The Captain's Mysterious Lady (12 page)

They watched her run from the room. ‘Go after her, Captain,' Matilda said. ‘She needs reassurance. I will stake my life she has done nothing wrong and you must convince her of it.'

He caught up with her as she crossed the draw bridge. ‘Amy, where are you off to?'

She spun round to face him. ‘I do not know. To Widow Twitch. Yes, that is it, to see the wise woman.'

‘No.' He grabbed her arm. ‘She will fill your head with more nonsense and I do believe your dream was nothing more than a mix of several unrelated matters. The two men who frightened you, Mrs Twitch putting ideas into your head, our talk of sieges and Jacobites, even the big cloud you drew.' He smiled. ‘Put it all in a pot and give it a good stir and what do you have but a disjointed dream?'

‘Oh, I wish that were so,' Amy cried.

‘Of course it is so. Now, my dear lady, you are to put it from your mind and come with me to help me decide where to put my pictures. And we shall leave space for the drawing you did of me. If you would be so kind as to allow me to have it, I shall have it suitably mounted.'

‘It is not good enough to be hung.' He had diverted her thoughts and made her relax and she smiled a little tremulously, but it was a smile.

‘Oh, it most certainly is. But I want the cloud with the cherub put in first. Now, will you come?'

‘Gladly.'

He offered her his arm and she took it and they walked side by side over the draw bridge towards the copse of trees. ‘I need my little home maker,' he said quietly. ‘Without her, the Lodge is nothing but a place to stay.'

‘You are very good to me,' she said, wondering why he had suddenly said that. To make her feel better, she supposed, and he had succeeded in that. ‘When I feel only half a person, you make me feel whole again.'

‘Then I am glad.'

‘But you must not let my problems divert you from your own business.'

He felt a sharp pang of guilt about not finding his wife's killers and that was unfinished business he must attend to. Once nothing would have deflected him from seeking retribution, but just lately that fury had abated somewhat—because of Amy? ‘I have deferred that for a time. I will go back to it when the time is right.'

‘Would you like to tell me about it?'

He put his hand over hers on his sleeve. ‘One day I will. But now I have some pictures that need hanging.' He took her hand and tucked it under his arm and thus they arrived at the Lodge. Her night mare was for got ten. Almost. It was an idyll he knew could not last. One day she would remember everything and he was afraid it would bring her more distress.

‘M
iss Hardwick, there is a Mr Gotobed at the door,' the footman said. The three ladies were in the with drawing room, the aunts were discussing a letter they had had from their lawyer and Amy was putting the cherub into the cloud on her sketch before giving it to Captain Drymore.

‘What manner of man is he?' Harriet asked.

‘A gentleman by the looks and sound of him, madam. Brown silk coat with pearl buttons, close-fitting breeches with ribbons at the knees, and shoes with silver buckles and red heels. He's wearing a full toupee with end curls and a prodigious amount of jewellery, though I can't say that it's real.' All three ladies smiled at this; Johnson prided himself on his powers of observation.

‘Did he state his business?'

‘Not to me, madam, but he did say he comes recommended.'

‘Then you had better show him in. And stay within call, in case we should need to order refreshments.'

The aunts put aside their correspondence, smoothed down their skirts and straightened their wigs, by which time the footman announced, ‘Mr Martin Gotobed.'

The gentleman strode into the room, swept his three-cornered hat under his left arm, and executed an elegant leg. ‘Ladies, your obedient.'

‘What can we do for you, sir?' Harriet asked.

‘I am on a tour of the area and I have heard that Blackfen Manor is an exceptional example of a Tudor manor house and hoped that you will do me the honour of showing it to me. I hope I do not disturb you.'

‘You do not disturb us, sir, but from whom did you hear about the Manor?' Harriet enquired.

‘Why, from Mr Duncan Macdonald.'

‘What did you say?' Amy cried, in her agitation dropping her crayon on the floor, where it rolled at his feet. He picked it up and presented it back to her with a bow. ‘You have spoken to him?'

‘Indeed, yes, we are well acquainted with each other.'

‘When did you speak to him? Where is he? Is he coming here?' The questions tumbled from her.

‘As to the last, I do not know, madam, nor as to his present whereabouts. I spoke to him, let me see, when was it?' He appeared to be teasing her and she did not like that. ‘I do believe it was three months past. It could have been a little longer or perhaps not quite as long. I imperfectly recall the exact date.'

‘Was he well? What did he say to you? Did he mention me? I am his wife,' Amy said.

‘I had deduced that, madam, from his description of you. He said I might find you here and to convey his everlasting devotion.'

‘Why does he not come himself? Is he ill?' Amy asked worriedly.

‘He has not been enjoying the best of health,' the man murmured.

‘What is the matter with him?'

‘Why, madam, I thought you knew.' Mr Gotobed raised an eyebrow.

‘No. I…' She hesitated. She was not sure of this man at all and was unwilling to tell him of her own troubles, but she needed to know what had happened to Duncan.

‘Our niece has not been well herself,' Aunt Harriet put in. ‘She is staying with us while she makes a full recovery. If you know anything about Mr Macdonald, then pray tell us quickly.'

‘He and I were together in the infirmary. He had sustained a knife wound.'

Amy gave a little cry of distress and fainted, falling sideways off her chair on to the floor, scattering crayons and sketch book. In the pandemonium that followed Gotobed hurriedly bowed his way out and said he would return at a more convenient time to enquire as to the lady's recovery. The aunts ignored him, being more concerned with bending over Amy, flapping their fans over her face and begging her to wake up.

He had no sooner gone from the room than James arrived. The front door was open and there was no footman in at ten dance. He could hear little cries of distress coming from the drawing room and hurried there, not waiting to be announced.

He found Amy prostrate on the floor, the aunts kneeling beside her, heads down, wide skirts billowing about them, so they looked like slumbering swans. Susan hovered uncertainly. He rushed over to join them. ‘What has happened?'

‘She swooned clean away when that man said he had spoken to Duncan. She ought to be put to bed and the physician called, but we cannot lift her.' She looked up and noticed Susan. ‘Go and fetch Johnson and one of the other men—'

‘No need for that,' James said, stooping to pick Amy up in his arms, which he did effortlessly. ‘I will take her.'

They were too distressed to protest and followed him as he carried his burden upstairs and gently laid her on her bed, with her aunts and Susan bringing up the rear. By this time she was stirring and a low moan escaped her lips.

‘Lie still,' he said, watching a little colour come back to her paper-white face. ‘You have had a shock.'

‘That man…'

‘He has gone,' Harriet said, as Susan went to the washstand to wring a cloth out in cold water.

‘Gone! Oh, no!' Amy tried to scramble up, but a hand from James gently pushed her down again. ‘But I have to talk to him, I have to find out…' Did she really want to know that she had stabbed her husband? The knife in her dream: she had used that, hadn't she? Why? Why? Why? How badly was he hurt? Who had taken him to the infirmary? Which infirmary? Was he still there or had he been discharged? No wonder he did not want to come to see her, if she had done that to him. Yet, according to their visitor, he had sent his everlasting devotion to her. And who exactly was Mr Gotobed? A thief taker sent to bring her to justice? She could not stop shaking.

‘If I had known what he would say, I would never have received him,' Aunt Harriet said. ‘I cannot have people coming here without a by your leave and frightening you like that.'

‘Who was he?' James asked.

‘He gave his name as Mr Martin Gotobed,' Matilda said from the other side of the bed, where she had pulled up a stool and was sitting holding Amy's hand. ‘He said he was on a tour of the area and wanted to look round the Manor. We did not think anything of it. People are always
calling and asking to be shown round. But when he said he had been recommended by Duncan, of course it upset poor dear Amy.'

‘I can imagine.' He was looking down at Amy. She was shaking and clearly terrified. ‘Did you know the gentleman?'

‘I do not think so… I cannot know, can I? He gave no indication he knew me except from my description, which he said came from my husband.'

‘I don't believe a word of it,' Harriet said. ‘Now, Susan will fetch you one of Cook's remedies and you must rest.'

‘How can I rest? My head is buzzing with questions. It is why I must talk to Mr Gotobed…'

‘With your permission, I will speak to him on your behalf,' James said.

‘And will you tell me truthfully what he says, however bad it is?'

‘Madam, I would not lie,' he said coolly. He was not angry with her so much as with the fop who had thrown her into such confusion.

‘I beg your pardon,' she said. ‘I am not myself.'

‘The medicine will help,' Harriet soothed her niece. ‘Come, Captain, we will leave Amy with my sister and you and I will repair to the drawing room.'

James followed her down stairs, though he would far rather have stayed and talked to Amy. There was something else in those expressive eyes besides shock at meeting someone who knew her absent husband. She seemed to be shrinking inside herself, just as she had been on the journey from London in the coach. Had the shock finally brought back her memory?

In the drawing room Miss Hardwick offered him a glass of port, which he accepted, not because he particularly
needed a drink but because he could see she was nervous and steeling herself to say something to him.

‘I met a foppish man crossing the draw bridge as I came here,' James said, watching her pouring the wine with hands that shook. ‘That, I assume, was Mr Gotobed?'

‘Yes.'

‘Tell me what he said to upset Mrs Macdonald.'

After handing him his glass of wine, Harriet repeated word for word what had been said. ‘Amy fainted when he said Duncan had sustained a knife wound. Not to be wondered at, is it? Not after that dreadful night mare she had. She was already half-convinced she had used that knife and when someone arrived who appeared to confirm it…' She shrugged. ‘Is it any wonder the poor child swooned?'

He was thoughtful. How much of Amy's night mare had been the result of a returning memory? How much sheer fantasy? She had been in a state of fear when he first met her and she sometimes jumped at her own shadow. She was certainly afraid of being followed. The state of her house in London bore witness to violence of some kind. Could she,
in extremis
, have mortally wounded her husband? ‘No, it is not to be wondered at,' he agreed. ‘But do you think she could have used a knife if she had been sufficiently provoked? If she were threatened and desperate—'

‘Captain, how could you?' She was clearly outraged and he did not blame her; she adored Amy and would believe no ill of her. ‘Surely you have come to know our niece well enough to know she could never do anything so wicked?'

‘I beg your pardon. I was simply acting devil's advocate, you understand,' he said in an attempt to pacify her.

‘Perhaps you would do better to practise your advocacy on Mr Gotobed, Captain. I believe he is staying at the King's Arms. He said he would call again when Amy
recovered, but I shall refuse him admittance. She has been so much better in the last few weeks, I will not have her set back again, not for anything.'

‘I will most certainly do that and with your per mission will call again tomorrow.' He put down his glass of port, which he had hardly touched, bowed and turned to leave.

‘Captain, you have become a staunch sup porter of this family,' she said, her voice stopping him as he reached the door. ‘But I beg to remind you that you have been employed by Lord Trentham to find Duncan Macdonald. I was not particularly anxious to have him found before, but now I have changed my mind. We must discover the truth as soon as possible. I do not trust Mr Martin Gotobed at all.'

Although he did not consider himself employed, having refused a fee from his lordship, he nodded in acquiescence and left the room. Miss Hardwick had reminded him of his duty. He was not there to amuse himself with a lovely young lady, take her shopping and picnicking, but to unravel a mystery. And his mystery lady was even more of a mystery than he had supposed.

He returned to the Lodge, musing as he went. He was almost certain that Amy was too lovely, too gentle and considerate of others' feelings to ever harm a living soul, let alone another human being. Look how she had been glad he had not shot the ducks and the compassion she had shown towards poor Joe Potton. Could anyone like that launch a vicious attack on her own husband? Even if she had been provoked beyond endurance, could she have done that? No, he decided, and he would do well to prove it and set her mind at rest.

Which was most important, to help Amy regain her memory or find out what had happened to her husband?
Surely one would lead to the other? He wished Sam would come back; he might have news, but he had not heard from his servant since the arrival of the wagon with his belongings, which told him he had executed the first of his errands. But what of the rest? Sam was no scholar and writing letters would not come easy to him, and he would not ask anyone to pen one for him if there was something he did not want anyone else to know.

 

After sitting over a lonely dinner, instead of dining at the Manor, which he had been doing more and more frequently, he set out to join the carousers at the local hostelry. The newcomer would easily have been recognised for his extravagant clothes and affected manner, even if James had not come across him earlier in the day. He was surrounded by the men from the village enjoying a sup after a hard day's work and the peacock was a source of amusement. James, surveying the scene from across the room, was sure the man was plying them with drink in order to loosen their tongues. He smiled to himself; Gotobed was not from this part of the country or he would know its dour inhabitants were the world's best at keeping their tongues between their teeth.

He strolled over to them and because some of the local men had come to know him in the time he had been in Highbeck, they greeted him and asked him to join them. ‘This here's Mr Martin Gotobed, Cap'n,' Dusty Green, the miller, said. ‘He's lately down from London.'

James gave Gotobed a perfunctory bow. ‘Captain James Drymore, at your service.'

Gotobed beckoned the inn keeper to bring more ale. ‘Take a drink with me, Captain.'

‘Thank you.'

‘Where are you from, Captain?' Gotobed asked him, as the men moved up a little to allow him to take a seat between them.

‘I am a man of the world,' James said with a smile. ‘I travel.'

‘Ahh, but you must have had a beginning somewhere?'

‘My life began in Hertfordshire,' he said. ‘My green years were spent there. Does that answer your question?'

‘Yes, indeed.'

‘And where did you have your beginning, sir?' James countered.

‘In a house on Piccadilly. I, too, have travelled, but there is nothing like England's rich and verdant landscape and the convivial company of one's compatriots to encourage a man to settle down.'

They were sparring with each other, James realised, each curious about the business of the other, but two could play at that game. ‘Are you of a mind to settle down?'

‘I am looking for a house hereabouts,' Gotobed confirmed.

‘Why here?'

‘Why not? It is as good a place as any, better than most, for the inhabitants are most welcoming.' He smiled at the other men who were drinking in the conversation along with their ale.

‘The Cap'n hev moved into the Lodge,' George Merryweather told Gotobed. George was the black smith, a huge man with bulging muscles, a good man to have on one's side in a scrap.