by Mary Nichols
‘I do not think so… I cannot know, can I? He gave no indication he knew me except from my description, which he said came from my husband.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ Harriet said. ‘Now, Susan will fetch you one of Cook’s remedies and you must rest.’
‘How can I rest? My head is buzzing with questions. It is why I must talk to Mr Gotobed…’
‘With your permission, I will speak to him on your behalf,’ James said.
‘And will you tell me truthfully what he says, however bad it is?’
‘Madam, I would not lie,’ he said coolly. He was not angry with her so much as with the fop who had thrown her into such confusion.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said. ‘I am not myself.’
‘The medicine will help,’ Harriet soothed her niece. ‘Come, Captain, we will leave Amy with my sister and you and I will repair to the drawing room.’
James followed her down stairs, though he would far rather have stayed and talked to Amy. There was something else in those expressive eyes besides shock at meeting someone who knew her absent husband. She seemed to be shrinking inside herself, just as she had been on the journey from London in the coach. Had the shock finally brought back her memory?
In the drawing room Miss Hardwick offered him a glass of port, which he accepted, not because he particularly needed a drink but because he could see she was nervous and steeling herself to say something to him.
‘I met a foppish man crossing the draw bridge as I came here,’ James said, watching her pouring the wine with hands that shook. ‘That, I assume, was Mr Gotobed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me what he said to upset Mrs Macdonald.’
After handing him his glass of wine, Harriet repeated word for word what had been said. ‘Amy fainted when he said Duncan had sustained a knife wound. Not to be wondered at, is it? Not after that dreadful night mare she had. She was already half-convinced she had used that knife and when someone arrived who appeared to confirm it…’ She shrugged. ‘Is it any wonder the poor child swooned?’
He was thoughtful. How much of Amy’s night mare had been the result of a returning memory? How much sheer fantasy? She had been in a state of fear when he first met her and she sometimes jumped at her own shadow. She was certainly afraid of being followed. The state of her house in London bore witness to violence of some kind. Could she, in extremis, have mortally wounded her husband? ‘No, it is not to be wondered at,’ he agreed. ‘But do you think she could have used a knife if she had been sufficiently provoked? If she were threatened and desperate—’
‘Captain, how could you?’ She was clearly outraged and he did not blame her; she adored Amy and would believe no ill of her. ‘Surely you have come to know our niece well enough to know she could never do anything so wicked?’
‘I beg your pardon. I was simply acting devil’s advocate, you understand,’ he said in an attempt to pacify her.
‘Perhaps you would do better to practise your advocacy on Mr Gotobed, Captain. I believe he is staying at the King’s Arms. He said he would call again when Amy recovered, but I shall refuse him admittance. She has been so much better in the last few weeks, I will not have her set back again, not for anything.’
‘I will most certainly do that and with your per mission will call again tomorrow.’ He put down his glass of port, which he had hardly touched, bowed and turned to leave.
‘Captain, you have become a staunch sup porter of this family,’ she said, her voice stopping him as he reached the door. ‘But I beg to remind you that you have been employed by Lord Trentham to find Duncan Macdonald. I was not particularly anxious to have him found before, but now I have changed my mind. We must discover the truth as soon as possible. I do not trust Mr Martin Gotobed at all.’
Although he did not consider himself employed, having refused a fee from his lordship, he nodded in acquiescence and left the room. Miss Hardwick had reminded him of his duty. He was not there to amuse himself with a lovely young lady, take her shopping and picnicking, but to unravel a mystery. And his mystery lady was even more of a mystery than he had supposed.
He returned to the Lodge, musing as he went. He was almost certain that Amy was too lovely, too gentle and considerate of others’ feelings to ever harm a living soul, let alone another human being. Look how she had been glad he had not shot the ducks and the compassion she had shown towards poor Joe Potton. Could anyone like that launch a vicious attack on her own husband? Even if she had been provoked beyond endurance, could she have done that? No, he decided, and he would do well to prove it and set her mind at rest.
Which was most important, to help Amy regain her memory or find out what had happened to her husband? Surely one would lead to the other? He wished Sam would come back; he might have news, but he had not heard from his servant since the arrival of the wagon with his belongings, which told him he had executed the first of his errands. But what of the rest? Sam was no scholar and writing letters would not come easy to him, and he would not ask anyone to pen one for him if there was something he did not want anyone else to know.
After sitting over a lonely dinner, instead of dining at the Manor, which he had been doing more and more frequently, he set out to join the carousers at the local hostelry. The newcomer would easily have been recognised for his extravagant clothes and affected manner, even if James had not come across him earlier in the day. He was surrounded by the men from the village enjoying a sup after a hard day’s work and the peacock was a source of amusement. James, surveying the scene from across the room, was sure the man was plying them with drink in order to loosen their tongues. He smiled to himself; Gotobed was not from this part of the country or he would know its dour inhabitants were the world’s best at keeping their tongues between their teeth.
He strolled over to them and because some of the local men had come to know him in the time he had been in Highbeck, they greeted him and asked him to join them. ‘This here’s Mr Martin Gotobed, Cap’n,’ Dusty Green, the miller, said. ‘He’s lately down from London.’
James gave Gotobed a perfunctory bow. ‘Captain James Drymore, at your service.’
Gotobed beckoned the inn keeper to bring more ale. ‘Take a drink with me, Captain.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Where are you from, Captain?’ Gotobed asked him, as the men moved up a little to allow him to take a seat between them.
‘I am a man of the world,’ James said with a smile. ‘I travel.’
‘Ahh, but you must have had a beginning somewhere?’
‘My life began in Hertfordshire,’ he said. ‘My green years were spent there. Does that answer your question?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘And where did you have your beginning, sir?’ James countered.
‘In a house on Piccadilly. I, too, have travelled, but there is nothing like England’s rich and verdant landscape and the convivial company of one’s compatriots to encourage a man to settle down.’
They were sparring with each other, James realised, each curious about the business of the other, but two could play at that game. ‘Are you of a mind to settle down?’
‘I am looking for a house hereabouts,’ Gotobed confirmed.
‘Why here?’
‘Why not? It is as good a place as any, better than most, for the inhabitants are most welcoming.’ He smiled at the other men who were drinking in the conversation along with their ale.
‘The Cap’n hev moved into the Lodge,’ George Merryweather told Gotobed. George was the black smith, a huge man with bulging muscles, a good man to have on one’s side in a scrap.
‘The lodge?’ One eyebrow was raised in enquiry towards James.
‘Yes, the Lodge on the Manor estate.’
‘Ah, I collect seeing you as I was leaving the Manor this afternoon.’
‘Yes.’ Now they were closing in on the crux of James’s concern. ‘I fear you left the ladies in disarray.’
‘Not intended, sir
, not intended. I thought felicitations from her husband would please Mrs Macdonald.’
‘When and where did you meet him?’
Gotobed looked sharply at him, making James wonder if he had been a little too direct and that was borne out when the man said, ‘And what is your interest in the affair, sir?’
‘I am a friend of the family and charged with looking out for the ladies, particularly Mrs Macdonald.’
‘Aah.’ There was a deal of insinuation in that short exclamation.
James ignored it. ‘Where is her husband?’
Gotobed shrugged. ‘Under the cold earth by now, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Dead?’ His heart missed a beat and then settled again sufficiently for him to go on listening, but his head was buzzing. Could it be true? And what did it signify? To his shame and consternation his first reaction was relief that Amy was free of the encumbrance of a husband whom he had never met, but had no high opinion of, but that was followed by another thought. If the man had died of his injuries, who had inflicted them?
‘He was mortally wounded,’ Gotobed revealed.
‘By whom?’ James asked.
Again a shrug. ‘Who knows? He did not say.’
‘But he did name his wife to you.’
‘Yes. Lying side by side in an infirmary with nothing to occupy us, it is not surprising we exchanged confidences, is it?’
‘But not enough for him to tell you who had wounded him.’
‘I did not press him.’
‘But he did send his devotion to his wife.’
Gotobed laughed. ‘No, but I thought it would please her.’
James’s spirits sank. The more the man said, the more worried he became. Macdonald had evidently said enough for the man to locate Amy but why would he want to? What else had Macdonald told him? Was Gotobed a real stranger to Amy, or had she met him before and for got ten it?
James finished his ale, said good night to the company and walked back to the Lodge, with a full moon lighting his way. He had discovered nothing about what had happened to Amy before she boarded that coach. What he had learned was that for some reason as yet unknown it was important for Gotobed to get close to her. And not only Gotobed—there were those two who had been stalking her. James had not seen them, but it did not mean they did not exist. Nor could he be sure her husband was dead as Gotobed had claimed. If Sam did not come back soon, he would have to go to London and find out for himself.
He returned to the Manor next morning, far earlier than would be deemed correct for a social call, but he reminded himself, with a wry smile, of Miss Hardwick’s stricture that he was being employed to do a job and if he adhered to that premise it did not matter what time he called.
He was admitted by Johnson and immediately conducted to the small parlour at the back of the house where Amy was sitting alone. She had her sketch book on her knee and a charcoal crayon in her hand, but did not appear to be using it. Did not appear to hear his entrance either, for she jumped when he gave a discreet cough. ‘Oh, Captain, you startled me.’
‘I beg your pardon.’ He bowed. ‘If you do not wish to be disturbed, I will go away again.’
‘I am thoroughly disturbed already, Captain. You do not make it worse. Please be seated.’
‘I understand.’ He found a chair and brought it up close to hers and sat down. ‘You are finishing my picture, I see.’
‘Yes, but I wonder that you still want it, after what happened yesterday.’
‘What has yesterday to do with that?’ He nodded towards the picture. The cherub, round faced, smiling as he had done when given the sixpence, was the image of Joe Potton. The wings that sprouted from his shoulders blended into the cloud that surrounded it.
‘Oh, everything, I should think. One malicious cloud and one benign, watching over what we do. I think the malicious one is in the ascendancy.’
‘Surely not?’ James said gently.
‘I had such a shock yesterday…’ She trailed off a little tremulously.
‘I know. Has it helped you to remember?’
‘No. But I cannot think otherwise than my night mare was memory, brought to me in my sleep. Mr Gotobed as good as confirmed it.’
‘But you cannot be sure, can you?’
She smiled, though it was a little wan. ‘Bless you, Captain, for wanting to believe the best of me, as my aunts do, but we cannot escape from the truth that I may have—no, almost certainly did—take a knife to my husband. I keep asking myself why, what made me do it? And how badly was he hurt? Mr Gotobed did not say.’
‘I should not believe everything he says, you know.’
‘Have you spoken to him? What did he say?’ she asked eagerly.
He hesitated. ‘I am persuaded he did not know your husband well, they were simply side by side in the infirmary and talked for want of something better to do. As to why he is in Highbeck now, I have yet to discover.’
‘You would do better to wash your hands of me, Captain, and go back to the business that brought you to Highbeck,’ she said with a sudden flash of spirit.
She was the business that had brought him to Highbeck. He had been commissioned by Lord Trentham to find out what he could, but that was not the only reason he stayed. It was Amy herself. Not since his wife’s untimely death had he felt so at peace with himself and he had been thinking that Amy and the tranquillity of the countryside were weaving some kind of magic. He supposed it was because of that he had never told her what had brought him to Blackfen Manor in the first place. She would not have been so easy with him, so confiding, such a delightful companion if she had known his real errand was to uncover the mystery of her forgetfulness. Mr Martin Gotobed had brought it back to him with a vengeance.
‘I perceive from your silence that you agree,’ she said, manfully holding back tears. If he could believe her guilty, then what hope had she?
‘Not at all. I was simply trying to make sense of everything.’
‘And have you succeeded?’
‘No. There are too many unanswered questions.’
‘Do you know what I think? I think Mr Gotobed is a thief taker come to take me to a justice. When he calls again, I shall surrender myself to him.’
‘You will do no such thing!’ He had raised his voice, making her start back in surprise. He moderated his tone. ‘God knows there is a mystery here, but it does not call for such drastic measures. He does not look like a man from the judiciary to me.’
‘What do they look like? I cannot believe they are all rough looking. Sometimes they must be able to pass themselves off as gentlemen in order to do their work.’ She gave a little laugh, though there was no humour in it. ‘Why, you might be one yourself.’
This was too close for comfort. ‘Do you really believe that?’ he asked with a frown.
‘No, of course I do not. Are you not known to Lord Trentham, who is an old friend of the family? Besides, would you have spent weeks in Highbeck, when you could just as easily have arrested me the first day you arrived?’
‘Thank you for that,’ he said drily.
‘It does not change anything. I must talk to Mr Gotobed. He is my only link with my husband. He has spoken to Duncan since I last saw him and I must know more, even if it means I learn something not to my credit and am arrested.’
‘Amy, will you cease this talk of being arrested! There is no proof, no evidence at all, that you have done anything wrong.’ He could not let Amy put herself in jeopardy by letting Gotobed see how vulnerable she was. And perhaps if James pressed him a little harder, he might be more forthcoming.
‘No, you must not do anything so foolish,’ he reiterated, then rose to take his leave, just as Aunt Matilda came into the room.
‘Captain, I did not know you had arrived. How do you find our Amy?’
‘Much recovered, but still not quite herself.’
‘I do not know who myself is,’ she cried. ‘Nor what manner of person I am.’
‘Ah, but we do, we know you very
well,’ her aunt said. ‘You are goodness itself, a lovely, talented, caring person who would not harm a fly. Is that not so, Captain?’
‘It is indeed,’ he said, bowing, then turned to Amy. ‘If it is not too much for you, perhaps you will go riding with me tomorrow, Mrs Macdonald.’
‘The air and exercise will do you good,’ Matilda said, when she hesitated. ‘Sitting at home brooding will only make you feel worse.’
Amy forced the semblance of a smile to her face. Everyone was so kind to her and perhaps a ride, especially with the Captain, would invigorate her and calm her at the same time. ‘Very well. I shall be pleased to ride with you, Captain. Will eleven o’clock be convenient?’
‘Perfectly convenient.’
She pulled the drawing from her sketch book and offered it to him. ‘Do you still want this?’
‘Indeed I do.’ He took it and bowed his way out.
‘We are so lucky to have him to look after us,’ Aunt Matilda said after he had gone. ‘He has proved himself to be a very worthy friend. Do you not agree, Amy?’
‘Yes,’ she said, wishing she had not accused him of being a thief taker. She had said it without thinking, but it had angered him. It was all because of Mr Martin Gotobed. She had almost given up expecting to remember what had happened before she came back to Highbeck, had simply been enjoying the company of the Captain, conveniently forgetting that she was married and should not be doing so. Then she had had that frightening dream, which had put doubts into her head, and hard on the heels of that came Mr Gotobed with his revelations. She had been living in a fool’s paradise, condoned—no encouraged—by her aunts and it was time she woke up to the truth.
Next morning, she packed a basket with food left over from the previous night’s meal and set off to visit the poor in the village, as she often did, forgetting she was supposed to have an escort when she went out. She felt more than usually nervous and it was the presence of those two rough men and Mr Gotobed in the village that was to blame. If she saw any of them again, she would not run or faint, she would confront them and demand to know what they wanted of her. She was unsure whether to be glad or sorry when she completed her errand without meeting them.
