“It seems to me that inviting someone who is so important to your enterprise to visit doesn’t seem at all unusual,’ said Amy.
“That’s true,” agreed Ben, “but I wonder if there was more to it. One odd fact is that the captain and his family were accompanied on the fatal coach trip by Sir Hugh’s personal solicitor as well as the attorney’s clerk. They might have been there on unrelated business, but maybe not. That is the sort of thing that could be important but we have no way of knowing. Why they were at Sir Hugh’s no one seemed to know and it was not really the subject of inquiry at the inquest.”
“So the passengers in the coach were the captain, his wife and baby daughter, the lawyer, and the lawyer’s clerk. The only person on the wagon was Joseph Sallison. I suppose the first mate would have remained on board the Bristol Ark,” said Amy.
“That about sums it up,” agreed Ben. “It seems that John and Margaret, or Madge, Buchanan along with their tiny daughter Agnes died that day, so I don’t know where that leaves us.”
“Was that all the visitors at the estate?”
“It seems so, just Sir Hugh Anselan, his son Ishmael, and the household servants were the only ones there after the coach left. According to the testimony, because of the number of passengers, they had to load the luggage on the wagon and Joseph followed behind them, but because the coach was faster it pulled out of sight. When Joseph rounded the bend, where the road runs along beside the River Avon, he testified he could not see the coach at first, and then horrified he spots it floating down the rain-swollen river until it becomes lodged on the pilings of the bridge.”
“Was there nothing else of interest?”
“Well, the men who recovered the coach said they recovered the bodies of a man in a captain’s uniform and two men in the type of garb common to lawyers and clerks and men of similar professions, but they did not find the body of Margaret or her daughter, Agnes, but we already knew that. It was their opinion that the river was so swollen and swift that they were fortunate to recover any bodies at all.”
“You said that the butler testified, why?”
“He saw the party leave and confirmed who was on the coach, and also that Joseph was the sole person on the wagon. What is rather interesting is that the clerk who wrote the summary noted that the butler seemed very nervous. But there is nothing unusual in that. Many common folks have that reaction in court proceedings.”
“But,” said Amy, “that would also be true if he was lying. Remember we were told that Joseph was troubled by his own testimony. His granddaughter said he lied at the inquest. If the butler was lying to corroborate Sallison’s testimony, why do you think they might be lying? If it was Ishmael Anselan that coerced them into lying, why would that be? Why would he want them to lie? It doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“I cannot think of a reason,” said Ben.
Amy looked puzzled. “Something must be eluding us.”
“That could be true,” agreed Ben, “or the girl could either be making up a tale to give you your sixpence worth of intrigue, or it is also quite possible that Joseph’s drunken ramblings were confused and imaginary.”
“I don’t know,” said Amy. “What the girl said was quite persuasive, and why would a drunken old man make up such stories. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Are you sure you don’t just want there to be more to it. Human nature loves a mystery or riddle, and we tend to look for mysteries that aren’t there. This was testimony to an unfortunate accident. No one knew that the coach would plunge into the river and drown its passengers. They could not know that in advance. It just leaves no room for intrigue. So what possible reason could anyone have for lying, and leaving themselves open to severe punishment by the law? Amy...”
“Yes?”
“Think about this. Can you tell me any motive anyone would have to lie about the accident? What could anyone gain by lying?”
Just then, their conversation was interrupted by the Quillins’ butler.
“Sir Benjamin, a gentleman just left this note.”
He held out a silver tray and Ben took the note from it. He thanked the butler and dismissed him. Then he opened the note and frowned.
“I’m sorry, Amy, but I must go and take care of an urgent matter.”
As he rose and put the papers back in his satchel, Amy hastily told him of the visit of the Compte d’Belleisle.
“Who,” asked Ben.
“The Compte d’Belleisle. At least that is what he said his name is.”
Ben frowned. She quickly told him what the Compte had said about Pierre.
“Where did you become acquainted with this Frenchman?”
Amy told Ben all she could recall about the Frenchman and what he had said, and what had transpired.
“Don’t worry about Pierre, he is quite safe. And don’t worry, so are you and your family.”
She accompanied Ben to the front door. As he made his way down the front steps, she called to him.
“Ben, there is one thing that troubles me.”
“What is that, Amy?”
“I know this may sound foolish, but just suppose the coach falling into the River Avon was not an accident.”
Chapter 23
Amy sat at the writing desk in her room with a book of poetry. She tried to read, but her mind kept drifting to other thoughts and they were not happy thoughts. A full month had passed since her visit to Bristol with Benjamin Anstruther.
The excitement that had come with the visit and the rough characters they had interviewed, with the promise of more knowledge, had sadly waned. In retrospect, it seemed as if they had found out little of value, if indeed they had found out anything that would further her quest or answer the questions that burned inside her, crying out for answers where there seemed to be no answers.
She was startled out of her reverie by a hurried knocking on her door.
“Who is it?”
“Emma,” came the muffled reply. It was really a loud whisper.
“Come in, Emma. What is it this time...”
Before Amy had finished, Emma had dashed across her room and hurriedly begun crawling under her bed.
“What are you doing, Emma?”
“I’m looking for something.”
“Under my bed?”
“Yes,” said Emma as she disappeared completely under Amy’s bed. “If anybody comes looking for me, I’m not here.”
“Let me fully understand your request. We all know we will go to perdition for lying. You want me to consign myself to perdition so your teacher doesn’t find you?”
“I think my circumstances will exempt you from that fate,” whispered Emma as someone banged on Amy’s door.
In response to Amy’s invitation to come in, Mrs. Parkhurst burst in through the door. She looked around the room with a fierceness that was quite impressive to Amy.
“I am looking for your sister.” Mrs. Parkhurst spoke through clenched teeth.
“Which one?” asked Amy innocently.
“The usual one,” snarled Mrs. Parkhurst as she turned and stomped out, slamming the door behind her.
After a few moments, Emma dragged herself out from under Amy’s bed, standing and shaking herself off in a manner that reminded Amy of a puppy.
“Did you find what you were looking for? Your dear tutor did not find what she was looking for, if I am not mistaken.”
“We were having a slight disagreement,” volunteered Emma.
“She wanted you to study, and you wanted to go chasing butterflies—or hedgehogs—or something,” said Amy with a tangible hint of sarcasm.
Emma came over and asked: “Who are you reading?”
Amy looked at her and shrugged. “Someone who’s been dead for a while.”
But Emma was already studying the paper on Amy’s desk. She picked it up and looked at it and set it down again.
Amy sadly shook her head. “The captain and his wife seemed so promising, but they and their babe are dea
d and buried. So I can’t be the captain’s daughter. I wondered about old Joseph’s granddaughter, but Ben says no, if I had been the daughter of a stableman’s girl your father and mother wouldn’t have made me a part of the family, and I suppose he is right. Mother must have had a reason for...for adopting me. She must know who I am. Why won’t she tell me Emma?”
“Because you’re her daughter now,” replied Emma. “You’re Mattie’s sister and my sister. You are father’s daughter.”
‘I know that Emma, and I love you and Mattie and mother and father, and I’m deeply grateful for their love and kindness, but don’t you see why I wonder? Especially is this true because it has become so baffling. I wish mother would tell me.”
Emma looked thoughtful and then said: “Maybe she has a reason for not telling you. That is, if there is anything to tell. People often think that mother is a little flighty, even a little scatterbrained, but I think she is more astute than we often give her credit for being.”
“Maybe you’re right Emma. Maybe it is that strange and elusive danger that we cannot find out about. And yet what could it be, and especially after twenty years? The deaths were an unfortunate accident. There is no fortune there that someone might want to protect or get their hands on, at least not anymore. I am told that it is long gone. There seems neither motive nor occasion for any threat. Perhaps the old seaman was just fulfilling a long ago promise. But if that is so, why now? It seems as if the threat is still alive. But what is it and why is it? If I am under threat, that means that in some way or in some fashion I must be a threat of some kind to someone, somewhere. It just makes no sense.”
“I have a suggestion,” said Emma. “Why don’t we take the trap and my telescope and go for a ride to the hilltop overlooking Hillfield House. It will take your mind off your dilemma, and it will take my mind off Mrs. Parkhurst.”
Amy agreed although she was keenly aware that she should not as it was setting the wrong example for Emma.
As Amy’s horse, Pansy, pulled the trap down the drive towards the road, Mrs. Parkhurst came running out of the house waving her arms madly, but she was no longer within hearing distance.
Emma had taken control of the trap, and that was fine with Amy.
“I’ve looked over that old newspaper so many times Emma, but I can find nothing—nothing that is useful.”
“Look what a beautiful day it is, Amy. Look at the little rabbits under that bush.”
“I was given it for a reason. There has to be something in it. But if there is I cannot see what it is. If not the captain, then what?”
“Look at the butterflies, Amy. They’re so beautiful and yet so delicate.”
“I’ve puzzled over the articles and the advertisements, I have even fantasized over them but just cannot see anything.”
“Fantasized over them?” said Emma with a whistle. “What about if we agree to look over the material together sometime soon, and you stop worrying about it? But right now let’s have some fun with the telescope.”
Amy was about speak and Emma suspected that it might have something to do with her dilemma so Emma hushed her.
They had now reached the top of the hill and Pansy was resting.
“I feel bad about bringing this up after what I just said, but I’ve been thinking about your letter,” said Emma. “How do you know the letter isn’t twenty years old just like the newspaper? Maybe the old man was fulfilling some ancient promise—like a deathbed pledge.”
“Emma, you’re just too dramatic.”
“But you just said there was a fortune back then. There was a mansion and an estate and a thriving shipping business. A warning of danger would have made sense back then. It doesn’t now. So the letter must have been written back then, and all it is now is ancient history. You have nothing to worry about or fear. It is all in the past.”
“You are right, Emma, we should enjoy the day, and then on the way home I will explain what is wrong with your theory. Because both Ben and I have been over this many times.”
Emma surveyed the surrounding country, but especially Ben’s house, while Amy sat lost in thought. After a little while she looked up from her telescope.
“I see no activity at Ben’s,” said Emma.
“We should go there,” said Amy.
“Didn’t Ben say Pierre was no longer there?” asked Emma.
“I wonder if Ben has returned,” mused Amy. “I still think that the delivery of the items in the pouch was an effort to tell me something.”
“If that’s so, whoever sent it didn’t do a very good job then,” responded Emma.”
“That’s because the letter was unfinished. Let’s go to Ben’s house.”
“All right,” agreed Emma. “There’s nothing to see today anyway.”
“Should I give up?” asked Amy plaintively.
At Ben’s, after knocking repeatedly, the butler finally answered the door. He impatiently told Amy that Ben was not there, that he did not know where Ben was, and that he did not know when Ben would return. Then he closed the front door, rather more quickly than a polite butler was supposed to do. Ben’s butler seemed to lack the deferential attitude that any normal butler was supposed to exhibit. So much so that Amy began to question if he was a real butler.
“I need to go on looking,” said Amy as they strolled back to the trap. “I need to go on looking, Emma. I cannot stop now. There are just too many unanswered questions. There is a solution to every mystery—and answer to every question. You just have to keep on searching. I need to track down the old man that left the satchel. He is the key. I must talk to Effie and Mrs. Pemberton again. Maybe they will remember something important that we missed the first time.”
Emma stopped Amy as she was about to climb into the trap, and set a hand gently on her arm.
“You are scaring me, Amy. You are beginning to obsess over this whole matter.”
Amy waited until the time in the afternoon when Mrs. Pemberton and Effie would have finished cleaning up after lunch and before they would have started preparing dinner. She listened outside the kitchen door and decided she had timed it just right.
“Mrs. Pemberton.” said Amy as she entered the kitchen. “I know you’re busy and getting ready to prepare dinner, but may I ask you and Effie a few brief questions about the old man that visited us a few weeks ago.”
“Certainly, milady,” said Mrs. Pemberton with a certain wariness.
“Why did you think the old man was a seaman?”
“We don’t know for sure, but he was wearing the sort of cap, jacket, and pants that seafarers wear,” answered Mrs. Pemberton.
“Did you offer him food?”
“Yes, milady, but he seemed in a right great hurry and would not accept any victuals.”
“What sort of an accent did he have?”
“He had a Devon accent like so many sailors do,” answered Mrs. Pemberton.
“But not a very strong one,” Effie piped up.
“Effie’s right,” said Mrs. Pemberton. “It was like he might have come from Devon, but had been away from there for a number of years.”
There was nothing else Amy could extract from the pair and Mrs. Pemberton was clearly anxious to start dinner so Amy thanked them and left. She wondered whether their erstwhile nautical visitor might have tempered his Devon accent with a long spell spent in Bristol, England’s other great seaport after Portsmouth.
Almost two weeks later, and close to the end of July, found Amy and Emma at their hilltop perch.
“I never thought I’d say this,” said Emma, “but I’m bored. The problem is that when all I have to look at is the surrounding country and it only changes twice a year I’ve finally seen everything about a thousand times. I wish we lived where there were more people. Why doesn’t Ben have any sheep or cows they would at least be something to look at? Look at how pitiful I am. I would even be entertained looking at a cow.”
“You wouldn’t be bored if you would go back home and let Mrs. Parkhurst i
nculcate some knowledge into your brain.”
“I would still be bored. Mrs. Parkhurst is boring, and she doesn’t teach me anything, or at least anything interesting.”
Suddenly, Emma sat up straight and peered through the telescope at Hillfield House.
“What was the name of the man we met at Hillfield House, Amy?”
“Pierre?”
“No, not him. I know his name. The other one that looked like a clerk.”
Amy thought for a few moments. “I think his name was...wasn’t it Bourne? Yes, it was Franklin Bourne. Why?”
“I think Mr. Bourne is visiting Hillfield House, or for all I know, maybe he lives there. At any rate, I see Franklin Bourne, and you know what that means.”
“Yes,” said Amy. “We can pay Hillfield House a visit and ask for Mr. Bourne, and England’s most unfriendly butler cannot deny he is there. Let us pay Sir Benjamin Anstruther a visit, or at least, pay his house a visit.”
When the butler yanked open the door in response to her knock and looked at her with his not them again look, Amy was so nonplussed that she almost asked to talk to Ben, but Emma quickly interjected and asked to speak with Mr. Bourne, making clear that they knew he was there.
The butler at least didn’t close the door in their face, although he didn’t invite them in.
“Wait here,” he snorted and left.
They followed him into the entrance hall. A minute or so later, a puzzled Mr. Bourne entered.
“You want to see me?”
“How do you do, Mr. Bourne?” asked Amy in her most polite voice.
“I am well, thank you,” said a clearly puzzled Franklin Bourne.
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