Anna smiled and went back to work, knowing at last where her allegiance lay.
The house should have felt lighter. Captain Whitby and his officers had left before breakfast, though not without complaint, confusion, and a great deal of stomping. Major Ellis had ridden out in a fury sometime near dawn. Lieutenant Rothburn had gone with him, looking as though he suspected every chicken in the yard of treason.
She wiped at the sideboard leg with too much force.
Mercy noticed. “You’ll take the finish off.”
Anna stopped. “Sorry.”
Mercy lowered her voice. “Have you heard anything?”
Anna kept her gaze on the cloth. “About what?”
“Don’t do that. You’re terrible at it.”
“At what?”
“Pretending not to know what I mean,” Mercy huffed.
Anna looked up. Mercy’s expression was soft with worry, not curiosity. That made it harder.
“No,” Anna said quietly. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Mercy glanced toward the hall. “Elias says there was trouble at the south wharf.”
Anna’s heart jumped. “What sort of trouble?”
“He doesn’t know. Which means he probably knows and has been told not to know. Men do that when they’re trying to look important.”
Anna rose too fast and almost struck her shoulder on the sideboard. Mercy caught her arm. “Careful.”
“I’m fine.” She looked toward the windows. Outside, the laundry line sagged empty between its posts. She’s looked at it ten times already, which was foolish. Nathaniel wouldn’t send word by hanging linen in Mrs. Pembroke’s yard. He’d only told her how to send word to him if she needed help. Still, the sight of the empty line unsettled her.
Mrs. Pembroke entered the room with a folded paper in hand. “Mercy, go tell Mrs. Fenwick I require a tray in the small sitting room.”
Mercy dipped a quick curtsy. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And no seed cakes.”
Mercy paused. “No seed cakes?”
“None. I am not in a seed-cake humor.”
Mercy glanced at Anna, then hurried out. Anna’s pulse began to beat faster. Mrs. Pembroke waited until Mercy’s footsteps faded before crossing to the table.
“Come here, dear.”
Anna went to her.
Mrs. Pembroke held out the folded paper. It was small, plain, and sealed with nothing more than a smear of wax pressed flat by a thumb.
Anna stared at it. “What is it?”
“A paper.”
Anna gave her a look.
Mrs. Pembroke sighed. “That was not one of my better answers, I admit. Take it.”
