The Captain's Daughter

by Minnie Simpson

  “He knows where I am staying?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Am I in danger from him?”

  “Not him personally, but his evil friends, or acquaintances, as he has no real friends.”

  “How does he know where I am staying?”

  “It seems you told him.”

  “I told him?” Amy gasped in disbelief. “I’ve never even met the scoundrel.

  “In a way you are right, you probably have never met the scoundrel, but you have met the charmer. You’ve even danced with him.”

  “Danced with him?

  Where, the thought flies through Amy’s mind, which was in turmoil. It could not be any of the locals at home. It must have been someone at the ball. Her dance partners fly through her mind. Who?

  “You even showed him your prized locket. That’s how he knew who you were.”

  Eskman! Amy can’t believe it. Not Lord Eskman. He was so...so charming.

  “But it can’t be Eskman. His name is not Ishmael. His friends call him Hughie.”

  “He uses his middle name, which was his father’s name. I will go now,” says Christine. “I came discreetly and I will leave discreetly. His henchmen might be watching.”

  She looked at Amy in a combination of sadness and triumph. Then she reached into her bag and took out some papers and handed them to Amy.

  “This is the will. And in case it is of some relevance, I have written where Eskman resides on the front paper.”

  Before Amy could say a word, Christine was gone.

  Chapter 34

  For over an hour, Amy sat in the library dazed by the information she had to adsorb. She must get the information to Ben, but how? She had no transportation, because the coach had taken the others to Vauxhall Gardens. She had no way of sending a letter until tomorrow. She felt both excited and frustrated, practically bursting to tell him the news.

  At dinner she ate little while she anxiously awaited her confidant, Emma to come home. She was surprised they were not back yet considering the delicate condition of Emma’s health. The cook had prepared food for everyone, but she was the only one to dine, and she definitely didn’t eat her share. She ate at seven, the usual time at the Ramsey house. That was about sunset, but in sooty old London, a person would be lucky to see the sun at this time of day. Now it was 7:30 and completely dark, yet the others still had not returned.

  They arrived back quite late. This made it impossible to talk to Emma because they all went to bed and since the three girls were sharing the same room in the Ramsey house that meant that Mattie would be in the room with Amy and Emma. While Mattie was kind, sweet, caring, and sympathetic, Amy just could not have the same frank talk with Emma that she could have if Mattie was not present.

  Amy tried to sleep as she lay awaiting the new day.

  When she went to breakfast Thursday morning she should have been dead tired, but the excitement of all that she had learned yesterday afternoon made her wide awake in a hazy sort of way. She nibbled at her food, waiting for Leo to come to breakfast. Where was he?

  Well over an hour after Amy had left the breakfast table he came hurrying into the living room announcing he had to run an errand and wouldn’t be home until later in the day.

  “Leo, I don’t want to be a nuisance or impose on you,” said Amy, “but can you take me to Ben’s today.”

  “I don’t know,” replied Leo, “it all depends on how long my business takes.”

  “I would really be eternally grateful if you could. It is really, really, really important.”

  Leo gave her a puzzled look, and then replied: “I will try my best.”

  Impassioned pleas do help, as he returned just after two.

  Amy was awaiting his return already dressed with her outside clothes, much to her mother’s curiosity and concern. Everything, of course, worried and concerned her mother, who knew little of what was going on, as was almost always true.

  This time Ben was there at his tawdry lodgings. While Leo and Mattie watched from the street outside where they could not see the entire courtyard, Amy was admitted by the little clerk-like man who routinely picked up Ben’s letters. The man was in his shirt sleeves and his white shirt appeared to be smudged with dirt and dark brownish-red smears.

  She rushed into the dull and musty little room. Where was Ben? Then she saw him. He was propped up in a chair and had bandages wrapped around his chest.

  “Oh Ben,” she cried in anguish, “what has happened to you?”

  Ben started to reply, but the little man interrupted.

  “Ben was seriously wounded by highwaymen when he was riding as a decoy for a Frenchman escaping the reign of terror.”

  Amy flung herself to her knees in front of Ben.

  “Please, how can I help you? I have taken care of wounds of children in Stokely-on-Arne. I can bandage your wounds...”

  Ben could hear the worry, approaching panic, in her voice.

  “I am all right, Amy. Allan is taking good care of me. All we need to do is wait until the wound heals naturally in the course of time.”

  “We are most fortunate,” Allan broke in, “that Ben has not come down with a fever. The bullet was removed six days ago. That it has not become infected is a good sign.”

  Ben’s condition so worried her that for the time being her momentous news was forgotten. But when the little clerk left Ben in “her hands” to go for victuals and to get medicine from the apothecary, and she was left alone with Ben, it soon came rushing back.

  As the information poured forth from her, Ben did not seem as surprised as she had anticipated. He never liked Eskman and was suspicious because Eskman always seemed as if he was prying and up to something.

  “Up to what?” she asked.

  “I don’t quite know. I thought he was trying to find an heiress to marry, but if he is already married then there must be some other motive behind his machinations”.

  “Now do you see that those men who attacked me were not trying to use me to entice you into a trap? I must have been their target. Lady Eskman had painted Eskman as a coward and timid, but I was attacked. As Lady Eskman said, Caroline Anselan never once called herself Lady Eskman, but that is who she must be, Lord Eskman has evil acquaintances. He doesn’t do his own dirty work but uses others.”

  “That is not unlike many men,” said Ben. “Many who are known as great men, do their evil through the hands of others. Judges have others hang men for them. And kings and princes have others kill for them and die for them. So Eskman is like so many other cowards and scoundrels in fine clothes and high places. But now we have a clear motive. You are right, Amy Sebbridge, or is it Agnes Buchanan, you are their target. You are a threat to him as long as you are alive. But there is a deep puzzle in that.”

  “What is it Ben?”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean, why?

  “You have told me that Christine Anselan said he squandered all his own money, all the estate he inherited from his father, as we have heard from other sources. Don’t you see the question that raises?”

  For a few moments Amy was puzzled and then it struck her.

  “If I am a threat to Eskman it would seem to be as a threat to his inheritance since my father was made Sir Hugh Anselan’s heir. But Ishmael Anselan, who is now Lord Eskman, squandered all the inheritance. There would seem to be no threat if there is nothing to inherit, so why does he want me out of the way so badly?”

  “That is the quandary,” said Ben looking puzzled. “Whatever his motive, you clearly need protection. You must be guarded.”

  “But we can’t do anything obvious, because we would have to tell my mother what was going on and in her fragile state she wouldn’t be able to tolerate it.”

  Ben thought a little. “I’ll guard you in a way she won’t know.”

  Glad to have been able to share what she now knew with Ben she returned to Leo and Mattie in the carriage and they took her home. Mattie enjoyed these little trips because it
gave her time alone with Leo. On the way home, Amy told them of Ben’s wound.

  Just after breakfast the next day, which was Friday, both Leo and Mattie were most amenable to Amy’s request to go to Ben’s and see how he was doing. As they left the Ramsey’s street, she noticed a cart with two men who seemed to be engaged in some sort of activity on the street. She hoped these were the guards that Ben posted and not Eskman’s henchmen.

  At the entrance to Ben’s courtyard, a cart was stopped and the carter was working on a wheel, so they parked behind the cart ignoring the carter’s curiosity as to why a coach with fine people would be stopping on such a street and in such a place as this.

  When she entered the courtyard she immediately saw two men standing at Ben’s door. They appeared to be talking to someone inside. Curious she stood near the stack of crates and other materials near the courtyard’s entrance. She was fearful that they might be enemies of Ben and that they had done something bad to him. They had a familiar look. She then remembered the Frenchman who had visited their home and his two men, one of whom had followed her. They resembled these two men, although she could not be sure they were the same.

  Soon they turned to leave, coming down the steps and walking in her direction. They walked right past where she was hiding without spotting her. They were speaking French and she quickly recognized they were the two men she had seen hiding the casket in the old mill at home. She drew in her breath in fear not just for herself, but mostly in fear of what they might have done to Ben. As they left the courtyard, she slipped out of her hiding place and hurried up the stairs, fearing what they had done to Ben.

  Before she could knock, Ben’s door opened. She froze. There was no way she could hide from whoever was about to come out through the door. Ben stepped out onto the landing. Except for the impairment of his wound, he seemed to be fine. Her mind swam in confusion and she turned and ran out to the waiting coach.

  “Please hurry and leave she implored,” and they did.

  She asked about the two Frenchmen. Neither Mattie nor Leo had noticed them. Later the coachman told Amy the Frenchmen had gone in the other direction when they exited the courtyard. They apparently had not noticed the coach because it was parked behind a cart piled high with boxes.

  As they returned to the house, Amy’s thoughts were a raging storm of confusion, and then she remembered. Ben was shot six days ago! No it was seven days ago now. A chill ran down Amy’s spine. She could not help but recall the fearful account that Lady Ramsey had fretted about. One of the murderers of the Frenchman fleeing the Reign of Terror was wounded, and escaped. Ben received his gunshot wound at the very same time. A cold fear crept over Amy and filled her to the deepest parts of her soul.

  Chapter 35

  When they returned to the Ramsey’s house it was still early. Emma had remained in the bedroom all morning, because despite her improvement the trip to Vauxhall Gardens the previous day and the long day they had spent there, had tired her out.

  It was not long before Leo and Mattie along with their mother set out to see the town. Amy declined their invitation and remained at the house. With Emma upstairs and the house quiet, Amy once more found her mind in turmoil. Who was her enemy and who was her friend?

  She sat at the desk in the library, and took out a sheet of paper and pen and ink, and decided to examine everything logically.

  Lord Eskman has a motive to get her out of the way it would seem, but he is a craven coward. Would he have enough manhood in him to kill her? Both Ben and Christine seem to believe he would. But Ben really knows nothing about him and Christine has a motive to think the worst of him.

  Ben is, was, or seemed to be her friend. He had worked hard to help her, but that was not the question. The question was what was Ben up to. Was he helping the victims of the Reign of Terror escape France and the French assassins, or was he in cahoots with them? In the end she has only his word. She has seen no evidence supporting his claims. He could be doing the very same thing he claims to be fighting. Rich French seeking refuge are being targeted by someone who seems to know their itinerary. How do the highwaymen know whom to attack, or when? Just clever scouting or do they have inside information? And if they do, who are they getting it from? Who better than Ben? Who better to gain the confidence of the French exile community than the man who claims to be aiding them?

  These are bitter thoughts. Once she was ashamed to think ill of Ben, but now in the face of undeniable evidence what else could she think regardless of how much it troubled her. He had helped her but that did not mean he was not guilty of being associated with the gang of robbers—the gang of murderous robbers. She shivered at the thought.

  But would he have tried to do her harm? Perhaps the attack where he intervened was just a way of throwing her off the trail—of convincing her he was innocent. And it had worked, but now she faced overwhelming evidence. She had been told of the attack and the killing of the Frenchman. She had also been told that a casket of valuables had been taken in the robbery. She had seen with her own eyes, two Frenchmen hide a casket at the old mill, and then she had seen the same two Frenchman paying a friendly visit with Ben.

  Yes, with the injured Ben. One of the killers of the Frenchman had been shot. Ben had been shot and had not told her anything about the details other than claiming he was running decoy to protect a French exile, obviously the same man who had been murdered. If he had been running decoy, and the Frenchman had been killed, why had Ben been shot? Other than the murder victim, the Ramseys had mentioned no other person being shot except one of the killers.

  She crumpled up the papers and threw them into the wastebasket. She must talk to Emma.

  She poured out all her worries to Emma, but Emma did not quite understand. The ever-logical Emma, ever more reasoned than her age, urged Amy not to rush to judgment.

  “Things are not always what they seem.”

  “Emma,” said Amy, “the evidence is overwhelming and irrefutable. I don’t know what to do. I must do something, I just don’t know what.”

  Amy went back downstairs. She looked in the study. There was no one in the room. She went in and gathered her papers out of the wastebasket. No one must see them. She took them back up to the bedroom and put them with her personal items. She wasn’t quite ready to discard her ruminations just yet.

  “I have to go out,” she told Emma.

  “Where are you going? asked Emma.

  “To find some answers.

  “How can you go out, Leo, Emma, and Mother took the coach?”

  But Amy had already left the room. She was determined to bring an end to the turmoil and confusion in her mind. She knew where Eskman lived. She must go to him and confront him.

  She was about to hurry out of the front door when she remembered the two workmen. Whoever had sent them, they would undoubtedly be in the street out front. She rushed past the startled cook and scullery maid and out the Ramsey’s back door into the lane behind the house. The lane led to the adjoining street.

  Eskman’s residence was only about ten or fifteen minutes away if she walked fast, and the way she felt right now, she would walk fast. She would go and confront him. Maybe his henchmen were dangerous but he was timid and no danger and she would have the element of surprise. He would not be able to summon them. All she would encounter would be the cowardly Eskman and his poor mother who was practically his prisoner.

  Maybe Eskman was no danger. Perhaps he didn’t have any henchmen. All she had was the accusations of an abandoned wife and Ben who seemed to be covering up his own nefarious activities. She would find out. Eskman did have some motive, whatever that might be, to be concerned about Amy and her inheritance but that didn’t mean he would be willing to have her killed.

  She burned up the streets all the way to the Eskman house, which she found unexpectedly dingy and humble. In fact when she came out of the fog of her anger and determination she discovered he was in a very marginal neighborhood. She felt a bit uncomfortable as she looked
around, but it was broad daylight and she supposed she should be safe even though she clearly wasn’t dressed in a manner appropriate to where she now found herself.

  She hesitated for a moment, and then went up and pounded the large brass knocker against the front door.

  An old woman, thin as a rake and bent to one side, came to the front door.

  “I need to talk to Lord Eskman,” she demanded.

  The old woman stared at her suspiciously and looked over her fine clothes. The woman’s eyes darted to the left and to the right searching for the coach this finely dressed young lady must have arrived in.

  “Who are you?”

  “I must talk to Lord Eskman,” Amy said emphatically.

  “He is not here.” Her voice sounded harsh.

  “Then I need to speak to Lord Eskman’s mother. Tell her Amaryllis Sibbridge wants to speak with her. Lord Eskman may have told her who I am.”

  “I am Lord Eskman’s mother.”

  Taken aback, Amy paused and looked at the woman whom she took to be a poor household servant. But isn’t that exactly what Christine’s account should have led her to expect. Eskman hobnobs with the cream of society while he keeps his poor mother in virtual poverty.

  “May I come in and speak with you?”

  “I suppose,” was the cold reply.

  Lavinia Eskman invited her into the house.

  Inside, the house was dark, dingy, and dirty. Amy cannot imagine how the niftily attired Eskman could live here. She is led into what might once have been a respectable room, and in response to the old woman’s invitation, nay command, she finds the least dusty place to sit.