The Captain's Daughter

by Minnie Simpson

  “Mrs. Wardsley, this is Sir Benjamin Anstruther. He was visiting Bristol and decided to visit us here, because he is our neighbor in Stockley-on-Arne.”

  Mrs. Wardsley and Ben said all the appropriate things that people say to one another on first acquaintance. Amy paid no attention since she was irritated by the knowing smile on Mrs. Wardsley’s face. She felt she knew what the woman was thinking. She thinks Ben and I have a romantic liaison. I wish I could tell her that we only have a sort of business relationship over a matter of mutual interest. In actual fact, we do not even like one another—much. However Amy remained silent.

  “I wish to thank you for your hospitality in feeding me lunch,” said Ben to Mrs. Wardsley, and to Amy and Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge he added, “I have to leave to return to Bristol immediately after we finish lunch.”

  “Will you not grace us with your company a little longer, Sir Benjamin?” asked Lady Sibbridge.

  “Sir Benjamin is investigating a strange satchel I received,” said Amy.

  She knew this would sound odd, but didn’t quite know how to explain things to Mrs. Wardsley without saying too much. The woman must wonder.

  “It seems like it must have come from...a distant relative of mine,” she added.

  “Wouldn’t any relative of yours also be a relative of your family,” asked Mrs. Wardsley with a frown.

  “That’s true, Mrs. Wardsley, but Amy’s especially curious about this relative,” Ben quickly interrupted. Then directed at Amy, “I’m going to visit the gravesite tomorrow.”

  Amy desperately wanted to see that gravesite. She decided to take the initiative.

  “Mother,” she said, “it is very desirable that I also see that gravesite. I think I should be there. I am sure you and father agree.”

  Before her rather surprised mother could answer, she turned to her father.

  “Father that would be acceptable to you, wouldn’t it.”

  Her father just stared at her.

  “Father! You will give me your consent?”

  She was sure she saw her father give a little nod. Ben looked on in wonder.

  “Mother, Father has just given his consent. We need a chaperone. We should take Em...”

  She was about to say Emma, but realized her mother would never consent.

  “Emma could come with us, and we could take Mrs. Parkhurst.”

  The thought of taking Mrs. Parkhurst hurt, but Amy didn’t have any choice.

  Her mother looked confused.

  “Oh dear. Oh my. If Mrs. Parkhurst approves. I don’t think she will be willing to go with you as a chaperone. She hates to travel by coach.”

  Ben looked uncertain. He started to say that he was not sure it was a good idea for Amy to make the journey, but before he could get it all out, Amy kicked him in the shin under the table. This greatly surprised him, and since she had to stretch her foot so far, it caused her to slip partly from her chair. This managed to get everyone’s attention as she grabbed at the table with her left hand, and her chin only inches from her food plate, still clutching her soup spoon in her right hand she tried to grab the table with it only succeeding in flipping her soup bowl.

  “I slipped,” she said turning a bright red, as soup dripped onto her bosom.

  This all had the unintended benefit of distracting everyone from any further questions. She had another problem though. Somehow she had to get Ben to agree to postpone his journey back to Bristol. It was not easy, but in the end she was successful. Amy was not sure how to ask Mrs. Wardsley to accept another guest, but in the end it was not necessary. Ben had a number of acquaintances in Bath and he opted to spend the night with one of them. He left just after five o’clock in the afternoon.

  “I will be here tomorrow morning about six,” he said to Amy as he was leaving.

  “Ben” she asked, “are there any chocolate houses in Bristol?”

  He looked at her with curiosity.

  “There are several establishments in Bristol that serve chocolate.”

  “Good,” she said with a satisfied smile, and bid the puzzled Ben adieu.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, as they waited while old Eben and youthful Leonard hitched the horses to the coach, Ben shook his head.

  “After what your mother said yesterday, I didn’t think you would get your chaperone. How did you do it?”

  “I have my ways. By-the-way, you don’t object to Emma coming with us, do you?”

  “Not at all, but don’t change the subject. How did you get Mrs. Parkhurst, whom your mother says hates to ride in a coach, to agree to come with us?”

  “It was simple. To defeat an enemy find out their weak spot.”

  “And what is Mrs. Parkhurst’s weak spot?”

  “Chocolate, of course.”

  “Ahh, crafty. We take her to Bristol and ply her with chocolate to drink.”

  “Exactly. There is one problem though, and I’m really embarrassed to bring this up. But all my money is back at home in Stokely-on-Arne.”

  “So you want me to pay for Mrs. Parkhurst’s indulgence.”

  “No! But if you could advance me the funds I could repay the money once I get back home.”

  Amy looked up into the sky but there were no storm clouds, so maybe she’d escaped being struck by a thunderbolt for dissembling. It wasn’t that what she had said was totally untrue. Only the time it would take to repay any money advanced by Ben would be a bit longer than she implied, since all she had in her little decorated jewel box at home that she used to keep her money was a threepence, a groat, and two sixpences, for a total of one shilling and sevenpence. Well, she did have a keepsake bright shiny silver florin minted in the year she was born, for a grand total of three shillings and sevenpence, but she was not going to part with the florin which she had as far back as she could remember. She doubted that what was left would be enough to pay for Mrs. Parkhurst’s chocolate libation.

  “All right, I will pay for Mrs. Parkhurst’s bribe,” he smiled, as the aforementioned Mrs. Parkhurst emerge from the Quillin house looking most unhappy, and with Emma tagging along behind her.

  “We really should be using the time for Emma’s lessons, Mrs. Parkhurst grumbled as old Eben helped her into the coach. “I just don’t see how that child could possibly have forgotten all her study materials when I was sure I watched her pack them the night before we left.”

  “Emma, how could you be so careless,” Amy demanded of her sister while trying to suppress a smile.

  The hour and a half it took to reach Bristol was mainly occupied by small talk. Since Mrs. Parkhurst was present, Amy and Ben did not feel free to discuss the things they would have liked to, even though Emma’s tutor appeared to sleep during most of the journey.

  On occasion, while Mrs. Parkhurst was snoring and seemed to be really and truly asleep they did exchange a few notes.

  Once they completed the ten miles or so to Bristol, they located a chocolate house suitable to a lady, and after enjoying some victuals, since they had not yet eaten breakfast, as well as the chocolate and some delightful sweetmeats, they returned to the coach and took the short journey outside of Bristol to Saint Birinus Church where the captain was reported to be buried.

  When they reached the church it turned out to be a ruin but the churchyard was still there with its sad markers from days gone by. Much to her displeasure, they left Emma in the coach with Mrs. Parkhurst. As Ben and Amy took leave of the coach, Emma turned so that her back was to her tutor and extracted a small book of the kind printed for travelers.

  They started the task of working their way through the thick grass and reading the inscriptions on the tombstones. After about twenty minutes, Amy found the captain’s resting place. They had started out looking at the ordinary headstones but the captain’s marker was in an area of larger headstones, and even some small family crypts surrounded by railings. This seemed to be the area of the churchyard where more important residents were interred.

  “I
wanted to come here,” said Ben, “because the last mention in the newspaper was that the authorities were trying to find out the identity of the woman and child who were found on the beach. If the coroner’s jury or authorities determined them to be the captain’s wife and daughter they should be buried beside him.

  On the stone were the words: John Buchanan, Captain of the Bristol Ark. It was accompanied by a simple verse. Amy saw that the marker listed only the captain, so she went to the stone on the right and pushed aside the thick grass. Perhaps the people lying in this churchyard had once been important but now they lay all but forgotten. On the stone was engraved the name, Margaret Buchanan, beloved wife of John Buchanan.

  “Ben,” she said softly, “It’s here.”

  Ben came over and stood next to her.

  “It’s the captain’s wife, Ben. And look at the date. She died April 29, 1773, the same day as the captain.”

  Amy hurried to the next stone and swept the grass aside. Engraved on it was a name that Amy did not know.

  “Ben the baby is not buried here. The captain’s daughter is not here.” She looked intently at Ben.

  “Maybe I’m the captain’s daughter,” she said, visibly excited.

  “Maybe you are. Maybe so,” said Ben, and then he frowned and looked again at Margaret’s headstone.

  Kneeling before it, he pulled aside more of the grass and weeds. Beneath Margaret’s date of death were the words in smaller letters and here also sleeps the beloved daughter of John and Margaret, Agnes Buchanan, aged 1 year.

  Ben stood up and looked at Amy. Her face told of anguish and disappointment. She looked at Ben, tears misting her eyes, and then she threw herself against his chest. He slowly and awkwardly put his arm around her.

  She sobbed for a few moments and then pulled herself away.

  “I’m sorry, Ben. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  “Let’s return to the coach,” he said softly.

  As they walked away from the gravesite, Ben noticed a much larger stone carved in marble, and surrounded by iron rails.

  “Look at this, Amy.”

  She turned and looked at the name on the stone.

  “Sir Hugh Anselan,” she read. “Isn’t he...”

  “Yes the wealthy ship owner.” Ben read the date on the stone. “... who died on May 17, 1773.”

  “That’s only about three weeks after the captain and his wife drowned.” She suppressed a slight gasp. “And they’re both here in the same churchyard. And so near one another.”

  “Now that is curious,” said Ben as he strode off, “I think we need to talk to Mr. Maitland.”

  She looked at him as he walked back to the coach, and then hurried after him.

  “Ben, wait, who is Mr. Maitland.”

  He slowed and turned as she caught up with him.

  “Remember the advertisement on the front page of your copy of the Bristol Gazette, where it said to see the First Mate of the ship, not the captain. Do you remember the name of the ship?”

  “No,” admitted Amy.

  “It said to see the first mate of the Bristol Ark. Why the first mate and not the captain? We’d wondered about that. It was because it was lacking a captain at that time. John Buchanan, the master of the Bristol Ark had just drowned in the River Avon. I think we need to see if we can find David Maitland, the onetime first mate of the Bristol Ark.”

  She took his arm just as he was about to climb into the coach.

  “Does it matter anymore, Ben? Maybe we should just go back to Bath.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m not the captain’s daughter,” said Amy almost in tears. “She lies beneath the ground in that old churchyard.”

  “Does she? You can go back to Bath if that is what you wish. But I am convinced there is a lot more to this, and I’ve got to get to the bottom of it all. It’s just too peculiar. We know that some poor babe and her mother are laid to rest next to the captain, but are they the captain’s wife and child, or did they, whoever they might have been, just jump to that conclusion? We have to go on, Amy. We must see this through. Maybe you are truly the captain’s daughter.”

  “There is just one problem,” Amy said thoughtfully.

  “What is that, Amy?”

  “If the babe in the churchyard is not the captain’s daughter, then the woman must not be his wife. So, what became of Margaret Buchanan, the captain’s widow?”

  “That I cannot answer,” said Ben as he helped Amy into the coach. “But I will find out. I will find the answer.”

  Chapter 20

  After lunch in Bristol, Ben took leave of the three ladies. He wanted to visit the local taverns frequented by sailors and men of the sea, establishments where ladies would not wish to go. His efforts bore little fruit. Some of these places were very rough and it was likely the patrons would not wish to share information with a gentleman, however, it was also likely that the events were so far in the past that none of the patrons knew or knew of the people he was inquiring about, however one did make a useful suggestion.

  “Did you find out anything useful,” asked Amy when Ben returned to fetch her and the other two.

  “Not really,” said Ben, “but it was suggested that I go to Selwynn and Sons, Ships Chandlers. They supply many of the ships that come into the port. And I was told that some of the workers have been there for years.”

  At the chandlers, Ben was directed by the owner to the warehouse and one Burnham Holmes, who appeared quite ancient.

  Ben had left Amy and the others in the coach. He returned in about fifteen minutes and Amy was pleased to see that he was smiling. That looked promising.

  “There was an old man there who looked as if he had worked there since the Great Deluge. He probably supplied Noah. He claims to remember Captain Buchanan.”

  “What did you find out,” asked Amy.

  “Again, Amy, don’t get your hopes up too high. He could be mistaken about the captain. We will find out. But he also said that the Bristol Ark was owned by Sir Hugh Anselan. We should be able to trust his memory on that.”

  “So Captain Buchanan was the master of a ship owned by Sir Hugh, and both are buried in the same churchyard.”

  “Yes, Amy, and Anselan was a wealthy ship owner, but sadly his son...”

  “The son the Bristol Gazette said was with him when he died?” asked Amy.

  “I would think so. The son inherited his wealth and squandered it all, at least, according to the old man I talked to.”

  “What about the first mate? He survived, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, that was who the advertisement said to consult. He was promoted to ship’s master. But he died last year at sea.”

  “Is this another dead end?” Amy’s disappointment was visible.

  “The old man recalled the ship’s boatswain’s name was Samuel Grieves, but hadn’t seen him in many a year, and didn’t know what happened to him. One of the other workers brought up a carter that worked for Sir Hugh. He would often come to pick up items from the chandler. No one could remember his name.

  Since he worked for Sir Hugh I thought it likely that someone in the village where Sir Hugh’s estate was, or maybe still is, might remember the carter’s name. He is someone that might know something. In all likelihood he could know quite a bit.”

  “Well?” asked Amy.

  “No one knew where Sir Hugh’s estate was, just a vague ‘somewhere near Bristol.’ Remember, this was twenty years ago.”

  “What can we do now?” asked Amy sadly.

  “Find out the whereabouts of Sir Hugh Anselan’s estate, and that actually should not be too hard. And the first thing we do is return to the offices of the Bristol Gazette. They sold him advertising. And even if his shipping office paid the bills, the Gazette almost certainly has information about him and where he lived.”

  The Gazette came through with the information they were seeking, and soon the four were on their way to the village of Edmundsby some twenty minutes outside of Br
istol. It was a journey familiar to them since it was not far from the churchyard where both the captain and Sir Hugh were interred.

  The village was small. It really was more of a hamlet. After consulting an elderly woman sitting on a bench outside of her cottage, Ben returned with a big smile.

  “Finally,” said Ben, “finally.”

  “Yes?” asked Amy full of anticipation.

  “The carter’s name is Joseph Sallison, and he lives with his daughter just about five hundred yards down yonder path,” said Ben pointing to a muddy path that disappeared into a clump of bushes.

  In old Eben’s skilled hands the coach was able to make it along the overgrown road and out into a field. Next to the field was a miserable structure that it would almost be charitable to call a hovel. An old man and a young woman holding a baby came out of the dwelling puzzled to see a coach in such an unlikely place.

  “Wait here,” said Ben climbing out of the coach.

  Amy climbed out right after him.

  “Hello,” Ben called to the ragged pair. “I’m looking for Joseph Sallison. Are you Joseph Sallison?”

  “What does ‘e want with Joseph Sallison,” asked the old man with a gravelly voice and a face clouded with suspicion.

  “I’m Benjamin Anstruther, and I’m trying to help Lady Amaryllis here, locate a relative of a poor friend.”

  “Why doesn’t milady’s friend come herself rather than sending ‘e.”

  “We were journeying to Bristol and promised to try to find someone who might know of the father of milady’s friend.”

  Ben strode back to the coach and opened the door so Sallison could see inside.

  “We are accompanied by the sister of Lady Amaryllis and her sister’s governess.”