The Captain's Daughter (21 page)

“Uh, please
wait a minute,” said the confused Mr. Bourne and quickly left their presence
one more time.

“He is
certainly not a very decisive man,” opined Emma.

“Nor a very
resourceful one either,” agreed Amy. “Although, he is polite.”

As time dragged
by, Amy and Emma began to wonder if they really would have to wait all afternoon.
The great grandfather clock in the hall ticked away the seconds and the minutes
as its long pendulum swung back and forth.

Finally, a door
at the back of the entrance hall opened and Mr. Bourne stepped out. He was
followed by Ben, but Ben was not his usual self. He was stooped and had a
blanket around his shoulders. He was leaning on a man Amy presumed was his
valet. As soon as he was through the door, Bourne took his other arm and they
helped him as he struggled to walk.

All Amy could
do was stare at him open-mouthed.

When the three
men were about fifteen feet away they stopped.

“Good
afternoon, ladies,” said Ben hoarsely and then burst into a fit of coughing.
Amy could see the sweat on his brow.

“Good
afternoon, Sir Benjamin,” said Amy shakily. She addressed him formally in
deference to the others who were present. But she could say no more as she
fought back tears and the fear and dread that had arisen like a cold monster
within her.

Emma and Amy
stood frozen to the spot, so aghast were
they at Ben’s condition.

Ben forced a weak smile on his face
to mask his pain and feebleness. “You are the most persistent young ladies.
Don’t you realize that many would criticize your behavior as being most
unladylike?

“These are not normal times, Sir
Benjamin,” said Emma with melodramatic seriousness.

“We are concerned when we don’t
hear from you as to your health and well-being,” said Amy.

“I appreciate your concern about my
health.” Ben spoke with a touch of sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I am still looking
for more information about your special problem.”

Amy felt that made it sound like a
disease.

“In fact, I have been casually
asking around in the coffee houses in Lombard Street and around the Royal
Exchange about Maitland, the first mate of the
Bristol Ark
, since I
would think he might know something.”

Amy had been watching Ben intently.
He seemed to be putting a lot of effort into speaking.

“Are you well, Ben?” she asked then
realized how strange it sounded asking that of someone in his condition, but he
seemed to know what she meant.

“Yes,” he said hesitantly, and then
he confessed: “It’s just a small wound.”

Amy was deeply concerned.

“A small wound? You don’t look like
someone with a small wound, Ben.”

“I had a few bad days, but it was
well cleansed. I’ve had it about a week and it is improving, and what is more
important, I have not suffered any side effects from it. I’ve suffered no real
fever, just weakness from loss of blood the first few days.”

Amy was far from convinced. Ben
didn’t look like someone who had escaped the effects of their injury quite that
well.

“What happened Ben? What sort of
injury are you suffering from? Why are you so weak?”

He looked down at the carpet in the
hall. He was clearly struggling with what to tell Amy. This worried her. Why
did he not come right out and tell her what had occurred. Why was he trying to
avoid a straightforward answer?”

“I was attacked by some ruffians,”
he said shaking his head.

“These are dangerous times,” evoked
Emma.

He smiled wryly. “Yes, indeed,
young lady. That is so true Emma, and I fear they will get worse before they
get better.”

“Sometimes I hate the Froggies. I
know we are not supposed to hate anyone, but sometimes I do,” said Emma almost
in tears.

Ben looked at Emma with a renewed
seriousness.

“It is quite right to hate some
people, little sister, it’s all right to hate the wicked, and sadly there are
many of those around these days. Not all Frenchmen are wicked and not all
Englishmen are good, and I worry about the Englishmen much more than the
French. The Frenchmen are over in France chopping off the heads of their own
miserable citizens, but the Englishmen are here doing their wicked deeds and
good and innocent people are their victims.”

All the while he had been speaking
to Emma, Amy had been thinking.

“It was the highwaymen. You were
trying to catch the highwaymen. Don’t try to obfuscate me.”

Ben smiled and this time it seemed
genuine.

“How did I ever come to deserve a
word like that? If I am guilty of anything it is trying to avoid worrying you
with unnecessary information, but if you must, it has grown so bad on the Dover
and Bath roads that I impersonated a fleeing French victim of the reign of
terror. I had him take my coach, and dress in the garb of a common tradesman,
while I rode with what appeared to be his wife and two boys.”

Ben was interrupted when his
friend, Franklin Bourne, entered the hall. He looked at Bourne.

“I took care of the matters as you
asked,” said Bourne.

“Thank you,” said Ben.

As he turned back to the two, Emma
looked at him solemnly and said quietly: “May I ask you a question, Sir
Benjamin, without you being annoyed at me.”

“I don’t think I could ever be
truly annoyed with you, Lady Emmeline.”

“You speak of the nobleman that you
impersonated, and I presume it was a nobleman, as a victim, but before the
revolution in his land, in France, and before the Reign of Terror, were not
many poor in his land victims of such as he. Who is the real victim?”

“Ah the innocence of the young,”
said Ben, “but there is some truth in your question. I know what you ask. Is
someone who chops off a head in anger over years of mistreatment and misery
really worse than someone who inflicted that misery? I’ve struggled over that
question myself. But we have to stop murder. In time we can and I dearly hope
will overcome mistreatment and oppression. In time we hope these conditions
will be rectified, and the victims come to a better life, but neither we nor
anyone else, can overcome death. That is why we must put a stop to the carnage.
That is why we must apprehend the killers that abound on our roads these days.”

Emma looked bewildered and bowed
her head.

“Bourne, and I, and some others we
trust, spread the information around that this French family was heading for
Bath on the 5th day of July by a private coach, and disguised as regular
English travelers.  We salted enough clues for anyone to recognize the
coach and its occupants, and it worked. The four of us were well armed. Our two
boys were two acquaintances who are not so tall, but well-seasoned in combat,
and my wife was... He paused with an amused look and nods in Bourne’s
direction.”

“What went wrong?” asked Amy.

“Nothing really. There were more of
them than we had expected. We shot three of them, but the other two got away.
They just got a lucky shot at me. Fortunately it is only minor. But I am still
amazed at a brazen daylight attack. At least, I got a good look at them. And
one of them—he seemed to be the leader—I will never forget that face. The left
side of his face around and below the left eye was...almost shriveled. It was
wrinkled and disfigured somehow as if he had received some grotesque injury.”

“Are the three that were shot,
dead?”

“Two of them died soon after
without talking and the third will probably survive if he doesn’t get a fever,
but he refuses to talk, at least, so far. Back in King Henry’s time we could
have tortured him but we cannot do that any longer. Anyway, they say torture
brings out more dangerous lies than useful truths, and I’m glad that it is long
gone. He’s in the hands of the authorities and they will keep questioning him.
I’m told it is not unusual for that type to crack after a few days when they
come to realize they will be much better off talking. That way they can avoid
being hanged, which most men in the end would rather avoid.”

“So the highwaymen have a spy who
mingles with genteel folk,” said Amy more as a question than a statement. “Or
do you think that maybe some serving person overheard?”

“No, we were careful to spread the
seeds only when no serving person was present. We have a traitor in our midst.”

“If that man does not talk won’t it
be even worse, because you won’t know who the traitor is and he will be more
careful,” asked Amy?

“That might well be true,” said
Ben, “but at least we know the spy is in London, and the robbers act to the
west and north of London. And that is very interesting. They do not act on the
Dover road, which would be the easiest if they were learning of their victims
before London. All the attacks are either on the road to Bath and on the London
road between London and...I don’t want this to scare you, but between London
and Stockley-on-Arne.”

“Here?” said Emma in wonder.

“No, I didn’t mean that,” Ben
quickly responded. “On the road out of London that heads in this direction.
There have been seven recent attacks on French noble expatriates. Two of them
were on the London road north and five on the Bath road. The two on the London
road north were not far outside of London—about fifteen miles south of here,
and the five on the Bath road were all within about five miles of one another.
As you know there are several roads that head north out of London. We wonder if
there is some consistency in the attacks, and if so, why.”

Ben swayed as if he were about to
fall over, and Bourne rushed to catch him as Amy put out her arm in his
direction. He waved them both away.

“I’m sorry I just need some rest.”
he apologized.

“May I tell you something really
quickly?” asked Amy.

When he agreed, she told him of the
meager information she had culled from the cook and Effie, that is, that the
old man definitely appeared to be a seaman with a slight Devon accent.

Several days later on the first
Sunday of August, they encountered Ben as they were leaving church.

“My, Sir Benjamin,” said Lady
Sibbridge with a friendly smile, “this is the first time I’ve seen you in
church.”

“That may well be, milady, because
this is the first time I’ve been to church in Stockley-on-Arne since I was a
lad. But if you knew me better you would know that I am not entirely a
heathen.”

After some small talk he turned to
Amy’s father who was standing stoic and rigid and silent as usual.

“Sir Anthony, may I have the
privilege of accompanying your daughter, Lady Amaryllis, back to your house?”

When Amy’s father seemed confused,
her mother, who was clearly charmed by Ben, consented.

As soon as her mother and father
were out of earshot, Amy turned to Ben with a mischievous look and asked: “How
will we get there? Must I walk alongside your horse?”

“No, no,” he said with a laugh, “I
thought I should adapt to country living, so I have activated grandfather’s
gig.”

Ben and Amy left as her family was
getting rounded up and into their coach. Emma was watching them.

“My sister likely believes you are
using the gig so there will be no room for her to come with us,” observed Amy.

“Who is to know if she is wrong?”
grinned Ben.

“Who indeed?” agrees Amy.

“I want to confess immediately that
I wanted to get you alone as this will give us a good opportunity to talk
without other prying ears around.”

When he reveals that he wants to
discuss her mystery, she is disappointed but she chastises herself.
What
else would he want to talk to me about?

“I received a letter from a
friend,” Ben continued. The inquiries at the coffee shops around Lombard and
Threadneedle Streets and thereabouts have paid off. At least we have learned
more. I am not sure how beneficial it will be, though. Soon after the captain
and his wife and baby drowned, the first mate Maitland was made captain of the
Bristol Ark.”

Amy looked at him with
anticipation.

“Unfortunately, Captain Maitland
died not too long ago.”

“Oh,” said Amy sadly. “Our one
possible source of information is gone.”

“Not necessarily,” said Ben.
“Maitland’s longtime boatswain retired after Captain Maitland died. Perhaps
after serving so long with Maitland, possibly even since the time the captain
drowned, the boatswain may have been privy to some of his secrets, at the very
least he probably knows a few things that may well be of use.”

 “Probably another dead-end,”
said Amy unhappily.

“You’re far too pessimistic,” said
Ben, “and there is something more.”

Amy looked at him expectantly.

“What?”

“My source believes Captain
Maitland died at sea, drowned just like his predecessor.”

When they arrived at Sibbridge
House, Ben quickly swung to the ground and helped Amy from the gig.

“I am going to see the boatswain
tomorrow. I don’t know his name yet, but it will be easy to find out.”

“Do you think he was the old seaman
who brought the satchel?”

“I think that is a very real
likelihood,” said Ben.

“May I come with you?” asked Amy.

“You always do,” said Ben, “but, of
course, it is up to your parents.”

When Amy’s family arrived, Ben
hurried over to help them out of their coach. Her father was still confused, so
she asked her mother’s permission, who naturally demurred.

           
Ben intervened, suggesting a solution to the problem. Couldn’t Amy’s mother go
to their house in Bath? Bristol is only a couple of hours from Bath. They
explained that the house in Bath was not their house. He was disappointed. Amy
could not go, because the journey would take several days going and returning.
He left a profoundly disappointed Amy.

But Amy would not give up. She
again asked her mother and father for permission to go to Bristol to see the
old sailor who might know something about her origins, but her father was still
confused and her mother as usual dithered. She pleaded, and her mother said it
was all so confusing.

“A young lady should not make such
a journey. It will take four days and that seems improper.”

“Surely not if we are properly
chaperoned?”

Complex questions perplexed her
mother.

“Could we invite Sir Benjamin for
lunch if he is willing?” asked Amy.

Her mother reluctantly agreed.

At lunch, after they had eaten most
of the meal, Amy again broached the subject. Ben had avoided the subject and
confined himself to small talk and charming comments mostly directed at her
mother. He was curious what Amy was up to.

Her father was still not with it so
she directed her pleas at her mother, who demurred saying it was not
appropriate for a decent young woman to accompany a young man on a journey,
especially one that lasted several days.

“That might be true,” said Amy,
“but it is not unseemly for a young lady to go on such a trip with an older
lady.”

“I just can’t go with you, my
dear,” said her mother among other confused excuses.