The Captain's Daughter (29 page)

Because the
preparations did not require the presence of the girls during the afternoon,
they decided on a picnic, each was agreeable for her own reasons. It would
prove a pleasant distraction before they went to the stinky and sooty old city.
The two young men were most happy to come along to provide “protection”.

Since it was a
windy afternoon they decided that rather than have the picnic on their favorite
hilltop, they would instead have it beside the road to Hillfield house. They
selected a spot next to the path that led to the river and the old mill. There
was a beautiful bower that was perfect for their purposes. Since they had eaten
lunch and did not want to do their dinner too much damage, they took along some
cakes, pastries, and some cider. Their appetite was lackluster at best, and
their snack, because that is what it really was, soon gave way to other
activities.

After they had
nibbled some cake, Mattie and Leo were quietly talking and Amy suspected they
would prefer there was no eavesdropper present. Emma was tracking down flora
and fauna in the form of insects, mostly stripped ones with stingers, which Amy
considered slightly threatening but which fascinated Emma. Pigsly was crawling
through the bushes, evidently on some mission for Emma. His bright red rounded
face and little orange moustache and big mop of orange hair seemed to combine
with his grunts to truly present a porcine appearance.

After
chastising herself for thinking impolite thoughts about the friendly Pigsly,
Amy wandered off by herself down the path in the direction of the River Arne
and the mill.

For a while she
sat by the river, daydreaming. It was no longer swollen, but gurgled past quite
lazily. She drowsily viewed the old mill. Old ruins, amid lush vegetation,
seemed to project an aura of ancient times and knights in armor, even if in
life it was more likely country wights in village cloth.

Finally, drawn
to the ruin she struggled to her feet and carefully stepped from stone to stone
over the ford to the mill. Walking through the old arched stone door she went
inside the ruined building. She loved to stand inside the ruin and absorb the
feeling of antiquity. She was standing with her eyes closed, looking upward for
no apparent reason, when she thought she heard voices.

She listened.
At first, all was silent, and then she heard them again, louder and more
distinct. They were coming from the west, the direction of the London Road.
Then she saw them. Two rough looking characters were making their way through
the brush, and heading in the direction of the mill. Could she make it out of
the mill and back to the others without being seen?

Taking a
chance, she slipped out of the ruin, but she realized there was no way she
could cross the ford without the two ruffians seeing her, so she slipped around
to the east side of the mill and crouched down. They were carrying a small
metal box. She immediately called to mind what Sir Frank had said. They must be
taking some loot to their hiding place across the river.

Fearfully, she
realized they would almost certainly see her as they passed the mill. Even if
they were too occupied to spot her at first, as they struggled with the casket
across the ford they couldn’t help but see her. She could not move to the back
of the mill because of the millpond and the old wrecked millwheel. A lad might
make it if he was lucky, but she couldn’t in her crinoline dress. She braced
herself as the voices reached the mill.

They stopped
and one of them came forward. She could see the edge of his hat brim as she
crouched as low as possible. By the movements of his hat she could tell that he
was looking in both directions.

“Il n'y a
personne ici. Il est sûr.”

Then the other
man spoke. He was inside the mill.

“Then come’n
‘elp me you fiddler’s monkey.”

To Amy’s
overwhelming relief the lookout joined the other ruffian in the mill. She
thought of looking in the window to see what they were up to, but realized that
was inviting certain discovery. Then she noticed a small crack in the wall.

Through it she
could see the two men. They were pushing some of the weeds and debris on the
floor of the mill out of the way. Then they produced an iron bar and began to
pry loose a flat stone from the floor of the mill. There was a gap under the
stone into which the men lowered the chest.

After they were
finished, they put the stone back in place, pushed the weeds and debris back
over the stone, and when they were content that everything looked natural
again, they quickly left. Amy turned and leaned against the wall of the mill.
She looked down at the river, and then rose and carefully looked through the
gap in the mill wall. Seeing that the coast was clear, she climbed down to the
river, crossed the ford, and returned to the others, her heart pounding away.

At breakfast
the next morning, the young people were
abuzz with their journey to London that morning. Amy’s mother said nothing, but
ate her breakfast in silence, while her father ate in silence as usual. When
they were almost finished, Sir Frank and Lady Ramsey came into the dining room.

Sir Frank had made an early morning
visit to the local authorities to tell them what Amy had seen the previous day.
After her frightening near encounter with the brigands, she had not told her
companions what happened because she did not want to spoil their fun nor scare
them. She felt it was over and done with, and she had come out of it all right,
and she didn’t want her mother to find out, so discretion seemed the best
approach.

Later, after dinner, when she found
Sir Frank alone in the living room, she told him all that had occurred that
afternoon. He commended her discretion and recommended that she tell no one.
Information has its way of seeping out through unseen cracks. A casual word
spoken while a servant is present. The servant makes an innocent remark in the
village that finds its way to the wrong ears. And this did involve valuables
that the authorities might wish to leave in their hiding place so as not to
alert the thieves until they were ready to apprehend them.

They were soon on their way to
London Town. The only dampener to their excitement and exuberance was that
their mother decided that it would be improper for the girls to go to London
without her being present. So Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge were journeying to
London with them. At the Ramsey’s insistence, they rode in the Ramsey’s coach.
Amy and Emma were with their father and mother and the Ramseys, while Mattie
was with Leo and Pigsly in Pigsly’s green monster.

Early Wednesday morning, Sir Frank
took Emma along on his visit to the observatory at Greenwich to see the
telescope and astronomical equipment, as well as the mark where the prime
meridian ran through the observatory, the 0° of longitude.

When they were gone, and her mother
and Lady Ramsey were deep in conversation in the living room, while her father,
not being in his own house with his own study, sat a silent sentinel beside
them, Amy approached Leo.

“Would you be willing,” she asked,
“to take me to where Sir Benjamin is residing?”

Amy was not as aggressive as she
had been the previous day at lunch, largely because now she was in London where
Ben was, she did not feel quite as frustrated, and also because some reality
has set in. Now she was here she didn’t know quite what she wanted to do or
where to begin. It took a little coaxing, but finally Leo acquiesced. A week
ago she would have been loath to make such a request asking him to go into such
a dangerous rat’s nest of crime and violence, but now she had found out that
the genial and benign looking Leo was something more, and capable of defending
himself and others, she felt comfortable asking him.

He agreed, less than
enthusiasticly, but it all proved fruitless as Ben was not there. Seeing Amy’s
frustration, and trying to cheer her, Leo suggested they go back to the house
and get Amy and Mattie’s mother’s permission to go to Vauxhall Gardens, which
would be closing soon for the winter. It costs two shillings each but was a lot
of fun with fireworks and various acts and music.

At the house, to Amy’s surprise,
her mother wanted to go with them to the Gardens. As they were preparing to
leave, Amy, who had been loath to go, not being in the mood for gay and happy
people, music and entertainments, because of her disappointment at not finding
Ben, decided she had a headache and needed to stay at the house rather than
going along with the others.

Perhaps it is the power of
suggestion, or the guilt over embellishing or even inventing a headache, that
caused Amy, who was exhausted with fretting over Ben and everything else that
had been going on, to lie down to rest.

About three in the afternoon, one
of the maids came in to tell her there was someone who wished to see her. The
person was waiting in the kitchen not the drawing room, because they came to
the back door. That puzzled Amy who could not imagine who would come to see her
in London, and why they would go to the back door of the house and not the
front door.

In the kitchen she found a woman
with refined features, and who was not all that old, but looked worn and weary.
The woman was wearing what were once the clothes of an affluent lady, but now
they were worn and patched. Amy assumed they must be cast-offs.

With uncertainty, she approached
the woman.

“May I help you?

“Are you Amaryllis Sebbridge,
milady?”

“Yes, I am. May I inquire who you
are and why you want to see me?”

“I am Christine Anselan.”

It took a few moments for it to
sink in what the woman had just said. It was, of course, a name she was not
unfamiliar with, although in a far different context. Sir Hugh Anselan had
owned the ship that Captain Buchanan had commanded. Captain Buchanan and his
wife and tiny daughter had visited Sir Hugh Anselan the day their coach plunged
into the River Avon and they drowned. Sir Hugh had a ne’er-do-well son named
Ishmael who seemed to have disappeared off the surface of the earth. He was the
one that even Ben with all his acquaintances and contacts could not track down.
No one knew of Ishmael Anselan or his whereabouts. And now a woman, a stranger
to Amy, but with that same name, wanted to talk to her. Who was this woman?

All Amy could say was: “Christine
Anselan?”

“Yes. I am the wife of Ishmael
Anselan.”

Amy drew in her breath. It took her
a short while to assimilate this information and recover from the shock.

“Did you know my father and
mother?” Amy asked, inwardly saying to herself,
who I think are my father
and mother, or might be
.

“No,” the woman replied. “I married
Ishmael Anselan some time after he had lost Broomlee Park, his father’s estate,
and all his father’s business holdings. The truth is, that after he squandered
all his father’s money, he married me and squandered all my money too.”

Christine saw the way Amy was
looking at her, almost as if asking “why marry such a wastrel?”

“I see how you look at me, as if I
were some poor girl that got tricked into marriage by a scoundrel, or forced
into marriage by a parent, but neither is the case. I knew what he was,
more-or-less. Ishmael has never been very sly and shrewd about concealing
things. He is as clumsy and transparent about his intentions as a clear crystal
goblet. But one thing he is, or rather can be if he wants to, is charming. Poor
Christine got charmed into marrying an incompetent wastrel, coward, and
weakling. And look where I am now.”

Startled as she was by her visitor,
there was something that did not occur to Amy at first, but now she began to
wonder about it.

“How did you know who I am,
Christine Anselan? I’m confused. I have come to seriously speculate about the
possibility that I am the daughter of a ship’s captain who died some twenty
years past, by the name of John Buchanan. How do you know about me? What do you
know about me?

“You really
are
the daughter
of John Buchanan.”

Amy drew in her breath. “Are you
sure?”

“I am absolutely sure.”

“How do you know? How could you
possibly know?”

“You might say that Ishmael Anselan
told me, but not very nicely. There are a few things you need to know
Amaryllis, or rather Agnes.”

“Agnes?”

“Yes, that is the name your parents
gave you when you were born.”

Agnes
. Amy turns the name
over in her mind.

“Do you know your mother’s name? It
was Margaret, although I gather her friends called her Madge. The day they died
they had been called to Broomlee Hall by Sir Hugh Anselan.”

“I know,” said Amy, “my father was
going to be promoted.

Christine laughs almost sardonically
but clearly not aimed at Amy.

“Promotion? It was much more than a
promotion. Do you know anything about your father?”

“Only what appeared in the papers,
and in legal testimony and that was mainly concerned with the accident.”

“Your grandmother’s name, your
father’s mother, was Caroline Buchanan. When she was young she had run off with
a young Scotsman, a doctor I believe, and married him. Her family was furious,
and shunned her, this included her brother. As years went by his attitude
softened and when her son was grown he gave him a job in the family business.
That was why Sir Hugh hired your father.”

“Sir Hugh was my father’s uncle? He
was my...my grandmother’s brother?

“Yes, that is true. Sir Hugh had
become more and more troubled by his son Ishmael’s scandalous ways and his
incompetence, and it was clear he could not let him take over and ruin the
business. Although, Sir Hugh felt perfectly healthy, he knew he must do
something, so he decided to make your father his heir and for that reason he
summoned your father as well as his lawyer to make a new will, which he did.
And on the road back to Bristol your father and the lawyer, in fact, all who
knew of the will, died in the “accident”.”

“You don’t believe it was an
accident?” asked Amy in surprise. “Would Ishmael be as bold, as evil, to kill
his own cousin, as well as innocent people, to avoid losing his inheritance?”

“Ishmael? No, he is a coward, but
he might have someone do it for him.”

“But they died less than an hour,
maybe less than a half hour, after the will was changed, how could he have
arranged that?”

“I am sure he had figured out what
was afoot.”

“How do you possibly know all
this?”

“When I was first married,” replied
Christine, “I met various members of his family while he was still able to keep
up appearances—with my money.”

“Ishmael Anselan is still alive?”

“Very much so.”

“So he must be the danger I was
warned about.”

Amy explained the package she
received and the letter. Christine was clearly puzzled by the letter and who
could have written it, but she pointed out that although Ishmael was no danger
to Amy personally, his acquaintances were. Christine strongly emphasized to Amy
what a timid coward Ishmael was.

“One thing I must know, Christine,
how did you know where to find me?

Christine explained that Ishmael
had long since abandoned her after her money ran out.

“That’s why I live in
poverty—genteel poverty—but it still is poverty. Typical of Ishmael, once all
threats to his inheritance were out of the way he lost interest in the will and
failed to destroy it. When he spent his way into hard times we lived in the
house where I now waste away my days. When he worked out some scheme to get
money he left me and forced his mother to take him in.”

“His mother is still alive?”

“Yes she is, poor woman.”

“That would be Sir Hugh Anselan’s
widow?”

“I can’t imagine what that poor
woman has to go through,” said Christine shaking her head. “I know how he
treats people and she has had to put up with him all these years. When he
abandoned me, he left all of his papers. I thought of destroying them, but
decided to hide them, out of spite I suppose, so if he ever needed them he
couldn’t find them. A few days ago he crashed into the house in a most
troubled, almost deranged, state, and demanded the papers. He was furious and
distraught when he couldn’t find them. He searched for a long time to try and
find if I had hidden them, but he never found them. Ishmael is just not very
smart. They were not very well hidden. In his ranting, I learned that an heir
had turned up, evidently you, and I learned your name, and even where you were
residing.”

“He knows where I am staying?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Am I in danger from him?”

“Not him personally, but his evil
friends, or acquaintances, as he has no real friends.”

“How does he know where I am
staying?”

“It seems you told him.”

“I told him?” Amy gasped in
disbelief. “I’ve never even met the scoundrel.

“In a way you are right, you
probably have never met the scoundrel, but you have met the charmer. You’ve
even danced with him.”

“Danced with him?

Where
, the thought flies
through Amy’s mind, which was in turmoil. It could not be any of the locals at
home. It must have been someone at the ball. Her dance partners fly through her
mind.
Who
?

“You even showed him your prized
locket. That’s how he knew who you were.”

Eskman! Amy can’t believe it. Not
Lord Eskman. He was so...so charming.

“But it can’t be Eskman. His name
is not Ishmael. His friends call him Hughie.”

“He uses his middle name, which was
his father’s name. I will go now,” says Christine. “I came discreetly and I
will leave discreetly. His henchmen might be watching.”

She looked at Amy in a combination
of sadness and triumph. Then she reached into her bag and took out some papers
and handed them to Amy.

“This is the will. And in case it
is of some relevance, I have written where Eskman resides on the front paper.”

Before Amy could say a word,
Christine was gone.