The Captain's Daughter (12 page)

Then the ever-analytical Emma also
noted other differences which she recited to her mother whose sobs were fading
away. She pointed to Amy’s bone structure and how the Sibbridge hair tends to
be a blonde that turns to light brown as they get older, while Amy’s tends to
be reddish. Amy has higher cheekbones. And they have curved noses while Amy’s
nose is straighter—still lady-like, but straighter. Amy looked at her sister,
somewhat dumbfounded.

“I do not look that different,” she
said softly.

Amy proceeded to express a
different point-of-view on her facial structure and features seeing them as
more compatible with the Sibbridge family. She was beginning to feel
uncomfortable. And in truth, Amy made her comments out of guilt at her verbal
onslaught of her mother.

Then she turned to Emma and asked
her about her comments the previous day when she said Amy looked just like her
sisters and her parents.

“I have been thinking about that,”
said Emma. “I put too much reliance on the portrait. I’ve been comparing what
we look like in real life to what we look like in the painting. Perhaps the
artist, consciously or unconsciously, made you look more like the rest of us.

Their mother, who had been looking
on the exchange, broke down crying. Amy and Emma looked at her.

“It’s true,” their mother sobbed.

“That I’m not your daughter?” asked
Amy.

“No,” their mother replied.

“What do you mean? Amy asked.

“You are our daughter. You are
Mattie and Emma’s sister. But you’re also adopted.”

While their mother’s reasoning was
odd, they both knew what she meant. When Amy attempted to question her mother
further, she quickly arose and ran out of the room.

Amy feeling guilty followed her
mother up to her room, but when she knocked on the door of her mother’s room
and called to her, her mother did not answer. Through the door Amy could hear
muffled sobs. Her mother’s confession, if it really was a confession, had been
enough for one day.

Amy sat
in her
room aimlessly looking at the
items from her Amaryllis pouch. She had left her sobbing mother in hopes that
her mother would calm down in a little while. Then maybe she could inquire of
her some more, this time showing a little more compassion. Her mother had to be
handled delicately because if Amy was indeed adopted then her mother was
especially sensitive to any suggestion that Amy was not part of the family. But
she was uncertain as to what her mother had meant, and so was no closer to an
answer.

Why was her mother so troubled by
the question? Amy was not sure but she knew there must be a reason. Maybe
Mildred Sibbridge knew of the danger alluded to in the mystery letter, or what
was more likely she was just being Mildred Sibbridge.

After daydreaming over it for a
while, Amy decided to take a walk in the garden and give her mother more time
to recover.

When she went out the front door
she was greeted by a strange sight. In front of the bushes that skirted the
front of the house there appeared to be a large sphere of cloth or clothing. It
was so unexpected that she stared at it for a moment. When she went down the
front steps to get a better view, she realized it was the lower part of Mrs.
Parkhurst, who was bending over poking the bushes with her cane.

“Are you seeking something Mrs.
Parkhurst,” she inquired.

“I am indeed,” Mrs. Parkhurst
snapped in reply. “I am looking for your sister, Emmaline Sibbridge.”

Like many people, who tend to use
the full name of someone they are exasperated with, Mrs. Parkhurst more often
than not used Emma’s full name. It seemed to provide her with some satisfaction
but had long since started to annoy Amy so she decided to move along without
further comment.

As she departed she could hear Mrs.
Parkhurst grumbling. “I was told she hid here yesterday, but that child must
have found a new hiding place.”

It appeared that old Hubert had
betrayed a confidence. Or maybe Mattie had seen Emma hiding in the bushes and
just ignored it at the time. If Mrs. Parkhurst had in some way learned it from
Mattie, it must have been inadvertent, because Mattie was of too kind a nature
to get anyone in trouble.

Amy wandered deep in thought and
found herself by the stables. She was surprised to find Hubert hitching
Bucephalus, Emma’s dark blue roan, to the trap.

“Pssst!”

“Yes, Emma?” said Amy to the
disembodied voice emanating from the darkness of the stable.

“Shhh! She might hear you.”

Amy noticed a large bundle on the
seat of the trap.

“She’s not going to hear. Her head
is stuck in the bushes in front of the house. Other parts of her are in the
air. Or they were a few minutes ago. You know she isn’t going to come over
here. She doesn’t like the smell of the stables.”

Emma peeked out of the stable door
as Amy examined the bundle in the trap. She pulled back the blanket wrapping
and looked at the contents.

“How did you get your telescope
past Mrs. Parkhurst?”

“She wasn’t paying attention.”

Amy was sure Mrs. Parkhurst must
have been asleep and only awakened when Emma absconded with the telescope. Emma
tended to downplay Mrs. Parkhurst’s proclivity for snoozing, probably because
it enhanced her reputation as an escape artist if she conveyed the notion that
she was escaping from a wide-awake jailer rather than one who wasn’t conscious.

As Amy was about to ask Emma what
she was up to, they heard the sound of a coach, which immediately drew their
attention. The coach was one they were not familiar with and it was accompanied
by two men on horseback.

Leaving the trap and its precious
cargo in Hubert’s care, they walked towards the coach as the front door of the
house closed behind the visitors. Moments later the door opened and Mattie
emerged. When she saw them she headed in their direction.

“Who are our visitors?” Amy asked
as Mattie reached them.

“It’s Sir Frank and Lady Ramsey.
Mother sent me to find you.”

“I guess mother has been
resurrected. Why did the Ramseys come in an unfamiliar coach?” Amy asked as the
three walked toward the house.

“I don’t know,” said Mattie, and
then added gleefully, “but they brought a handsome stranger.”

Look out Master Throckmorton,
thought Amy as they entered the drawing room and greeted the Ramseys.

“I was just telling your mother,”
said Sir Frank to the arriving trio, “our coach suffered another broken wheel
just three miles short of Stockley. Luckily, our coachman heard it crack and
was able to stop before anything worse happened. This gentleman came along just
a few minutes later and generously offered to take us to our destination. Allow
me to introduce you,” Sir Frank said turning to Lady Sibbridge. “Lady
Sibbridge, this is... Oh dash, I am very bad at pronouncing French names.”

“Think nothing of it Sir Frank,”
said the Frenchman, and then he turned to Amy’s mother. “I am the Comte
d’Belleisle.”

“Isn’t he handsome,” Mattie
whispered to Amy.

Amy was disappointed and concerned
at Mattie’s judgment, since the Frenchman, although far from old, was older
than she thought he should be if he was attracting Mattie’s attention.

Lady Sibbridge was clearly
flattered by the attentions of the Frenchman. And she was only dragged away
from their smiling and charming visitor when Branson entered with refreshments.
The Frenchman was particularly polite in accepting them.

“When our coach is fixed our
coachman will bring it here,” said Sir Frank. “I trust you can stand our
company for a few hours. If this kind gentleman hadn’t happened along we would
have been stuck on the London Road for hours.”

“You say your name is Comte
d’Belleisle,” asked Amy. “Are you visiting our country or do you reside in
England now?”

“Let us just say, Mademoiselle,
that I am sojourning here for a little while. You must have noticed that my
vesture is rather plain for one of my station. Please forgive me for that, but
you might say I am somewhat in disguise. I know it is safe to tell you in the
safety of your house where there are no prying eyes or ears that I am being
sought by agents of The Committee of Public Safety.

“The Committee of Public Safety?”
asked Amy’s mother.

 “Yes, madam. It is the
committee that is responsible for the reign of terror in my country. It is
dominated by a man called Maximilien de Robespierre, the
dictateur
sanguinaire
, the bloodthirsty dictator.”

Amy’s mother grimaced. “They
actually pursue those who have escaped France even in our country?”

“Not all, only a few that they want
to get their bloodstained hands on, and I am one of those.”

“Why do they want you so badly?”
asked Amy.

“It is not safe for me to say. But
I must avoid them and God willing I will.” The Frenchman paused for a few
moments. “I am most embarrassed to ask if you know anywhere I might find
sanctuary.”

“We would be most willing to let
you stay here and if our house is too humble, I am sure our friends would be
most glad to accommodate you,” said Amy’s mother who rather liked displaying
generosity especially when it involved interesting and charming guests.

“
Non
,
non,
madam. I
am most grateful, but I am sought after by the most violent of evil men and
could not endanger you or your neighbors. I need someone who is willing to
accommodate me and my two men, who has no family that can be harmed, and who is
full ready to face the danger. Do you know anyone that could do that?”

Amy’s mother was flustered as usual
and cannot help. Amy was uneasy and a little suspicious, but Emma tactlessly blurted
out, before Amy can stop her, that she knew someone who accommodates Frenchmen,
Sir Benjamin at Hillside house.

Amy froze, but the Frenchman, whose
attention was concentrated on his conversation with Lady Sibbridge and Sir
Frank and Lady Ramsey appeared not to hear. Amy breathed a sigh of relief.

“I can but ask and hope. If there
is no one of that boldness in this part of the country I must move on and seek
sanctuary elsewhere. I have miles to go before nightfall.”

“I’m disappointed we cannot be of
help, Comte,” apologized Lady Sibbridge, “but can we at least offer you lunch.
It will be served in about half-an-hour.”

“That we would be most appreciative
of, madam. If you will excuse me, I will go tell my men to water our horses.”

“Comte,” Lady Sibbridge called
after him as he was about to leave the drawing room, “tell your men to go to
the kitchen and Mrs. Pemberton, our cook, will feed them.”

“Once again, I must thank you for
your hospitality Lady Sibbridge, but we brought some food with us. My men will
eat by my coach.”

When he was gone and her mother and
the Ramseys were deep in conversation, Amy took Emma aside and explained that
Pierre was a secret that they must not betray.

“Please don’t say anything about
Ben or about Hillfield House. Fortunately the Frenchman didn’t hear you, but we
have no way of knowing whether he is who he claims to be. Perhaps he is being
pursued by the Committee of Public Safety, or perhaps he is one of the
pursuers. He does have two riders with him as well as a coachman and footman,
and I don’t know if they look like servants or not.

Over lunch the Frenchman was polite
and charming and his manners were flawless. Amy wondered whether he really did
not hear Emma’s remark. She felt that even if she were involved in a
conversation she would still hear everything said anywhere around her, but she
recognized that the Frenchman, not being a native speaker of English, and
concentrating on the remarks of her mother and the Ramseys might not have
heard.

It would be strange if he had heard
but not reacted to what Emma said since he said he needed to find a safe place
to stay. If he had heard she needed to explain away Emma’s comment, but if he
did not hear it could be dangerous to draw his attention to it. She struggled
with what to do. Finally, convinced that he had to have heard she decided to
chance bringing it up.

“Comte d’Belleisle, I have been
thinking over your request regarding a house of refuge. I wondered if there
might be one that did not come to mind earlier. But having reviewed in my mind
all of the houses in our part of the shire, I can think of none. Earlier my
sister thought that a nearby house might be such a place, because she thought
they had a Frenchman seeking safety there, but in actuality the man in question
is a Walloon.”

“Clearly,” said the Frenchman, “a
house with a Walloon would be no safe place for a Frenchman of noble blood. I
am most grateful for you bringing this to my attention. Sadly, you must be
prophetic. France is planning to seize the lands of the Walloons from the
Austrians.”

Then abruptly changing the subject
he started to compliment Amy’s mother on the lunch. Emma unexpectedly excused
herself suggesting she had suddenly fallen ill. Amy watched the conversation
for a few minutes. She was becoming increasingly uneasy. She felt the Frenchman
was asking too many prying questions. She must warn Ben. But her mother would
not like it if she prematurely excused herself from the lunch table, especially
since Emma had already left, but she knew her mother would not stop her. Amy’s
mother hated any form of conflict, so Amy, although knowing she would hear
about it later, excused herself on the pretext of feeling unwell.

“Oh dear,” said Amy’s mother, “I
hope everyone isn’t getting sick.”

As Amy left, she couldn’t help
notice that the Frenchman had a strange look on his face. Perhaps he wondered
at the sudden onslaught of health problems in the Sibbridge family.

The trap was all ready to go. She
must get to it and go to Hillfield House. Emma was likely at the trap. The
problem was she had go to towards the stairs leading to her room when she left
the dining room. She couldn’t go towards the front door or her mother and the
others would see. She headed to the back of the house rushing through the
kitchen much to the surprise of Mrs. Pemberton and Effie, and almost knocking a
tray out of Branson’s hand.

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here,
I’m supposed to be in my room,” she half whispered to the surprised trio.

When she reached the stables, the
trap was gone. She wanted Emma to go with her in the trap to warn Ben, but they
were both missing.

“Where is the trap?” she asked
Hubert who had just emerged from the stables.

“Miss Emma took it,” he answered
just as Daniel came out of the stables to see what was going on.

“Daniel,” ordered Amy, “get Pansy
saddled up.”

Daniel may be slow of wit, but he
was pretty fast at saddling a horse. Hubert was slow saddling a horse, and as
to his mental processes, they were none too fast either.

“I told her a young lady shouldn’t
go ariding alone,” said Hubert shaking his head, “but she wouldn’t listen to me
because I’m just an old hand.”

Don’t take it badly,” she reassured
Hubert as Daniel led Pansy out all saddled and ready to go, “Emma doesn’t
listen to anyone. Did she say where she was going?”

“I h...heard Lady Emma say,”
stuttered Daniel, “she was agoin’ to the Camp Hill.”

“Thanks Daniel,” Amy called back to
him and Hubert. She was riding past the two French riders who had accompanied
the coach. “I’m going to ride towards Stockley,” she yelled to Hubert and
Daniel for the benefit of the Frenchmen.

She wondered if her remark would
put them off the scent, or did it look too obvious? The Frenchmen never once
looked in her direction, but they couldn’t help hearing what she said. But
could they even understand English?

When she reached Ben’s house she
hurried to the front door.