by Mary Nichols
During supper, James acquainted Lady Charron with the progress of his investigation. After all, she was Amy’s mother and the one who had asked for enquiries to be made and would have been his paymaster if he had ever considered accepting imbursement. He told her of the two men Amy had seen in the grounds of the Manor and his conviction they were the two high way men and known to Amy’s unprepossessing escort. ‘I am also of the opinion that they were involved in whatever happened in Henrietta Street before Mrs Macdonald left,’ he said.
Sophie turned to her daughter. ‘And you really do not remember any of that?’
‘No, Mama, nothing before the coach turned over. You see, I banged my head…’
‘And it seems to have addled your wits.’
‘I say, Sophie, that’s doing it too brown,’ Harry Portman drawled. James was surprised at his intervention; he had been examining his fingernails and had not appeared to be listening. Now he tapped Sophie on the arm. ‘If Mrs Macdonald cannot remember, then she cannot remember. I am persuaded her wits are unaffected. Let us leave all to Captain Drymore and change the subject. What do you think of our new bridge, Drymore?’
The new bridge over the Thames between Lambeth and Westminster was nearing completion. Until it opened, anyone wanting to cross the river had either to brave the traffic jams along Fleet Street and over the six-hundred-year-old London Bridge or go all the way to Kingston and cross by the wooden Fulham Bridge.
‘Long overdue, I should say,’ James answered, knowing it had taken twelve years to build. ‘It will certainly aid those working in Westminster, not to mention bring in extra trade to both sides of the river, though I hear it does not please the ferrymen.’
‘No, but one cannot hinder progress and now, but for a lick of paint, it is finished.’
They went on to discuss the architecture of the bridge and how it would be an extra crossing for troops if they were called to put down any new rebellion which everyone seemed to think might come from the south.
Amy, glad she was no longer the centre of attention, did not join in. James turned once or twice to smile at her, which received a tentative smile in response. She was in her own little world of shadows and he swore to himself that, come what may, one day he would make her happy again.
Chapter Eight
Drymore Hall was a vast mansion set in rolling parkland, with a long carriage drive and a sweeping turning circle at the front door, in the middle of which was a statue of a man on a horse. Its regiment of windows gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Amy began to feel nervous. ‘It’s a palace,’ she breathed.
‘Not quite.’ James turned to smile at her. ‘Old, but not as old as Blackfen Manor. But like the Manor to you, it was my child hood home.’
The carriage rolled to a stop. James opened the door and jumped down without waiting for the coachman to come and let down the step. He ran lightly up the steps and banged on the door, which was opened by a liveried footman. ‘Captain Drymore,’ the man said, a broad smile creasing his face. ‘I will tell the master you are here.’
‘Who is here?’ said a voice which belonged to a man in his early forties who had come from one of the many rooms, carrying a book. ‘James, well I never! What brings you here? Not that I am not de lighted to see you. Come on in. We were never more surprised when Father told us you had decided to stay in the country for a time and had sent Sam Roker to fetch your belongings. You surely did not need to take a repairing lease?’
‘Certainly not! I am not in debt, at least no more than a few pounds for my last suit of clothes and a new pair of pistols, which I shall discharge while I am here.’
‘The pistols?’
James laughed. ‘No, the debt.’
‘Then, pray, come in and tell us all about it…’
‘Edward,’ James interrupted him, ‘I am not alone. I hope you do not mind, but I have brought a guest. We need to rack up for the night. Do you think Elizabeth will mind?’
‘Of course not. Bring him in.’
‘It is not a him, it is a lady.’
‘Really?’ He did not even try to hide his surprise. James had shown no interest in ladies since his wife died. ‘Don’t leave her out there, man, go and fetch her.’
Amy was fetched and ushered into the drawing room where the Viscount and Lady Drymore waited.
‘Edward, Elizabeth,’ James said, as they rose to greet her. ‘Allow me to present Mrs Macdonald. Mrs Macdonald, Viscount Drymore, Lady Drymore.’
Amy gave them a deep curtsy, only to find herself being raised by the Viscount himself. ‘Come and sit down, Mrs Macdonald,’ he said, leading her to a sofa. ‘You must tell us all about yourself.’
This was harder than she could ever have imagined. She did not know all about herself and did not know what to say. She glanced at James, who was smiling encouragement. ‘You can be perfectly frank,’ he said.
Amy began tentatively explaining who she was and how she had come to meet the Captain and a little of her life at Highbeck. That done, her voice faded to a halt. James came to her rescue and explained how she had come to lose her memory and how he had taken her to London in the hope that it might be restored, making himself sound matter of fact, his part that of investigator, nothing more.
‘Oh, you poor thing,’ Lady Drymore said to Amy. ‘And how brave of you to venture back to that house. I could never have done it, I am sure.’
‘It had to be done, my lady,’ Amy replied.
They were interrupted by the entrance of the children, two boys and two girls, all boisterous and noisy. Seeing James, they flung them selves at him in delight. It was only when he gently disengaged himself, they realised their parents had another visitor and stood obediently to be presented to Amy. The boys bowed and the girls curtsied. Amy smiled and asked them their names and how old they were, which the eldest answered. ‘I’m Edward, called Teddy on account of papa is Edward, too, and this is James, after Uncle James, and the girls are Marianna, who is eight, and Isobel, who is six. We have been on a nature ramble with our governess this afternoon and have collected flowers to draw…’
‘You can show them to us later,’ their mother said. ‘Go back to Miss Wiles now and have your supper.’
They ran off and a maid came to say Amy’s room was ready and hot water taken up for her to prepare for dinner. Amy went up behind the maid in a daze. James’s life before he met her, before his wife had died, had been very different from hers. He was way above her in every way, but everyone was so kind to her, she did not feel put down, and in any case, her aunts had brought her up to know how to behave in society. She could and would hold her own.
Susan would not hear of Amy wearing the grey again. ‘I thought you might want to dress up,’ she said. ‘So I packed one of your best gowns.’
Amy laughed. ‘You are as bad as Widow Twitch, claiming to see into the future. Which one have you brought?’
It was an open gown in blue silk, beautifully embroidered with sprigs of pink-and-lemon flowers and worn over a quilted cream-satin petticoat. It had narrow side hoops and a modest neckline edged with lace. The lace continued down the edges of the bodice where it met the embroidered stomacher and that ended in a point just below her waist and was finished off with a satin bow. The narrow sleeves ended in a froth of lace. It suited Amy well, as Susan was not slow to tell her.
‘Beautiful,’ she breathed, standing back with shining eyes to survey what she considered her handiwork. ‘How shall I do your hair?’
‘Something simple.’
‘Then the Dutch style it shall be.’
Amy sat at the dressing table and patiently allowed Susan to brush her fair hair back from a centre parting and pin it into a knot on top of her head, from where she teased the ends into curls and ringlets to fall about her face and neck. There were no unnatural buckles, no powdering. ‘There!’ she said at last. ‘You are ready. And if that does not turn a certain young man’s head, I do not know what will.’
Amy ignored her last remark, sli
pped on her shoes and took one last look in the mirror before making her way down stairs to the drawing room where everyone was gathered before going into the dining room.
James turned as she hesitated in the doorway. She took his breath away she looked so lovely, if a little pale, which was not down to paint or powder—her complexion was devoid of makeup, not even a patch. The word whole some came into his mind, whole some and innocent. And entirely adorable. He went forwards and led her into the room to join Lord and Lady Drymore, both of whom were looking very elegant.
James, too, had taken trouble with his appearance. His forest-green coat was plain except for the pearl buttons on the sleeves, pockets and down the front. Its elegance lay in its perfect fit, which emphasised his broad shoulders and neat waist. His breeches, of a paler green, met white stockings just below the knee where a ribbon bow held both in place. Only his waist coat showed any sign of opulence and that was of heavily embroidered brocade, buttoned to the waist. His only jewel was the pin he always wore in his neck cloth. Sam had insisted on arranging his hair in three padded curls over each ear and tying the rest of it behind his head in a queue, but James had drawn the line at smothering it in white powder.
When dinner was announced, they went into the dining room, where they were served with a feast by the butler and two footmen dressed in pale blue-and-white livery and white wigs. The first course, already on the table, consisted of fifteen separate dishes, including two soups that began the meal, meat and poultry, with mock turtle made from a calf’s head as the centrepiece. There were dishes of peas, carrots, mashed swede and broccoli. When all that was removed, the second course was brought in and this consisted mainly of game: pheasant, hare, partridge and fish, together with fruit tartlets and several kinds of pudding. The meal was topped off, after these dishes had been cleared away and the cloth drawn, with fruit and spun-sugar confections.
Amy did her best to do it justice. Did her best, too, to keep up her end of the conversation as it ranged from the weather and the possibility of a good harvest after so many bad ones. She answered questions about Highbeck and her aunts, and then the talk moved on to the rumours flying about concerning Prince Charlie and what the government was doing to prevent another invasion, and she fell silent. James noticed this and quickly changed the subject by asking about his brother’s children, who were very close to his heart, and talking about education in general.
But after the ladies had with drawn, he brought the subject up again with his brother. ‘The Young Pretender has been seen in London,’ he said. ‘He walked into Lady Primrose’s card party in Essex Street as bold as you please, and she did not turn a hair. I had it from Henry Fielding.’
‘Is Fielding proposing to arrest him?’ Edward asked.
James laughed. ‘I am quite sure he would like to, but the man is as slippery as an eel and has disappeared again.’
‘Let us hope he has gone back to France.’
‘Yes. You do not wish it any more than I do, for Amy’s sake.’
‘Amy?’ Edward smiled. ‘You make free with her given name. Does that mean you have at last decided to remarry?’
‘No.’ James was quick to deny it. ‘Mrs Macdonald has only recently learned of her husband’s death.’
Edward, knowing his brother, ignored this prevarication. ‘That was a bad business, a bad business indeed. Are you sure Mrs Macdonald knew nothing of what her husband was up to?’
‘I am positive she is entirely innocent. But there are other matters that need investigating. Macdonald’s cronies and what they are planning, for one thing.’
‘And you are intent on going back to Highbeck tomorrow?’ Edward enquired.
‘Yes. There has to be a reason why all the muck worms are gathering there and the aunts are alone, apart from a handful of servants. And Amy is anxious to return.’
‘Then let us join the ladies and enjoy the remainder of our time together. We see too little of you, James…’
It was hay making time in Highbeck when they arrived and the villagers were out in the fields, either scything or raking it. They turned to look as the coach went by and, seeing who occupied it, waved a greeting and Amy waved, too, glad to be back. This was home; it was where she was most at ease and while James was there beside her, she felt content and safe from harm. He had convinced her he had no intention of handing her over to the law, that there was no need of it, but was he endangering his own reputation as a man of honour by leaving her free? Should she be feeling guilty about that, too?
She turned to look at him. He was smiling. ‘Home, Amy,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘For me, too.’
‘Truly?’
‘Yes. I cannot think of anywhere else I would rather be,’ he admitted.
‘But you have an estate in Suffolk, have you not?’
‘I never lived there and now I never shall. I have instructed my lawyer to sell it for me. I shall continue to live in the Lodge until I find some where to buy.’
She gave a little chuckle, the first real laugh he had heard from her for days. ‘The aunts will be pleased about that and Cousin Gerald exactly the contrary.’
‘And you? Will it please you?’ he asked.
‘Oh, yes,’ she said immediately and he was immeasurably heartened.
‘Over the last few weeks,’ he went on, ‘you have made me realise that what I was doing before I met you was wasting my life in search of vengeance, believing only that could bring me peace, but you have shown me I was wrong. My life could be put to better purpose…’
So he had listened to her! ‘What purpose?’
‘That I am not sure of. Doing some good, helping people.’
‘Like you have helped me, you mean?’
‘But I have not helped you, have I? Your memory has not returned and we still do not know why your husband died.’
‘But you have been a great help to me,’ she pro tested. ‘You make me feel calm and at ease with myself. You tell me you do not believe I killed my husband and I have to trust you are right.’
‘I am heartily glad of that.’
‘You know,’ she said slowly, ‘you said you had been wasting your life and it is the same for me, though with me it is not vengeance, but a memory. I should put myself in the hands of God, who will restore my memory if and when it pleases Him. It is time I thought of something more useful to do with my time. You have made me see that.’
Delighted with this, he picked up her hand and cupped it in both of his, forgetting Susan was sitting opposite her, drinking in every word. ‘Thank you, my dear. Let us say we have been of benefit to each other.’ He lifted the hand he held to his lips. ‘We go forwards from here, is it agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
He noticed Susan’s eyes widen and dropped Amy’s hand back into her lap, turning to look out of the carriage. What he saw made him catch his breath in shock.
Standing beside the road, watching them pass, were two men whom he recognised. One was as thin as a rake, the other a beefy fellow with a red bulbous nose. What, in God’s name, were Smith and Randle doing in Highbeck? Were they the same men Amy had seen in Downham Market and in the grounds of the Manor? Had they been the men who held up the coach?
The more he thought about it, the more he thought they might have been. After all they had boarded a coach ahead of him and Sam; they could easily have left it at Ely and hired horses. Perhaps they had nothing to do with Amy at all. But Gus Billings had known them, so there had to be a connection and that connection, he did not doubt, was Duncan Macdonald. He glanced at Amy, but she had not seen them. Should he tell her and spoil their new-found peace or say nothing?
It was a question that occupied him until they rattled over the draw bridge and pulled up outside the main door. Hardly had the wheels stopped turning than the door was flung open and both aunts ran out to greet them. James jumped down and turned to offer his hand to Amy. ‘I have brought your niece back to you as I promised I would,’ he told them.
Amy ran to be embraced by each aunt in turn. ‘Oh, it is so good to be back,’ she said. ‘I have missed you so.’
‘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.