The Captain's Daughter

by Minnie Simpson

  “Actually we really would like to talk to Sir Benjamin, but we knew you were here and we need to talk to someone, and Sir Benjamin’s butler is not always cooperative. But he couldn’t deny you were present.”

  “You must forgive Sir Benjamin’s butler. His duties go somewhat beyond the range of duties of a normal household servant.”

  “We are most pleased to hear you are well, Mr. Bourne, but please look upon me and my sister Emma with compassion. Now, can we talk to Sir Benjamin?”

  Poor Franklin Bourne was not as adept as the butler at fielding questions, and he paused and stuttered. Amy and Emma took that for a sign that Ben must be in the house.

  Before Bourne thought his way through the question that so caught him of guard, Amy decided to save him from himself.

  “Mr. Bourne, we know that Sir Benjamin is here. We cannot tell you how we know, but may we speak to him?”

  “Uh,” was all Bourne said, and then “wait a minute,” and hurried out without admitting Ben was there—or denying it for that matter.

  After a few minutes, he returned.

  “I must apologize milady, but Sir Benjamin cannot see you at this time.”

  “That’s all right,” said Amy looking around. When she spotted a chair, she sat down on the stiff backed wooden hall chair. “Emma and I can wait. We have all afternoon.”

  “Uh, please wait a minute,” said the confused Mr. Bourne and quickly left their presence one more time.

  “He is certainly not a very decisive man,” opined Emma.

  “Nor a very resourceful one either,” agreed Amy. “Although, he is polite.”

  As time dragged by, Amy and Emma began to wonder if they really would have to wait all afternoon. The great grandfather clock in the hall ticked away the seconds and the minutes as its long pendulum swung back and forth.

  Finally, a door at the back of the entrance hall opened and Mr. Bourne stepped out. He was followed by Ben, but Ben was not his usual self. He was stooped and had a blanket around his shoulders. He was leaning on a man Amy presumed was his valet. As soon as he was through the door, Bourne took his other arm and they helped him as he struggled to walk.

  All Amy could do was stare at him open-mouthed.

  When the three men were about fifteen feet away they stopped.

  “Good afternoon, ladies,” said Ben hoarsely and then burst into a fit of coughing. Amy could see the sweat on his brow.

  “Good afternoon, Sir Benjamin,” said Amy shakily. She addressed him formally in deference to the others who were present. But she could say no more as she fought back tears and the fear and dread that had arisen like a cold monster within her.

  Chapter 24

  Emma and Amy stood frozen to the spot, so aghast were they at Ben’s condition.

  Ben forced a weak smile on his face to mask his pain and feebleness. “You are the most persistent young ladies. Don’t you realize that many would criticize your behavior as being most unladylike?

  “These are not normal times, Sir Benjamin,” said Emma with melodramatic seriousness.

  “We are concerned when we don’t hear from you as to your health and well-being,” said Amy.

  “I appreciate your concern about my health.” Ben spoke with a touch of sarcasm. “Don’t worry, I am still looking for more information about your special problem.”

  Amy felt that made it sound like a disease.

  “In fact, I have been casually asking around in the coffee houses in Lombard Street and around the Royal Exchange about Maitland, the first mate of the Bristol Ark, since I would think he might know something.”

  Amy had been watching Ben intently. He seemed to be putting a lot of effort into speaking.

  “Are you well, Ben?” she asked then realized how strange it sounded asking that of someone in his condition, but he seemed to know what she meant.

  “Yes,” he said hesitantly, and then he confessed: “It’s just a small wound.”

  Amy was deeply concerned.

  “A small wound? You don’t look like someone with a small wound, Ben.”

  “I had a few bad days, but it was well cleansed. I’ve had it about a week and it is improving, and what is more important, I have not suffered any side effects from it. I’ve suffered no real fever, just weakness from loss of blood the first few days.”

  Amy was far from convinced. Ben didn’t look like someone who had escaped the effects of their injury quite that well.

  “What happened Ben? What sort of injury are you suffering from? Why are you so weak?”

  He looked down at the carpet in the hall. He was clearly struggling with what to tell Amy. This worried her. Why did he not come right out and tell her what had occurred. Why was he trying to avoid a straightforward answer?”

  “I was attacked by some ruffians,” he said shaking his head.

  “These are dangerous times,” evoked Emma.

  He smiled wryly. “Yes, indeed, young lady. That is so true Emma, and I fear they will get worse before they get better.”

  “Sometimes I hate the Froggies. I know we are not supposed to hate anyone, but sometimes I do,” said Emma almost in tears.

  Ben looked at Emma with a renewed seriousness.

  “It is quite right to hate some people, little sister, it’s all right to hate the wicked, and sadly there are many of those around these days. Not all Frenchmen are wicked and not all Englishmen are good, and I worry about the Englishmen much more than the French. The Frenchmen are over in France chopping off the heads of their own miserable citizens, but the Englishmen are here doing their wicked deeds and good and innocent people are their victims.”

  All the while he had been speaking to Emma, Amy had been thinking.

  “It was the highwaymen. You were trying to catch the highwaymen. Don’t try to obfuscate me.”

  Ben smiled and this time it seemed genuine.

  “How did I ever come to deserve a word like that? If I am guilty of anything it is trying to avoid worrying you with unnecessary information, but if you must, it has grown so bad on the Dover and Bath roads that I impersonated a fleeing French victim of the reign of terror. I had him take my coach, and dress in the garb of a common tradesman, while I rode with what appeared to be his wife and two boys.”

  Ben was interrupted when his friend, Franklin Bourne, entered the hall. He looked at Bourne.

  “I took care of the matters as you asked,” said Bourne.

  “Thank you,” said Ben.

  As he turned back to the two, Emma looked at him solemnly and said quietly: “May I ask you a question, Sir Benjamin, without you being annoyed at me.”

  “I don’t think I could ever be truly annoyed with you, Lady Emmeline.”

  “You speak of the nobleman that you impersonated, and I presume it was a nobleman, as a victim, but before the revolution in his land, in France, and before the Reign of Terror, were not many poor in his land victims of such as he. Who is the real victim?”

  “Ah the innocence of the young,” said Ben, “but there is some truth in your question. I know what you ask. Is someone who chops off a head in anger over years of mistreatment and misery really worse than someone who inflicted that misery? I’ve struggled over that question myself. But we have to stop murder. In time we can and I dearly hope will overcome mistreatment and oppression. In time we hope these conditions will be rectified, and the victims come to a better life, but neither we nor anyone else, can overcome death. That is why we must put a stop to the carnage. That is why we must apprehend the killers that abound on our roads these days.”

  Emma looked bewildered and bowed her head.

  “Bourne, and I, and some others we trust, spread the information around that this French family was heading for Bath on the 5th day of July by a private coach, and disguised as regular English travelers. We salted enough clues for anyone to recognize the coach and its occupants, and it worked. The four of us were well armed. Our two boys were two acquaintances who are not so tall, but well-seasoned in
combat, and my wife was... He paused with an amused look and nods in Bourne’s direction.”

  “What went wrong?” asked Amy.

  “Nothing really. There were more of them than we had expected. We shot three of them, but the other two got away. They just got a lucky shot at me. Fortunately it is only minor. But I am still amazed at a brazen daylight attack. At least, I got a good look at them. And one of them—he seemed to be the leader—I will never forget that face. The left side of his face around and below the left eye was...almost shriveled. It was wrinkled and disfigured somehow as if he had received some grotesque injury.”

  “Are the three that were shot, dead?”

  “Two of them died soon after without talking and the third will probably survive if he doesn’t get a fever, but he refuses to talk, at least, so far. Back in King Henry’s time we could have tortured him but we cannot do that any longer. Anyway, they say torture brings out more dangerous lies than useful truths, and I’m glad that it is long gone. He’s in the hands of the authorities and they will keep questioning him. I’m told it is not unusual for that type to crack after a few days when they come to realize they will be much better off talking. That way they can avoid being hanged, which most men in the end would rather avoid.”

  “So the highwaymen have a spy who mingles with genteel folk,” said Amy more as a question than a statement. “Or do you think that maybe some serving person overheard?”

  “No, we were careful to spread the seeds only when no serving person was present. We have a traitor in our midst.”

  “If that man does not talk won’t it be even worse, because you won’t know who the traitor is and he will be more careful,” asked Amy?

  “That might well be true,” said Ben, “but at least we know the spy is in London, and the robbers act to the west and north of London. And that is very interesting. They do not act on the Dover road, which would be the easiest if they were learning of their victims before London. All the attacks are either on the road to Bath and on the London road between London and...I don’t want this to scare you, but between London and Stockley-on-Arne.”

  “Here?” said Emma in wonder.

  “No, I didn’t mean that,” Ben quickly responded. “On the road out of London that heads in this direction. There have been seven recent attacks on French noble expatriates. Two of them were on the London road north and five on the Bath road. The two on the London road north were not far outside of London—about fifteen miles south of here, and the five on the Bath road were all within about five miles of one another. As you know there are several roads that head north out of London. We wonder if there is some consistency in the attacks, and if so, why.”

  Ben swayed as if he were about to fall over, and Bourne rushed to catch him as Amy put out her arm in his direction. He waved them both away.

  “I’m sorry I just need some rest.” he apologized.

  “May I tell you something really quickly?” asked Amy.

  When he agreed, she told him of the meager information she had culled from the cook and Effie, that is, that the old man definitely appeared to be a seaman with a slight Devon accent.

  Several days later on the first Sunday of August, they encountered Ben as they were leaving church.

  “My, Sir Benjamin,” said Lady Sibbridge with a friendly smile, “this is the first time I’ve seen you in church.”

  “That may well be, milady, because this is the first time I’ve been to church in Stockley-on-Arne since I was a lad. But if you knew me better you would know that I am not entirely a heathen.”

  After some small talk he turned to Amy’s father who was standing stoic and rigid and silent as usual.

  “Sir Anthony, may I have the privilege of accompanying your daughter, Lady Amaryllis, back to your house?”

  When Amy’s father seemed confused, her mother, who was clearly charmed by Ben, consented.

  As soon as her mother and father were out of earshot, Amy turned to Ben with a mischievous look and asked: “How will we get there? Must I walk alongside your horse?”

  “No, no,” he said with a laugh, “I thought I should adapt to country living, so I have activated grandfather’s gig.”

  Ben and Amy left as her family was getting rounded up and into their coach. Emma was watching them.

  “My sister likely believes you are using the gig so there will be no room for her to come with us,” observed Amy.

  “Who is to know if she is wrong?” grinned Ben.

  “Who indeed?” agrees Amy.

  “I want to confess immediately that I wanted to get you alone as this will give us a good opportunity to talk without other prying ears around.”

  When he reveals that he wants to discuss her mystery, she is disappointed but she chastises herself. What else would he want to talk to me about?

  “I received a letter from a friend,” Ben continued. The inquiries at the coffee shops around Lombard and Threadneedle Streets and thereabouts have paid off. At least we have learned more. I am not sure how beneficial it will be, though. Soon after the captain and his wife and baby drowned, the first mate Maitland was made captain of the Bristol Ark.”

  Amy looked at him with anticipation.

  “Unfortunately, Captain Maitland died not too long ago.”

  “Oh,” said Amy sadly. “Our one possible source of information is gone.”

  “Not necessarily,” said Ben. “Maitland’s longtime boatswain retired after Captain Maitland died. Perhaps after serving so long with Maitland, possibly even since the time the captain drowned, the boatswain may have been privy to some of his secrets, at the very least he probably knows a few things that may well be of use.”

  “Probably another dead-end,” said Amy unhappily.

  “You’re far too pessimistic,” said Ben, “and there is something more.”

  Amy looked at him expectantly.

  “What?”

  “My source believes Captain Maitland died at sea, drowned just like his predecessor.”

  When they arrived at Sibbridge House, Ben quickly swung to the ground and helped Amy from the gig.

  “I am going to see the boatswain tomorrow. I don’t know his name yet, but it will be easy to find out.”

  “Do you think he was the old seaman who brought the satchel?”

  “I think that is a very real likelihood,” said Ben.

  “May I come with you?” asked Amy.

  “You always do,” said Ben, “but, of course, it is up to your parents.”

  When Amy’s family arrived, Ben hurried over to help them out of their coach. Her father was still confused, so she asked her mother’s permission, who naturally demurred.

  Ben intervened, suggesting a solution to the problem. Couldn’t Amy’s mother go to their house in Bath? Bristol is only a couple of hours from Bath. They explained that the house in Bath was not their house. He was disappointed. Amy could not go, because the journey would take several days going and returning. He left a profoundly disappointed Amy.

  But Amy would not give up. She again asked her mother and father for permission to go to Bristol to see the old sailor who might know something about her origins, but her father was still confused and her mother as usual dithered. She pleaded, and her mother said it was all so confusing.

  “A young lady should not make such a journey. It will take four days and that seems improper.”

  “Surely not if we are properly chaperoned?”

  Complex questions perplexed her mother.

  “Could we invite Sir Benjamin for lunch if he is willing?” asked Amy.

  Her mother reluctantly agreed.

  At lunch, after they had eaten most of the meal, Amy again broached the subject. Ben had avoided the subject and confined himself to small talk and charming comments mostly directed at her mother. He was curious what Amy was up to.

  Her father was still not with it so she directed her pleas at her mother, who demurred saying it was not appropriate for a decent young woman to accompany a
young man on a journey, especially one that lasted several days.

  “That might be true,” said Amy, “but it is not unseemly for a young lady to go on such a trip with an older lady.”

  “I just can’t go with you, my dear,” said her mother among other confused excuses.

  “I don’t mean you mother, I mean Mrs. Parkhurst, and of course, Emma.”

  “Well I...” said Mrs. Parkhurst, and gave a sort of a gasp.

  Whether she was indignant about being called an old lady or about the suggestion of her going on another lengthy coach trip was not clear.

  “If Mrs. Parkhurst does not wish to go,” said Emma, knowing that Mrs. Parkhurst did not wish to go, “I could accompany Amy.” She hurriedly added, “I really feel it would be most appropriate to let Amy find out more about her...” She was about to say parents, and realized that would not be helpful, “...about her background and relatives.”

  “I don’t know, I really don’t know what to do,” her mother said fretfully.

  Suddenly, her father broke in.

  “Let Amy go.”

  Everyone stared at Sir Anthony in surprised silence. Amy was not really sure if he knew what the conversation was about or if he was just repeating the words, but she seized on the opportunity it presented and she persuaded her mother to consent.

  “Oh dear,” mumbled Lady Sibbridge, “I just don’t think a girl of Emma’s age is an adequate chaperone. You really must go with them, Mrs. Parkhurst.”

  Mrs. Parkhurst was unable to refuse as she saw that Amy’s mother had slipped back into her web of personal confusion and indecision.

  “We should set out early tomorrow,” suggested Ben.

  Mrs. Parkhurst was rumbling with consternation, but they persuaded her to reluctantly agree, even though she said when she was young such scandalous behavior would not be allowed.

  Mattie, who heretofore had not participated in the conversation, asked if she could visit Cassandra Wardsley in Bath. Her mother demurred saying they could not do that unless they wrote for permission. But an unusually assertive Mattie said she was told when she was there that she could visit anytime and that was “just a few days ago.”