The Captain's Daughter (11 page)

He stared at it and then looked up
at Amy questioningly.

“Does the baby look like me?”

“I find all babies look the same,”
said Ben with a shrug.

“You’re not being helpful. All
babies do not look the same.”

“Well I’m sure their mothers can
tell them apart.”

“Emma said it looks like me,” she
said slightly irritated at Ben’s masculine blindness.

He looked at it some more and then
up at Amy, squinting his eyes. He shrugged.

“It could be. I...I just don’t
know. Maybe. The baby’s hair looks as if it might be turning red. The picture’s
so small, but the baby’s expression, its cheeks and mouth... Your sister might
be right. But if this is you, then all of this must be very important.”

“But what does it mean?”

“I don’t know, Amy.”

“But look at the locket.”

He examined the tarnished silver
locket closely.

“You are a lady, but whoever bought
this locket and had the miniature painted did not have much money. It is a
simple affair. That is why I cannot believe it is you. If your parents had this
made, it would be of much better quality. Why would a stranger, one without
much money, have a locket with your picture?”

Ben arose and walked towards the
door.

“I have to leave now. Don’t worry.
This is an old paper and an ancient letter. Any danger will be long past. I am
sure you have nothing to worry about.”

He gave her arm a squeeze to
reassure her, and then immediately withdrew his hand and apologized for his
forwardness.

“I am deeply offended,” she told
him with a smile.

Amy accompanied him out of the
front door and down the front steps. They did not see Emma as she tip-toed out
of the house behind them. When they paused at the foot of the steps, Ben
noticed Mattie and Lazarus in the distance as they walked back up the drive
towards the house. Emma noticed them too, and quickly dropped down behind the
bushes in front of the house. The couple in the distance did not seem to see
anything as they appeared to be distracted with one another.

“Do you think I might be a
foundling?” asked Amy suddenly.

“What?” said Ben incredulously.

“Maybe my mother was an actress—or
worse.”

“Is there anything worse than an
actress?” he asked with a smile.

“Emma thinks I might be a pirate’s
daughter, but I don’t think so. There aren’t any pirates any more are there?”

“Not around here, although we do
have worse. It does sound romantic though. Your sister has a streak of
romanticism.”

Old Hubert had seen them from his
post at the marigold bed and was already hobbling towards the stables.

Ben turned towards Amy looking very
serious.

“Now stop worrying. I am sure your
parents are really your parents, and you’re a lady. Well, most of the time.”

Although Mattie and Lazarus were
getting nearer they seemed oblivious to all but one another. Emma peeked out
from behind the bushes and was considering making a run for another location
when Mrs. Parkhurst marched around the side of the house and towards the front
door. Emma quickly made herself invisible again.

As Mrs. Parkhurst neared the front
door Ben nodded a greeting.

“You haven’t found my sister yet?”
asked Amy.

As she and Ben began to stroll
slowly in the direction of the stables, Mrs. Parkhurst mounted the front steps
as she declared to no one in particular: “What sin am I guilty of? I swear that
girl has been sent as my tormentor.”

She paused at the front door and
stared in the direction of Amy and Ben as they walked away, then she shook her
head in disapproval and went into the house.

They met Hubert with Ben’s horse on
the way to the stables, and Ben mounted it as Hubert returned to the marigolds.

As he was readying to leave, Ben
leaned over and in a low voice said to Amy: “Remember what I told you. Be
discreet. Don’t tell anyone about Pierre.” He hesitated. “Nor about anything
else you may see.”

He galloped off, startling Mattie
and Lazarus out of their trance, as he quickly disappeared from view.

Amy, lost in her thoughts and
worries, walked slowly back to the front door. She did not notice as Mattie and
Lazarus almost caught up with her. As she reached the bottom of the front
steps, she reached over and shook the bush.

“Come on out Emma.”

Emma stood up, looking slightly
disheveled, and joined Amy. Her hands were covered with dirt and she was
holding a toad.

“How did you know I was there?”

“I have eyes in the front of my
head.”

At that moment, Mattie and Lazarus
having come up behind Amy, Mattie saw the toad and screamed. The toad jumped
out of Emma’s hand, and Mattie, evidently fearful of an imminent toad attack
screamed even more. Amy mounted the steps to the front door with Emma in tow,
while Sir Lancelot comforted Mattie.

Amy paced back and forth in her
room as the mid-afternoon sun oozed in her window and bathed her carpet in a
sickly yellow. A tangled mess of troublesome thoughts prevented her from doing
anything else but try to sort through them. The old Bristol newspaper, the
abruptly interrupted letter, the tarnished locket with a baby that might or
might not be her, and if it were her, opened a Pandora’s box of new troubles,
the many Frenchmen who seemed to be flooding into the locality, Ben’s reluctance
to go to the old mill, and an old sailor that might still be wending his way
across England, and who could in just a few words solve her mystery.

Finally, she could take no more,
and strode out of her room and down the hall towards the stairs. As she passed
Emma’s study room, she noticed that Emma was at her desk. She had been
recaptured, or else, she had surrendered.

Emma was silently working at her
desk and Mrs. Parkhurst was drowsily reading. Amy wondered if Mrs. Parkhurst
ever actually instructed Emma about anything, because Emma was always silently
working at her desk, at least on those occasions when she was actually in her
room, and Mrs. Parkhurst was always reading, or napping. That was probably how
Emma was able to escape so often.

Amy glided into the room, grabbed a
surprised Emma by the arm and led her out, as Mrs. Parkhurst looked up from her
book with a confused expression trying to evaluate what just happened.

“Why are you depriving me of my
education this time,” asked Emma, looking not at all displeased as they hurried
down the stairs.

“Where is your telescope?”

“It’s in my study room of course.”

“Oh,” said Amy, and bounded back
upstairs, rushed into Emma’s study room, and seeing the telescope in front of
the window, she grabbed it and rushed out, greeting a confused Mrs. Parkhurst
who was considering seeking another post.

Amy spent the latter part of Sunday
afternoon spying on Hillfield House with Emma’s telescope from halfway up Camp
Hill.

As the daylight slowly began to
shrink away, Emma returned to the trap from her investigation of nature.

“There are two or three things I’d
like to point out,” said Emma as Amy stared intently through the telescope at
basically nothing. “One, is that we are not entirely invisible on this
hillside. The second is that it must be very obvious to anyone at Hillfield
House that we are spying on them.”

“Why would they think we are spying
on them,” retorted Amy. “We’re just looking through a telescope.”

“Pointed straight at them.”

“They won’t be able to tell from
the distance.”

“The third thing is that sunset
today is about 9 p.m. I just read it in an almanac.”

“It isn’t sunset yet.”

“That is true, but we eat dinner at
7 p.m. Mother will be curious if we are both missing for dinner. She will
search for us, and old Hubert if he hasn’t died at the marigold bed, will tell
mother that we took the trap, and she will send someone in search of us. I have
my reputation and telescope to protect. We should go home.”

Amy looked at the sky. “If you
insist. Pack up your telescope and we’ll go.” She sounded disappointed.

As they descended Camp Hill, Amy
caught sight of two figures riding away from Hillfield House, but by the time
the trap reached the road they were out of sight around the curve in the road.

“See Miss Impatient Emma, if we had
waited a few minutes longer we would have known who they were.”

Emma just shook her head as they
started along the road to home.

As they were passing the path to
the mill, Amy brought the trap to a halt.

“Listen!”

“For what?” asked Emma. “All I hear
is the river.”

“No listen closely. Can’t you hear
the sound of the horses splashing through the river?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Now my
sister’s hallucinating.”

Amy hurried off the trap and
through the trees and bushes that crowded the path to the river. Emma, who was
game for anything, especially mysterious things, shrugged, and jumped off the
trap and followed her.

Just before the trees and bushes
ended only a few feet from the river’s edge, Amy stopped and peered across the
still swollen waters.

“What are we looking for?” Emma
asked as she caught up with her.

“Shh!” said Amy motioning her
sister to be quiet.

Twilight was now rapidly pushing
out the day and combined with the trees overhanging the river, shrouded the
scene in premature darkness. Across the churning waters the old ruined mill sat
beneath a canopy trees. Their attention was immediately attracted by the lone
window of the mill. It glowed with a dull light.

“There’s someone in the ruined
mill,” whispered Emma.

After glancing around, Amy said in
a low voice: “It might be dangerous. We better leave.”

If she had been alone she would
have stayed longer. She might even have tried to ford the river, but she could
not take a chance on endangering Emma. That night, her concern for her sister may
have saved her life.

Ben was
admitted
to Sibbridge House the next
morning by the butler.

“Good morning, Branson. Today, I
am
here to speak with Lady Amy.”

“I will inform her, sir,” said
Branson as he went to find her.

Ben could see through the open door of the drawing room that
Lady Sibbridge was propped up in a chair with her feet resting on a footstool.
She had a cloth over her eyes and seemed to be asleep. By her side, Mattie was
sitting in a chair engaged in whitework embroidery. Seeing that it was Ben that
had been admitted, she got up quietly from her chair and setting down her
needlework came out to the front hall.

“Good morning, Lady Mathilde,” Ben
said pleasantly.

“Good morning, Sir Benjamin. I
wanted to apologize for yesterday. I acted rudely when I was with Mr.
Throckmorton. I hope you will forgive me.”

“You did nothing of the kind,
Mattie. May I call you Mattie as your family does?”

Mattie was pleased at that.

“Is your mother unwell?” he asked
with concern.

“She began to feel unwell yesterday
after the Throckmortons left.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Is she
running a fever?”

“No, nothing like that. From time
to time she feels unwell, but it is not usually serious. She feels a little
better this morning. That’s why she is sitting in the drawing room rather than
lying in bed. Yesterday afternoon she had to lie down. She even missed dinner.”

“That was unfortunate.”

“Not to everyone, Sir Benjamin. She
was not the only one who missed dinner. I got to eat alone with Papa. Please
don’t tell Mama what I just said. She doesn’t know.”

He held his fingers to his lips.

“I will keep your confidence. And
you may call me Ben, if you wish.”

“Thank you, but at my age it would
not be polite to refer to an older person by his first name.” She glanced at
her mother who had not moved. “I better get back to Mama.”

He nodded to her with a slight bow
as she returned to her needlework, just as Amy came downstairs.

“Good morning, Ben. Shall we go
into the sitting room?”

As they entered, Ben frowned.

“Do I look old?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Mattie seemed to feel I was too
old to be addressed by my name, or at least the diminutive of it.”

“My sister conforms to the rules of
polite society to a greater extent than Emma or I.”

Ben smiled at her as he sat down.
“I think you exaggerate by suggesting that you or Emma conform to any rules at
all.”

“We’re not as bad as all that,”
said Amy laughing, and then she turned serious. “Have you found anything in the
Bristol newspaper?”

“I spent a goodly amount of time on
it last night. In fact I didn’t turn in until past one. I found some items of
interest, but it is difficult to know if they are in any way connected with
your family.”

Ben removed the newspaper from his
riding satchel and spread it on the small side table next to where he was
sitting.

“The advertisements on the front
page are mostly for departing vessels, ship’s chandlers and the like. Most of
the articles seem not to favor any possible connection, being mostly of local
matters, although it is difficult to know what could have significance if you
have no idea what you are looking for. It could be almost anything.”

“Is there nothing in any of the
articles that might mean something,” she asked almost pleadingly.

“Maybe. I decided to initially set
aside the more mundane items and look at the more dramatic.” He opened the
newspaper to an inside page. “For instance, notice this story of a
wine-merchant who was beaten and robbed. The paper says he was being cared for
by his housekeeper and was near death. The story gives the impression he has no
close family. This is of interest only because of the possibility that he might
have a sizable estate and no near heirs.”

“How could that possibly concern
me?”

“On the face of it, I don’t see how
it could. But if you were sent this newspaper for a reason, then something in
it relates to you. We just don’t know what it is. Here is another item of news
about the death of a wealthy ship owner, Sir Hugh Ansalen. But he did have an
heir. His son was with him at the time of his death. That news story doesn’t
seem to have any connection either, except that it involves shipping and your
pouch was brought to you by an old sailor.”

“I’ve looked through the entire
paper several times,” said Amy. “Most everything in it seems to involve
shipping in one way or another.”

“And that is our problem,” said
Ben. “There are many maritime related items in the paper because of Bristol
being an important seaport. Here is the poignant story of the body of a drowned
woman and baby washed up on the coast twelve miles west of Bristol.” Ben reads:
“They are thought to be the wife and child of a sea captain who was drowned
when the coach he was riding in fell into a river along with its passengers.
The bodies of the captain, and a local lawyer and his clerk were recovered, but
the captain’s wife and child, and the captain’s first mate, were swept away,
presumably out to sea.” Ben looked up from the paper. “What is annoying is that
it doesn’t name the river that was the grave of the coach.”

He turned over another page.

“Here is another item of the sort
that might be the reason you were sent the paper. A court battle is, or rather
was, being fought by the presumed heirs to a rich importer’s business. It makes
mention of a lost heir and the nearest relatives are battling for control of
the business. What I am trying to do, Amy, is look for something that would be
significant and would be something that could engender a threat. Of course,
these are twenty years ago and the fights have probably long been resolved. But
fights over heirs and inheritance can go on for years. Maybe something that
looks insignificant to us could be of great importance.”

“What about the announcements and
advertisements?”

“The only thing in the
advertisements that is even mildly interesting,” said Ben, “is one of the
shipping announcements, and even it is a minor point. I might be reading away
more into it than is really there. Most of the notices invite potential
passengers or shippers to see the captain or the shipping office. This one,”
said Ben pointing it out to Amy, “is an advertisement for the ship, the
Bristol
Ark
. You will notice it says to see the first mate, or the shipping
office.”

“Why is that of interest?” she
asked.

“Because of the article that
mentions the captain and his wife. You have a dead captain and a ship that
seems to be missing its captain. The problem is it says the first mate drowned,
but in this case you do have a first mate. However, you will note the newspaper
says nothing about the first mate’s body being found, so maybe he survived.”

Amy opened the paper to the inside
news items and looked at them again.

“Wouldn’t the article on the
drowned woman have said if the first mate had been rescued? After all, it was
printed three weeks after the drowning? They would have to know by then if he
was alive.

“I wouldn’t count on it,” said Ben.
“Newspapers can be careless. They don’t always get things right.”

“The annoying thing about the coach
accident,” Ben added, “is that the article doesn’t mention the name of anyone
but the lawyer. He was well known locally.”

Then he looked at her with a
serious expression.

“We may be looking in the wrong
place, Amy. At least for the present. Both you and I know that your mother and
father must know something about your origin. They know the answer to the
question that so troubles you. Are you their daughter by birth, or did they
adopt you? If you are their daughter, then all these other things are just a
jolly mystery. If you were adopted, then perhaps it all has some meaning. But
even if you are adopted these things might not have the meaning that you and
your sister attach to them.”

“I’ve tried to get my mother to
tell me something, but she insists I am her daughter and that the locket and
other items must have been left for me by mistake.”

Ben frowned and shook his head.

“I’m skeptical that the old man
brought the pouch to the wrong place. He obviously brought it here with
considerable personal effort. He wouldn’t just stop at any village or town and
leave it at some house he picked at random. That just does not make any sense.
And if Stockley is the right town, you are to my knowledge the only Amaryllis.
I’m not familiar with all the folks that live around here, are there many other
Amaryllises—or Amarylli,” he said forcing a grin in an effort to lighten the
conversation.

“No,” she told him, “there are
none.”

“Don’t be angry at this question
but is it possible your mother is trying to hide something? Some secret?”

“With mother I never know. She acts
kind of flustered, but she is quite clever when she wants to be.”

“Maybe you need to question her
more. What about your father? You said he has lucid periods.”

“At times. Since he was thrown by
his horse he has not been in a good condition. I mean his cognition. Sometimes
he seems to remember things quite well, but I haven’t been able to find out
anything from him yet. I will keep trying because some days he is better than
others. The trouble is he says a lot and I don’t know if it means anything or
not. He keeps saying I am his girl. But I don’t know.” Amy looked at Ben with
deep concern. “I really need to find out if I’m adopted.”

“Amy,” Ben said with deep
conviction, “I am sure you have nothing to worry about. When I look at you and
your sister Emma, it would be straining the laws of coincidence beyond
comprehension to believe that it would be even possible for two families in all
of England to produce two young ladies so alike in so many ways. You are
obviously the child of the Sibbridges. You look just like them,” he assured
her, contradicting slightly what he said the previous day.

Ben stood up to leave, putting the
Bristol
Gazette and Public Advertiser
back into his satchel.

“While I’m in London I will make
inquiries. You don’t know who might have some useful information. If I can, I
will stop by Lombard Street where Lloyds is located.”

“Lloyds?”

“They are a place where insurance
of ships is discussed and takes place. If anyone has information about ships
they are the ones. At least someone there should be able to tell me where to
find out information about the
Bristol Ark
, although in the end I might
have to go to Bristol, but I cannot do that now. I have some very important
business I must attend to.”

As they reached the front door He
turned to her.

“Take care of yourself, Amy.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“That I cannot tell, but I will
return as soon as I can.”

“But what if anything happens?”

 “Write me at my club, it’s on
my calling card,” he said, handing her his card. “I gave your mother my card,
but here is one for you to keep.”

She looked at the card.

“The Eccentric Club, founded 1781?”

“Yes, indeed, founded in antiquity
ten years ago, and already one of the most popular clubs for gentlemen in all
of England. What is it they say? Run by the political and scientific luminaries
of our time. At any rate, you can reach me there.”

As he started to leave, he paused
and took Amy’s petite right hand in his now gloved hands and kissed it.

As soon as Ben was gone, Amy turned
and marched into the drawing room. Mattie looked up, surprised.

“Mother,” said Amy firmly, “I know
you are just resting and not asleep. I have a question I must ask. There is no
thunder and lightning this morning so you must not avoid my question. Mother!”

Her mother stirred, and with a
shaky hand moved the cloth that was covering her eyes askance. Her eyes
flickered open. It was a very convincing performance.

“Dear?” she asked shakily.

“Mother,” Amy said aggressively.

Her mother was very adept at making
her feel guilty, and that really annoyed Amy.

“Mother, it is not fair to not answer
my question. Am I adopted?”

Her mother began to cry.

“How can my daughter think she is
not mine? What have I done to turn her against me?’

“Mother, I am not against you. I
love you. I just need an answer.”

That possibility was fast
diminishing as her mother began to sob heavily, her chest heaving up and down,
in what Amy knew well was the prelude to hysterics.

Mattie was sitting bolt upright
looking at the exchange, her face pale and aghast. A moment later she jumped
out of her chair, and ran out of the drawing room, clutching her needlework,
and fighting back tears.

She nearly bumped into Emma who had
been attracted by the sound of the exchange.

Emma watched the exchange between
Amy and her mother for a few minutes in complete silence. This was most unusual
for Emma, but she found the proceedings before her fascinating. When her mother
seemed to realize that sobbing and hysterics weren’t going to be effective this
time, she started on a string of denials. When her mother uttered her final and
most emphatic denial, silence fell on the two. Amy was completely drained by
the exchange.

After watching the strange silence
that had come like the silence after a great storm, Emma knelt beside her
mother and took her mother’s still quivering hand.

“Mother,” she said softly and
gently, “I know this is so very difficult for you, but Amy really does deserve
an answer. She is not intending to be unkind, but look at her. She must be
adopted. I love my sister, but when I look closely at her, I see that Amy’s
complexion and hair color are different from the rest of the family.”