“That is truly what I thought.” Estella Ramsey spoke for the first time, with a nervous giggle. “I thought we were going to die.”
“That isn’t why we weren’t at Brewminster last night, though,” said Sir Frank, and he didn’t seem too happy. “The wheelwright was most expeditious in getting the coach up and running, but Estella...”
“It was getting dark,” interrupted Lady Ramsey, “and with all the robberies on the London road recently I was scared to go on. I pleaded with Frank to stay the night in Etting Howe.”
“And that we did,” said an obviously disgruntled Sir Frank, “and spent the night in the one inn located in the village, a most inferior establishment. We were kept awake half the night by a gaggle of drunken travelers downstairs singing loudly and very much off key.”
“Now Frank,” Lady Ramsey said affectionately, leaning over to pat his shoulder, “it wasn’t that bad. Better to be kept awake by a bunch of drunken revelers, than murdered on the highway.”
Sir Frank looked at her and grinned. “I still have the right to complain. Besides, I have two flintlocks under the seat. I could deal with any highwaymen. Tony Sibbridge and I have faced much worse in our time.”
“But you are no longer twenty-five,” Lady Ramsey reminded him.
“By the way,” said Sir Frank, “how is Tony.”
“He is well enough—physically.” Lady Sibbridge broke off, with a troubled expression.
Amy glanced at her mother and then looked up at Sir Frank. There were tears in her eyes. “Daddy is not doing well. He seems to have gradually gotten worse since being thrown from his horse.”
“I am truly saddened to hear that.” Sir Frank looked deeply disturbed to hear of his old friend’s condition. “Do you think I might visit with him as long as I’m here and can’t find the blasted fox—or the rest of the hunt for that matter?”
Amy glanced again at her mother. “He would be very encouraged by a visit from you, Sir Frank, if...”
“If he remembers me?”
Amy nodded.
“The old rascal better remember me, or I’ll give him a right good thrashing,” said Sir Frank as he dismounted his horse and tapped his glove with his whip. He helped Lady Ramsey down off her mount and then they all started slowly towards the front door of the house.
As they strolled to the steps, Amy broke in, “Daddy has good days and bad days. Some days he seems almost like before...” She paused.
Lord Ramsey interrupted. “And some days not?”
Amy looked at him and gave an almost imperceptible movement of her chin. Then she added quickly “Daddy is in the dining room eating breakfast.
But Lord Sibbridge was not in the dining room.
“Tony’s upstairs. We have made a little office for him at the south end of the landing, with all his memoirs and papers,” said Lady Sibbridge, adding “you will find him there.”
Accepting her implied invitation, Frank Ramsey slowly mounted the stairs. After watching him for a few moments, Lady Sibbridge and Lady Ramsey repaired to the drawing room where Lady Ramsey regaled her with all the latest news that was setting London abuzz. With tales of highwaymen plaguing the road from London to Stokely-on-Arne. A plague that Lady Sibbridge was well aware of, although she only now heard of the terrifying encounter John Amistead, his wife and daughter had with a gang of riders just four days ago. The ladies lost their jewelry, the gentleman lost his valuable pocket watch, but at least they escaped with their lives, unlike a rich merchant from York just a little more than a week ago.
When the tales of terror blended into more mundane matters, the girls drifted off. Mattie departed to follow some ladylike activity, while Emma and Amy headed to the garden.
Glancing over her shoulder to see if Mattie was really gone, Amy commented to Emma as they strolled out into the front garden: “I suppose Mattie told you all about the ball at the Brewminster’s.”
“It’s more like she told us all about the young men at the ball. Actually it was more like she told me, because Mother was there and Daddy wasn’t really here. I wish Daddy would get better.”
“I don’t know if that is ever going to happen, Emma, but we can pray.”
“Maybe the doctors will find some way to make him better. The Times had an essay about a doctor who is working on cognition. Doctor Willis treated the king four or five years ago and helped him get over his madness.”
“As I said, Emma, we can hope and pray, but they say the king’s madness was caused by his indulgent wining and dining, but Daddy’s was caused by a severe blow to his head.”
“They must come up with some cure,” said Emma adamantly.
Changing the subject and fighting the tears she didn’t want Emma to see, she asked with a forced jauntiness, “I suppose Mattie told you all about the charming James Breverton.”
“James Breverton?” Emma looked puzzled. “No. Why would she tell me about James Breverton?
“Because she danced with him all night.”
“She never said anything about James Breverton. She did tell us about Mr. Benjamin Anstruther, and none of it was very good.”
“What does she have against Benjamin... Sir Benjamin? Do you know that he is our neighbor, Amy,” she added hastily.
“Yes, I do know that he is our neighbor at Hillside House, and a great many things.”
“What?”
“She has a great many things against Sir Benjamin Anstruther.”
“What does she have against Sir Benjamin? He seems like a kindly and most polite gentleman.”
“Well she does seem to think it was a modest display of kindness for him to dance with you, when Lazarus Throckmorton was unable to continue rescuing you from the sad tragic life of a wallflower.”
Amy detected a note of good-natured sarcasm in Emma’s voice. And then it sank in what she had just said. “Lazarus Throckmorton... Lazarus Throckmorton was rescuing me from being a wallflower!”
“According to our sister, Mattie, and Mattie could not be mistaken. Don’t you agree?”
“I only danced with the dangly, drooly, un-coordinated Lazarus out of pity for the...the... Ohhh!”
“Our dear Mattie gives a slightly different account of the proceedings.”
“You must understand that Lazarus can’t dance. I only accepted his invitation out of sheer pity, because no one would want to dance with Lazarus.”
“You were at the dance, weren’t you?”
“Of course I was at the dance. Why do you ask such a silly question,” said Amy shaking her shoulders in frustration.
“Didn’t you see Mattie dancing with Master Throckmorton all evening?”
“Well first of all,” said Amy through gritted teeth, “I don’t know why she said that, because Mattie danced with James Breverton all evening. And second...” She drifted off, then asked with a puzzled expression, “She danced with Lazarus Throckmorton?”
“All night, or at least so she said.”
“She danced with Lazarus Throckmorton?”
“I believe we already established that fact.”
“Why?”
“Don’t ask me,” said Emma. “I don’t know why people dance at all. I think it is a strange ancient primitive custom that we’ve inherited, that serves no practical purpose.”
“You’ll understand it when you get older,” said Amy. “She certainly didn’t dance with him all night, but I spent quite a while with the matrons. Why would she dance with him?”
“Don’t jump at me. I know you have serious questions regarding Throckmorton’s facility and skill at the dance, but Mattie holds the opposing opinion. She seems to believe he is quite skilled at Terpsichore, as well as handsome, charming, kind, and a most enchanting young man. You disagree?”
As Amy was about to vigorously disagree she was interrupted by a shrill call of “Emma! Emma Sibbridge!” from just inside the front door.
“Point-of-view is an intriguing subject for scientific discussion,” said Emma. “Perhaps we co
uld have a scientific debate between you and Mattie and ask Sir Frank to invite the members of the Royal Academy, but right now I’m being pursued by my beloved tutor, Mrs. Charlotte Parkhurst. I must away.”
Emma ran towards the corner of the house as Mrs. Parkhurst emerged through the front door blinking and squinting from the assault of sunlight.
“Next time I’ll tell you about who really is skilled at the dance,” Amy yelled after Emma, “and handsome, and charming—Mr. Anstruther.”
She called out his name as Emma disappeared from view unseen by Mrs. Parkhurst who looked in the direction Amy was calling too late.
Amy, smiling, stared in the direction her sister had made her escape, and then turned to walk further down the path, bumping into Mr. Benjamin Anstruther who was evidently paying a visit to Sibbridge House.
“Oh...Hello,” said Amy weakly as Mr. Anstruther looked at her with his left eyebrow cocked and a downright mischievous grin on his face.
Chapter 4
Face to face with a Benjamin Anstruther who was sporting an irritatingly smug grin, Amy fought desperately to find something appropriate to say.
“Good Morning, Sir Benjamin,” was all she could come up with. Think. Think. Think.
“Good morning, Lady Amy... Is Amy a diminutive?”
“What?”
“Is it short for a longer name? You just don’t seem like a young lady with a short name.”
“Why not? If you really need to know, it is short for Amaryllis.”
“That’s a pretty name. Just like the pretty flowers.”
She was relieved that Ben himself seemed to be ignoring her careless comments. While they certainly had been complimentary of him and truly described her feelings, she didn’t want him to know. She decided she must keep him from remembering what she had said.
“You do know, Sir Benjamin, that the name Amaryllis does not come from the pretty flowers as you call them, but from a shepherdess named Amaryllis in Virgil’s Eclogues.”
“Ah yes, ‘Fair Amaryllis,’ bid the woods resound.”
“I see, Sir Benjamin, that you are familiar with Mr. Dryden’s translation.”
“And I see, Lady Amaryllis, that you are too.”
She had the uneasy feeling that Ben was toying with her.
“Yes, I looked myself up to see what I was doing in ancient Rome.”
“As I recall, you were doing a number of things, mostly with saucy shepherd lads.”
Amy blushed. If he noticed he did not make it obvious.
“I have not had the privilege, Lady Amaryllis, to study botany, but if I recall, the Amaryllis can refer to more than one flower such as the resurrection lily, and...what is another one...oh yes, the naked lady.”
“You are likely correct, but I must apologize because I must take my leave of you now. I have to take my morning ride.”
He was taken by surprise as she suddenly strode off, but caught up with her just as she reached old Hubert at work at the same marigold bed that he had been working on when she had her little adventure with Turpin.
“Hubert, saddle up Pansy, I’m going for my morning ride,” she somewhat imperiously asked, pretending not to notice Ben.” And then feigning surprise, “Oh, I am sorry I didn’t notice that you were still here Sir Benjamin.”
“I thought perhaps if you’re going for a ride that I might accompany you part of the way.”
She wished Hubert would hurry up as he struggled to get up from the flower bed. She normally felt compassion for him, but the presence of Ben and her recent comments about him still hovered around like a swarm of bad tempered bees and buzzed away all thoughts except her desperation to get away from him and convalesce from her bout of life threatening embarrassment. She was relieved when Hubert made it to something close to a standing position and slowly walked off grumbling indiscernibly.
As she walked in the direction of the stables she noticed with irritation that Ben was still leading his docile mount just slightly behind her.
“May I? I’d be honored if you would say yes.”
“May you what?”
“Accompany you?”
“I don’t see how I can prevent you.”
The light sparring actually made her feel a little better. At least he had not brought up her remarks. How she wished she had not made them. She must do something. Maybe she should bring them up and make light of them.
“I wish to apologize if I have been rude, Lady Amaryllis. I will return to the hunt immediately.”
“Oh no, Sir Benjamin, I did not mean to convey the idea that I was offended. You may ride along with me.”
He looked at her closely and she could see that irritating smirk reappearing on his face once again.
“You don’t want me to go after the fox,” he said grinning. “You feel sympathy for the fox.”
“No,” she said emphatically.
She was about to say more when Ben noticed the Ramsey’s mounts in front of the stable. He went up and gently stroked Sir Frank’s horse on the nose.
“I see that some of the hunt preceded me here. Aren’t these Sir Frank and Lady Ramsay’s mounts?”
“They got here a little before you arrived. Sir Frank served in the army with my father. He’s visiting with him now.”
“I would like to meet your father.”
Amy looked at the ground for a moment.
“My father... A few months ago, he was thrown by his horse, Turpin.” She paused. “He is not his old self anymore. Some days he is better than others, but he never sees visitors these days. Mother doesn’t want people to see him in his present condition. She couldn’t say no to Sir Frank since they campaigned together.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”
“That is all right. Perhaps if you visit us again it might be on one of Papa’s good days.”
She realized that Hubert was nowhere to be seen.
“I think Hubert must be off looking for Daniel. Daniel’s our stable hand. Poor Hubert is too feeble to do anything by himself except to weed our marigolds. Could you leave your horse here and accompany me to the house for a few minutes. There’s something I want to show you.”
She led him to the house. Inside the front door she stopped in front of a large gilt framed painting in the front hallway.
“This is a portrait of our family. It was painted a few years ago by the great Thomas Gainsborough just two or three years before his death.”
“A tragic loss for the nation. You know, I actually visited his tomb at St. Anne’s Church in Kew. He’s interred next to Francis Bauer. Bauer was an artist who painted flowers. Was Gainsborough alone when he painted your family? I heard that at the end he collaborated with John Hoppner.”
“I don’t remember anyone else. This is Emma,” she said pointing to the little blond two-year old in the painting. “She looked so angelic then. And that is Mother standing behind her. You were introduced to Mother at the ball, weren’t you?’
Ben nodded.
“And this mischievous red head is you?” he asked.
“I was eleven then. That’s Mattie next to me. She was around seven. You’d never guess from her tousled blond hair then that she is the most ladylike of us all now. That’s Papa in his old uniform. He could still fit into it back then.”
She fought back a tear.
“”I wanted you to see us as a family. Mama looks the same as you can see. Papa...”
They both stood in silence for a few moments.
“Let us take a ride,” said Amy with forced cheerfulness.
When they got back to the stable they found Pansy all saddled and ready to go. Ben helped Amy into the saddle and then went to his own mount. As soon as he wasn’t looking, Amy kneed Pansy and took off much to Ben’s amazement. Although he mounted his horse with a speed and agility that left old Hubert and Daniel quite amazed, she had a considerable head start.
As she reached the road, she spun left and headed in the direction of Hillfiel
d House. Pansy certainly didn’t have the temperament of Turpin with his slightly malevolent streak, but she was younger and capable of speed and dexterity. As Amy approached the gentle curve in the road, she looked over her shoulder. Ben was just leaving the drive of the house. He paused to see which way she had gone, and when he spotted her disappearing around the curve took off after her.
Amy feeling keenly mischievous after her recent embarrassment knew she had to give him the slip. She quickly considered several possibilities, but decided that he would soon round the curve leaving her with one choice and that was to hide. There was no better place to do that than the overgrown path to the River Arne. As soon as she reached it, she quickly turned into it squeezing through the growth.
When she reached a spot where she could still see the road through the trees and bushes, she stopped and turned, waiting for Ben to ride by. Not being from around Stockley-on-Arne there was no way he would know about the path to the river and the old mill.
To her satisfaction, moments later he rode by. She petted Pansy.
“We fooled him, Pansy,” she gloated.
She was trying to decide what to do next when she heard the sound of hooves. They weren’t galloping but instead were slowly clip-clopping towards where she was hidden. She hushed Pansy so she wouldn’t give away their location. Then Amy heard Ben’s voice. He was talking to himself, at least he pretended to be, and very loudly.
“Where do you suppose she went? She seems to have disappeared altogether. Maybe she’s a witch. That would explain a lot.”
What did he mean by that?
“She does look a little bit like a witch with a pointy nose.”
She forced herself not to feel the end of her nose. Her temperature was rising, and it was all she could do to remain silent as he rode past and disappeared. He was only out of sight for a moment when he returned and looked quizzically at the location where the pathway to the river started.
“That looks as if it might be the entrance to a pathway,” he said loudly as he gently patted his horse.
“How could he possibly see that?” she said mostly to herself because Pansy, like most horses, couldn’t talk. “The trees and bushes are too thick.”
The Captain's Daughter Page 3