The Captain's Daughter (20 page)

Amy sat
at the writing desk in her room with a book
of poetry. She tried to read, but her mind kept drifting to other thoughts and
they were not happy thoughts. A full month had passed since her visit to
Bristol with Benjamin Anstruther.

The excitement that had come with
the visit and the rough characters they had interviewed, with the promise of
more knowledge, had sadly waned. In retrospect, it seemed as if they had found
out little of value, if indeed they had found out anything that would further
her quest or answer the questions that burned inside her, crying out for
answers where there seemed to be no answers.

She was startled out of her reverie
by a hurried knocking on her door.

“Who is it?”

“Emma,” came the muffled reply. It
was really a loud whisper.

“Come in, Emma. What is it this
time...”

Before Amy had finished, Emma had
dashed across her room and hurriedly begun crawling under her bed.

“What are you doing, Emma?”

“I’m looking for something.”

“Under my bed?”

“Yes,” said Emma as she disappeared
completely under Amy’s bed. “If anybody comes looking for me, I’m not here.”

“Let me fully understand your
request. We all know we will go to perdition for lying. You want me to consign
myself to perdition so your teacher doesn’t find you?”

“I think my circumstances will
exempt you from that fate,” whispered Emma as someone banged on Amy’s door.

In response to Amy’s invitation to
come in, Mrs. Parkhurst burst in through the door. She looked around the room
with a fierceness that was quite impressive to Amy.

“I am looking for your sister.”
Mrs. Parkhurst spoke through clenched teeth.

“Which one?” asked Amy innocently.

“The usual one,” snarled Mrs.
Parkhurst as she turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.

After a few moments, Emma dragged
herself out from under Amy’s bed, standing and shaking herself off in a manner
that reminded Amy of a puppy.

“Did you find what you were looking
for? Your dear tutor did not find what she was looking for, if I am not
mistaken.”

“We were having a slight
disagreement,” volunteered Emma.

“She wanted you to study, and you
wanted to go chasing butterflies—or hedgehogs—or something,” said Amy with a
tangible hint of sarcasm.

Emma came over and asked: “Who are
you reading?”

Amy looked at her and shrugged.
“Someone who’s been dead for a while.”

But Emma was already studying the
paper on Amy’s desk. She picked it up and looked at it and set it down again.

Amy sadly shook
her head. “The captain and his wife seemed so promising, but they and their
babe are dead and buried. So I can’t be the captain’s daughter. I wondered
about old Joseph’s granddaughter, but Ben says no, if I had been the daughter
of a stableman’s girl your father and mother wouldn’t have made me a part of
the family, and I suppose he is right. Mother must have had a reason for...for
adopting me. She must know who I am. Why won’t she tell me Emma?”

“Because you’re
her daughter now,” replied Emma. “You’re Mattie’s sister and my sister. You are
father’s daughter.”

‘I know that
Emma, and I love you and Mattie and mother and father, and I’m deeply grateful
for their love and kindness, but don’t you see why I wonder? Especially is this
true because it has become so baffling. I wish mother would tell me.”

Emma looked
thoughtful and then said: “Maybe she has a reason for not telling you. That is,
if there is anything to tell. People often think that mother is a little
flighty, even a little scatterbrained, but I think she is more astute than we
often give her credit for being.”

“Maybe you’re
right Emma. Maybe it is that strange and elusive danger that we cannot find out
about. And yet what could it be, and especially after twenty years? The deaths
were an unfortunate accident. There is no fortune there that someone might want
to protect or get their hands on, at least not anymore. I am told that it is
long gone. There seems neither motive nor occasion for any threat. Perhaps the
old seaman was just fulfilling a long ago promise. But if that is so, why now?
It seems as if the threat is still alive. But what is it and why is it? If I am
under threat, that means that in some way or in some fashion I must be a threat
of some kind to someone, somewhere. It just makes no sense.”

“I have a
suggestion,” said Emma. “Why don’t we take the trap and my telescope and go for
a ride to the hilltop overlooking Hillfield House. It will take your mind off
your dilemma, and it will take my mind off Mrs. Parkhurst.”

Amy agreed
although she was keenly aware that she should not as it was setting the wrong
example for Emma.

As Amy’s horse,
Pansy, pulled the trap down the drive towards the road, Mrs. Parkhurst came
running out of the house waving her arms madly, but she was no longer within
hearing distance.

Emma had taken
control of the trap, and that was fine with Amy.

“I’ve looked
over that old newspaper so many times Emma, but I can find nothing—nothing that
is useful.”

“Look what a
beautiful day it is, Amy. Look at the little rabbits under that bush.”

“I was given it
for a reason. There has to be something in it. But if there is I cannot see
what it is. If not the captain, then what?”

“Look at the
butterflies, Amy. They’re so beautiful and yet so delicate.”

“I’ve puzzled
over the articles and the advertisements, I have even fantasized over them but
just cannot see anything.”

“Fantasized
over them?” said Emma with a whistle. “What about if we agree to look over the
material together sometime soon, and you stop worrying about it? But right now
let’s have some fun with the telescope.”

Amy was about
speak and Emma suspected that it might have something to do with her dilemma so
Emma hushed her.

They had now
reached the top of the hill and Pansy was resting.

“I feel bad
about bringing this up after what I just said, but I’ve been thinking about
your letter,” said Emma. “How do you know the letter isn’t twenty years old
just like the newspaper? Maybe the old man was fulfilling some ancient
promise—like a deathbed pledge.”

“Emma, you’re
just too dramatic.”

“But you just
said there was a fortune back then. There was a mansion and an estate and a
thriving shipping business. A warning of danger would have made sense back
then. It doesn’t now. So the letter must have been written back then, and all
it is now is ancient history. You have nothing to worry about or fear. It is
all in the past.”

“You are right,
Emma, we should enjoy the day, and then on the way home I will explain what is
wrong with your theory. Because both Ben and I have been over this many times.”

Emma surveyed
the surrounding country, but especially Ben’s house, while Amy sat lost in
thought. After a little while she looked up from her telescope.

“I see no
activity at Ben’s,” said Emma.

“We should go
there,” said Amy.

“Didn’t Ben say
Pierre was no longer there?” asked Emma.

“I wonder if
Ben has returned,” mused Amy. “I still think that the delivery of the items in
the pouch was an effort to tell me something.”

“If that’s so,
whoever sent it didn’t do a very good job then,” responded Emma.”

“That’s because
the letter was unfinished. Let’s go to Ben’s house.”

“All right,”
agreed Emma. “There’s nothing to see today anyway.”

“Should I give
up?” asked Amy plaintively.

 At Ben’s,
after knocking repeatedly, the butler finally answered the door. He impatiently
told Amy that Ben was not there, that he did not know where Ben was, and that
he did not know when Ben would return. Then he closed the front door, rather
more quickly than a polite butler was supposed to do. Ben’s butler seemed to
lack the deferential attitude that any normal butler was supposed to exhibit.
So much so that Amy began to question if he was a real butler.

“I need to go
on looking,” said Amy as they strolled back to the trap. “I need to go on
looking, Emma. I cannot stop now. There are just too many unanswered questions.
There is a solution to every mystery—and answer to every question. You just
have to keep on searching. I need to track down the old man that left the
satchel. He is the key. I must talk to Effie and Mrs. Pemberton again. Maybe
they will remember something important that we missed the first time.”

Emma stopped
Amy as she was about to climb into the trap, and set a hand gently on her arm.

“You are
scaring me, Amy. You are beginning to obsess over this whole matter.”

Amy waited
until the time in the afternoon when Mrs. Pemberton and Effie would have
finished cleaning up after lunch and before they would have started preparing
dinner. She listened outside the kitchen door and decided she had timed it just
right.

“Mrs.
Pemberton.” said Amy as she entered the kitchen. “I know you’re busy and
getting ready to prepare dinner, but may I ask you and Effie a few brief
questions about the old man that visited us a few weeks ago.”

“Certainly,
milady,” said Mrs. Pemberton with a certain wariness.

“Why did you think
the old man was a seaman?”

“We don’t know
for sure, but he was wearing the sort of cap, jacket, and pants that seafarers
wear,” answered Mrs. Pemberton.

“Did you offer
him food?”

“Yes, milady,
but he seemed in a right great hurry and would not accept any victuals.”

“What sort of
an accent did he have?”

“He had a Devon
accent like so many sailors do,” answered Mrs. Pemberton.

“But not a very
strong one,” Effie piped up.

“Effie’s
right,” said Mrs. Pemberton. “It was like he might have come from Devon, but
had been away from there for a number of years.”

There was
nothing else Amy could extract from the pair and Mrs. Pemberton was clearly
anxious to start dinner so Amy thanked them and left. She wondered whether
their erstwhile nautical visitor might have tempered his Devon accent with a
long spell spent in Bristol, England’s other great seaport after Portsmouth.

Almost two
weeks later, and close to the end of July, found Amy and Emma at their hilltop
perch.

“I never
thought I’d say this,” said Emma, “but I’m bored. The problem is that when all
I have to look at is the surrounding country and it only changes twice a year
I’ve finally seen everything about a thousand times. I wish we lived where
there were more people. Why doesn’t Ben have any sheep or cows they would at
least be something to look at? Look at how pitiful I am. I would even be
entertained looking at a cow.”

“You wouldn’t
be bored if you would go back home and let Mrs. Parkhurst inculcate some
knowledge into your brain.”

“I would still
be bored. Mrs. Parkhurst is boring, and she doesn’t teach me anything, or at
least anything interesting.”

Suddenly, Emma
sat up straight and peered through the telescope at Hillfield House.

“What was the
name of the man we met at Hillfield House, Amy?”

“Pierre?”

“No, not him. I
know his name. The other one that looked like a clerk.”

Amy thought for
a few moments. “I think his name was...wasn’t it Bourne? Yes, it was Franklin
Bourne. Why?”

“I think Mr.
Bourne is visiting Hillfield House, or for all I know, maybe he lives there. At
any rate, I see Franklin Bourne, and you know what that means.”

“Yes,” said
Amy. “We can pay Hillfield House a visit and ask for Mr. Bourne, and England’s
most unfriendly butler cannot deny he is there. Let us pay Sir Benjamin
Anstruther a visit, or at least, pay his house a visit.”

When the butler
yanked open the door in response to her knock and looked at her with his
not
them again
look, Amy was so nonplussed that she almost asked to talk to
Ben, but Emma quickly interjected and asked to speak with Mr. Bourne, making
clear that they knew he was there.

The butler at
least didn’t close the door in their face, although he didn’t invite them in.

“Wait here,” he
snorted and left.

They followed
him into the entrance hall. A minute or so later, a puzzled Mr. Bourne entered.

“You want to
see me?”

“How do you do,
Mr. Bourne?” asked Amy in her most polite voice.

“I am well,
thank you,” said a clearly puzzled Franklin Bourne.

 “Actually
we really would like to talk to Sir Benjamin, but we knew you were here and we
need to talk to someone, and Sir Benjamin’s butler is not always cooperative.
But he couldn’t deny you were present.”

“You must
forgive Sir Benjamin’s butler. His duties go somewhat beyond the range of
duties of a normal household servant.”

“We are most
pleased to hear you are well, Mr. Bourne, but please look upon me and my sister
Emma with compassion. Now, can we talk to Sir Benjamin?”

Poor Franklin
Bourne was not as adept as the butler at fielding questions, and he paused and
stuttered. Amy and Emma took that for a sign that Ben must be in the house.

Before Bourne
thought his way through the question that so caught him of guard, Amy decided
to save him from himself.

“Mr. Bourne, we
know that Sir Benjamin is here. We cannot tell you how we know, but may we
speak to him?”

“Uh,” was all
Bourne said, and then “wait a minute,” and hurried out without admitting Ben
was there—or denying it for that matter.

After a few
minutes, he returned.

“I must
apologize milady, but Sir Benjamin cannot see you at this time.”

“That’s all
right,” said Amy looking around. When she spotted a chair, she sat down on the
stiff backed wooden hall chair. “Emma and I can wait. We have all afternoon.”