Chapter 12
Amy sat in her room aimlessly looking at the items from her Amaryllis pouch. She had left her sobbing mother in hopes that her mother would calm down in a little while. Then maybe she could inquire of her some more, this time showing a little more compassion. Her mother had to be handled delicately because if Amy was indeed adopted then her mother was especially sensitive to any suggestion that Amy was not part of the family. But she was uncertain as to what her mother had meant, and so was no closer to an answer.
Why was her mother so troubled by the question? Amy was not sure but she knew there must be a reason. Maybe Mildred Sibbridge knew of the danger alluded to in the mystery letter, or what was more likely she was just being Mildred Sibbridge.
After daydreaming over it for a while, Amy decided to take a walk in the garden and give her mother more time to recover.
When she went out the front door she was greeted by a strange sight. In front of the bushes that skirted the front of the house there appeared to be a large sphere of cloth or clothing. It was so unexpected that she stared at it for a moment. When she went down the front steps to get a better view, she realized it was the lower part of Mrs. Parkhurst, who was bending over poking the bushes with her cane.
“Are you seeking something Mrs. Parkhurst,” she inquired.
“I am indeed,” Mrs. Parkhurst snapped in reply. “I am looking for your sister, Emmaline Sibbridge.”
Like many people, who tend to use the full name of someone they are exasperated with, Mrs. Parkhurst more often than not used Emma’s full name. It seemed to provide her with some satisfaction but had long since started to annoy Amy so she decided to move along without further comment.
As she departed she could hear Mrs. Parkhurst grumbling. “I was told she hid here yesterday, but that child must have found a new hiding place.”
It appeared that old Hubert had betrayed a confidence. Or maybe Mattie had seen Emma hiding in the bushes and just ignored it at the time. If Mrs. Parkhurst had in some way learned it from Mattie, it must have been inadvertent, because Mattie was of too kind a nature to get anyone in trouble.
Amy wandered deep in thought and found herself by the stables. She was surprised to find Hubert hitching Bucephalus, Emma’s dark blue roan, to the trap.
“Pssst!”
“Yes, Emma?” said Amy to the disembodied voice emanating from the darkness of the stable.
“Shhh! She might hear you.”
Amy noticed a large bundle on the seat of the trap.
“She’s not going to hear. Her head is stuck in the bushes in front of the house. Other parts of her are in the air. Or they were a few minutes ago. You know she isn’t going to come over here. She doesn’t like the smell of the stables.”
Emma peeked out of the stable door as Amy examined the bundle in the trap. She pulled back the blanket wrapping and looked at the contents.
“How did you get your telescope past Mrs. Parkhurst?”
“She wasn’t paying attention.”
Amy was sure Mrs. Parkhurst must have been asleep and only awakened when Emma absconded with the telescope. Emma tended to downplay Mrs. Parkhurst’s proclivity for snoozing, probably because it enhanced her reputation as an escape artist if she conveyed the notion that she was escaping from a wide-awake jailer rather than one who wasn’t conscious.
As Amy was about to ask Emma what she was up to, they heard the sound of a coach, which immediately drew their attention. The coach was one they were not familiar with and it was accompanied by two men on horseback.
Leaving the trap and its precious cargo in Hubert’s care, they walked towards the coach as the front door of the house closed behind the visitors. Moments later the door opened and Mattie emerged. When she saw them she headed in their direction.
“Who are our visitors?” Amy asked as Mattie reached them.
“It’s Sir Frank and Lady Ramsey. Mother sent me to find you.”
“I guess mother has been resurrected. Why did the Ramseys come in an unfamiliar coach?” Amy asked as the three walked toward the house.
“I don’t know,” said Mattie, and then added gleefully, “but they brought a handsome stranger.”
Look out Master Throckmorton, thought Amy as they entered the drawing room and greeted the Ramseys.
“I was just telling your mother,” said Sir Frank to the arriving trio, “our coach suffered another broken wheel just three miles short of Stockley. Luckily, our coachman heard it crack and was able to stop before anything worse happened. This gentleman came along just a few minutes later and generously offered to take us to our destination. Allow me to introduce you,” Sir Frank said turning to Lady Sibbridge. “Lady Sibbridge, this is... Oh dash, I am very bad at pronouncing French names.”
“Think nothing of it Sir Frank,” said the Frenchman, and then he turned to Amy’s mother. “I am the Comte d’Belleisle.”
“Isn’t he handsome,” Mattie whispered to Amy.
Amy was disappointed and concerned at Mattie’s judgment, since the Frenchman, although far from old, was older than she thought he should be if he was attracting Mattie’s attention.
Lady Sibbridge was clearly flattered by the attentions of the Frenchman. And she was only dragged away from their smiling and charming visitor when Branson entered with refreshments. The Frenchman was particularly polite in accepting them.
“When our coach is fixed our coachman will bring it here,” said Sir Frank. “I trust you can stand our company for a few hours. If this kind gentleman hadn’t happened along we would have been stuck on the London Road for hours.”
“You say your name is Comte d’Belleisle,” asked Amy. “Are you visiting our country or do you reside in England now?”
“Let us just say, Mademoiselle, that I am sojourning here for a little while. You must have noticed that my vesture is rather plain for one of my station. Please forgive me for that, but you might say I am somewhat in disguise. I know it is safe to tell you in the safety of your house where there are no prying eyes or ears that I am being sought by agents of The Committee of Public Safety.
“The Committee of Public Safety?” asked Amy’s mother.
“Yes, madam. It is the committee that is responsible for the reign of terror in my country. It is dominated by a man called Maximilien de Robespierre, the dictateur sanguinaire, the bloodthirsty dictator.”
Amy’s mother grimaced. “They actually pursue those who have escaped France even in our country?”
“Not all, only a few that they want to get their bloodstained hands on, and I am one of those.”
“Why do they want you so badly?” asked Amy.
“It is not safe for me to say. But I must avoid them and God willing I will.” The Frenchman paused for a few moments. “I am most embarrassed to ask if you know anywhere I might find sanctuary.”
“We would be most willing to let you stay here and if our house is too humble, I am sure our friends would be most glad to accommodate you,” said Amy’s mother who rather liked displaying generosity especially when it involved interesting and charming guests.
“Non, non, madam. I am most grateful, but I am sought after by the most violent of evil men and could not endanger you or your neighbors. I need someone who is willing to accommodate me and my two men, who has no family that can be harmed, and who is full ready to face the danger. Do you know anyone that could do that?”
Amy’s mother was flustered as usual and cannot help. Amy was uneasy and a little suspicious, but Emma tactlessly blurted out, before Amy can stop her, that she knew someone who accommodates Frenchmen, Sir Benjamin at Hillside house.
Amy froze, but the Frenchman, whose attention was concentrated on his conversation with Lady Sibbridge and Sir Frank and Lady Ramsey appeared not to hear. Amy breathed a sigh of relief.
“I can but ask and hope. If there is no one of that boldness in this part of the country I must move on and seek sanctuary elsewhere. I have miles to go before nightfall.”
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p; “I’m disappointed we cannot be of help, Comte,” apologized Lady Sibbridge, “but can we at least offer you lunch. It will be served in about half-an-hour.”
“That we would be most appreciative of, madam. If you will excuse me, I will go tell my men to water our horses.”
“Comte,” Lady Sibbridge called after him as he was about to leave the drawing room, “tell your men to go to the kitchen and Mrs. Pemberton, our cook, will feed them.”
“Once again, I must thank you for your hospitality Lady Sibbridge, but we brought some food with us. My men will eat by my coach.”
When he was gone and her mother and the Ramseys were deep in conversation, Amy took Emma aside and explained that Pierre was a secret that they must not betray.
“Please don’t say anything about Ben or about Hillfield House. Fortunately the Frenchman didn’t hear you, but we have no way of knowing whether he is who he claims to be. Perhaps he is being pursued by the Committee of Public Safety, or perhaps he is one of the pursuers. He does have two riders with him as well as a coachman and footman, and I don’t know if they look like servants or not.
Over lunch the Frenchman was polite and charming and his manners were flawless. Amy wondered whether he really did not hear Emma’s remark. She felt that even if she were involved in a conversation she would still hear everything said anywhere around her, but she recognized that the Frenchman, not being a native speaker of English, and concentrating on the remarks of her mother and the Ramseys might not have heard.
It would be strange if he had heard but not reacted to what Emma said since he said he needed to find a safe place to stay. If he had heard she needed to explain away Emma’s comment, but if he did not hear it could be dangerous to draw his attention to it. She struggled with what to do. Finally, convinced that he had to have heard she decided to chance bringing it up.
“Comte d’Belleisle, I have been thinking over your request regarding a house of refuge. I wondered if there might be one that did not come to mind earlier. But having reviewed in my mind all of the houses in our part of the shire, I can think of none. Earlier my sister thought that a nearby house might be such a place, because she thought they had a Frenchman seeking safety there, but in actuality the man in question is a Walloon.”
“Clearly,” said the Frenchman, “a house with a Walloon would be no safe place for a Frenchman of noble blood. I am most grateful for you bringing this to my attention. Sadly, you must be prophetic. France is planning to seize the lands of the Walloons from the Austrians.”
Then abruptly changing the subject he started to compliment Amy’s mother on the lunch. Emma unexpectedly excused herself suggesting she had suddenly fallen ill. Amy watched the conversation for a few minutes. She was becoming increasingly uneasy. She felt the Frenchman was asking too many prying questions. She must warn Ben. But her mother would not like it if she prematurely excused herself from the lunch table, especially since Emma had already left, but she knew her mother would not stop her. Amy’s mother hated any form of conflict, so Amy, although knowing she would hear about it later, excused herself on the pretext of feeling unwell.
“Oh dear,” said Amy’s mother, “I hope everyone isn’t getting sick.”
As Amy left, she couldn’t help notice that the Frenchman had a strange look on his face. Perhaps he wondered at the sudden onslaught of health problems in the Sibbridge family.
The trap was all ready to go. She must get to it and go to Hillfield House. Emma was likely at the trap. The problem was she had go to towards the stairs leading to her room when she left the dining room. She couldn’t go towards the front door or her mother and the others would see. She headed to the back of the house rushing through the kitchen much to the surprise of Mrs. Pemberton and Effie, and almost knocking a tray out of Branson’s hand.
“Don’t tell anyone you saw me here, I’m supposed to be in my room,” she half whispered to the surprised trio.
When she reached the stables, the trap was gone. She wanted Emma to go with her in the trap to warn Ben, but they were both missing.
“Where is the trap?” she asked Hubert who had just emerged from the stables.
“Miss Emma took it,” he answered just as Daniel came out of the stables to see what was going on.
“Daniel,” ordered Amy, “get Pansy saddled up.”
Daniel may be slow of wit, but he was pretty fast at saddling a horse. Hubert was slow saddling a horse, and as to his mental processes, they were none too fast either.
“I told her a young lady shouldn’t go ariding alone,” said Hubert shaking his head, “but she wouldn’t listen to me because I’m just an old hand.”
Don’t take it badly,” she reassured Hubert as Daniel led Pansy out all saddled and ready to go, “Emma doesn’t listen to anyone. Did she say where she was going?”
“I h...heard Lady Emma say,” stuttered Daniel, “she was agoin’ to the Camp Hill.”
“Thanks Daniel,” Amy called back to him and Hubert. She was riding past the two French riders who had accompanied the coach. “I’m going to ride towards Stockley,” she yelled to Hubert and Daniel for the benefit of the Frenchmen.
She wondered if her remark would put them off the scent, or did it look too obvious? The Frenchmen never once looked in her direction, but they couldn’t help hearing what she said. But could they even understand English?
When she reached Ben’s house she hurried to the front door.
“I need to urgently speak to Sir Benjamin,” she told the butler when he opened the door.
“I am sorry milady, but Sir Benjamin departed for London a little over an hour ago.”
“Then may I speak to Pierre, or Henri or whatever his name? It is really very important.”
“I am sorry, milady, but he is not available.”
“If he is here how can he not be available?”
The butler was taciturn as usual and she got nowhere. Threatened danger seemed to mean nothing to him, nor did French comtes real or fake.
On the way home, frustrated and in some anguish, she stopped at the path to the river and led Pansy down to the water’s edge. Amy sat and meditated with her head in her hands. She felt like shedding tears of frustration. The waters had gone down some from a couple of days ago, but were still perturbed. She recalled old Hubert’s mention of how swollen the river was all these years ago. She would have been a baby then, but whose baby? Who am I? In a way it was an exciting adventure and in a way it was scary.
When Amy returned home, the trap was in the stable. And the Frenchman and his companions were gone. As soon as she went through the front door Emma stuck her head out of the door to the sitting room. She had been watching through the front window for Amy’s return. Amy followed her into the sitting room.
“I was up on Camp Hill today...”
“I know,” interrupted Amy angrily, “and you know you must never go there alone.”
“I wasn’t alone. Mrs. Permberton allowed Effie to go with me if we promised to return within the hour so Effie could work on preparing dinner. But that’s not important. What I wanted to tell you is that when you rode to Ben’s this afternoon someone followed you.”
“Who was it?”
“I cannot be sure, but he looked like one of the men who accompanied the Frenchman’s coach.”
Chapter 13
To Amy it seemed odd that she missed Ben as much as she did. He had only visited from time-to-time and yet his absence seemed to leave a giant emptiness in her life. He didn’t need to be present all the time, it was just that he was nearby and within reach. That had given her some reassurance. Now she felt completely alone and abandoned.
The marigolds were brightly in bloom now with their orange and yellow heads bouncing in the breeze, as May turned into June. Amy found herself listlessly wandering in the garden much of the time, with an open book in her hand that she was not reading. Poor Pansy on most days only got out of her stall when Daniel took her for a walk.
Amy could have se
nt a letter to Ben at his club, but what would she say in the letter? She had no news. It would have been far different if they were lovers. Lovers can always find something to say, and friends can write to one another about small things, but interested acquaintances like she and Ben can only communicate when there is something of consequence to tell about.
Amy found herself envying Mattie with her love of domestic pursuits such as her exacting needlework. She even envied Emma as the recalcitrant student worked under the falcon-like dominance of her jailer. From time to time she would pass the open door of Emma’s study room with the cool breeze wafting out into the hall now that the weather was warmer and Mrs. Parkhurst kept the window and door open. With the breeze keeping her erstwhile snoozy teacher awake, Emma had less opportunity to escape, although Amy suspected the work Emma was absorbed in was not always what Mrs. Parkhurst had assigned to her.
What was she supposed to do? Amy knew what her mother would like her to do, but she disliked sewing and her mother’s other preferred pursuits for girls and young ladies. She decided to write a letter to her cousins.
Amy’s window seat was quite different from most, which were backless sofas with spindly legs. When she was small, her father decided she needed a place to store her toys and school materials and so he had a seat that curved around the pre-Georgian window alcove in her room built atop what resembled box-like storage trunks.
As she sat down at her desk to write a letter she was not in the mood to craft, she sadly recalled when she was a student like Emma. Two years ago she would have been deeply involved in her studies or intently listening to Mr. Coleridge her tutor. He had a love of letters and poetry and had awakened it in her. She suspected that somewhere deep in his soul he would have liked to have been an actor because he could keep her and Emma, who was younger and much less active back then, spellbound while he read poetry and great novels, and the letters and speeches of famous men.
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