The Captain's Mysterious Lady

by Mary Nichols

  He stayed a few minutes, taking part in the general conversation, the enquiries about how the journey had been, the exchange of news, both of the success of the opera, the visit to Drymore Hall, which made Sophie green with envy, and the doings in the village, without anyone mentioning Amy’s loss of memory. Then James took his leave, but not before Harriet had bidden him back to dine with them. ‘We shall dine late,’ she told him. ‘Will six suit you?’

  ‘Certainly, Miss Hardwick. I shall look forward to it with pleasure.’

  ‘Now, Amy,’ her mother said when he had gone. ‘Tell me all your news. Has the Captain proposed yet?’

  ‘No, whatever gave you the idea he would?’ She felt the warmth rise to her cheeks and knew her face had turned scarlet.

  ‘Why else has he stayed by you so long in this out-of-the-way place? And bringing you to London and taking you to Drymore Hall. Why would he do that, if he did not mean to propose? He wanted his family’s approval,’ her mother said complacently.

  ‘Mama, you know why he took me to London, and as soon as we had done what we went to do, he brought me back. We stayed at Drymore Hall to save having to put up at an inn. He has lost a wife he loved and I am sure he has no intention of remarrying yet a while and certainly not to me. I have nothing to recommend me. Besides, I have recently been made a widow.’ All of which was said as much to convince herself as her mother.

  Sophie looked sideways at her and smiled. ‘You do not sound very convincing to me.’

  ‘Sophie, leave the girl be,’ Harriet commanded. ‘The Captain has been doing what Lord Trentham sent him here to do—help Amy remember and find out what happened to her husband.’

  ‘We know what happened to him,’ Sophie said. ‘As for Amy, I am not at all sure she could not remember if she chose.’

  ‘Mama, I could not. I tried, believe me I tried.’ She did not want to speak of her memory of those two men for fear of alarming her aunts. And James had said he would deal with them, though what he had in mind she had no idea.

  ‘Amy has enough to contend with, without you throwing out accusations like that,’ Harriet added.

  Sophie laughed. ‘The mother hen looking after her chick.’ She turned to Matilda. ‘Two mother hens.’

  ‘It is as well she has us, for you do not seem to care,’ Matilda put in. ‘If Amy were my daughter—’

  ‘What do you know of having children?’ Sophie demanded. ‘No man has ever looked at you like that.’

  Matilda grew very pink and fled from the room.

  ‘Mama! How could you be so unkind?’ Amy exclaimed and ran after her aunt.

  Matilda had gone to her room, where Amy found her sitting on the edge of her bed in tears. ‘Silly me,’ she said, wiping her face with a scrap of handkerchief and making an effort to smile. ‘I should not be upset by Sophie’s remarks. She was always like that, the beautiful one, the one all the beaux wanted to marry. No wonder Harriet and I were left on the shelf.’

  ‘To me you are very beautiful and you do not need paint to prove it,’ Amy told her, as she sat beside her and put her arm about her shoulders. ‘And if I have had two mother hens, then I have been doubly fortunate.’

  ‘I am so glad you think that. When you were growing up and turning into a lovely young woman, I used to worry that you would decide to leave us and when you married Duncan Macdonald, I found it hard to be happy about it.’

  ‘You did not like him?’

  ‘No. He was altogether too smooth and too domineering. A man should look after his wife, advise her, gently guide her, not order her to do this and not to do that like some nasty dictator.’

  ‘Did Duncan do that?’ Amy asked.

  ‘Yes, all the time when you stayed here with us. I could see you were not happy. I cannot be sorry he is gone.’ She managed a watery smile. ‘Harriet would condemn me for telling you that, though I know she secretly agrees.’

  ‘Mama said the same thing. Perhaps that was why I forgot him. It was easier than facing the truth that I had made a mistake marrying him.’

  ‘But you are young and you will marry again and leave us once more,’ Matilda said.

  ‘I do not think so,’ Amy replied.

  ‘Yes, you will, but this time I shall not mind so much. Captain Drymore is altogether a different man from Duncan Macdonald…’

  ‘Captain Drymore!’

  ‘Oh, indeed. It is as plain as the nose on your pretty face that he is in love with you,’ her aunt said.

  ‘Aunt Matilda,’ Amy scolded, ‘you must not say things like that. If the Captain were to hear you, he would be mortified. He loved his wife and will not be inveigled into marrying me, simply because you want him to.’

  ‘But you want it, too, do you not?’

  ‘More than anything,’ she admitted.

  ‘There you are, then! You must make a push yourself, if he will not.’

  ‘No, I cannot. I am involved with bad men, criminals, and he is a man of the law. The two simply do not mix.’

  ‘Nonsense! You are as innocent as a newborn babe. I will not have it otherwise. And if the Captain does not believe that he needs his eyes and ears seeing to.’

  Amy pre tended to laugh and stood up. ‘Enough. Let us go down stairs and join the others. Mama will not be unkind to you again or she will have me to answer to.’

  Matilda gave one last sniff and rose to her feet, shook out her skirt, straightened her wig, which had fallen over one ear, and accompanied Amy back to the drawing room. Her mother and Mr Portman had gone to change for dinner, they were told by Harriet. It seemed the transformation required two or three hours of preparation for both of them. It was one reason why Harriet had put off dinner until six; the other was to give Cook time to prepare the meal, considering they had not been expecting guests and she would have to begin almost from scratch.

  ‘You must not be outdone by your mama, Amy,’ Matilda said. ‘You must look your very best tonight. The Captain is coming—’

  ‘Aunt!’ Amy warned.

  ‘The Captain has dined with us any number of times,’ Harriet said. ‘What is so special about tonight?’

  ‘It will be more formal,’ her sister explained. ‘And you never know, he might be con strained to ask to speak to Amy alone.’

  ‘Tilly, I am losing all patience with you,’ Harriet told her. ‘The Captain and Amy have spent hours in each other’s company since he came to Highbeck. He has no difficulty in achieving private conversation with her if he wishes it. I beg you leave well alone.’

  ‘Yes, do,’ Amy said. Her aunt was right. If James had wanted to declare himself he could have done so any number of times—when he had kissed her, for instance. But that had been a spur-of-the-moment thing; making an offer of marriage needed a great deal more thought than that. And if he had ever considered it, he had dismissed the idea. Had he not as good as said so, when Aunt Matilda had dropped hints before? And who could blame him?

  She dressed in the gown she had worn at Drymore Hall, knowing James appreciated it, at the same time smiling at her foolishness. Her aunt had told her to make a push to gain his attention and she had rejected the idea, but here she was doing just that. When she was ready she joined her aunts in the drawing room.

  They, too, were in sparkling form, dressed in heavy silk sack gowns with foot-wide cages and wearing their best wigs. Amy did not know they had such clothes; they were not usually dressed so grandly. She supposed her aunts had wanted to prove they had not for got ten how to entertain.

  A quarter of an hour before the appointed time they were joined by James, who bowed to each lady in turn, kissed hands and obeyed Harriet’s invitation to be seated, which he did, on the sofa next to Amy.

  ‘The wind is getting up again,’ Matilda observed. ‘I believe we shall have rain before long.’

  ‘Let us hope they finish getting the hay in before that happens,’ Harriet responded.

  ‘To be sure, I believe most of it is.’

  James and Amy were silent during th
is attempt at conversation. Each was acutely aware of the other, each holding their feelings and emotions in check, wishing they could be alone together, and yet afraid of what that could lead to, a coming together in harmony or outright rejection? Both could feel the tension building, almost as if it were rising with the wind.

  They looked up as Harry Portman entered the room. He was all in pink, a beautifully fitted coat, breeches, stockings, ribbons, all in shades of pink. Even the neck cloth at his throat was in a pale rose muslin. He swept everyone an extravagant bow. ‘Good evening, ladies. Captain Drymore. I am not last, am I?’ He laughed. ‘No, of course not, Sophie is always last. She must make an en trance. It is the actress in her.’

  He had hardly finished speaking when the lady herself came into the room, moving sideways as she had a habit of doing in order to ac com mo date her monstrous caged hips, though the doors of the Manor were by no means narrow. She fairly glittered with jewels and silver and gold embroidery, all on a cream quilted gown. There was a heavy necklace at her throat, drops hanging from her ears, a diamond-en crusted quizzing glass on a ribbon about her neck and in her hand a large fan. Her wig was at least a foot high, made even higher by the feathers that dominated it.

  ‘La! Am I last?’ she asked.

  ‘You were worth waiting for, my dear,’ Harry said, rising to take her hand. ‘Such a sight as I never beheld.’

  ‘Away with you,’ she said, fluttering her fan. ‘You have seen me many, many times, and taken me out to supper and I never look any worse than this.’

  ‘Tonight you excel. Am I not right, Captain?’

  James, who had risen, too, bowed in acquiescence, just as a footman came to announce that dinner was served.

  ‘Perfect timing,’ Harry murmured to Sophie as he offered his arm to take her in to the dining room behind the aunts. James and Amy followed in stately procession.

  In honour of the occasion they were using the state dining room. Its oak panelling was as old as the house itself, almost black but with a high sheen that gave it a certain warmth. The table was laid with white napery. Crystal glasses and silver cutlery glittered in the light from the two huge chandeliers. They took their seats with Harriet at the head of the table and Matilda at the foot, Harry and Sophie on one side, James and Amy on the other.

  They were served by the butler and two footmen who brought in two kinds of soup, followed by a dish of eels, roast duck, crayfish and snipe, all local products easily obtained, but beautifully cooked and presented. This was followed by roast pork, boiled ham, chicken and hare, together with individual cherry tartlets and apple pie. Dessert consisted of candied fruits and sweet meats. Amy feared much of it would be sent back to the kitchen untouched and resolved to collect it up and make sure it was distributed to the poor families of the village.

  Sophie and Harry kept the conversation going with tales of the opera and its cast and how well or not so well it had gone, and who was having an affair with whom and the goings on at court where the King was quarrelling with Prince Frederick, who had made his home in a house on the north side of Leicester Fields in order to escape his father’s ire. It was all very frivolous and entertaining.

  Amy listened, playing with her food, too tense to eat much. James glanced at her now and again and murmured a comment meant to make her smile, which she dutifully did. His nearness and her aunt’s comments that he was in love with her echoed in her head. But what did her aunt know of complex men like James Drymore? Aunt Matilda was an unrepentant romantic and real life was not like that.

  The time came for the ladies to withdraw and to leave the gentlemen to their port and brandy. ‘Have you made any headway with your investigation, Captain?’ Harry asked after the door closed on them.

  His languid pose was gone; his expression of in difference to anything but his clothes and fingernails had changed dramatically. His bearing was alert; his eyes keenly intelligent. James was reminded of Lord Trentham’s comment that the other man was well regarded in government circles and his opinion was worth listening to. Whatever he did, it was not something he wished to be generally known. ‘Very little.’ James smiled as he went on to explain about Smith and Randle coming to the house and Gotobed’s proposal to Amy. ‘There is something behind all of this,’ he said. ‘I fear for the ladies.’

  ‘I am afraid you are right. It is why I am here.’

  ‘At Highbeck?’ James asked.

  Harry chuckled. ‘I thought that might surprise you. I find the disguise useful at times, but do not be deceived. I can handle myself as well as anyone when I need to.’

  ‘I do not doubt it. Lord Trentham hinted as much. But tell me why you are here, if it is not to escort Lady Charron.’

  ‘To help you bring things to a head,’ Harry said. ‘You see, I have been digging out Jacobites on behalf of the government ever since the end of the ’45 rebellion and incidentally trying to uncover the whereabouts of the Arkaig treasure. We must find it before Charlie’s supporters find it and send it to him. He needs it if he is to stage another uprising.’

  ‘Do you have any idea where it is?’ James asked.

  ‘None at all, Captain, but we think Duncan Macdonald might have done.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Amy’s father, Sir John Charron, was a well-known Jacobite. He sought shelter here in Highbeck in 1746, but with the government troops closing in, he did not dare stay. Duncan Macdonald helped him to escape on a fishing boat out of Lynn. Before Charron left he boasted about knowing the whereabouts of some of the Arkaig gold.’

  ‘Was it an idle boast?’

  ‘We cannot be sure. Sophie believes he told Duncan and Duncan may have told his wife. Sophie is convinced Sir John hid the gold at Blackfen Manor, probably in the house, but perhaps in the grounds.’

  ‘You think Amy knows?’ James did not want to believe it, but he could not help thinking of her dream of a bag of gold and jewels. Had she known? Was that what Duncan had meant when he said, ‘Do not tell anyone’?

  ‘Possibly. Possibly unwittingly. Suffice to say, others have learned of it, probably from Macdonald himself.’

  ‘And they are all here, gathering like bees round a hive,’ James said. ‘I knew there was something in it for them, but had no idea the lure was so significant. What do you propose we do?’

  ‘Find it before they do,’ Harry said simply.

  They talked a little about how that could be achieved and then joined the ladies in the withdrawing room, where Harry Portman became once again the affected fop.

  While Sophie sang for them, accompanied by Amy at the harpsichord, James mused on what Harry had told him. He kept looking across at Amy and wondering just how much she had known. It would certainly account for her fear on the coach with Billings, her in difference to his death and her subsequent terror when those two ruffians turned up, ruffians for whom James had spent two years searching. He wanted to go over to her and shake her, make her tell all, to put his mind at rest, but his over riding feeling was one of protectiveness. It always had been, always would be. And Harry Portman could be wrong. Gotobed was perhaps only after Amy’s inheritance, and Sir Gerald Hardwick, the other man who’d shown an interest recently, was certainly a resentful man who felt he had been done out of his rightful inheritance. As for Smith and Randle—he might be their target and not Amy. Please God, tonight would see the end of it and perhaps the beginning of something in finitely more pleasurable. He was itching to be gone and was glad when the evening came to an end and he could politely take his leave.

  Back at the Lodge, he changed out of his finery into riding breeches, a fustian coat and low-crowned hat while Sam saddled their horses. As James had arranged previously, they were joined at the cross roads in the village by George Merryweather and Dusty Green, both big burly men, armed with bludgeons and not afraid to use them.

  Ely, though a small town, had its fair share of courts and alleys where the poverty-stricken inhabitants dwelt. Those who could not afford lodg
ings slept in doorways, in the shadow of the Cathedral’s ancient walls or down by the river. They scoured the streets and poked their heads into inns and taverns. ‘Smith?’ James queried. ‘Randle?’

  ‘Never ’eard o’ them.’ The reply was always the same—even when they tried the other aliases the two men had used to gain entrance to Blackfen Manor: Wade and Miller. This was going to be a long night. They moved on, making their way downhill towards the river.

  ‘Hallo, mister.’ The voice came from what appeared to be a bundle of rags in the doorway of a chandler’s.

  James swung the lantern round. The rags stirred and a face appeared, the face of Joe Potton, the boy who had stolen the pie. ‘What are you doing there, young ’un?’

  ‘Tryin’ to get some sleep,’ he said.

  ‘Have you no home to go to?’

  ‘Not goin’ back there. Ma’s new feller’s too handy wiv ’is fists. Did I ’ear you say you was lookin’ for a cove called Randle?’

  ‘Yes, do you know of him?’

  ‘He’s Ma’s new man.’

  ‘Take me to him.’

  ‘Not likely. ’E’ll do fer me.’

  ‘Then show me where I can find him.’

  The boy evidently decided he owed James a favour. He rose and set off at a trot with James and his three companions following, keeping a watchful eye about them. After two or three minutes, he stopped and pointed to a tavern door. ‘In there.’

  ‘Are there any other ways in?’ James wanted to know.

  ‘Yes, round the back, across a yard.’

  ‘Right. Now, boy, if you want a reward for your night’s work, you’ll go back to where we found you and wait for me.’

  ‘Rather ’ave it now, if yew don’ mind. Yew might not come back…’

  James laughed, gave him sixpence and watched him disappear at a run.

  The two villagers were dispatched to guard the rear entrance, while James and Sam with pistols cocked burst into the room. Four men sat at a table playing cards. Others, scattered about on chairs or on the floor, were in various stages of drunkenness. Some stirred when they saw the intruders, some ignored them. James was not concerned with them, but with two of the card players. One was as thin as a lathe, the other had a red bulbous nose, which sported a wart. Here were Randle and Smith at last. ‘The place is surrounded,’ he shouted. ‘You are under arrest.’