The Captain's Mysterious Lady (20 page)

‘And we missed you,' Matilda said. ‘But why did you not send to say you were coming?'

‘There was no time, we only decided the day before yesterday,' Amy said.

‘Well, come in, come in, and tell us all about it,' Harriet said, ushering them both ahead of her, followed by Matilda. Sam took the portmanteaux from the boot and handed them to Susan, giving her a large wink and a grin as he did so, which made James smile.

‘Sam, take the coach to the Lodge, I will walk from here,' he called over his shoulder.

Once they were settled in the small parlour and tea and refreshments had been ordered, Harriet demanded to know all that had happened.

James, who was more than a little preoccupied, left Amy to relate everything. She de scribed the grandeur of Colbridge House and the palatial Drymore Hall, re counted her meeting with her mother and the visit to the opera and her reaction to the dreadful mess at the house in Henrietta Street, drawing a gasp of horror from Matilda. ‘Did you remember how it came to be like that?' she asked.

‘No, Aunt. It made no difference.'

‘You surely do not still think you were responsible for Duncan's death, do you?'

‘You knew he was dead?' she asked in surprise. ‘I did not know myself until the Captain told me in London.'

‘He told us before you left,' Harriet said. ‘And do not climb into the tree-tops over it. He asked who should be the one to tell you and we left it to him. It was done for your own good.'

‘I know.' She was far more placid about it now. ‘And the Captain has convinced me that I am not to blame for Duncan's death, though I may have witnessed it…'

The aunts both turned to James, who had been sitting silent, his mind on how to go about arresting Smith and Randle and making sure they did not slip through his fingers again. Politeness decreed he should sit and take tea, but he was on hot coals to be gone.

‘You have discovered who might have been responsible?' Harriet asked him.

‘One of Mr Macdonald's associates, I think. It might have been the man, Billings, but as he is dead…' He shrugged without finishing the sentence. Could it have been Smith or Randle who murdered Amy's husband?

‘The only thing that came to me,' Amy went on, ‘was a
voice, which I think must have been Duncan's, saying, “Go to Blackfen Manor. I will join you there. Tell no one.”'

‘Ah, that is how you came to be on that coach,' Harriet said.

‘Yes, so you see, he was very likely alive when I left and most of the mystery is solved. I have decided not to worry about the rest. I can remember being here afterwards and the Captain coming and that is enough.'

‘Are you going to stay here with us, then?' Matilda wanted to know.

‘Oh, yes. And the Captain is going to stay, too. He says Highbeck suits him.'

‘If you would be so good as to allow me to remain at the Lodge until I find some where to buy in the vicinity,' he put in.

‘Stay as long as you like,' Harriet said. ‘Which reminds me, did you deliver those documents to Mr Smithson?'

‘I did indeed. He said he would write to you as soon as he has had time to study them, but he is sure you have nothing to worry about.'

‘I am glad to hear that,' Harriet said. ‘Not that I ever doubted it, but Gerald was here again yesterday, being as objectionable as ever. He insisted on going round the house making an inventory. He said there were repairs that needed doing and we were not up to seeing to them, which made me very angry. I followed him round to see what he was writing down, but he did not seem to make many notes at all. I think he was simply prying. What I cannot understand is why, after years of silence, he has suddenly taken an interest again.'

‘Oh, it is the presence of the Captain,' Matilda said, almost smugly. ‘He is afraid Amy will marry him and deprive him of all hope of getting his hands on the Manor.'

Amy's face went scarlet and even James was taken aback.

‘Tilly!' Harriet remonstrated. ‘You are putting Amy to the blush and embarrassing the Captain.'

James felt something from him was called for, but he was unsure what that should be. Should he deny he had ever thought of Amy in that way, which would be a terrible set down for her? On the other hand he did not want to be pushed into proposing. He was not ready for that. ‘Until a week ago, we all believed Mrs Macdonald was married,' he said evenly. ‘I am sure she is not yet ready to consider another suit.'

Amy was mortified. Not until that moment had she realised her growing regard for James was more than that. She loved him and nothing would have pleased her more than he should love her, too. But he did not and was letting her down as gently as he could. But could she blame him? She might have said she was content not to push at her memory, but there were still matters unresolved and even if she had not been the one to put the knife into her husband, she must have seen it happen and knew the men who did it and that made her an accessory. He had to uphold the law, that was the kind of man he was; he would not marry a woman like her. The happiness she felt in returning to Highbeck seeped away, leaving her as troubled as she had been before.

‘Aunts, what have you been doing while we have been away?' she asked, falsely bright. ‘Apart from entertaining Cousin Gerald, I mean.'

‘Busying our selves about the estate,' Harriet said. ‘Overseeing the hay making and clearing the barn for the harvest. And we had two more callers. Why the house should suddenly interest visitors, I do not know. We are so out of the way here.'

‘Visitors?' James queried. ‘What manner of visitors?'

‘A Mr Miller and a Mr Wade. London gentlemen, they said. Studying architecture. They asked to be shown round the house.'

This was not good news. James wondered whether to put the ladies on their guard or say nothing. There must be a reason why the house was attracting visitors. Most recently, those two, whom he did not doubt were Smith and Randle, and also Gotobed, seen whispering with the dying Duncan Macdonald; and even Sir Gerald Hardwick, whose interest in the place had suddenly been revived. And there was the voice Amy had remembered. ‘Go to Blackfen Manor. I will join you there. Tell no one.' What was she not to tell? Had she remembered that and decided not to en lighten him?

‘Did you show the two London gentlemen round?' he asked the aunts.

‘No, but they came into the hall and started asking questions about the house and how many rooms there were. I did not like them and when they started to become too inquisitive, almost as if they were interrogating me, I asked them to leave.'

‘Good.' He paused. ‘Perhaps it would be wise to be a little less hospitable in future.'

Amy, who had begun to understand how his mind worked, looked sharply at him. Was he simply being cautious or did he think there was more to the visitors than appeared on the surface? Did it have anything to do with her? If she had brought danger to her aunts, she would never forgive herself. He saw her looking at him and smiled to reassure her. ‘Just a precaution.'

They talked for a few more minutes, then he took his leave, setting off to walk swiftly through the copse to the Lodge.

 

Sam had seen to the horses and put the carriage away and was busy in James's bedchamber unpacking. He turned as James entered. ‘Is all well at the Manor, Captain?'

‘I am not sure. Sir Gerald Hardwick has called again and two other men came wanting to be shown round the house. It looks like we have found Smith and Randle.' He gave a grunt of a laugh. ‘Or they have found us.'

‘You saw them, too, did you?' Sam said. ‘I wondered if you might have.'

‘It occurred to me they might be the two who held up the coach when we first came to Highbeck. The masks and cloaks made it impossible to identify them.'

‘Then they are connected with Mrs Macdonald…'

‘It looks like it. Mrs Macdonald has remembered her husband telling her to come to Highbeck, that he would meet her here. Presumably they knew it. And that fellow Billings did, too. They were all on the way to Blackfen Manor.'

‘Then undoubtedly there is something there, something they want and it has to be something valuable. Gold and jewels, mayhap.'

‘What made you say that?' James asked sharply. One of Amy's dreams had featured something of the sort, though he did not think Sam knew that.

‘No reason, but ain't that what thieves are usually after?' He gave a sudden chuckle. ‘You never know, it might be the Arkaig treasure.'

James laughed, too, but it set him thinking and thinking hard. Knowledge of the whereabouts of that, or anything like it, could be a threat, not only from criminals who coveted it, but from the government who had been trying to locate it for years without success. Having it amounted to treason. Surely his beautiful Amy could know nothing
of it? He wanted to rush back and warn her, to instigate a search for whatever it was, hand it over and free Amy of any stigma of involvement. He sat down heavily on the bed while Sam continued to tidy away his clothes and put out a fresh coat and breeches for him to change into.

His thief taking had taken on a whole new meaning. Fielding had sent him here—did Fielding know more than he had told him? Was he being used? It made him angry and, for a second—and it was only a second—he thought of abandoning the whole project and returning to London to confront the magistrate. But he knew at once he could not do that. Amy was here and, wherever Amy was, there he must stay. ‘I think we would be wise to search the grounds and out buildings,' he said.

‘For the treasure?' Sam gasped.

‘No, man, for those two murdering thieves. We must find out where they are staying and keep a watch on them. Gotobed, too.'

‘He was at the King's Arms when we left four days ago. Mayhap they are there, too.'

‘Then tonight you and I will go and enjoy the hospitality of mine host.'

 

Amy lay awake. In spite of telling James she would wait until God chose to restore her memory, she found herself going over and over what she had learned about her husband, her mother's statement about the unsavoury characters with whom he associated and the two men she had seen following her in the grounds. James had not said so, but she knew him well enough now to know that he considered they had been her aunts' visitors and that boded no good. His gentle warnings hid a deep concern.

Dear James! How she loved him! He embodied all that was good, whereas the others represented evil. She needed
to know there was none of that evil in her, and to do that she must remember everything. She lay listening to the rising wind soughing round the old house and deliberately made herself visualise the house in Henrietta Street, trying to see it as it had been before someone had fought a battle in it.

She had no idea what her married life with Duncan had been like, except from what her mother had told her, nor what had caused the fight in the house. Nor was she sure there had ever been any gold or jewels except in her dreams. But there had been a struggle. It was coming back to her now; mentally she reached out to grasp it, something she had been shying away from until now, too afraid to face it. Four men. Anger. Everyone shouting. Crockery and furniture being thrown. A knife being produced and a great deal of blood. Screaming. Her screaming as she watched. And Duncan's voice, weak from his injuries, telling her to go to Highbeck. How much of that was real memory and how much suggested to her by dreams and what people had told her? Was she dreaming now? And then she remembered being out in the street, running, running as if the hounds of hell were at her heels…

She began to tremble. It was very close now, the revelation she wanted so badly and yet feared so much. Knowing she would not sleep until it came to her, she left her bed and drew back the curtains. It was dawn, but still very early, too soon to dress and go down to break fast. She slipped into a dressing gown and sat at the escritoire and taking quill, ink and paper from a drawer began to write down all she could remember and had been told in the order in which she thought it had occurred. Slowly more was revealed on the pages in front of her. It was as if her memory were communicating itself direct from her pen to the paper.

She had helped the wounded Duncan to bed, trailing blood all the way, and tended his wounds, while the other three caroused and argued in the kitchen. Duncan had wanted her to leave him. ‘Go while you can,' he had said. ‘You know what will happen to you if you do not. They will have no mercy. Go to Highbeck. Tell no one where you are going.'

‘But I cannot leave you like this!' she had exclaimed.

‘I shall recover, never fear, and join you there.'

‘What will they do to you?'

‘Nothing. I have something they want very badly. They will not harm me further while I tantalise them with it.'

She would never have left him if she had known he would die or if she had felt an ounce of sympathy for him, but all she could remember feeling was anger that his own disreputable behaviour had brought this trouble on them. The sound of drunken laughter coming from the kitchen finally persuaded her to go. She had flung a cloak about her, crept from the house and run down the street, dodging this way and that, not knowing what to do or where to go. Even as angry with him as she was, she could not do as Duncan asked and go to Highbeck, not while he lay wounded and at the mercy of those men. She ought to find a constable or a watchman, but if she did that, Duncan would be in trouble along with those dreadful men. A doctor, then.

She was standing in the street, too confused to go on, when Gus Billings—she remembered him—had caught up with her and given her the choice of allowing him to accompany her to Highbeck, which indicated he had overheard Duncan talking to her, or taking her back to the house and handing her over to the other two. ‘And they will not deal so gently with you, my dear,' he had said with
a leer, his hand gripping her arm painfully. ‘All I want to do is help you, as Duncan wishes me to.'