hall.
