The Turning of Anne Merrick by Blevins Christine

Author:Blevins, Christine [Blevins, Christine]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101560174
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2012-02-07T00:00:00+00:00

Anne and Sally marched toward the Great Redoubt, ducking into the shadow of the tree line as they approached Burgoyne’s headquarters camp. The General’s lavish marquee tents were no longer standing, and were no doubt among the items packed into five covered wagons parked in a long line, waiting on oxen teams, and blocking the entrance to the trail. The pair of soldiers guarding Burgoyne’s baggage train sat crouched in the circle of light from a lantern dangling from the lead wagon, very intent on the game of dice played between them.

Anne set her basket down and glanced up at the crescent moon casting scant light on the open field they needed to cross. Pulling up her hood, she said, “Toward the tail end, fast and quiet—on the count of three…”

Sally tugged her hood up. “Ready… one, two, three!”

They darted across the field at a quickstep, ducking behind the last wagon to catch their breath. Anne panted, “They didn’t see us.”

Sally nodded. “Never once looked up from their dice.”

A high-pitched giggle sounded, and a voice exclaimed, “Hallooo!”

Anne grabbed Sally by the arm and they hunkered in the shadow of the wagon, but it was too late—they’d been spotted. Dressed in a beautiful blue gown and velvet cape, sucking on a bottle of Champagne, Fanny Loescher came staggering out of the trees. She threw her arms up and squealed, “Company!”

“Shush!” Anne dropped her basket, rushed over, and slapped a hand over Fanny’s mouth, whispering, “We don’t want to call the guards down upon us—understand?”

Wide-eyed, Fanny’s nod was emphatic, and Anne removed her hand, regretting it instantly as Fanny exclaimed, “Hiding from the guards! What fun! What an adventure!”

“Shhhh!” Anne and Sally shushed in unison.

“Oh, I forgot!” Fanny giggled, and put a finger to her lips, whispering, “Quiet as a mouse, is me. But those guards? Not to worry—they really don’t give a shite.” She tipped the bottle back and, finding it empty, tossed it aside to clatter over a patch of gravel.

Anne winced, shoulders to ears, and Sally cursed, “Fiech!” leaning out to see the guards still at their game and paying no notice to the goings-on at the back end of the wagon train.

“Maybe she’s right.” Sally shrugged. “Maybe they dinna give a shite.”

“Of course I’m right.” Fanny bent over the tailboard of the wagon and came up with another bottle of Champagne. With a dexterous expertise reserved for the most craven, she removed the wire bale and popped the cork. Slurping at the geyser of froth that bubbled up, she offered the bottle to Anne. “It’s French…” she said.

“Come on… away with us…” Sally handed Anne her basket, and as they turned to leave, Fanny caught hold a fistful of Anne’s cloak.

“Hey… why aren’t you gone with the rest of ’em?”

“Let go—” Anne tugged and pulled, trying to wrench free, dragging Fanny along. Sally dropped her basket to help Anne disengage, but Fanny maintained a clawlike grip on the fabric—clinging like a stubborn burr, she would not be plucked off.

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