The Captain's Daughter

by Minnie Simpson

  “I will be delighted, Mr. Throckmorton, to meet your parents.”

  At his knock, the front door was opened by someone he had not seen before.

  “I am here to visit the Sibbridges. I don’t mean to be impolite but I have not seen you before.”

  “I am Branson, the butler. I have been absent for the last few days. Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge kindly allowed me a few days to visit Hull because of the passing of a family member.”

  “Please accept my condolences on your loss. Could you inform the Sibbridges that Sir Benjamin Anstruther is here?”

  “Ah sir, you wish to see Lady Amaryllis. I will tell her right away.”

  Why did he say that, Ben asked himself?

  “I am here to visit the entire Sibbridge family.”

  “As you say, sir,” agreed Branson, “please wait here sir. I will return immediately.”

  As he turned to leave, Amy appeared.

  “That is all right, Branson, I will take care of things.”

  The butler looked disappointed and left.

  “We have to talk, Sir Anthony. Since my mother and father are entertaining the Throckmortons in the drawing room, we will talk in the sitting room.”

  “Aww,” said Ben with mock disappointment, “I was looking forward to meeting them. I met their charming son who was accompanied by your sister.”

  There were three things he didn’t like about the present situation. The first was that whenever Amy addressed him as Sir Anthony it was not good. The second was that whenever Amy said We have to talk it was not good. And the third was more ephemeral, but there appeared to be a vapor of not-goodness floating in the atmosphere of Sibbridge House this afternoon.

  As soon as they entered the sitting room she turned and coldly said: “I did not see you at church this morning.”

  “Others have commented on my absence, also. It is most gratifying that so many are concerned with my eternal welfare.

  “I am not interested in your eternal welfare at this time,” said Amy through clenched lips, “I just wanted to have a serious conversation with you and it would have been more convenient this morning outside the church while mother was occupied with charming young Reverend Howley. But that does not matter now. I just hope we are not interrupted.”

  By the looks of things Ben thought that being interrupted would not necessarily be a bad thing.

  “You have a question you wish to ask,” said Ben innocently.

  “Yes, Benjamin Anstruther.”

  Ben wondered what it meant that he had been stripped of his title.

  “Explain yesterday afternoon.”

  “I...I don’t understand.”

  “At your house, yesterday afternoon, I met a Frenchman who told me his name is Pierre and he is your secretary. Later, you told me that the Frenchman visiting you is named Henri and that he is a man of trade. Does your visitor change his name every day as well as his occupation, or perhaps you have two Frenchman at Hillfield House? Maybe you have an entire army of Frenchmen at your house. Perhaps the Frenchman I met in Stockley yesterday is one of your legion of Frenchmen and was making his way to join your army. Or maybe you are all suffering from the affliction of that young poet at Oxford, Mr. Samuel Taylor...”

  “Coleridge?” he interrupted.

  “One of the young men at the ball was telling of him. He said Coleridge was addicted to Laudanum and was always having strange visions.”

  “I assure you Lady Amy,” said Ben more amused than angry, “I have but one lonely expatriate from France, Henri Pierre. Forgive me if I do not tell you his last name. And he is a man of trade who is aiding me in some matters that deeply concern me, and I suppose in that sense he could be called my secretary. You must understand that you took him by surprise. He did not know who you were and why you were there. For all he could tell you might have been on a mission. Henri Pierre has to be very wary of strangers. But I explained to him that you are quite harmless.”

  Amy wasn’t sure that she liked being harmless, but could not think of any objection that wouldn’t look petty.

  Ben suddenly looked serious.

  “Did you say you met another Frenchman in Stockley?”

  Amy briefly told of the encounter.

  “Perhaps he was just there to stretch his legs or eat while they changed horses,” suggested Ben.

  “I am pretty sure he had his baggage unloaded from the coach.”

  “Was he staying at the inn?”

  “I don’t know. He marched into the inn. He seemed annoyed at me.”

  “You told him about Henri Pierre. Did you tell him where he was residing?”

  “I...I don’t think so.”

  “Amy,” said Ben gravely, “I cannot tell you anything about Pierre, and yes, that is his name. There are things it is not safe for you to know. Someday, I will explain it all, but not right now. That knowledge could expose you to great danger.”

  “That is the same words as the letter.”

  “The same words as what letter?”

  “The letter I told you about yesterday. The one that was in the pouch the old sailor brought to me.” She paused. “Wait here, I will be right back.”

  After Amy left, Ben sat in a plush chair with arms, to await her return. In the silent room he could hear sounds from around the mansion. The great clock in the hall tick-tocked time as it marched along, and he could hear the soft muffled sound of Lady Sibbridge and her guests in the drawing room across the hall.

  Then he thought he heard something else that was nearer. He listened silently. There was a gentle scratching sound from behind his chair.

  “Ha! The Sibbridges have a mouse,” he mused as he swung on to one knee on the cushion of the chair and looked over the back to see if he could spot the small rodent and see what it was up to.”

  Looking up at him was a bright face, with two blue eyes and blonde hair.

  “Aha, they do have a mouse,” he grinned.

  “H...hello, Sir Benjamin,” said Emma.

  “And what exactly are you doing back there Miss Mouse.”

  “I’m studying.”

  “You know, I never can guess what the Sibbridge sisters are going to say when I ask them a question. I find one of them on the London road in wet clothes and she tells me she is after an old sailor. I find another one behind a chair in the sitting room and she tells me she is studying. What could she be studying behind a chair?”

  “Upholstery,” was the hurried reply. “I was reading about upholstery in Monsieur Diderot’s Encyclopedia of Crafts and Trades, which Sir Frank and Lady Ramsay recently brought to my father. I wanted to compare what he said with the upholstery work on our chairs.”

  She then launched into a dissertation on the subject. She was cut short by a loud, penetrating voice coming from the stairs.

  “Emmaline! Emmaline Sibbridge!”

  “Please don’t tell Mrs. Parkhurst I’m here,” said Emma dropping behind the chair once again.

  Having descended to the front hall, Mrs. Parkhurst went to the drawing room, and after a few words with Lady Sibbridge and her guests, she came over and looked in the open door of the sitting room.

  “Oh, Sir Benjamin, good afternoon. You haven’t by any chance seen that Emmaline Sibbridge,” she asked looking around the room with her usual severe expression.

  “All I’ve seen is a little mouse,” he replied with a hint of a smile.

  “If you see her, tell her that Lady Sibbridge just said that she must return to her lessons.”

  Mrs. Parkhurst stomped out into the front hall and the mouse started to emerge from her hiding place behind the chair, when the sound of Mrs. Parkhurst and Amy exchanging words heralded Amy’s return.

  “Don’t tell Amy I’m here,” said Emma dropping behind the chair again.

  “Why not? I thought you and her were best friends and confidantes,” asked Ben.

  “We are normally, but I don’t want her to think I was spying on her and her young man. I wasn’t.”
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  “What do you mean by her young man,” said Ben indignantly. “Your sister and I are not even friends. We almost dislike one another.”

  Their conversation was cut short when Amy entered the room.

  “Did I hear you talking to someone,” asked Amy.

  “Only a mouse,” Ben replied.

  Amy gave him a strange look, but since it was Ben she saw no need of further inquiry.

  “I just met Mrs. Parkhurst in the front hall. She’s looking for Emma.”

  “So I heard,” said Ben. “I wonder where that miscreant child could possibly be now.”

  “There’s no telling,” said Amy. She gave Ben a puzzled look. She felt there was something about his manner that she couldn’t quite pin down. And he had a knowing smirk on his face. “Anyway,” she continued, “this is the pouch and its contents.”

  Ben sat back down on the padded chair. He landed on it as hard as possible in order to scare away any mice, or at least surprise them. Amy handed him the pouch and he took out its contents and examined them, first glancing over the newspaper and looking at its inside pages. Then he read the short letter.

  “None of this can be warning of the same dangers that I warned you about. These are quite old. I’d say the letter appears as old as the newspaper.”

  “But it must be there for a reason. Both Emma and I agree that the letter writer obviously stopped writing abruptly. Something or someone caused that.”

  “Let’s stop and think about that,” said Ben. “If an enemy had attacked the letter writer, the attacker would have destroyed the letter. But why did the writer stop suddenly? I can’t think of any reason. I admit it is strange.” Ben gave the newspaper another quick perusal. He was about to comment when Amy interrupted.

  “Emma and I have examined the newspaper closely and we see nothing in it that has any meaning to us.”

  “The problem is, you don’t really know what you’re looking for,” said Ben. “May I borrow the newspaper for a few days to see if I can come up with something?”

  “I would like you to, Ben. It is meaningless to me. Perhaps it has no meaning. Maybe it meant something once—twenty years ago—but means nothing today.”

  He looked up at her and shook his head.

  “But somebody put out considerable effort to deliver it to you. Why now? Why not years ago?”

  So far they had ignored the locket lying on the small table.

  “Open the locket, Ben, and take a look inside.”

  He complied with Amy’s request. When he tried to open it the front came off.

  “Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “you didn’t break it. The cover is removable as Emma and I found out. Look at the picture.”

  He stared at it and then looked up at Amy questioningly.

  “Does the baby look like me?”

  “I find all babies look the same,” said Ben with a shrug.

  “You’re not being helpful. All babies do not look the same.”

  “Well I’m sure their mothers can tell them apart.”

  “Emma said it looks like me,” she said slightly irritated at Ben’s masculine blindness.

  He looked at it some more and then up at Amy, squinting his eyes. He shrugged.

  “It could be. I...I just don’t know. Maybe. The baby’s hair looks as if it might be turning red. The picture’s so small, but the baby’s expression, its cheeks and mouth... Your sister might be right. But if this is you, then all of this must be very important.”

  “But what does it mean?”

  “I don’t know, Amy.”

  “But look at the locket.”

  He examined the tarnished silver locket closely.

  “You are a lady, but whoever bought this locket and had the miniature painted did not have much money. It is a simple affair. That is why I cannot believe it is you. If your parents had this made, it would be of much better quality. Why would a stranger, one without much money, have a locket with your picture?”

  Ben arose and walked towards the door.

  “I have to leave now. Don’t worry. This is an old paper and an ancient letter. Any danger will be long past. I am sure you have nothing to worry about.”

  He gave her arm a squeeze to reassure her, and then immediately withdrew his hand and apologized for his forwardness.

  “I am deeply offended,” she told him with a smile.

  Amy accompanied him out of the front door and down the front steps. They did not see Emma as she tip-toed out of the house behind them. When they paused at the foot of the steps, Ben noticed Mattie and Lazarus in the distance as they walked back up the drive towards the house. Emma noticed them too, and quickly dropped down behind the bushes in front of the house. The couple in the distance did not seem to see anything as they appeared to be distracted with one another.

  “Do you think I might be a foundling?” asked Amy suddenly.

  “What?” said Ben incredulously.

  “Maybe my mother was an actress—or worse.”

  “Is there anything worse than an actress?” he asked with a smile.

  “Emma thinks I might be a pirate’s daughter, but I don’t think so. There aren’t any pirates any more are there?”

  “Not around here, although we do have worse. It does sound romantic though. Your sister has a streak of romanticism.”

  Old Hubert had seen them from his post at the marigold bed and was already hobbling towards the stables.

  Ben turned towards Amy looking very serious.

  “Now stop worrying. I am sure your parents are really your parents, and you’re a lady. Well, most of the time.”

  Although Mattie and Lazarus were getting nearer they seemed oblivious to all but one another. Emma peeked out from behind the bushes and was considering making a run for another location when Mrs. Parkhurst marched around the side of the house and towards the front door. Emma quickly made herself invisible again.

  As Mrs. Parkhurst neared the front door Ben nodded a greeting.

  “You haven’t found my sister yet?” asked Amy.

  As she and Ben began to stroll slowly in the direction of the stables, Mrs. Parkhurst mounted the front steps as she declared to no one in particular: “What sin am I guilty of? I swear that girl has been sent as my tormentor.”

  She paused at the front door and stared in the direction of Amy and Ben as they walked away, then she shook her head in disapproval and went into the house.

  They met Hubert with Ben’s horse on the way to the stables, and Ben mounted it as Hubert returned to the marigolds.

  As he was readying to leave, Ben leaned over and in a low voice said to Amy: “Remember what I told you. Be discreet. Don’t tell anyone about Pierre.” He hesitated. “Nor about anything else you may see.”

  He galloped off, startling Mattie and Lazarus out of their trance, as he quickly disappeared from view.

  Amy, lost in her thoughts and worries, walked slowly back to the front door. She did not notice as Mattie and Lazarus almost caught up with her. As she reached the bottom of the front steps, she reached over and shook the bush.

  “Come on out Emma.”

  Emma stood up, looking slightly disheveled, and joined Amy. Her hands were covered with dirt and she was holding a toad.

  “How did you know I was there?”

  “I have eyes in the front of my head.”

  At that moment, Mattie and Lazarus having come up behind Amy, Mattie saw the toad and screamed. The toad jumped out of Emma’s hand, and Mattie, evidently fearful of an imminent toad attack screamed even more. Amy mounted the steps to the front door with Emma in tow, while Sir Lancelot comforted Mattie.

  Amy paced back and forth in her room as the mid-afternoon sun oozed in her window and bathed her carpet in a sickly yellow. A tangled mess of troublesome thoughts prevented her from doing anything else but try to sort through them. The old Bristol newspaper, the abruptly interrupted letter, the tarnished locket with a baby that might or might not be her, and if it were her, opened a Pand
ora’s box of new troubles, the many Frenchmen who seemed to be flooding into the locality, Ben’s reluctance to go to the old mill, and an old sailor that might still be wending his way across England, and who could in just a few words solve her mystery.

  Finally, she could take no more, and strode out of her room and down the hall towards the stairs. As she passed Emma’s study room, she noticed that Emma was at her desk. She had been recaptured, or else, she had surrendered.

  Emma was silently working at her desk and Mrs. Parkhurst was drowsily reading. Amy wondered if Mrs. Parkhurst ever actually instructed Emma about anything, because Emma was always silently working at her desk, at least on those occasions when she was actually in her room, and Mrs. Parkhurst was always reading, or napping. That was probably how Emma was able to escape so often.

  Amy glided into the room, grabbed a surprised Emma by the arm and led her out, as Mrs. Parkhurst looked up from her book with a confused expression trying to evaluate what just happened.

  “Why are you depriving me of my education this time,” asked Emma, looking not at all displeased as they hurried down the stairs.

  “Where is your telescope?”

  “It’s in my study room of course.”

  “Oh,” said Amy, and bounded back upstairs, rushed into Emma’s study room, and seeing the telescope in front of the window, she grabbed it and rushed out, greeting a confused Mrs. Parkhurst who was considering seeking another post.

  Amy spent the latter part of Sunday afternoon spying on Hillfield House with Emma’s telescope from halfway up Camp Hill.

  As the daylight slowly began to shrink away, Emma returned to the trap from her investigation of nature.

  “There are two or three things I’d like to point out,” said Emma as Amy stared intently through the telescope at basically nothing. “One, is that we are not entirely invisible on this hillside. The second is that it must be very obvious to anyone at Hillfield House that we are spying on them.”

  “Why would they think we are spying on them,” retorted Amy. “We’re just looking through a telescope.”