The Captain's Daughter (32 page)

“When I reached
the town house, the butler told me that no one was there. They were all gone. I
asked about you and he said the kitchen help said you ran out the back door but
they did not know where you were going. When I was about to leave, he mentioned
that your sister Emma,” he nodded towards Emma, “was in the bedroom resting
because of her illness. I know she is your confidant, and I asked her if she
knew where you were going. She said you rushed out right after you stuffed some
papers under your pillow. She got them out for me, and Eskman’s address was on
the very top paper. I immediately knew that is where you were. It’s unfortunate
he slipped through our fingers, but we will catch him. He’s too clumsy to stay
hidden.”

Emma looked at
Ben. “But isn’t that exactly what he did?”

“What do you
mean, Emma?

“You said he
was too clumsy to stay hidden.”

“What are you
suggesting?”

“Did he go out
the front door? asked Emma.

“No. We would
have caught him if he had.”

“Did he go out
the back door?”

“The scullery
girl says no.”

“Is there any
other way out?” asked Emma.

“There is the
cellar,” said Amy.

Then she
remembered her predicament when she was trapped in the cellar. “But the door is
padlocked from the outside.”

“Then,” said
Emma smugly, “the Eskmans must have still been in the house.” And inspired by
the novels she wasn’t supposed to read, or even know about, “Maybe they have a
secret room to hide the loot.”

As they had
been talking, Mattie and Leo had entered the room. Ben looked at Amy and
smiled.”

“It’s worth
checking on your ever amazing sister’s theory.”

“I want to go
with you. I want to confront that man, and especially his mother, face to
face.”

“I understand
how you feel, Amy, but you’ve been through enough for one day—in fact for a
lifetime. I think you should stay home.”

She reluctantly
agreed.

“May I
accompany you,” asked Leo. “I haven’t seen any action in this whole affair
yet.”

“I could use
the help, but if Eskman is such a coward, you may not see any action this time
either.”

“Watch out for
the old woman,” Amy called after them as they left. “She will probably try to
bite you.”

Ben looked at
Emma and Mattie as he left the room. “Take care of your sister. She is going to
feel worse before she feels better—both physically and emotionally.

“You fool,”
Lavinia berated her son as they walked into the living room.

She dusted off
her clothes and also his, although given how dusty the room was it seemed
meaningless.

“Everything you
turn your hand to, you fail. You mishandled how you went about trying to
dissuade you father from changing his will. I cannot place the blame on him for
rejecting you. You idiot.”

“But mother,
you didn’t have to kill him. I could have persuaded him to reinstate me as his
heir if you had given me time.”

“Ahhh,” she
said as an expression of disgust. “You are a wastrel and a profligate. You
wasted all your inheritance and then all the money that woman you married
brought with her. It is these worthless companions you run around with.”

“These
worthless companions, as you call them, have enabled us to make quite a bit of
money,” responded Eskman.

“Only because I
took charge and got our little endeavor going,” she flung back at him.

“You got us in
this mess from your taking charge. You told them to kill the poor fools that we
relieve of their possessions.”

“Dead men
cannot testify in court. Since when have you become so sympathetic to a bunch
of Frenchmen?”

“They are human
mother. They have families. They have mothers and fathers and wives and
children.”

“You are a
miserable weakling, Ishmael. How could I have ever spawned you?”

All the while,
the glazed eyes of the dead Carl Yager looked on, as he awaited the men who would
come and take him to his last resting place in a criminal’s grave.

Ishmael became
consumed with self-pity and rage as his mother mocked and yelled at him.
Finally, in a frenzy born of outrage he grabbed the knife from Carl Yager’s
belt and plunged it into his mother’s chest. She looked down at the knife
nested deep in her flesh, as her lifeblood began to flow.

Realizing what
he had done he caught her as her knees buckled under her and pled for
forgiveness.

“Please don’t
die mother,” he whimpered.

She locked on
him a demonic stare and cursed him with her last breath.

Eskman, the
wastrel and the coward, knelt and sobbed loudly over his mother’s lifeless
body, and then he wrapped his fingers around the knife and ended his own life,
falling over her body, as the dead eyes of the highwayman looked on still.

           
A few minutes later, Ben and Leo arrived. They encountered the hysterical
scullery girl standing in the front door. She looked up at them with pitiful,
tearful eyes.

“They’re all
dead sirs, they are.”

Several days
later, when
Amy was much improved in every way, and Emma had finally returned almost
completely to her old self, Leo invited the girls to go with him to someplace
new. He was very secretive and wouldn’t tell them where it was or what it was.

After some
fifteen or twenty minutes they pulled up in front of an elegant and impressive
townhouse. The front door of the house was open and workmen were passing in and
out.

“I have to go
inside for a few minutes, and I would very much like you ladies to accompany
me.”

Since they were
all curious, they readily consented and he helped them from the coach.
Threading themselves through the workers, they found themselves in a large and
elegant drawing room. Most of the furniture was covered with dust sheets,
except one expensive chair where the dust cover had been pulled aside. Seated
on the chair was a man that Amy knew. It was the Frenchman from Hillside House,
whom she knew as Pierre Marie Chevalier.

Standing with
his left arm leaning on the back of the chair and a big grin on his face was
Ben.

“What...” was
all Amy could say.

“This is my
London house, Amy. I did not move out of it and dwell among the cut-purses,
cutthroats, thieves, murderers, and other denizens of the warren of evil and
degradation where recently you found me, out of fear of the murderous agents of
the
Comité de salut public
. Although, it was of some use to be where
they could not find me, at least at first, until they tracked me there. No, I
moved out because once they learned that some of those they were trying to find
were dwelling at Hillside House it was no longer a safe sanctuary.

Therefore I
moved out of this house, and did all that was necessary to appear as if no one
was here, so that Pierre and others would have a safe place to reside until the
time was propitious for them to return to their native land.

“We are deeply
grateful to Sir Benjamin,” said Pierre with his thick French accent. “We had to
remain in the rooms that could not be seen from the street, so this room had to
appear deserted, and we had to avoid going into any room where we might be
seen, as well as staying away from the windows of the upstairs rooms. Ben left
the curtains open so we could have some illumination during daylight hours, but
at night we scarce could even use a candle for fear the glow might be seen. One
careless mistake and our enemies could have discovered us. And we were sure
they would keep a watch on Ben’s house.”

“Well
fortunately that is over and done with,” said Ben.

“Fortunate
indeed,
mon ami
,” laughed Pierre. “Do you realize how cold even your
summers can be here in England without resort to a fire. Now we are starting
into the month of October, and soon it will be winter. The thought of escaping
the
Comité
only to freeze to death, that is no desirable alternative.”

“Well it is all
over, at least for now. All those pursuing you and attacking your countrymen
fleeing the Reign of Terror, are now dead or in gaol, except for Antibes, and
he is no longer in the country.”

“Julien Antibes
escaped?” Amy was shocked.

“Yes,
unfortunately,” replied Ben. “He and his two henchmen, Henri and Bruno. Three
men matching their description left the Port of London on the
Moordenaar
, which was bound for Holland, two days ago. They’ll make their way easily to
France from Holland.”

“Might they not
return here?” asked Amy.

“They might and
will, if they can. They are very accomplished at what they do and they will be
determined to carry out what they started.”

“What can be
done to prevent this horror from repeating itself?” said Amy, an element of
fear in her voice.

“They can only
return if they are alive,” said Ben. “Perhaps there is something can be done
about that. Julien Antibes is very skilled at not being seen, at hiding, but we
are also accomplished at
uncovering
what is hidden. If all goes well, we
will not have him and his associates to worry about.”

Amy did not
like the sound of that. She did not object to the assisted demise of the three
evil and cruel men, but she worried about Ben and the part he might have to
play in this dance of death.

“Anyway,” said
Ben changing the subject to something brighter, “I am having the house restored
to its rightful condition. I’m already moving back in, as you can see by the
hive of activity. And if you will excuse me, I have to see how the work is
coming along.”

With Ben gone,
Amy turned her attention back to Pierre.

“Monsieur
Chevalier, I believe Ben said you were a journalist. Why would they want to
kill you?”

“I am many
things, mademoiselle, but believe me, the
Comité
wants anyone dead who
might uncover their evil or speak against them, and it is true, I have spoken
against them with much vigor. So much so that they are enraged at me and want
to silence me.”

Leo, who along
with Mattie and Emma, had watched in silence until now, asked the question that
was on many minds.

“How can a
cultured and civilized people as the French are, allow such outrages as the
wholesale murder of their aristocracy and others? I have met many of your
fellow Frenchmen and their families driven from your shores, and I am horrified
at such cruelty.”

“I am being
pursued by the Reign of Terror and can never justify their atrocities,” said
Pierre, “but I am also no friend of the aristocracy. If it were not for their
arrogance and cruelties the Reign of Terror would never have come into being.
It very much is as the sacred book says:
For they have sown the wind, and
they shall reap the whirlwind
. Some of the rich and powerful have collected
the wages they have earned, but so many good people have died for the sins of
the few. I abhor the cruelty and innocent deaths. Now, having spent the last
quarter hour enjoying the privilege of sitting in the open here in Ben’s
drawing room, I must go and prepare to leave.”

“To leave,”
queried Amy. “Are you going back to Hillside House?”

“No,
Mademoiselle. I must return to mother France.”

“But they’ll
kill you.”

“To kill me
they will have to find me, and I do not plan on them being successful. There
are many places to hide. I will always strive to remain safe since I rejoice in
being alive, and I have much yet left to do—and write.”

He rose and
walked to the door of the drawing room.

“May I ask one
question,” said Amy.

“Mademoiselle?”

“Since you
lived so near to us in Stockely-on-Arne, I have mentioned your name to a number
of your expatriates who were driven from France, without mentioning that I had
met you, or betraying where you were. None had ever heard of you.”

“I am a
scholar, Mademoiselle, and the rich pay no attention to scholars.”

“Some seem to
know quite a few scholars, but they know of no one by your name who has
disappeared from France. But there is one scholar who has disappeared whom they
all know about. Pierre, are you Andre Chenier?”

“Scholars are
many people,” he said enigmatically and departed with a smile.

As he left, Ben
reappeared, his inspection of the activities of the workers completed.

“Ben,” said Amy
worriedly, “Pierre said he is going back to France.”

“I know. I
tried to talk him out of it, but he is adamant. He doesn’t like England, and he
has had some sarcastic things to say about us and our country. For this reason,
I feel he is uncomfortable accepting our hospitality. But, Amy, I have someone
I’d like you to meet. Leo, why don’t you and the ladies here, go to the living
room. You’ll find things more hospitable there.”

He beckoned her
to follow him.

“He’s in the
kitchen where we are feeding him.”

He led her into
the kitchen. Seated at the large kitchen table was the boatswain, Sam Grieves.

“I fetched Mr.
Grieves from Bristol,” said Ben, “and I have explained to him all that has
transpired. He has something he would like to tell you. I’ll return in a little
while.”

Amy, who in the
reduced financial condition of the Sibbridge house was no stranger to kitchen
tables, sat down opposite Sam Grieves.

“I was indeed
the person who delivered the satchel to you back in May,” he confessed.

“I have been
told I am the daughter of Captain Buchanan, how is that possible? I saw the
grave of the captain and his wife.”

“You saw the
grave of the captain, but the young woman and the baby buried beside him were
not his wife or daughter. They were the daughter and grandchild of Joseph
Sallison.”

Despite how
unlikeable Sallison had been, Amy still felt a little pang of sympathy for the
old man who thinks his long dead daughter might still be alive.

“They found the
body of the woman and child three weeks later,” continued Sam Grieves, “and it
was in bad condition, but they assumed it was the bodies they had been looking
for. The bodies of Captain Buchanan’s wife, Margaret Buchanan, and their infant
daughter, Agnes Buchanan.”

Amy was now
deeply puzzled.

“If the bodies
were not the bodies of the captain’s wife and daughter, if my mother was
Margaret Buchanan, if the body buried next to my father is Joseph Sallison’s
daughter, what became of my mother?”

“I am about to
reveal to you a secret that I have not revealed in more than twenty years, and
you might want to keep it a secret also. The young woman on the cart was not
the Sallison girl. It was your mother, whom we affectionately called Madge.
Madge Buchanan and her daughter were on the cart that day that was following
the coach. Madge always had a spirit of adventure, and opted to ride out in the
rain and let the Sallison girl, who was upset after her conflict with her
father, and exhausted after running away, take her place in the carriage. The
girl was cold, wet, shivering, and holding a sick baby. The lawyer and the
clerk did not like it, but your father said the girl needed to be out of the
cold, and he let her ride with them.”

“If my mother
was riding on the cart and not the coach, it means she did not drown in the
River Avon. If she did not drown what happened to her.”

“I am getting
to that,” said Sam, taking another bite of food. “And it is a strange tale
indeed. One of which I was fully part of.”

“Madge and I
knew that Ishmael would have them killed if he knew they were still alive, so
we decided on a ruse. Madge revealed to John’s mother, Caroline Buchanan,
during the time of the inquest that she and Agnes were still alive and gave
Agnes to Caroline Buchanan. John’s mother, Caroline, then took Agnes to the
Sibbridges who were old friends, and they agreed to raise Agnes, that is you,
as their own daughter, although they never knew exactly why they were asked to
do this.”

“But what
happened to my mother?” pleaded Amy.

Sam Grieves was
again devouring his food.

“It may look
like I’m starved.” Sam Grieves spoke, only briefly looking up at Amy, “but I’m
not. It’s just that food is the one last pleasure remaining for an old man. And
this roast beef is good. Do you know how long it is since I’ve had good roast
beef?”

Amy waited
until he took a good breath of air and was ready to answer the question that
was burning inside her.

“Madge, your
mother, knew that the first mate that your father recruited was an old friend
of your father’s but a stranger to the port of Bristol and by sight unknown to
the shipping office. We also knew that he drowned in the River Avon and his
body was never found. As far as everyone knew, he was still alive. We disguised
your mother as the first mate. As I said, your mother was a game woman. She
rubbed ochre on her skin like the old Celts did with their red men, the Fer
Dearg, and as some women in Africa still do. That, with a new crew and using a
husky voice, and what she learned sailing with your father, she easily
convinced all that she was the first mate. With your father dead she was
promoted to captain.”

“My mother
became captain of the
Bristol Ark
?”

“That she did.
It took great effort at first, but soon she became truly the captain both to
others and most important to herself.”

Amy had to let
this sink in. “My mother was the captain of the
Bristol Ark
.”

“Yes, and she
was a captain for many years. I helped her at first, but she soon learned the
ropes, and she proved a good captain.

“And no one
knew she was a woman?

“Yes, no one
ever found out.”

“Did she write
the letter?”

“Two years ago,
for reasons I don’t know, she began to write it. I don’t know why. Something
she learned but never confided to me, seemed to worry her.”

“But why was
the letter never finished?”

“On the night
she began to write it she died. We were in the midst of a severe storm. So
severe that the quartermaster had lashed himself to the wheel so he wouldn’t be
washed overboard. She was seen out on deck by the quartermaster. One moment he
saw her and the other she was gone.”

Tears welled up
in Amy’s eyes.

“We were one
day out, if the weather allowed, from Bristol. She had asked me to deliver the
satchel to the home of Sir Anthony and Lady Sibbridge in Stockley-on-Arne as
soon as we were safe in port in Bristol. She said she had a letter to write and
put in the satchel. I did not know why, since I had never been told where
Agnes, that is you, had been taken, and indeed the satchel was addressed to
“Amaryllis”. For all I knew that was the name of someone else other than Agnes.
So I carried out her wishes, and I put the unfinished letter in the satchel.”