The Captain's Mysterious Lady (14 page)

It was not only her memory she had lost, it was her ability to tell truth from fiction, good from evil. Everyone was suspect in her eyes. From the Captain down to two men poaching, from Mr Gotobed to Widow Twitch. She ran up the drive, into the house and up to her bedchamber where she shut herself in.

 

She was sitting on her bed, staring into the distance while her thoughts tumbled about like autumn leaves, when Susan knocked at the door and came into the room. ‘The Captain has arrived.' She stopped suddenly. ‘La!
Miss Amy, you look as if you had seen a ghost. Are you unwell?'

‘No…yes…' She felt sick and so confused she could not face the Captain, much less go riding with him. ‘I do feel a little faint. I beg you to tell him I have the headache.'

‘Very well. Then I will bring you a tisane and you must rest. You have had a prodigious shock to the system, so a megrim is not to be wondered at.' She bustled out again, leaving Amy once again alone with her thoughts.

 

James received the message with dismay, not so much that they could not go riding together, though he had been looking forward to it, but that the shock she had received the day before must have been more severe than at first thought. It was all the fault of that macaroni, Gotobed, and he could cheerfully have strangled him. Another evening in the man's company had elicited no more information about Macdonald and how he came to be stabbed, even though he threatened him with the law. The man had laughed at that and only confirmed James in his belief that Gotobed was a muckworm.

‘Please tell your mistress that I am sorry she is unwell and will call again to see how she does,' he said, and took his leave.

He paused in the court yard to set his hat on his head before mounting and in so doing glanced upwards at what he knew to be Amy's bedchamber window. A shadow moved past it and then was gone. He was certain it was Amy and she had been watching him.

How genuine was her headache? How genuine was her loss of memory? Some things she found easy to recall—why not others? Was she afraid of his questions and there fore deliberately avoiding him? Did that mean she was recovering her memory and did not want him
to know? Did she truly believe she was guilty? Did he believe she was? No, he told himself firmly, he believed she was perfectly genuine, but that did not alter the fact that Duncan Macdonald was mixed up in something sordid and it was high time he found out what it was. And that meant London.

 

He returned to the Lodge to find Sam sitting at the kitchen table wolfing down a meat pie Mrs Landis had given him. As soon as he saw James, he crammed the last of it into his mouth and stood up.

‘So, you're back,' James said, stating the obvious. It was not a rapturous welcome, but Sam knew him well enough to know he was glad to see him.

Sam swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Captain, arrived not half an hour since. Came in all haste, did not stop to eat.'

‘Have you eaten enough now?'

‘Yes, Captain, sir.'

‘Good. Go and change out of those travelling clothes and come to me in the drawing room. I would know what you have discovered. Mrs Landis will show you to the room we have made ready for you.'

‘Yes, sir.' He disappeared behind the house keeper and James went to the drawing room to wait for him as patiently as he could. If Sam had done his work well, some of the questions that plagued him might be answered. He paced the room. If the news was bad, if Amy really had attacked her husband, severely enough to put him in hospital, or even kill him, what would he do? His duty was clear, but something stood in the way of it, something he had not bar gained for when he agreed to take the commission, and that was his high regard for Amy and the two old ladies.

 

He was on his fourth per ambulation of the room when Sam reappeared, dressed in a plain brown suit of clothes and a clean shirt. He had evidently dressed in a great hurry, for his wig was awry and his neck cloth only half-tied. James turned towards him. ‘Well?'

‘Mrs Landis said your belongings had arrived safely—'

‘Never mind them. What did you learn about Duncan Macdonald?'

‘He's dead.'

‘
Dead!
Are you sure?'

‘Certain sure. I saw where they buried him.'

So Gotobed was telling the truth! James sat down heavily on one of the new arm chairs, indicating to Sam to sit in another. ‘Go on.'

‘You ain't goin' to like it.'

‘For goodness' sake, man, get on with it.'

Sam looked sharply at him, surprised by his tone of voice. It was not like the Captain to snap. ‘He died in prison.'

‘Prison! Not a hospital?' James exclaimed.

‘Well, you could call it that, it was the prison infirmary. Can't see that it matters where he drew his last breath, it's what happened afore what signifies.'

‘So? What did happen before?'

‘No one ain't exactly sure. A constable was tipped off that a murder was being done at the Macdonalds' house, but when he went there, he found Macdonald alone, lying on a bed, mortally wounded. The constable sent for a doctor who patched him up and pronounced him fit enough to be moved and he was took to Newgate on a cart.'

‘Arrested?'

‘Yes.'

‘On what charge?'

‘Theft and murder. Seems he were on the highpad lay. He and two accomplices held up a stage and shot one of the occupants.'

‘Good God, a high way man!' He was reminded of the two who had held up the coach on the way to Highbeck and was convinced they were the same two accomplices of Macdonald's. ‘How did you discover all this?'

‘Heard it being talked about in the kens where such as they congregate. That's what you wanted me to do, ain't it?'

‘Yes.' The man probably would have been dead or dying even as they travelled to Highbeck in that coach. If Amy had known that, it was no wonder she was afraid. But had she? ‘Was any mention made of Mrs Macdonald?'

‘Not in my hearin'.'

James got up and went to the side board to pour them both a glass of ale from a jug. He put one down beside Sam and returned to his seat. It was done in an effort to assemble his thoughts, which had immediately gone to Amy and that coach ride. She had been in a pitiful state and the arrival of the two robbers had set her in such a quake only his arm about her had held her upright. He was prepared to wager they were the same two she had seen in Downham Market and skulking in the grounds of the Manor. How much did she remember? Her night mares seemed to indicate she knew something. He had been in a quandary before Sam returned; he was in a worse one now.

‘When did this happen?'

‘Just over three months ago. He might have lived, but you know what a pestilential place Newgate is,' Sam went on. ‘His wound went bad and he expired before he could be brought to trial.'

‘Gotobed was right,' James murmured.

‘What a strange name. Who is Gotobed?'

‘A man who turned up at the Manor, full of himself, said he knew Macdonald, frightened Mrs Macdonald half to death. Later he told me the man was dead. I thought he was lying.' Had Amy been right in her conjecture Gotobed had come to arrest her?

‘Does Mrs Macdonald know that?'

‘No. At least, I do not think so.'

‘You goin' to tell 'er?'

‘Someone will have to.' He did not know how he was going to do it. If Macdonald was really a thief and murderer Amy was well rid of him, though she might not agree. She might not even believe him. Had she loved her husband, even though he was a criminal? Perhaps she did not know he was of that fraternity. ‘I think I must talk to the aunts,' he said. ‘What else did you discover?'

‘Nothin' more, nor nothin' about Smith and Randle neither. Either they decided not to go back to London or their friends are keeping mum.'

‘Ah, they evidently do not believe I have given up looking for them.'

‘And have you?'

‘Certainly not. I will deal with them in my own good time.' He was surprised at his reaction. Once he would have rushed from the room to saddle up his horse and go after them at full gallop, but nearly a month in Highbeck in the company of Amy had eased his suffering and though he still wanted to see the men punished, it was no longer the core of his existence. How that had come about without his being aware of it, he did not know. He supposed it was the slow pace of life in the countryside and the influence of Amy. She was free of her husband, but not of her fears. More than anything he wanted to
allay them, to prove to her, once and for all, that she was innocent of any wrong doing. It was time he returned to the capital.

T
hat night Amy had another night mare. She was running down a road in her soft indoor shoes, fleeing from some unknown terror. Her heart was beating like a hammer and her breath was spent. She did not know how much longer she could keep running and then she stumbled and whoever or whatever it was behind her caught her up and grabbed her arms. She screamed.

It was the scream that woke her. She was tangled in the bed clothes. While she was endeavouring to extricate herself, sobbing all the while, Aunt Matilda rushed into the room in her night rail and nightcap. ‘Amy! Amy! What is the matter? What happened?'

‘It was another dream,' she said, breathless and still tearful, though trying to hide it. ‘I was running away.'

‘What were you running from?'

‘I don't know. All I saw was a dark shadow, like that cloud in my drawing. But it grabbed hold of me. I was so terrified I woke.'

‘Oh, my dear, what do you think it meant?'

Aunt Harriet came in at that point, having stopped to put on a dressing robe, and sat on the bed opposite Matilda.

‘I do not know. I wish I did. It was a street with uneven paving and buildings either side and a church in the distance. Yes, a large church with steps up to the door. It was dark, but there were people about. They did not come to my aid.'

‘I wager it was Henrietta Street, near Covent Garden,' Harriet said. ‘You lived there with Duncan.'

‘That must surely mean my memory is returning.'

‘Perhaps,' Harriet said.

‘Then if this dream is a true memory, then so was the other. I did stab Duncan.'

‘No, you did not, you could not. I will not hear of it,' Matilda said, much distressed. ‘Harriet, tell her you will not countenance the idea that she could harm anyone, let alone her husband.'

‘Even if you had wanted to, I doubt you would have had the strength,' Harriet told her practically. ‘A strong man could easily overcome you.' She went to the window and drew back the curtains, flooding the room with daylight. ‘Look, it is fully light now, so let us all dress and go down to break fast. You will feel more cheerful after that and then we will think about what to do.'

The aunts left her and in a little while Susan came with hot water and helped her to wash and dress. She went down stairs to the break fast room, but could not eat. The terror of her dream still haunted her and she could not shake it off.

‘You must tell the Widow Twitch about your dream,' Matilda said, pushing a dish of hot chocolate towards her. ‘She will know how to interpret it.'

‘Nonsense!' Harriet put in briskly. ‘It would be more
to the point to tell the Captain. He will know how to go about finding the truth.'

‘The Captain!' Amy cried in scorn. ‘The Captain has deceived us all. He is a thief taker and secret agent come to arrest me.'

Her aunt laughed. ‘Yesterday you were convinced it was Mr Gotobed intent on taking you up, when truth be, neither is the case.'

‘How can you be sure?'

‘Mr Gotobed is nothing but a troublemaker and is probably after money, and Captain Drymore was sent to us by Lord Trentham to uncover the mystery of Duncan's disappearance and see if he could help you recover your memory.'

‘He knew!' She was astounded. ‘He knew all along about my loss of memory and Duncan being missing before he ever came to Highbeck?'

‘Yes. Your mother asked Lord Trentham to find someone to help us.'

‘Then why did he not say so? Why didn't you? Why the secrecy? I am out of all countenance with all of you.' She was angry, angry with James, angry with her aunts and angry with Mr Gotobed most of all for being right about the Captain and destroying her illusions. She jumped up and hurried from the room.

‘Where are you going?' Matilda called after her.

‘To have it out with him.'

 

She ran to the Lodge and now banged on the door, trying to control her temper, but it flared again when James himself opened it. ‘Mrs Macdonald, I was on my way to enquire how you did.' His smile of welcome vanished when he saw the breathless and angry little termagant in front of him.

‘I am no better for what I have just learned,' she said furiously. ‘How could you? How could you deceive me so, when you knew how much I trusted you? But that is what you wanted, was it not, my trust, my…' She could not go on, unable to find the words for what she felt for him. Instead she pounded his chest with her fists, which had no more effect than a puff of wind on a rock.

He grabbed her wrists, assuming she had somehow found out about her husband's death, no doubt from Gotobed, for she had had no opportunity to speak to Sam and, in any case, he would not have said anything. It was not how he had wanted her to learn about it. ‘Amy, please calm yourself and let us talk about it.'

She struggled to free herself. ‘Don't you touch me, you…you viper!'

He could not help laughing, she was so furious and so very lovely, but that made matters a hundred times worse. She wanted to hit him, to lash out with fists and tongue, to hurt him, as she was hurting, to make him sorry he had ever come to Highbeck and humiliated her. It put her to the blush to think she had wanted his company, had felt able to lean on him when she was unhappy, had told him things she would never have told anyone else. The trouble was, it was disappointment with him that made her angry, disappointment that he was not the knight in shining armour she had wanted him to be, but a man on a mission and one he had been paid to do. ‘Laugh if you must,' she flung at him, ‘but I am not laughing.' No, she was crying, crying fit to break her heart.

If he had ever had any doubts about her, they vanished as he took her into his arms to comfort her. ‘Hush, my dear,' he murmured. ‘I will not laugh again. It was very remiss of me. But you know, you are such a spitfire when you are angry.'

She hated herself for the way she relaxed against him, putting her head on to his shoulder, feeling the strength in his arms, just as if she had not been berating him like a fishwife moments before. They stood, so close their bodies seemed to meld into each other, each curve of hers fitting into a curve of his. They stood like that for several seconds until her tears stopped.

‘Better now?' he asked, leaning back from her and lifting her chin with one finger to study her tear-wet face.

She nodded in a kind of trance, unable to maintain her wrath while he was being so careful of her. He took her hand and led her into the drawing room where he drew her down beside him on the sofa, as he had done once before. ‘Now, tell me what it is I have done to deserve such a scold.'

Her tears had stopped but, realising she had not solved anything by being a watering pot and allowing him to trade on her weakness, her anger returned and she pulled herself away from him. ‘You will not twist me round your thumb ever again, Captain James Drymore. I know you for what you are.'

‘And what is that?' he asked, his voice calmer than he felt.

‘A thief taker. A secret agent, a destroyer of lives…'

‘Harsh words, lady, harsh words from someone as gentle as you purport to be.'

‘But can you deny they are true?' she demanded.

‘I can and I do. I must know from whom you heard such a thing.'

‘Mr Gotobed,' she said.

‘He is a scurrilous knave. You would believe him before me?' His anger almost matched hers now, but he had long ago learned to control all outward signs of his feelings.
Becoming heated did no good at all. Besides, his anger ought to be directed at Gotobed, not her.

‘I might not have done, but my aunts confirmed it. I was never so mistaken in a man…' She gave a strangled laugh. ‘What a jest that is! How do I know I have not been mistaken before? I can not remember.'

He smiled over her head. Poor dear, no wonder she was con fused. ‘What exactly did the Misses Hardwick confirm?'

‘That Lord Trentham sent you to Highbeck to uncover the mystery of Duncan's disappearance and to help me recover my memory. You were not here on business. You lied—' She stopped suddenly. ‘Oh, but I suppose worming your way into my confidence
was
your business.'

‘I do not deny why I came, but I came as a friend to help you, not to arrest you, and I do not accept the term thief taker.'

‘But you
do
arrest people?' She was calmer now, but not yet ready to admit she had been unreasonable.

‘I have no power to do that. If I see wrong being done, then I alert the proper authorities and they make an arrest.'

‘For a reward?'

‘Certainly not for a reward,' he snapped. ‘I have no need of blood money.'

‘And are you going to turn me in?'

‘What for?'

‘For stabbing my husband.'

‘So, you remember doing that, do you?' he asked mildly.

‘Not exactly, but why else would I be tormented by night mares?'

‘Amy Macdonald, you are trying my patience,' he said, taking her by the shoulders, but instead of shaking her as
he was about to do, he stopped and looked down at her, feeling an overwhelming temptation to kiss her, to put his lips to hers and taste the sweetness of them. He came to his senses almost immediately and dropped his hands. How could he so far forget himself as to think of such a thing?

She wanted to maintain her anger, she really did, but she had seen how he looked at her. His words were angry, but his expression was not. For a single heart beat she had thought he was going to kiss her. And for another beat, she knew that she would have welcomed it. How foolish she was! Why was she so weak where he was concerned? She stood up suddenly because her thoughts were taking her along for bid den tracks and letting them have their way would damn her for ever. ‘I am going home.'

He stood beside her. ‘Then I shall escort you.' He intended to speak to the aunts while he was at the Manor, to tell them that Duncan Macdonald was indeed dead and ask if she should be told and by whom.

‘Why? Are you afraid your captive will elude you?' Oh, why was she baiting him like that? It would serve her right if he turned his back on her and her problems. And who would help her then?

She was not the captive, he decided, he was, caught in chains he could never have foreseen. ‘Not at all, but I have under taken to see you safe when you are out and about and that is what I intend to do.' His voice was clipped with the effort of keeping himself under control.

They walked in silence. It was the first time they had quarrelled and Amy could not understand why it made her feel so miserable. It had soured what had earlier been an easy rapport and she blamed herself. She wanted desperately to believe he was still the man who had become her friend—more than her friend, her rock. If only he had denied everything!

His reflections were equally remorseful. It pained him to think he had so nearly fallen victim to temptation. Acknowledging that made him feel guilty not only on behalf of his dead Caroline, whom he had vowed to avenge, but also because kissing a respectable woman was not the behaviour of a gentleman, especially when done in anger and frustration. Even though he had not done it, the wish had been there.

As they crossed the draw bridge they saw a carriage standing at the door, its four horses being looked after by a coachman and a postilion. Amy had come to dread callers, especially of late, and, in spite of her estrangement from James, was glad of his presence as they made their way towards the drawing room.

They found her aunts in conversation with their cousin Gerald, or rather he was holding forth while they listened, sitting upright in their chairs, their expressions immutable. James, who had not met the gentleman before, was introduced and made the man a bow of acknowledgement. This was received with a perfunctory nod before the man turned back to the aunts and continued his tirade. James, thwarted in his purpose of speaking to the aunts about Sam's revelations, would have taken his leave, but was beckoned to remain by Harriet.

He found the man's attitude to his relations boorish. He was a very fat man in a dark Ramillies wig with the queue tied up with a wide black ribbon. He wore a long black silk coat, the buttons of which could never be fastened over his bulging stomach. His long waist coat was deco rated with swirls of embroidery. Ruffles of lace cascaded from neck and wrist. He flung his arms about and paced the room as he talked.

‘Whoever heard of a gaggle of women managing an estate as exalted as this?' he demanded. ‘You will ruin it.
It needs a man to see to it properly. I cannot think what my uncle was thinking of—'

‘So you have said before,' Harriet interrupted him. ‘I beg you not to repeat yourself.'

‘I would not need to if you would listen and take heed. Accept defeat and move to the Lodge, which is why it is there, for widows and unmarried ladies to enjoy a peaceful existence without the worries of a great house. You cannot like the duties of estate management, even supposing you had any idea how to go about them.'

‘We have been managing perfectly well ever since Papa's death,' Matilda told him. ‘And the Manor is our home, left to us unentailed.'

‘I am persuaded it was entailed and your father ignored the stricture, which is illegal and by that token I am, as the direct male descendant of our grandfather, the legitimate heir. And you have no one to leave it to, whereas I have sons—'

‘We have Amy,' Harriet contradicted him sharply.

‘Bah! Another female!' He turned towards Amy, who had been standing close to James, listening to this exchange in consternation. She was worried, not for herself, but on behalf of her aunts. ‘She is worse than you are, not being in her right mind.'

Amy gasped and the aunts looked furious. James felt it expedient to intervene. ‘They are not the words of a gentle man about a lady, Sir Gerald,' he said, taking Amy's arm and giving it a little squeeze. ‘Mrs Macdonald has lost her memory, not her wits.'