by Mary Nichols
‘Is my father dead?’ Amy asked.
‘Not that I know. He is on the Continent some where. I have not heard from him these last three years, so I cannot tell you exactly where.’
‘Was he a Jacobite rebel?’
‘Where did you get that idea? Did Duncan tell you that?’ her mother exclaimed.
‘If he did, I do not recall it.’ Amy was becoming very tired of having continually to say she could not remember. Even the mess in her house had not revived her memory, and if that could not, then she supposed nothing could. ‘Susan told me Mr Roker was talking to her about the rebels and how so many of them were forced to flee to France and that some where there was hidden treasure…’
‘Who is Mr Roker?’ Sophie enquired.
‘He is my servant, my lady,’ James put in. ‘The story of the Arkaig treasure has tickled his fancy and no doubt he sought to divert Susan with it. She had been sick, you see.’
‘Rumours,’ Sophie said. ‘Nothing but rumours. I never realised they had spread so far. I beg of you, Captain, to set the record straight with your servant and anyone else you hear tattling. It could ruin my reputation and I would be hissed off the stage if it were thought I was connected with traitors and rebels.’
He bowed in acquiescence, though how he could prevent people from talking he did not know, especially as new rumours were flying about that Bonnie Prince Charlie was in London to drum up support for another uprising. Could there be any truth in them? Was the Young Pretender going to cause more trouble? He didn’t see how he could; his Scottish supporters had all been subdued by the draconian punishments meted out to them, many of them had been deported to America and the West Indies. They were in no position to rise again. And surely the Prince did not have enough allies in England? France and Spain would not help him unless he could show them he had overwhelming support. And where did Amy’s family, particularly her father and husband, fit into all that? As far as he knew Sam had not connected Sir John with the rebels, so why had Amy jumped to that conclusion? Had she known something? Was it all part of the reason for her loss of memory? This mystery just seemed to continually deepen rather than unfold!
They were interrupted by the arrival of a young man who breezed into the room without knocking. ‘Oh,’ he said, when he saw Amy and James. ‘I did not know you had company, Sophie.’
Her mother waved a hand at him. ‘Come in, Harry, and be presented to my daughter, Mrs Macdonald, and Captain James Drymore. Captain, Amy, this is my protégé, Mr Harry Portman, son and heir of Lord Portman of Braintree.’
The man was the same age as James, perhaps a year or two his junior, and dressed in a suit of lilac silk. His waistcoat was white, his stockings white, tied at the knee with lilac ribbon. A quizzing glass and watch dangled on two ribbons about his neck. His fingers sparkled with jewelled rings. He was, so James decided, as eccentric a macaroni as Gotobed, but with a little more taste. He bowed to Amy and kissed her hand. ‘Mrs Macdonald, your obedient.’ Then he bowed to James. ‘Captain Drymore, how do you do? Your fame precedes you.’
‘Oh?’ James queried. ‘In what connection?’
‘Why, in connection with your thief taking exploits. According to Lord Trentham, no criminal is safe once you have him in your sights.’
‘Lord Trentham is too kind. And also in ac cu rate,’ James said drily.
Harry turned and ad dressed himself to Sophie. ‘I came to say you are wanted on stage for the second act.’
‘Then I must go,’ she said, preparing to get herself out of the door the way she had come in. ‘Amy, bring the Captain back later and you can tell me all about what you have been up to, night mares and all, and how my sisters do and what is happening at Highbeck. I really must try to pay a visit before too long.’
‘Mama, I have nowhere to go.’
‘What’s wrong with your house in Henrietta Street?’
‘I had to break a window to get in,’ Amy told her. ‘But apart from that, nearly everything in the house has been ruined or plundered. The clothes presses are empty and so are the kitchen cup boards.’
‘Well, I am sorry, but I do not see how you can stay with me. I do not have the room and I am never in. You would find it dull in the extreme.’
James could see the disappointment and hurt in Amy’s eyes even if her mother could not. He felt like shaking the woman and demanding she attend to her daughter. No one could have been less like the lovable Hardwick aunts. ‘It is of no consequence,’ he said. ‘Mrs Macdonald is welcome to stay at Colbridge House while we are in town.’
‘There!’ her mother said with satisfaction. ‘That is a much better idea.’
‘Come, Amy,’ he said gently. ‘I will take you home. We will come back and see the performance this evening and perhaps Lady Charron will dine with us at Fenton’s afterwards.’
‘May I be one of the party?’ Portman asked. ‘I would hear about your exploits as thief taker.’
The request did not please James, but he could think of no excuse to exclude him, especially as Lady Charron agreed. Having squeezed herself out, she was followed by Portman, leaving James and Amy to find their way back to the street and the patient Susan.
‘How can I go back to your home?’ Amy asked as they climbed into the cab beside Susan. ‘Your parents are from home.’
‘They were not at home last night either.’
‘That was different,’ she said illogically. ‘If I am not to be arrested and thrown into prison, then I would like to go back to Highbeck. Susan and I can board a stage.’
Susan gave a little gasp at this, making James smile. The maid was not at all happy with that idea. Did it have something to do with Sam? he wondered. ‘That I will not allow. When you go, you go back with me. And there is no question of you being arrested,’ he said firmly.
‘No?’
‘Of course not.’
‘How soon can we go?’ She was desperate for Highbeck and the restful sympathy of her aunts and wished she had never left. Nothing had been gained and she felt worse than before. Her one consolation was the presence of James, who was determined to look after her and prove her innocence. She wondered why he bothered, but she was very glad of it.
‘I have to see some people while I am in town and also deliver your aunt’s packet to Mr Smithson,’ he told her. ‘And we are engaged to meet your mama this evening, though I wonder if you are not too fatigued and ought to rest. You need to recover from the news of your husband’s death and the journey here…’
‘I never felt less like resting, my insides are churning, my head is spinning and I cannot rest until I have spoken to my mother again and learned all she knows. As for my husband’s death, it seems so remote, as if it happened in another life and I suppose, in a way, it did,’ she said sadly.
‘Very well,’ he said. He would have taken her hand but for the presence of Susan. Instead he ad dressed the practicalities. ‘Now, this is what we will do. You will come with me to Colbridge House and have something to eat and drink, since you have had nothing since last night and that was little enough.’ He did not add that the brandy he had given her might have steadied her nerves, but it had certainly gone to her head. ‘After that you will rest while I go about my business. Susan will wake you in time to dress for dinner before we go to the opera. Tomorrow we will decide about returning to Highbeck. Do you agree?’
‘I suppose I must.’ The effects of the brandy were beginning to wear off and she was too tired to argue.
Amy was in a quake by the time they arrived at Colbridge House, but James’s hand under her elbow steadied her as they were admitted by the butler who seemed surprised to see her again. ‘Nuncheon,’ James commanded him.
‘Very good, sir.’ He hurried off to obey and James led Amy into the drawing room. She wished she could escape to the solitude of the bedchamber she had used the night before and reflect on a day that had been full of shocks and revelations. Luckily James under stood and though she barely took in what he was saying
, he filled the waiting time with tales of his adventures at sea; by the time those had been exhausted, nuncheon was served.
Afterwards James con ducted her to her room, but, unlike the evening before, he walked a little apart from her, bowed formally and left. Susan helped her undress and she lay on the bed, not expecting to sleep, but she was so tired, her eyelids closed almost immediately and she was allowed the solace of oblivion…
James went straight to Smithson, the Hardwick lawyer, where he delivered the package, then to his own lawyer where he left instructions about his Newmarket estate, then off to Newgate prison where a guinea bought the information he needed, that Duncan Macdonald had most definitely died in custody.
‘Did he ever have a visitor by the name of Gotobed?’ he asked the turnkey.
‘Visitor,’ the man laughed. ‘Gotobed weren’t no visitor, he were in Newgate at the same time as Macdonald. Thick as thieves, they were.’ He laughed at his simile. ‘Well, they were thieves. They spent a deal of time whispering together. If the Scotsman hadn’t been a-dyin’, I’d have said they were plottin’ something.’
‘Gotobed is a convicted criminal?’
‘Not exactly. He was awaiting trial for fraud and was acquitted. He had a good lawyer and money enough to bribe witnesses.’
That answered one question, but there were many more.
After leaving Newgate, he called on Henry Fielding, who was writing at his desk when James was shown into his office. ‘Captain Drymore, it is good to see you,’ he said, rising to greet him.
‘Are you busy?’ James asked, surveying the scattered papers on the desk.
‘It can wait. I have been drafting a proposal to recruit a few trustworthy fellows to patrol the streets and root out crime.’
‘More thieftakers?’
‘No, for these will be paid a wage and not have to rely on rewards for a living. They will be young and healthy and, whenever a crime is reported, will be able to run hotfoot to the scene to apprehend the criminals before they can make their escape. It is my vision for the future, where these men are recognised and respected and criminals go in fear of them.’
James smiled. ‘Police?’
‘No, the public equate that word with French gendarmes and the Revolution. They would never trust them.’
‘Fielding’s Runners, perhaps.’
‘Not that either, for I hope they will long outlast me. Perhaps Bow Street Runners, since they will be working from this office. But enough of that. You have, no doubt, come about those rascals, Smith and Randle.’
His words brought James up short. That ought to have been his first concern, had always been in the fore front of his mind, behind every action, until he met Amy. Now he was not so sure. ‘That, too, but, as you recall, you sent me on an errand for Lord Trentham.’
‘Ah, yes. Tell me what you have discovered.’
James told him, though he was careful not to say anything about Amy’s night mares and her conviction that she was in some way culpable. Confessions were often taken as proof by the judiciary and the thought of his lovely Amy being sent to the gallows made his heart almost stop.
‘I had no idea the man was in gaol when I asked you to find him,’ the magistrate said. ‘But if he had not been brought to trial on account of being too ill, that would account for it. Did he make a deathbed confession?’
‘If he did, they were made to a man called Martin Gotobed. He was in Newgate at the same time as Macdonald.’
‘Oh, that one. A slippery customer indeed. Got away with his crimes on account of the witnesses changing their story. I have no doubt he bribed them, but I could not shift them and so we had to let him go,’ Fielding said.
‘He was in Highbeck when we left,’ James said. ‘And so were two men I’ll lay my oath were Macdonald’s cronies, though I cannot be certain. If they are, why are all these loose fish congregating at a remote hamlet like Highbeck?’
Fielding shrugged. ‘Perhaps you should find out.’
James sighed. ‘More thief taking?’
The magistrate laughed. ‘Well, Captain, you are so good at it. And one reason I rely on you is that I know you to be a man of principle and honest in your dealings with them. I wish there were more like you, then men like Gotobed who can afford to bribe and coerce witnesses would never escape justice.’
‘It has not helped me to find Smith and Randle.’ It was all very well to tell Amy he felt easier about Caroline’s death, but murderers should not be allowed to think they could get away with it and commit other devilish crimes with impunity. If there was no longer a thirst for vengeance, there ought still to be some measure of justice. ‘But I will run them to earth after I have concluded my present enquiries.’
His next call was on Lord Trentham in Grosvenor Square; as Lady Charron’s representative, it behoved him to keep him up to date with his enquiries.
His lordship was preparing to go out, the footman told him, but on being acquainted with James’s presence, asked the servant to show him up to his dressing room. ‘We will talk while I dress,’ he told James, signalling to his valet to carry on with his work. ‘Have you come from Highbeck?’
‘Yes. I have brought Mrs Macdonald with me. I thought the sight of her house might help, but all it did was distress her. We are going to the opera tonight at Lady Charron’s invitation. I hope it will give her a little diversion.’
His lordship smiled. ‘You sound convinced she is genuine.’
‘Yes, I am.’ He went on to describe everything that had happened before adding, ‘I met a friend of her ladyship’s at the theatre, a Mr Harry Portman. Her ladyship introduced him as her protégé. He invited himself to join the party. A bit of a queer fish, I thought. He mentioned you.’
‘Yes, I know him.’
‘I wonder how much Lady Charron has told him.’
Lord Trentham laughed. ‘All, I should think. And before you condemn her for it, be assured Mr Harry Portman is not what he seems. It is not generally known and I doubt her ladyship is aware of it, but he stands high with the government.’ He tapped the side of his nose, getting his hand in the way of his valet who was vainly trying to powder his hair. ‘I can say no more, except that if he has anything to say on the matter it would be as well to listen.’
James thanked him and took his leave, striding down the road deep in thought, not about Harry Portman, nor Smith and Randle, but about Amy and her problems, which over the last few weeks had become his problems. He could not shake off a feeling that Blackfen Manor held the key. He was glad they were returning on the morrow.
Hot water had been brought up for Amy to wash and change, though what to change into she did not know. She had not come prepared for opera going. ‘I ought to go into mourning, I suppose,’ she told Susan. ‘But it would be hypocritical to pretend, so what am I to wear?’
She had not cared what had been packed for her and it had been left to Susan to decide what to take. While Amy had been sleeping, she had taken a gown from Amy’s portmanteau and shaken the creases out. It was a simple gown in dove-grey silk with only slight padding at the hips and a brocade stomacher finished with a fichu of white lace at its neckline, which could be called half-mourning. Susan arranged her hair becomingly, padding out the side curls and threading black ribbons through the lace cap to signify her widowhood. Slipping into her shoes, Amy took a last look in the mirror and went out onto the landing just as the dinner gong sounded.
James was just coming from his dressing room, dressed in a dark mulberry satin suit, white ruffled shirt and a white neck cloth. ‘Good evening, Mrs Macdonald,’ he said, bowing. ‘Were you able to rest?’
‘Yes, I did not think I would, but I fell asleep,’ she admitted.
‘Good.’ He offered her his arm and they proceeded down to the dining room in stately fashion. On the way he pointed out the family portraits hanging on the walls of the stair case, telling her the family’s history as he did so. It was an old family, he told her, the earldom went back over a century
. This was his father, this his grandfather, this his grand mother and this his brother Edward, Viscount Drymore, who was the next heir. ‘You will like him,’ he said. ‘As my parents prefer to live in London, he lives with his wife and four children on the family’s Hertfordshire estate. My father has all but handed it over to him to manage.’
‘Do you visit him often?’
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘Now that is an idea. Shall we break our journey to Highbeck and stay a night with him? It will be less of a trial if we do it in two stages. What do you say?’
She was a little taken aback. ‘Are you sure he will not mind?’
‘He will be de lighted,’ he assured her.
‘Very well, I should like that,’ she said.
‘Then I will arrange it. Now, let us go and eat. The meal is only a light one, considering we are to have supper after the opera.’
Even so it consisted of seven dishes and a remove of fruit and tartlets, making Amy wonder what a full meal might be like in that grand house hold. She was too unsettled to eat much. Afterwards the coach was called up and they rode in comfort to the Drury Lane Theatre and took their seats in the Colbridge box.
The Beggar’s Opera was popular with the crowds because it was so different from the usual run of operas. The hero of the piece was a high way man, the heroine, played by Sophie, a gaoler’s daughter, and the chorus was a band of criminals and whores, which James thought ironic, considering everything that had happened to Amy in the last three months. But the music and performances were good and Amy did not seem unduly upset. In fact, she was looking particularly charming and frequently grabbed his arm to point out something amusing she had noticed on the stage. She had evidently made up her mind to try to put her troubles behind her, at least for the evening, and he was determined to make sure nothing cast a cloud over it.
He had hardly paid attention to the opera and was still in something of a brown study when they went to Sophie’s dressing room after the performance and were joined there by Harry Portman, extravagantly attired in a spotted silk coat, heavily embroidered waist coat of silver brocade, frothy muslin neck cloth and pink stockings with bunches of ribbons at the knees.