by Mary Nichols
‘Supper is laid out in the small dining room, sir,’ he said, somewhat pompously. Visitors who turned up at this time of night and expected supper without changing out of the clothes they had travelled in were obviously beyond the pale! ‘And Mrs Macdonald’s maid is having supper in the kitchen and will go immediately afterwards to the lady’s room to await her mistress.’
‘Thank you,’ Amy said quietly as James rose to take her hand and tuck it under his arm to go into the dining room where a lavish meal was laid for two. She was too tired and apprehensive to swallow more than a few mouthfuls.
‘Poor dear, you are worn out,’ he said, abandoning his own meal and standing up to offer her his hand. ‘Let me show you to your room. Tomorrow we will go to Henrietta Street and then call on your mama, but for now you need to sleep.’
She was thankful that he was not going to press her to eat more, or even talk, and she took his hand and allowed him to conduct her up a fine marble stair case to the first floor, which housed the main reception rooms. ‘You will see those tomorrow,’ he said, as they passed on and up another flight of stairs to the next floor where he stopped outside one of the many doors and opened it. ‘Here you are. I hope you will be comfortable.’
‘I am sure I shall. Goodnight, Captain.’
‘James,’ he reminded her.
‘James it was when we were travelling, but we are here in London and must now follow the rules of proper etiquette.’
‘Very well, Mrs Macdonald,’ he agreed, smiling. ‘Goodnight.’ He lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it and then turning it over to kiss the inside of her wrist. The sensations that coursed through her as he did that did nothing to calm her and everything to set her in a complete quake. In the last twelve hours, coming as they did on top of the weeks of enjoying his company at Highbeck, she had come to know and understand him a little and that confirmed her conviction that her feelings for him were deeper than she ought to entertain, considering she was married to someone else. Without speaking, she pulled her hand away, stepped into the room and shut the door on him, leaning against it breathing heavily. It was only when Susan appeared from an adjoining room that she pulled herself together and tried to act normally.
James stood outside the closed door for a minute, more than a little confused himself. It was becoming harder and harder to stand back from her, to remember his errand and not let his feelings get the better of him. Tomorrow, she would know her husband was dead; tomorrow she might remember everything and when that happened his mission would be accomplished and Amy would go from his life. Instead of making him feel satisfied with a job well done, it made him feel unaccountably low in spirits. He turned abruptly and went back to finish his supper and then went to bed himself.
Amy woke early and lay in bed, staring at the luxurious hangings of her bed. She should not be here, staying with a gentleman when his parents were from home. It was scandalous behaviour for any woman, but especially a married one. Today, she might find out the truth about Duncan; today, everything might be revealed and she would have to say goodbye to James Drymore, for his mission would have been accomplished. But supposing what she discovered was something she did not want him to know, something bad about herself? Suddenly, it was important to go alone.
She left her bed and went into the adjoining room to wake Susan and commanded her to pack. ‘We are leaving, now, at once,’ she told her.
‘Why, whatever has happened?’ the maid asked.
‘Nothing, but I cannot stay here when the answer to the riddle is so close. Make haste, I would be gone before Captain Drymore realises I am out of bed.’
A few minutes later they were standing in the street outside the house, each carrying a portmanteau. ‘Where do we go from here, Miss Amy?’ Susan asked. She spoke sharply, being annoyed with Amy for leaving the comfort of a grand house where she could be cosseted and spoiled and thrusting them on to the street with no idea of where they were.
‘Home,’ Amy said. ‘Henrietta Street.’
‘And do you know the direction?’
‘No, but we shall go to the end of the road and hire chairs to take us.’ Amy was very glad Aunt Harriet had given her a small purse of money before she left.
‘Pin money,’ she had said. ‘You cannot expect the Captain to pay for everything, though he is generosity itself.’
Twenty minutes later they were standing outside the house she and Duncan had shared and she did not remember it. It was a vast disappointment. Not because it was so small and squashed between two larger properties, but because she had hoped the sight of the street and the house would make her memory come flooding back. ‘Come on,’ she said, steeling herself. ‘Let us discover the worst.’
But the door was locked and no one came when she knocked. They found a passage at the side that led to round to another door at the back, but that, too, was locked.
‘Where are the servants?’ Susan asked.
‘With no one here to look after and no one to pay their wages, I have no doubt they left. We shall have to break in.’ She picked up a rock and hurled it at a window. The noise it made as the glass shattered had her looking round fearfully. No one came, no irate husband, no curious neighbour.
Using her gloved hand, Amy broke more glass until she had made a sizeable hole.
‘Miss Amy, you are never going to climb in there, are you?’ Susan asked.
‘Yes. There is no other way to gain entrance.’
‘I wish we’d waited for the Captain. I don’t feel good about this at all.’
Neither did Amy, but she was here and she was not going away until the mystery was solved. She had the upper half of her body through the hole she had made and was wondering how to get the rest of her through without cutting herself on broken glass when someone seized her round the waist. ‘Susan, let go of me,’ she commanded. ‘I cannot get in if you pull me back.’
‘Come out, you foolish woman.’ The irate voice was certainly not Susan’s. She withdrew and turned to face James.
‘Captain, what are you doing here?’
‘Looking for you. Just what do you think you are about?’ he demanded.
‘I am trying to get into my own house,’ she retorted.
‘Then allow me.’ He climbed in and, a few seconds later, opened the door to admit her.
She stepped inside the kitchen to a scene of chaos. The furniture was over turned, crockery smashed and there were what she realised must be blood stains on the floor. She stood like a statue, unable to take in what she saw, hardly able to breathe, though her heart was pumping almost in her throat. ‘I was right,’ she whispered. ‘I did this.’
‘Rubbish!’ He had seen it before and had known it would shock her, but he had planned to warn her a little before they arrived together, and possibly explain about Duncan’s death. He had had no idea she would leave his house without telling him; because he had known how tired she was, he had not been surprised that she had slept late. It was not until one of the footmen told him they had not seen Susan at all that morning, that he had sent one of the chambermaids up to check on them.
His initial annoyance that she had seen fit to leave without saying a word had soon given way to worry. He felt sure she would want to go to her old home, but had she any idea how to get there? Did she have any money? If she tried to walk, she would be at the mercy of any footpad or ne’er-do-well who accosted her. He knew he could run faster than he could be carried in a chair and, grabbing his sword and pistol, came hotfoot after her.
His relief at finding her safe was soon sup planted by concern for how she was feeling. She had turned paper-white and her whole body trembled. He went to take her arm, but she shrugged him off and walked slowly through the house and up the stairs, following a trail of blood. It ended in the bedroom with blood stained sheets. She stood hanging on to the bed post for support, and suddenly a voice was echoing in her head. ‘Go to Blackfen Manor. I will join you there. Tell no one.’
‘Where is he?
’ she murmured.
‘Who?’ James had followed her, ready to catch her if she swooned, while Susan stood in the doorway, unwilling to venture further into the macabre room.
‘My husband, of course.’
Now he could delay telling her no longer. But how much to say? How much to leave out? ‘Amy, I must tell you something…’
‘About Duncan?’ she whispered.
‘Yes. Come down stairs to the drawing room. You cannot stay here.’
She allowed herself to be led away. The drawing room at the front of the house had not seen the carnage of the rest and he settled her on to a sofa, telling Susan, who was almost as white as her mistress, to see if she could find anything in the kitchen to make a drink.
He sat beside Amy. ‘I know a little of what happened,’ he told her. ‘But not the whole. I hoped that you might regain your memory sufficiently to tell me the rest.’
‘Do you know where my husband is?’
He swallowed hard and took her hand. ‘Amy, I am afraid Duncan Macdonald is dead.’
‘I knew it. I killed him.’ It was said flatly, because she had felt for some time that Duncan was no more. Her frequent night mares seemed to confirm it. She felt nothing. It was as if all her senses had been turned off. Her surroundings were a blur, her brain would not function. All she could do was repeat ‘I did it’ in a monotone.
‘I do not think so.’ He had to stay calm for her sake, but his own nerves and emotions were in complete disarray.
‘But you are not sure, are you?’ But if she had brought about her husband’s end, why was his body not found in their house? Had he crawled away to die? She ought to show some signs of sorrow at his loss, but she could not mourn a husband she could not remember and whom she was convinced she had harmed.
How could he answer her honestly? Should he tell her that her husband was a thief and a murderer? Would it make her feel better? Never before had his dealings with criminals given him such soul-searching anguish.
‘Your silence is answer enough,’ she said dully. ‘You must do your duty as a thief taker and turn me in.’
‘You have not asked how you came to kill your husband, nor why. Is that because you have remembered it?’ he asked.
‘No, I have not remembered. But the evidence is overwhelming. All the blood.’ She shivered. ‘And my nightmares.’
‘Let us suppose you were not the doer of the deed,’ he said, trying to reason with her. ‘Let us suppose you simply witnessed it. And then let us ask our selves, who else could have done it.’
‘Who else?’ she echoed.
‘Yes. The man Billings, for one. Or those two men you saw in the grounds of the Manor…’ He paused. This had to be acted out to the bitter end. ‘Amy, I fear your husband was embroiled with some very unsavoury characters. I do not know how it came about, but he was wanted, along with them, for highway robbery and murder. Someone informed the Watch that a murder had occurred at your address, but when they got there, the only person they found was your wounded husband. He was taken to Newgate, but his wound became infected and he died. Prisons, even the infirmaries, are not the cleanest of places.’ He paused to let his words sink in. ‘I am very sorry. I would not, for the world, have distressed you and even now I wonder if I should have left you in ignorance.’
‘The ignorance was more distressing than the truth,’ she said, surprised by how little impact this news had on her. It was as if he were telling her something she already knew. ‘But whatever you say about Duncan and his associates’ guilt has not proved my own innocence.’
‘That will be my next task.’ He was more than ever convinced she was a victim, not a villain, but he was also worried that others might not share that view and he was determined to protect her. With his life if necessary.
‘Do you think you can?’
‘I will do my utmost.’
Susan came into the room, saying she had found some chocolate and a bottle of cordial in a cupboard. ‘I am not sure either is fit to drink,’ she said. ‘There’s half a bottle of brandy.’
‘Bring that,’ he commanded. ‘It will be safer than old cordial or chocolate, and do your mistress more good.’
‘How did you learn about Duncan?’ Amy asked him after Susan had gone to do his bidding. ‘Was that one more thing you knew before coming to Highbeck and decided to keep from me?’
‘No. Sam Roker discovered it when he returned to town to fetch my belongings. He has been with me on all my adventures and he has a nose for these things. I would have told you at once, but…’ he shrugged ‘…you seemed so content with your aunts and I heard you say on one occasion that perhaps you could live without a memory. If Mr Gotobed had not arrived…’
‘Was he one of the gang, too?’
‘No, I do not think so, but he claimed he saw Duncan Macdonald just before he died.’
‘All this is making my head spin,’ she murmured.
‘Poor Amy,’ he said sympathetically. ‘You have been through the mill, haven’t you? Now, here is Susan with the brandy. You must drink a little, then I will take you home.’
‘Home?’ She gave a cracked laugh. ‘This is home.’
‘I meant my home.’
‘No, that is not fitting. I will go to my mother.’
‘Of course.’ Perhaps she was right; she needed her mother at such a time, not a man she only half-trusted. ‘If that is what you wish.’
Reluctant to leave her to find chairs or a cab in case she took it into her head to disappear again, he decided they would walk. There had been no rain recently so the roads were dusty rather than muddy and Lady Charron’s apartments were only a short step away. ‘When you have finished your brandy and feel calmer, we will go.’
But her mother was not at home. The servant who came to the door in answer to James’s knock told them she was rehearsing The Beggar’s Opera at the Drury Lane Theatre. James sent a gutter urchin to fetch a cab and took her and Susan there. He told the maid to stay with the cab, which the driver did not mind in the least, being paid for doing nothing, and then he escorted Amy inside and used his best wiles, including half a guinea, to pass the door keeper who directed them to Lady Charron’s dressing room where they were obliged to wait until the rehearsal was finished.
Amy sat on one of the hard stools in front of the mirror, but she was in such a state of nerves that she could not stop shaking. James watched her, wishing with all his heart he could make matters easier for her. He stood beside her and put his hand lightly on her shoulder and she looked up at him and managed a weak smile.
She was not at all sure what he thought of her, whether he was standing by her in his role of friend or thief taker, whether he truly believed her guilty or innocent. But she was in his hands and had to trust him to do as he said and uncover the truth, however unpalatable it might be.
They heard the music come to an end and a few minutes later Sophie Charron came in, dressed in the costume she would wear for the performance, the skirt of which was at least two yards wide, forcing her to enter the room sideways. Once inside she turned to face her daughter. ‘Amy! Amy, my child. They said you were here. How pleased I am to see you.’ She bent to drop a kiss on Amy’s cheek. ‘But what brings you? I thought your aunts were looking after you.’ She was plumper than Amy had expected. Her face was heavily painted and she had three black patches dotted on her cheeks. Her wig was enormous and topped with feathers. Her heavily embroidered stays were very low cut and revealed more of that lady’s bosom than was entirely proper.
Amy stood up and bobbed a curtsy. ‘Mama?’ There was a questioning note in her voice.
‘Of course I am your mama, who did you think I was? To be sure you have spent most of your life with your aunts, but I have come to see you from time to time and you visited me at home when you lived in London with Duncan Macdonald. Surely you remember that?’
‘No. I have for got ten everything,’ Amy said. ‘Mama, may I present Captain James Drymore?’
Sophie tu
rned towards James, her wide skirts swaying and brushing against a table on which was a vase of flowers. It would have toppled if James had not been swift enough to catch it and set it upright again. She put up her quizzing glass to see him properly. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Captain. Lord Trentham has told me about you.’
‘My lady.’ He bowed with a flourish.
‘Have you been able to uncover the mystery?’
‘Only some of it.’
‘Duncan is dead,’ Amy said, flatly. ‘I—’
‘He was attacked and mortally wounded,’ James put in before Amy could say she had killed him, which he guessed she was about to do. He did not think that was a wise idea.
‘Was he? Well, that does not surprise me,’ her mother announced.
‘Why not?’ Amy demanded. ‘Do you know what happened?’
‘No, I do not, but he did not choose his friends wisely. Gamesters, all of them, not gentlemen either. I saw them once at Almack’s, playing very deep. No doubt he was in debt to them and would not pay up. Such men can be extremely dangerous.’
‘I did not know that,’ Amy said.
‘Of course you did. I remember you coming to me once in tears and asking what you should do about it. I gave you some money because Duncan had left you without any.’
‘I do not remember it.’ The more she learned about him, the more she wondered if she had ever loved her husband. Why, then, had she married him?
‘Do you recall anything, Amy?’ her mother asked impatiently.
‘Little things about when I was a child, nothing recent. But I have had terrible dreams which I think are returning memories, but they frighten me so. They are so violent. I dreamed there was a bag of gold coins and jewels…’
Sophie looked at James, a questioning look on her face. ‘Has anyone found such a thing?’
‘No, my lady.’
‘Duncan Macdonald was like Sir John in many ways,’ her mother said. ‘They could both be the essence of charm and good manners when it suited them, but both were braggers and both had violent tempers, especially when in drink. We are well rid of them.’
