The Captain's Daughter (17 page)

The next morning,
as they waited while old Eben and
youthful Leonard hitched the horses to the coach, Ben shook his head.

“After what your mother said
yesterday, I didn’t think you would get your chaperone. How did you do it?”

“I have my ways. By-the-way, you
don’t object to Emma coming with us, do you?”

“Not at all, but don’t change the
subject. How did you get Mrs. Parkhurst, whom your mother says hates to ride in
a coach, to agree to come with us?”

“It was simple. To defeat an enemy
find out their weak spot.”

“And what is Mrs. Parkhurst’s weak
spot?”

“Chocolate, of course.”

“Ahh, crafty. We take her to
Bristol and ply her with chocolate to drink.”

“Exactly. There is one problem
though, and I’m really embarrassed to bring this up. But all my money is back
at home in Stokely-on-Arne.”

“So you want me to pay for Mrs.
Parkhurst’s indulgence.”

“No! But if you could advance me
the funds I could repay the money once I get back home.”

Amy looked up into the sky but
there were no storm clouds, so maybe she’d escaped being struck by a
thunderbolt for dissembling. It wasn’t that what she had said was totally
untrue. Only the time it would take to repay any money advanced by Ben would be
a bit longer than she implied, since all she had in her little decorated jewel
box at home that she used to keep her money was a threepence, a groat, and two
sixpences, for a total of one shilling and sevenpence. Well, she did have a
keepsake bright shiny silver florin minted in the year she was born, for a
grand total of three shillings and sevenpence, but she was not going to part
with the florin which she had as far back as she could remember. She doubted
that what was left would be enough to pay for Mrs. Parkhurst’s chocolate
libation.

“All right, I will pay for Mrs.
Parkhurst’s bribe,” he smiled, as the aforementioned Mrs. Parkhurst emerge from
the Quillin house looking most unhappy, and with Emma tagging along behind her.

“We really should be using the time
for Emma’s lessons, Mrs. Parkhurst grumbled as old Eben helped her into the
coach. “I just don’t see how that child could possibly have forgotten all her
study materials when I was sure I watched her pack them the night before we
left.”

“Emma, how could you be so
careless,” Amy demanded of her sister while trying to suppress a smile.

The hour and a half it took to
reach Bristol was mainly occupied by small talk. Since Mrs. Parkhurst was
present, Amy and Ben did not feel free to discuss the things they would have
liked to, even though Emma’s tutor appeared to sleep during most of the
journey.

On occasion, while Mrs. Parkhurst
was snoring and seemed to be really and truly asleep they did exchange a few
notes.

Once they completed the ten miles
or so to Bristol, they located a chocolate house suitable to a lady, and after
enjoying some victuals, since they had not yet eaten breakfast, as well as the
chocolate and some delightful sweetmeats, they returned to the coach and took
the short journey outside of Bristol to Saint Birinus Church where the captain
was reported to be buried.

When they reached the church it
turned out to be a ruin but the churchyard was still there with its sad markers
from days gone by. Much to her displeasure, they left Emma in the coach with
Mrs. Parkhurst. As Ben and Amy took leave of the coach, Emma turned so that her
back was to her tutor and extracted a small book of the kind printed for
travelers.

They started the task of working
their way through the thick grass and reading the inscriptions on the
tombstones. After about twenty minutes, Amy found the captain’s resting place.
They had started out looking at the ordinary headstones but the captain’s
marker was in an area of larger headstones, and even some small family crypts
surrounded by railings. This seemed to be the area of the churchyard where more
important residents were interred.

“I wanted to come here,” said Ben,
“because the last mention in the newspaper was that the authorities were trying
to find out the identity of the woman and child who were found on the beach. If
the coroner’s jury or authorities determined them to be the captain’s wife and
daughter they should be buried beside him.

On the stone were the words:
John
Buchanan
,
Captain of the Bristol Ark
. It was accompanied by a simple
verse. Amy saw that the marker listed only the captain, so she went to the
stone on the right and pushed aside the thick grass. Perhaps the people lying
in this churchyard had once been important but now they lay all but forgotten.
On the stone was engraved the name, Margaret Buchanan, beloved wife of John
Buchanan.

“Ben,” she said softly, “It’s
here.”

Ben came over and stood next to
her.

“It’s the captain’s wife, Ben. And
look at the date. She died April 29, 1773, the same day as the captain.”

Amy hurried to the next stone and
swept the grass aside. Engraved on it was a name that Amy did not know.

“Ben the baby is not buried here.
The captain’s daughter is not here.” She looked intently at Ben.

“Maybe I’m the captain’s daughter,”
she said, visibly excited.

“Maybe you are. Maybe so,” said
Ben, and then he frowned and looked again at Margaret’s headstone.

Kneeling before it, he pulled aside
more of the grass and weeds. Beneath Margaret’s date of death were the words in
smaller letters
and here also sleeps the beloved daughter of John and
Margaret, Agnes Buchanan, aged 1 year
.

Ben stood up and looked at Amy. Her
face told of anguish and disappointment. She looked at Ben, tears misting her
eyes, and then she threw herself against his chest. He slowly and awkwardly put
his arm around her.

She sobbed for a few moments and
then pulled herself away.

“I’m sorry, Ben. Forgive me. I
didn’t mean to do that.”

“Let’s return to the coach,” he
said softly.

As they walked away from the
gravesite, Ben noticed a much larger stone carved in marble, and surrounded by
iron rails.

“Look at this, Amy.”

She turned and looked at the name
on the stone.

“Sir Hugh Anselan,” she read.
“Isn’t he...”

“Yes the wealthy ship owner.” Ben
read the date on the stone. “... who died on May 17, 1773.”

“That’s only about three weeks
after the captain and his wife drowned.” She suppressed a slight gasp. “And
they’re both here in the same churchyard. And so near one another.”

“Now that is curious,” said Ben as
he strode off, “I think we need to talk to Mr. Maitland.”

She looked at him as he walked back
to the coach, and then hurried after him.

“Ben, wait, who is Mr. Maitland.”

He slowed and turned as she caught
up with him.

“Remember the advertisement on the
front page of your copy of the
Bristol Gazette
, where it said to see the
First Mate of the ship, not the captain. Do you remember the name of the ship?”

“No,” admitted Amy.

“It said to see the first mate of
the
Bristol Ark
. Why the first mate and not the captain? We’d wondered
about that. It was because it was lacking a captain at that time. John
Buchanan, the master of the
Bristol Ark
had just drowned in the River
Avon. I think we need to see if we can find David Maitland, the onetime first
mate of the
Bristol Ark
.”

She took his arm just as he was
about to climb into the coach.

“Does it matter anymore, Ben? Maybe
we should just go back to Bath.”

“Why?”

“I’m not the captain’s daughter,”
said Amy almost in tears. “She lies beneath the ground in that old churchyard.”

“Does she? You can go back to Bath
if that is what you wish. But I am convinced there is a lot more to this, and
I’ve got to get to the bottom of it all. It’s just too peculiar. We know that
some poor babe and her mother are laid to rest next to the captain, but are
they the captain’s wife and child, or did they, whoever
they
might have
been, just jump to that conclusion? We have to go on, Amy. We must see this
through. Maybe you
are
truly the captain’s daughter.”

“There is just one problem,” Amy
said thoughtfully.

“What is that, Amy?”

“If the babe in the churchyard is
not the captain’s daughter, then the woman must not be his wife. So, what
became of Margaret Buchanan, the captain’s widow?”

“That I cannot answer,” said Ben as
he helped Amy into the coach. “But I will find out. I will find the answer.”

After lunch
in Bristol, Ben took leave of the three
ladies. He wanted to visit the local taverns frequented by sailors and men of
the sea, establishments where ladies would not wish to go. His efforts bore
little fruit. Some of these places were very rough and it was likely the
patrons would not wish to share information with a gentleman, however, it was
also likely that the events were so far in the past that none of the patrons
knew or knew of the people he was inquiring about, however one did make a
useful suggestion.

“Did you find out anything useful,”
asked Amy when Ben returned to fetch her and the other two.

“Not really,” said Ben, “but it was
suggested that I go to
Selwynn and Sons, Ships Chandlers
. They supply
many of the ships that come into the port. And I was told that some of the
workers have been there for years.”

At the chandlers, Ben was directed
by the owner to the warehouse and one Burnham Holmes, who appeared quite
ancient.

Ben had left Amy and the others in
the coach. He returned in about fifteen minutes and Amy was pleased to see that
he was smiling. That looked promising.

“There was an old man there who
looked as if he had worked there since the Great Deluge. He probably supplied
Noah. He claims to remember Captain Buchanan.”

“What did you find out,” asked Amy.

“Again, Amy, don’t get your hopes
up too high. He could be mistaken about the captain. We will find out. But he
also said that the
Bristol Ark
was owned by Sir Hugh Anselan. We should
be able to trust his memory on that.”

“So Captain Buchanan was the master
of a ship owned by Sir Hugh, and both are buried in the same churchyard.”

“Yes, Amy, and Anselan was a
wealthy ship owner, but sadly his son...”

“The son the
Bristol Gazette
said was with him when he died?” asked Amy.

“I would think so. The son
inherited his wealth and squandered it all, at least, according to the old man
I talked to.”

“What about the first mate? He
survived, didn’t he?”

“Yes, that was who the
advertisement said to consult. He was promoted to ship’s master. But he died
last year at sea.”

“Is this another dead end?” Amy’s
disappointment was visible.

“The old man recalled the ship’s
boatswain’s name was Samuel Grieves, but hadn’t seen him in many a year, and
didn’t know what happened to him. One of the other workers brought up a carter
that worked for Sir Hugh. He would often come to pick up items from the
chandler. No one could remember his name.

Since he worked for Sir Hugh I
thought it likely that someone in the village where Sir Hugh’s estate was, or
maybe still is, might remember the carter’s name. He is someone that might know
something. In all likelihood he could know quite a bit.”

“Well?” asked Amy.

“No one knew where Sir Hugh’s
estate was, just a vague ‘somewhere near Bristol.’ Remember, this was twenty
years ago.”

“What can we do now?” asked Amy
sadly.

“Find out the whereabouts of Sir
Hugh Anselan’s estate, and that actually should not be too hard. And the first
thing we do is return to the offices of the
Bristol Gazette
. They sold
him advertising. And even if his shipping office paid the bills, the
Gazette
almost certainly has information about him and where he lived.”

The Gazette came through with the
information they were seeking, and soon the four were on their way to the
village of Edmundsby some twenty minutes outside of Bristol. It was a journey
familiar to them since it was not far from the churchyard where both the
captain and Sir Hugh were interred.

The village was small. It really
was more of a hamlet. After consulting an elderly woman sitting on a bench
outside of her cottage, Ben returned with a big smile.

“Finally,” said Ben, “finally.”

“Yes?” asked Amy full of
anticipation.

“The carter’s name is Joseph
Sallison, and he lives with his daughter just about five hundred yards down
yonder path,” said Ben pointing to a muddy path that disappeared into a clump
of bushes.

In old Eben’s skilled hands the
coach was able to make it along the overgrown road and out into a field. Next
to the field was a miserable structure that it would almost be charitable to
call a hovel. An old man and a young woman holding a baby came out of the
dwelling puzzled to see a coach in such an unlikely place.

“Wait here,” said Ben climbing out
of the coach.

Amy climbed out right after him.

“Hello,” Ben called to the ragged
pair. “I’m looking for Joseph Sallison. Are you Joseph Sallison?”

“What does ‘e want with Joseph
Sallison,” asked the old man with a gravelly voice and a face clouded with
suspicion.

“I’m Benjamin Anstruther, and I’m
trying to help Lady Amaryllis here, locate a relative of a poor friend.”

“Why doesn’t milady’s friend come
herself rather than sending ‘e.”

“We were journeying to Bristol and
promised to try to find someone who might know of the father of milady’s
friend.”

Ben strode back to the coach and
opened the door so Sallison could see inside.

“We are accompanied by the sister
of Lady Amaryllis and her sister’s governess.”

Ben realized he needed to put the
old man at ease and hoped if he saw no threat he might be more willing to talk.
Not only was the old man visibly suspicious but Ben felt he could see fear in
the old man’s eyes.

“We only want to ask a few
questions that might help a lady know more about her relatives. May we ask you
a few questions?”

“I don’ see how anything I say
could help ‘e,” rasped the old man his face squinted.

“We have been told that about
twenty years ago you worked for the late Sir Hugh Anselan.”

Sallison shook his old gray head
and mumbled what sounded like a denial. Only with pressure from Ben did he
finally admit that he had worked on the Anselan estate. While Ben was probing
the old man, Amy wondered if she might get any useful information out of the
ragged young woman with the baby.

She went to the young woman, who
was about Amy’s age, and asked her about her baby. At first, Amy engaged in
casual talk hoping to put her at ease. When the young woman went inside the
hovel Amy shivered as she boldly followed her not knowing what she would
encounter in such a place. Amy many times had been in the homes of the poor but
the poor of Stokely-on-Arne kept their cottages in good condition despite their
humble estate. This hovel looked uncared for. Once inside, she was relieved to
see that it was not crawling with vermin as she had feared.

When they took leave of Joseph
Sallison and his daughter and granddaughter, the coach headed towards Bath.
They were through with Bristol, at least for the time being. Mrs. Parkhurst had
crushed herself against the side of the coach in seeming fear that Amy, who was
sitting next to her, was contaminated from her visit inside the Sallison’s
hovel. Amy could not entirely blame her.

“Well, Ben, what did you find out?”

“For one thing, the old man hates
to talk, but I did get some cooperation from him.”

“And how did you accomplish that?”

“I told him I respected that his
time was valuable and that I was willing to pay him a golden guinea if he would
answer my questions. And I promised him it was for our ears only.”

Mrs. Parkhurst, who appeared to be
asleep now, made a noise that sounded like hmmph.

“A golden guinea? He probably
didn’t earn five shillings all last year, if that much. You know he will just
buy rum with the money, and get drunk?” said Amy teasing.”

“I don’t doubt it, and I don’t
care. I wanted him to talk. And I’m doing it for you Lady Amaryllis.”

“Yes, I am truly grateful. Did you
find out anything of use?”

“Not as much as I would have liked
and I’m not sure if I can believe everything he told me, but it is something to
go on. Amy, that old man is scared of something, if not downright terrified. It
just doesn’t make sense. Sir Hugh has been dead for twenty years, and to my
knowledge there are no Anselans anywhere near Bristol. What could he fear?”

“Could it be the same thing I have
to fear?”

Ben looked at her and then shook
his head in puzzlement.

“Sallison worked for Sir Hugh and
also for Sir Hugh’s son Ishmael after the old shipowner died. I felt he was
uncomfortable in some way about Sir Hugh’s death. But here is where it gets
really interesting. He said he was following the coach with the Anselan estate’s
wagon that day as they were headed back to Bristol. Some of the luggage which
they couldn’t get on the coach was in the wagon. As they were traveling on the
road at a place where it runs alongside the River Avon and were nearing the
bridge over the river, the horses bolted. Then the coach ended up in the river
just before the river reached the bridge. He thinks the coach fell into the
Avon because the road was so muddy and in bad condition because of recent heavy
rains.”

“Did he say why the horses bolted?”

“He said he didn’t know, Amy. He
was alone in the wagon and it was some distance behind the coach, and in the
torrential rain he was getting further and further behind. He could see the
horses bolt and he saw the accident, but with difficulty because of the
distance and the blinding rain.”

Ben looked Amy in the eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t find out
more. And I’m not even sure about what he told me. He was very uncomfortable. I
felt as if he was unsure if he was telling me something he shouldn’t. He may
have wanted to appear as if he was earning his guinea, but what can I believe?”

“Maybe he was telling the truth and
just nervous, but even if only some of it is true, we know more than we knew
when we set out from Bath this morning.”

Mrs. Parkhurst was now loudly
snoring.

“That’s true. How did it go with
you? I saw you go into that nasty hovel. I know you were engaging the girl in
small talk to keep her away so I could probe the old man, but she didn’t happen
to mention anything useful, did she. You can never tell what she might have
picked up over the years, and even if the information is not accurate, although
I hope it turns out to be, at least now they have a guinea and that can do a
great deal to improve their lives. I’m not as cynical as you are. I don’t think
he will spend it on booze.”

“It is nice to know you are not as
cynical as I am, but it was his granddaughter—you did know that the young woman
is his granddaughter not his daughter—who told me that every ha’penny he comes
across, he will spend it on rum.”

“Oh,” said Ben sheepishly, “that is
most unfortunate.”

“Not entirely,” said Amy, “at
least, not for us. You see, when he is sober his lips are tighter than a clam,
but when he is drunk he evidently rambles on for ours revealing a great deal.
He doesn’t seem to remember when he sobers up, but he has sternly warned her
not to reveal anything she might learn from his past. He has implied that it
would be very dangerous if she did.”

“That theme of danger again,” mused
Ben. “What did you find out?”

“She clearly was cautious about
what she said to me, but I did learn some things. For one thing he lied to you,
and to the jury if he told them what he told you. He did not take the wagon to
town. Or anyway, his granddaughter says he says he didn’t. When the coach with
the captain and the lawyer and the others was ready to leave, the wagon was
supposed to accompany them carrying their trunks, but he was off arguing with
his daughter, the girl’s mother. She accused Sir Hugh Anselan’s son Ishmael of
making improper advances towards her and possibly being the father of her
babe.”

Mrs. Parkhurst made a noise that
sounded like a snort of disapproval, but when they looked at her she had her
eyes tightly closed.

“Joseph Sallison seemed to suggest
that his daughter should not only put up with Ishmael’s advances since he’s her
better, but should accept it as Ishmael’s right. She screamed at her father
that he was no true father or he would not suggest that she violate holy writ,
and that she is running off to Bristol to meet up with a farm lad she knows,
and go with him to America. She then ran away from her father, clutching her
baby, and he never saw either of them again. It’s a story he repeats over and
over when he’s drunk but does not speak a word of it while sober. His
granddaughter has been endlessly forced to listen as Joseph Sallison angrily
tells her,
Your mother ran off with your baby sister and a worthless farm
boy to America and she’s not had enough respect for me, her father, to even
send a letter. Good riddance!
”

“I’m afraid I like Sallison less
and less the more I hear about him.”

“There is something I’m trying to
force myself to not even think about,” said Amy with a dismal look on her face.
“What if I am that young woman’s baby? That would make me Joseph Sallison’s
granddaughter”

“Please don’t take this as an
insult, but that is completely absurd. There is no way that can be. The girl
ran off to America with her farm lad. And if by some sad chance, it was her
that washed up on the sands of the Bristol Channel, the dead babe was with
her.”

“I suppose you are right,” Amy said
forlornly. “Anyway, the servants couldn’t find Sallison, so one of the visitors
offered to drive the wagon to town since they had to leave with some urgency.
There was a passenger on the wagon. When Joseph Sallison was finally found, Sir
Hugh was so enraged that he ordered him to walk to Bristol immediately and
retrieve the wagon from the shipping office even though it was getting late in
the day.”

“Good old Sir Hugh,” said Ben.