The Captain's Daughter (31 page)

But her
anguish did not
last long. Her hands were tied in front of her. She could only move her fingers
a little.
Amy Sibbridge
, she said to herself,
you do not allow defeat.
There is a solution to all problems. There is a way out. You will not be
defeated. They will not win. You will be victorious.
She forced this on
herself though her body cried out from the pain. She had, at best, minutes. She
must act now. She must escape. She wiped the tears from off her cheeks.

They did not flinch at
Agincourt,

To face the might of France,

But challenged the iron knights,

To join them in a dance.

And to their foe in burnished
steel

Our yeomen would not yield,

And when night had hushed the
fray

Their hearts had won the field.

Though sore and
uncomfortable and facing whatever would happen once Jack arrived, the
desperation of her situation began to sink in. She must do something. She must
escape. But that was all but impossible. She was bound hand and foot.

She must try
and find a way to get out of her bonds. Great effort at stretching and pulling
on them and trying to extract her hands from her wrist bindings only
demonstrated that Lavinia Anselm knew what she was doing when she tied a knot.
 Amy could not get loose. The alternate was to try and cut the bonds. The
moment she tried that on the rails proved that it was impossible, unless she
could find something sharper. Was there anything in the cellar she could cut
them with? Except for the faint light at the top of the steps the cellar was
totally dark. Her only hope was to try and go back down the steps and feel her
way around the cellar. She felt her hopes were slight but she must try.

In coming up
the steps she had to lean on the rail and exert great effort to drag herself up
one step at a time. Going down proved even worse. About half way down she
slipped and fell the rest of the way. At this point, lying in pain on the damp
floor at the foot of the steps, she could no longer withhold the tears that
burst forth once again, this time in earnest. But after a few moments she
commanded herself to stop. If she had any chance, no matter how slim, it
required immediate action. She did not know how long she had remaining, but she
must force herself to act.

As she felt her
way through the dark she knew that it was imperative that she not further
injure herself, so while speed might be important, so was caution. But when you
can’t walk, what do you do? She might be able to struggle to her feet—she was
not certain that was possible—but it was probably best to turn over, get on her
knees and carefully crawl around the cellar. At this point a second problem
emerged. If it’s dark, and you are crawling, which is an unaccustomed position,
how do you know where you are going? You might be crawling over the same area
repeatedly or missing something important. She decided to try to crawl straight
forward, if possible, until she reached a wall and then follow it, because in
all likelihood most objects would be against a wall. She considered a number of
strategies, as she began her awkward crawl.

She reached the
wall sooner than she anticipated. At this point Amy began to come to the
conclusion that this wasn’t going to work. She must struggle to her feet and
hobble around the periphery of the cellar. With great effort she made it to her
feet sliding her back against the wall. As she stood, out of breath, she looked
around—as much as you can be said to look around in total darkness. As she
looked to her left, she thought she saw a faint glow, but Amy knew from
experience that your eyes could play tricks on you in total darkness. Even when
it is pitch black your eyes get visual impressions, you just can’t really see
anything, and that was true now. She felt she could see light but could not see
any object.

Amy stared at
the area where she thought she saw light for a little while but still she could
not be sure, so since she had no other plan she decided to move toward the area
by sliding along the wall. As Amy slid against the wall the glow got brighter.
It was really light. It was not a visual trick of her eyes. Working her way
past some division in the cellar, probably an inside wall, it became apparent
that the light was coming from lines of light, which delineated some kind of a
door that obviously led to the outside. It was a cellar door, perhaps two or
three feet high and of the same width. She couldn’t tell how far away it was,
which made her feel disoriented. She must get to it, but to do that she would have
to leave the support of the wall and hobble forward.

Could she move
forward with her feet bound tight together? When she tried, she found the
answer was no as she fell flat on her face. She felt her nose begin to bleed,
with the blood trickling down her lips, and despite her best efforts, seeping
into her mouth. To make things even worse, as she struggled and squirmed to get
up, she fell into a shallow layer of water. The dirty water was inside her
mouth. She turned her head sideways to spit out the mud and water, causing it
to soak her hair and ears. She forced herself onto her knees and slowly worked
her way forward.

Finally
reaching the wall, she found that the door was above the floor of the cellar.
But at least her estimate of its size was reasonably accurate. Perhaps she
could make it to her feet and if the door was unlocked she maybe could get out
somehow and crawl to the street where someone would find her and free her. A
brief glimmer of hope was dashed as soon as she came to her senses about her
situation. Even if she could make it to her feet, the door was almost certainly
padlocked. Who would leave it unlocked in this neighborhood, or really anywhere
in London? Even if it was unlocked, how would she get up to the door in order
to get out? And if she did, it would probably open into a garden, or what once
was a garden, which would have locked gates. And even if she got out to the
street, the most likely people to find her would be Ishmael, Lavinia, or the
threatening Jack. And even if they didn’t, what would the denizens of the
neighborhood do if they found her? Both dread and hopelessness coldly enveloped
her, but she did not cry. She was beyond tears.

All during her
sad ruminations she had been slowly, laboriously, pushing herself up the wall,
but before she could get fully upright, as she strained to push herself erect
against the wall, her feet slipped in the mud, and she fell sideways banging
her head, neck, and body against some piece of iron equipment. She felt
trickles of blood running down her neck.

The pain
brought tears to her eyes, but also an idea. If the item that she fell against
was sharp enough to cause injury, maybe it would be sharp enough to cut the
cloth bands on her hands and feet? She felt for it with her fingers. It did
have an edge. Fighting to pull herself into a kneeling position in front of it,
she then began to saw the strips of cloth against it.

Amy was able to
slowly scrape through her wrist bindings, and then untie her feet. The door was
locked but the wood was in a deteriorated condition so she was able with great
effort to knock out the lowest plank in the door. That was as high as she could
reach. Maybe there was something that could be found to knock out the upper
planks and then somehow climb out. Now with light coming in through the missing
plank Amy looked around. The metal object that had allowed her to scrape
through her wrist bindings was a large piece of rusty equipment. She realized
that the missing board from the door allowed in enough light to dimly illuminate
the other part of the cellar where the door to the house was located.

While going
around the wall to see if she could spot some implement that could be used
against the door the sound of voices reached her ears. The voices were coming
from the hall of the house. Going quickly up the stairs to try and hear what
they were saying, she realized they were outside the door to the cellar. There
was the sound of a key in the lock. In panic she looked around. There was no
place to go. The handle of the door was turned and it began to open. She
stepped back and realized there was a shallow alcove in the wall, which she
backed into, as the door opened wide.

Fully open, the
edge of the door rested against the stone edge of the alcove. Through the gap
she saw a large male figure come through.  There was a startled yell of
“she’s escaped” when the man, whom she supposed was Jack, saw the light in the
cellar and thought the door to the outside was open. He rushed down the steps
followed by Eskman and his mother. Amy was sure she was caught because they
would see her out of the corner of their eyes, but when their peripheral vision
was overwhelmed by the idea of her escape, she took advantage and went around
the door and into the hall. The movement did catch the attention of the old
woman, but before she could even cry out, Amy was in the hall and closing the
door to the basement.

She briefly
noted with disappointment that the key was not in the door so she could not
lock them in. She ran to the front door of the house hoping it wasn’t locked on
the inside. She turned the handle and noted with excited relief that it turned
and in a moment it was open and Amy ran out into the street, and straight into
the arms of the three men who accosted her when she was returning from her
visit to Ben on Wednesday of the previous week. They dragged her back inside
the house just as Eskman and the large uncouth man emerged from the direction
of the cellar door.

They roughly
flung her on the floor. But Amy was tortured by so many aches and pains that
she was almost numb.

“Take care of
her,” Lavinia commanded, and the meaning was obvious.

But as she was
issuing her instructions, Eskman interrupted.

“I need to talk
to you, Mother, before we do anything.”

“You’ve done
enough, don’t interfere,” she snarled dismissively.

“I really need
to talk to you, mother!”

“Oh all right,”
she said angrily. “What is it?”

“We must make
her sign away her rights.”

“That is
totally stupid. What court could you take it to without getting yourself hung
for her killing? Getting rid of her will take care of everything.”

“What if
another copy of the will exists?”

“It would have
turned up by now.”

Even through
her pain, Amy recognized that his arguments were strange. She wondered if he
wanted in his own peculiar way to save her life, but there was no way that was
going to happen. There was no way to tell his motivation.

They argued
about what to do. If they got her to sign and let her live, she would inform on
them, Lavinia and Eskman went back and forward, while the four toughs waited.
One suggestion was that they get her to sign away her rights and threaten her
family if she doesn’t cooperate. Finally, they took her into a room, tied her
firmly to a chair, and went outside leaving her alone, so they could continue
their dispute outside of the room.

When they
walked away from the door, she could not make out what the muffled voices were
saying, even though they were sometimes raised and loud. For a time it was
quiet as they apparently went elsewhere. Amy sat and waited, bleeding and in
pain, with her hair wet and muddy, and her face smeared with mud and blood, as
she feared what her fate might be, but hoping it would lead to a release. For
the first time she felt a faint ray of hope. Maybe they would see it to be in
their best interest to let her live, and she could sign away her rights and
hope that could be corrected later. In fact, she was sure it could be
corrected. She gradually convinced herself she would be all right.

Then the door
opened and a man whom she had not seen before walked into the room. A rope was
dangling from his hands but she barely noticed the rope. Her eyes were
transfixed on the horrible disfigurement on the left side of his face. She
realized with a cold chill that he was the villain that killed her parents. He
walked over to her and put the rope around her neck.

Amy was
so tightly
restrained in the chair that she could only move her head from side to side as
the man grasped both ends of the rope and pulled it tight. He looked down at
her with a sickly grin that distorted his face even more.

“My name is
Carl Yager, and I have killed 32 men. Thirty-two men, but you are the first
woman.”

He seemed to
derive pleasure at this new achievement.

“Do you wonder
how I remember that I have killed 32 men? Look at my ring.”

He held a large
crude ring with a large red stone, almost next to her nose. He looked at her
with a mocking smile.

“See these
lines I have scratched on it. There is one for each man I have killed. I call
it my ring of remembrance. Notice that there is no more room for another line.
You will force me to buy a new ring. Did I say buy? Carl Yager never buys
anything except ale and bawdy women.”

“How can you be
so evil? How can you be so cruel and uncaring about people and how you hurt
them?” Amy asked her would-be killer.

“Cruel and
uncaring?” he snarled and grasped the rope tighter. “You ask me that, milady.”

He spoke the
word ‘milady’ with a scornful snarl and a twisted smile.

“Your kind
disgusts me. You, in your fine clothes and fancy houses. You people care
nothing about others. You let the poor suffer and ignore their pleas while you
go to your fancy balls and live off the suffering of others. You’ve lived your
life of selfishness and excess, and I am going to bring it to an end right
now.”

He gripped each
end of the rope firmly as he braced himself for the garroting that would end
Amy’s life. Suddenly, there was a crashing sound at the front door. He paused
abruptly, and looked at the door of the room. There were banging noises in the
hall and then Ben rushed in, pistol in hand, and knocked Carl Yager to the
floor. Yager landed with his back against a divan that was filthy with dust and
dirt.

With the pistol
trained on Yager, Ben began to untie Amy’s bonds. He freed her hands and body,
and then knelt to free her legs and ankles. He glanced at Yager, and then was
about to hand the pistol to Amy.

“Keep this
pointed at him. Are you afraid to shoot?”

She shook her
head. He looked again at Yager who was slumped awkwardly against the divan.

“Well, I don’t
think he’ll give you any trouble.”

He considered
for a moment and then handed her the pistol, which she pointed at Yager.

Ben was
loosening the bindings around Amy’s legs with some difficulty, when suddenly
Yager sprung up with surprising agility for a man who was no longer young. In
an instant he steadied himself and produced a knife and lunged towards Ben. Amy
reflexively pulled the trigger. The discharge knocked her against the back of
the chair. The impact of the ball sent Yager back against the couch. As he lay
there the blood began to seep through his shirt and coat. He paid no attention
to Ben, but looked at Amy as that sickly smile came over his face once again.

Then looking at
neither he intoned: “I am Carl Yager. I have killed 32 men. No man has ever
even wounded me, but I have been killed by a woman.”

Amy, looking
defiantly at him, replied: “It was not a woman that killed you, but a child.
You slew my parents.”

He moved his
head with difficulty to look in Amy’s direction with a contorted expression on
his face, and then he expired.

Amy looked up
at Ben with a pleading expression, dropped the pistol, and broke down in tears.
Ben put his arm around her and comforted her as two men entered the room. One
was dressed in elegant clothes.

The man
addressed Ben with a French accent.

“The ruffians
have been taken away.”

“Good,” said
Ben, looking up.

“Not entirely
good, Monsieur. We did not find Eskman.”

Through her
tears, Amy told them that Eskman and his mother had just been there. In answer
to their question, she clarified that it was a little while ago.

“They are not
here now, Mademoiselle.”

“Can you take
Miss Sibbridge back to Sir Frank’s house, Marquis?” asked Ben.

After briefly
questioning Amy, Ben announced he was going after Eskman and his mother. About
to leave, he turned back to Amy.

“After you get
over what has happened, you will begin to feel bad. Don’t, he deserved what he
got, and it wasn’t you that shot him, it was just a reflexive reaction.”

Cool and
controlled when her life was threatened, with her experience of terror over,
Amy began to tremble as the Marquis helped her into his coach. He tried to
comfort her as the coachman urged the horse onward on the short journey back to
the Ramsey townhouse.

Perhaps to
distract her from her thoughts and fears, the Marquis explained who he was and
what had been going on. Unlike so many of his fellow countrymen, he spoke
impeccable English.

“Your Lord
Eskman, after he squandered his wife’s money, made a compact with his old gang
of cutthroats. The ones he had used long ago to murder your parents. Ben told
me about that. Please accept my profound sympathies. When he unexpectedly came
into the title of Lord Eskman, because of an inheritance of property, he
started associating with the rich and famous and noble every opportunity he
could, seeking information about who might be traveling with wealth, and then
passing the information on to his gang, and splitting the loot with them.

“With the
coming of the Reign of Terror, and many wealthy fleeing France, he felt a door
opening to much more ill-gotten wealth, since unlike most travelers in England,
they would often be bringing as much of their personal wealth as they could
carry.

“But like
everything else he did, he was clumsy and incompetent about how he sought
information. When he encountered the false Compte de Blanchfleur, the Frenchman
soon saw through his attempts to try to pry out information about wealthy
Frenchmen who might be traveling in England

“The genuine
Compte de Blanchfleur was an adventurer from his youth. This kept him out of
France most of the time, and when he did return to France, he lived quietly in
his chateau in the south of France, and never visited the court nor did he
associate with the French aristocracy. No one in the aristocracy was acquainted
with him and thus none of the aristocratic, powerful, or wealthy in France knew
what he looked like.

“When the Reign
of Terror commenced, one of its most ruthless agents was a certain Julien
Antibes. He was responsible for feeding many to Madame Guillotine, not only the
wealthy and powerful, but also scholars and those of humble birth. He was
relentless and fanatical but also shrewd and intelligent, which made him all
the more formidable and dangerous.

“When the Reign
of Terror swept France, the true Compte de Blanchfleur happened to be in
residence at his chateau. He sought to flee the country and it seemed likely he
would succeed since almost no one knew his appearance. Just by a most unusual
and unfortunate chance was he captured, and it was his misfortune to fall into
the hands of Julien Antibes, and his two companions in evil, Henri and Bruno.
Julien Antibes assumed the identity of the Compte de Blanchfleur and it proved
most useful to him in carrying out his evil schemes, especially when he came to
England to carry out his murderous activities.”

The journey
back to the Ramsey house was not far when riding in a coach. Although a little
calmer to all outward appearances, Amy was still under the effects of
everything that had occurred.

“I am the
Marquis de Saint-Gaston, and I have one great advantage that others do not. I
have met the true Compte de Blanchfleur. So when I encountered the man who was
claiming to be the Compte de Blanchfleur, but was in reality the wicked and
murderous Julien Antibes, I knew he was a fake and was up to great evil. You
follow me, mademoiselle?”

“Not very
well.”

“After all you
have endured that is not surprising.”

“How did Ben
get his wound?” asked Amy. “What about the Frenchman who was killed the same day
Ben was shot?”

“The Frenchman
was a victim of Julien Antibes. He was not killed the day Ben was shot,
however. Ben was shot three days later. Jeannot Guillaume Berry had reached
Dover with many of his family’s valuables. We knew that this would reach the
ears of Antibes, so Ben arranged to impersonate him, and have Berry travel to
London on a simple merchant’s cart. We still needed to protect Berry in case
the brigands might somehow have discovered that Berry was traveling in disguise
on the cart. The brigands have many ears and many eyes and we do not know them
all. For this reason, Ben placed a wagonload of his comrades between the coach,
in which Ben would be traveling in the guise of Berry, and the cart where the
true Berry was traveling. When the highwaymen attacked the coach, we were ready
for them, but Ben was injured in the exchange of fire, although thank heaven,
not seriously.”

“I admit I was
puzzled and deeply disturbed,” said Amy, “when I heard of the killing of the
Frenchman and that one of his attackers was injured. Then when I thought Ben
had been shot the same day, you can see the troubling fear that crossed my
mind.”

“That is truly
understandable, Lady Amaryllis. We are living through troubled times. But,
thank goodness, it seems to have been resolved. However, things came very near
taking a most tragic turn. Antibes men tracked Ben down and found out where he
was. He sent two of his men, Henri and Bruno, to verify that it really was Ben.
These are the two men that I gather you saw talking to Ben when you paid him a
visit and found the sight most upsetting, and I do not blame you, Mademoiselle.
After you departed, abruptly I am told, Ben was able to catch up with them and
follow them. They led him right to the fake Compte’s residence, and by
coincidence it was just as I and the authorities arrived.

“This
afternoon, Ben and I and the authorities were exchanging information when a
certain Allan Chesterton made an appearance. I understand he is a confidant of
Ben. He informed Ben that when he went to the Eccentric Club, they had received
no letter from you. Evidently, they are accustomed to receiving such a letter
each day. This worried Ben, so we conveyed him to the house of the Ramseys,
accompanied by a couple of Ben’s friends. After a few minutes, Ben came running
out of the house and instructed the coachman to make hast and go to the address
where you were being held prisoner.”

“How did you
know where to go?”

“Ah, that I
cannot say, Mademoiselle. On the way we were somewhat occupied with preparing
what we should do once we arrived, and as you have seen, Ben and I scarcely had
a chance to exchange a few words since we arrived there.”

At the
Ramsey’s, Amy’s mother was now truly beside herself. She hugged Amy and wept,
and then she noticed Amy’s condition. Lady Sibbridge cupped her hand over her
mouth as she looked up and down at her daughter. She then turned white, and
fainted. As Amy stretched her arm to catch her mother, she saw the sleeve of
her dress and was thus rudely reminded of how she looked.

“I rode in your
coach, Marquis, covered in mud, filth, and blood.”

He placed his
arm on her dirt covered shoulder and gently reassured her.

“Mademoiselle,
after what you have endured, which is more than most do in an entire lifetime,
it has been an honor to have you in my coach. I shall revere every smear of mud
and drop of blood.”

Mattie and Emma
were helping their mother to get up, since she had quickly recovered from her
swoon. She looked again at Amy.

“Girls, help
your sister get cleaned up and medicated.”

By the time the
kitchen help boiled the water, and the housemaids carted it to the bath, and
Amy found herself bathed, medicated, bandaged, and dressed, about an hour had
passed. As she sat next to the still steaming tub, very much in pain, Mattie
looked in.

“Sir Benjamin
would like to see you when you are ready,” she told Amy.

When she was
helped into the drawing room, Ben rushed up to her.

“What did they
do to you?” he asked.

“My honor is
still intact, but I think everything else is broken.”

Amy’s slight
attempt at humor was lost on him so worried was he when he saw her appearance.
When he rescued her, he was so occupied he hadn’t really noticed her condition,
now as she sat there in the Ramsey’s drawing room with the mud cleaned off, he
could see the bruises and lacerations.

“Did you catch
Eskman and his mother?” she asked.

“Not yet, but
we will,” he said confidently.

At this point
the Ramseys arrived with Leo. Amy’s mother escorted them into the living room
to fill them in on what had befallen Amy, and the Marquis followed them to
explain all that had occurred. Mattie drifted off with Leo, and seeing this,
Emma discreetly left Ben and Amy alone.

Ben and Amy
looked into each other’s eyes, probably for a few moments, but it seemed like
eternity to them. A bond formed between them that afternoon that could never be
broken. But the spell was broken when Emma came back into the room.

“Can I get you
anything,” she asked. “Or am I intruding?”

But they did
not hear her.

“How did you
find me?” Amy asked Ben.

“I was with the
Marquis and some of our local officials when Allan came and told me I had not
received a letter from you today. Normally, that would not concern me, because
some days you do not send letters, but for some reason this afternoon a great
fear swept over me and I felt that you were in danger. I cannot explain it, but
I felt I had to act right away.