The Captain's Daughter (22 page)

“I don’t mean you mother, I mean
Mrs. Parkhurst, and of course, Emma.”

“Well I...” said Mrs. Parkhurst,
and gave a sort of a gasp.

Whether she was indignant about
being called an old lady or about the suggestion of her going on another
lengthy coach trip was not clear.

“If Mrs. Parkhurst does not wish to
go,” said Emma, knowing that Mrs. Parkhurst did not wish to go, “I could
accompany Amy.” She hurriedly added, “I really feel it would be most
appropriate to let Amy find out more about her...” She was about to say
parents, and realized that would not be helpful, “...about her background and
relatives.”

“I don’t know, I really don’t know
what to do,” her mother said fretfully.

Suddenly, her father broke in.

“Let Amy go.”

Everyone stared at Sir Anthony in
surprised silence. Amy was not really sure if he knew what the conversation was
about or if he was just repeating the words, but she seized on the opportunity
it presented and she persuaded her mother to consent.

“Oh dear,” mumbled Lady Sibbridge,
“I just don’t think a girl of Emma’s age is an adequate chaperone. You really
must go with them, Mrs. Parkhurst.”

Mrs. Parkhurst was unable to refuse
as she saw that Amy’s mother had slipped back into her web of personal
confusion and indecision.

“We should set out early tomorrow,”
suggested Ben.

Mrs. Parkhurst was rumbling with
consternation, but they persuaded her to reluctantly agree, even though she
said when she was young such scandalous behavior would not be allowed.

Mattie, who heretofore had not
participated in the conversation, asked if she could visit Cassandra Wardsley
in Bath. Her mother demurred saying they could not do that unless they wrote
for permission. But an unusually assertive Mattie said she was told when she
was there that she could visit anytime and that was “just a few days ago.”

Neither Ben nor Amy wished to cause
a problem by objecting, and Amy’s mother couldn’t refuse one daughter going on
the journey when she thinks she might have given her consent to the other two,
even though the circumstances are different. Although, in truth she is not
entirely certain that she did give her consent.

Amy did not sleep well that night.
A good night’s rest was stolen from her by an excitement and anticipation she
did not quite understand. Over and over she told herself that maybe just maybe
they were about to make progress. If they could indeed track down the
boatswain, and if he was the old seamen who had left the satchel, then he would
almost certainly know the secret—or at least more of it than anyone they had
yet met. And he may well know the answer to the mystery of the Captain’s
daughter.

They set
out
early
on the morning of August the fifth. That night they stayed once again at the
Greyhound in Maidenhead. By Tuesday evening they reached the Quillins’ house,
where once again Lord and Lady Quillin were not in residence, and where again
they had been kindly invited to stay while making their inquiries in the
Bristol area.

On Wednesday
morning, because they were tired from their journey, they left a little late.
They reached Bristol later in the morning.

After eating
lunch, they went immediately to the office of the shipping company that owned
the
Bristol Ark
. Ben and Amy were greeted by a rather colorful clerk who
wore a checkered waistcoat that was too tight, and who had a narrow face and a
nose that protruded outward in a manner that made it a most noticeable feature
that Amy and Ben had to struggle not to look at.

“I am told,”
said Ben, “that you had a captain by the name of Captain Maitland?”

“Yes,” said the
clerk sadly, “we lost him this past March. It was on the 26th. A very sad
business, very sad business indeed.”

Amy wondered if
the man was about to start crying. Thankfully, that did not happen.

“We heard that
he drowned,” said Ben, “is that true?”

The clerk
looked down sorrowfully and nodded his head.

Gesturing
towards Amy, Ben spoke softly to the clerk. “We are trying to find out more
information for a relative who wishes to remain anonymous. I understand that he
had a boatswain that served with him for many years.”

“Yes,” agreed
the clerk, “that would be old Sam Grieves.”

“Would it be
possible for us to speak with him?”

“He left our
service after that fateful voyage.”

“Does he live
in Bristol?”

“No,” the still
sad clerk shook his head. “He now lives in Montpellier.”

“He lives in
France!” said Amy surprised.

The clerk
looked at her disdainfully.

“Isn't
Montpellier in the south of France?” she asked, confused by his reaction.

The clerk
looked down his very long nose at Amy, all the way to the very tiny point.

“I see you are
not from these parts, milady. Montpellier is just north of the city limits of
Bristol.”

“Oh.” Amy hoped
she wasn't blushing.

She looked up
at Ben who said nothing. Although he did seem to have a slight grin, which she
interpreted as being condescending. How was she supposed to know every little
hamlet around Bristol? The clerk turned to a younger man sitting on a tall
stool next to a small slanted desk.

“Higgins, you
remember old Sam Grieves do you not? Doesn't he live next to the Baths?”

The younger man
nodded in agreement. The clerk turned back to Ben and Amy.

“In truth I
didn't know Captain Maitland had any relatives. Anyway, Grieves lives near
Rennison’s Baths. If you go to Montpellier, just ask anyone and they can point
the Baths out to you.”

“Thank you.
By-the-way, I am Benjamin Anstruther, this lady is Amaryllis Sibbridge, I do
not believe you mentioned your name.”

“Let me offer
my most humble apology, sir. I am Clarence Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick.”

“Milady and I
are most grateful for your assistance Mr. Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick.”

“I am most
humbled that I could be of service,” said Clarence Fitzgerald Fitzpatrick with
a tiny wiggle of the point of his nose.

As they left
the office, Amy through clenched teeth said to Ben: “I am struggling not to
laugh, but I don't think I'm going to be successful.”

But she
was—somewhat. As the coach took them in the direction of Montpellier, the one
just outside of Bristol, not the one in France, Amy could not resist saying to
Ben through a grin, “I will wager you did not know there was Montpellier at
Bristol.”

“I'm afraid you
would lose your wager.”

“Really? Then
prove it!”

“Recall that I
have been around Bristol several times lately.”

“Back there in
the shipping office,” said Amy, “both you and Mr. Fitz-Fitz, looked at me as if
I was daft. If you are so much smarter than me, all I ask is proof. Is that too
much to ask for?”

“How do I do that?” Ben twisted his
chin in thought. “I know. Not only did I know about Montpellier, but I can tell
you all about the Baths. They have a huge bath. They say it is some four
hundred feet across. I haven’t been inside so I can’t confirm that. It has a
coffee house and a bowling green. There are teagardens and, oh yes, an inn.”

Amy wondered if Ben was making it
all up, and then they arrived in front of Rennison’s Baths.

“If you know all that, how come you
don’t know where our Sam Grieves dwells?”

“Because then there would be no
mystery,” he answered with a twinkle in his eyes. “But mostly because our Sam
Grieves as you refer to him, is less famous than the Baths.”

But fortunately Sam Grieves
evidently had some fame, or more likely it was because so few townsmen lived in
Montpellier that the first person they spoke to, an older woman with a large
bundle, said: “He be livin’ in Picton Lane, which be ‘bout an hundred yards
t’wards town and thirty yards south. There be Picton Lane.”

There indeed be Picton Lane, but
when they located the humble abode of Sam Grieves, there he be not. They
pounded on the door for five minutes, closely watched by a small boy with
stained knee breeches and an even smaller urchin in a little torn dress.
Despite the fancy baths and other facilities only a few hundred feet away,
Montpellier was not the fanciest of neighborhoods.

“We’d best return later.” Ben was
openly disappointed.

As they approached Bath Buildings,
as the street with Rennison’s Baths was imaginatively named, an older man
stumbled around the corner and almost into the path of the coach. He obviously
did not anticipate a coach on the forlorn little lane. He had a bundle of
sticks slung over his shoulder, and a seaman’s cap on his head, and what was
more important, he turned out to be Sam Grieves.

By the time
they turned the coach around and returned to Picton Lane, Sam Grieves had
arrived at his house. Ben alighted from the coach. As Ben helped Amy down from
the carriage, she noticed that the old man had started to tend his little
garden in a self-conscious way, while watching them with a grave expression.
Was it curiosity? Or was it fear? A coach stopping on the narrow lane in front
his house, and a lady and gentlemen dismounting must be an unusual sight.
Perhaps he was just wondering who they are and why they were there.

Amy spoke to
Ben in a low voice so the old man would not hear, which would likely be true if
he were deaf.

“I don’t know
if it is him. He’s not wearing a sailor suit. If he just left the sea at the end
of March or early April would he be tending flowers in a garden?”

Ben, with a
friendly smile born out of his being sure the old man overheard, assured her
that even sailors had once lived on land as children, and were likely well
acquainted with gardens, or perhaps he just always wanted one, or maybe it just
came with the cottage.

           
The old man warily stared at them as they approached.

“Good morning,”
greeted Ben in a manner normally used for more gentle folk than a grizzled old
seaman. “I am Ben Anstruther and this is Amy Sibbridge.”

Amy was sure
she saw a definite reaction in the old man’s demeanor. Ben saw it too.

The old man
straightened up and looked intently at her. He looked uncomfortable.

“We believe you
may know, or rather, know of Miss Sibbridge. Her full first name is Amaryllis.
You are Sam Grieves are you not?”

The old man
hesitated, and realizing they must have asked around for him, acknowledged that
he was. He had no other course of action.

“A month or so
past, Miss Sibbridge received a small satchel with some items and we are
inquiring if you are the person who delivered it.”

Sam Grieves was
still eyeing them warily.  

“You said your
name is Benjamin,” he asked, evidently fearing to use the diminutive form of
Ben’s name even though Ben had used it himself.

He struggled to
recall Ben’s last name.

“Ben
Anstruther,” Ben helped. “I live not far from Lady Sibbridge. I am a friend of
her family, and I have been making some efforts to assist her with finding out
who delivered the pouch, because it contained certain items that whetted our
curiosity, but did not answer the questions they raised.”

Sam was most
clearly discomfited. There was no way out other than to confess.

“Indeed Sir, I
was he who delivered the satchel, but naught I know of its contents. I had been
honor-bound by one I may not name, to deliver the satchel to Lady Amaryllis
Sibbridge.”

“May you then
direct us to the one who asked you to deliver the pouch, or if you cannot do
that, may we inquire of some means of reaching him? Perhaps we could send him a
letter.”

Sam Grieves
seemed to have some difficulty answering Ben’s request.

“I was
instructed to take the satchel to Lady Sibbridge, but I am honor-pledged to
keep the sender’s name secret.”

“You cannot
help us,” inquired Ben.

The old man
sadly shook his head.

“Tell me Sam
Grieves, did you not serve under Captain Maitland?”

“I did indeed
for many years. And a good captain and friend the captain was.”

“And, Sam, did
not the pouch come from him.”

“I can assure
you sir, the satchel did not come from Mister Maitland.”

It seemed to
Amy there was something odd about this conversation. She was pretty sure Sam
was hiding something. He was choosing his words carefully, but why?

“If you cannot
tell us the source,” asked Ben, “and we respect pledges of confidence, is there
anything you can tell us. The contents of the pouch indicate it is very
important that Lady Sibbridge finds out what they mean. It could be a matter of
life and death.”

The old man was
struggling. He was clearly troubled.

“If you cannot
betray a confidence perhaps there is something else you can tell us. How long
did you serve with Captain Maitland?”

“I served
under
Captain Maitland nigh onto twenty years.”

“That was when
he was promoted to captain, wasn’t it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“But you served
with him longer?”

“That be true,
Sir.”

“So you served
under Captain Buchanan?”

Sam visibly
stiffened. He acted almost as if he were trapped and unsure of what to do. Amy
watched him with great curiosity. Why did these questions bother him so very
much? They seemed like normal questions to Amy. Why were they so troubling to
Sam Grieves?

Ben repeated
the question, and Sam reluctantly answered yes.

Ben changed the
subject. “Captain Maitland drowned? How did that happen to someone of Captain
Maitland’s skill and experience?”

Sam told them
that Maitland went out on deck at night in the middle of a storm. No one saw,
but Captain Maitland must have been swept overboard by a rogue wave.

“Captain
Buchanan also drowned,” mused Ben “Being a ship’s master must be hazardous.”

“But Captain
Buchanan didn’t drown at sea,” hastened Sam.

“Didn’t he
drown in the River Avon,” asked Ben?

“That he did.”

“There was a
lawyer and lawyer’s clerk that drowned with him?”

“Yes sir there
was.”

“And Captain
Buchanan’s wife and child drowned with him?”

Sam hesitated
and then said, “So they told me.”

Sam was clearly
uncomfortable.

“Sam, I read
the summary of the coroner’s inquest. Two witnesses testified that Joseph
Sallison, a servant of Sir Hugh’s followed the coach with a baggage cart. They
testified that he was alone. I have reason to believe that they lied, and since
they would personally have no reason to lie and could be severely punished if
the court ever found that they had perjured themselves, I feel that if they did
lie, they must have had a compelling reason to do so. It must be either that
they were handsomely bribed or that they were in fear, perhaps of their very
lives. Now I have seen one of those men, and I cannot see any convincing
evidence that he ever received much money. Perhaps he did and squandered it,
but I don’t think so.”

Amy closely
watched Sam Grieves. He was almost squirming.

“But I have
also been told by a very good source that Joseph Sallison did not drive that
cart to Bristol. I was told that someone else drove it and he had a youth with
him. Now listen closely Sam. I seem to recall that in a conversation I’ve had
recently, that I was told that First Mate Maitland was of diminutive stature.
Perhaps I remember incorrectly, but if not, that seems to suggest that seen
from the distance Maitland could have appeared to be a youth.”

Sam was clearly
afraid.

“Were you
there?” Ben paused. “Sam. Did you drive that cart?

Sam clearly did
not know what to say.

“Sam, by your
response you have just told me yes. So now was Maitland in that cart with you?”

Ben had asked
the question firmly and forcefully.

Both Ben and
Amy are surprised when Sam confidently answered, No!

“No?” Ben
repeated puzzled. “I know that you drove that cart, Sam. You wouldn’t have
hesitated to try and come up with an answer otherwise, and I know you’re an
honest man or you wouldn’t have struggled so hard to answer me without lying,
so here is another question I...
we
must know the answer. Did you follow
the carriage and see it go into the River Avon?”

“I did not
follow it but I went ahead of it, but we...I saw it go into the river.”

“Did Margaret
Buchanan drown? All the occupants of the carriage must have drowned. The river
was at flood stage and flowing swiftly. No one could have gotten out alive, or
at least that is what I think. Was First Mate Maitland with you in the cart,
now answer truthfully Sam?