Shipwrecked with the Captain

by Diane Gaston

  ‘Perhaps a little unwell,’ she replied. ‘I was caught in the rain.’

  She glanced over at Stonecroft to see his reaction. He merely kept eating.

  Miss Attwood peered at her from across the table. ‘I do believe you look a bit pale. You should take care. Do not exert yourself.’

  Claire had no doubt she was pale.

  Miss Attwood gave her a concerned look. ‘I would ask you to accompany me to the Pump Room tomorrow, but if you are unwell...’

  Claire’s spirits rose a slight fraction. Tomorrow would be her chance to leave.

  A pain stabbed her heart. Her whole life was about to change again. She hoped she could hold on to the memories. The memories of being with Lucien.

  Perhaps she would glimpse him tomorrow at the West Gate Inn. Perhaps she’d see him board the coach to London.

  It was something to hope for.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning Claire did not have any difficulty convincing anyone that she was unwell. She’d hardly slept and her eyes were red from weeping into her pillow so Ella would not hear.

  ‘Should I ask Miss Attwood if we should send for a physician?’ Ella asked her worriedly.

  ‘No. No.’ Claire managed a wan smile. ‘I have no fever. I am certain the stress from yesterday has merely left me fatigued. I intend to spend the day in this room.’

  ‘Do you wish to stay abed?’ the girl asked.

  ‘I am not so ill!’ she insisted. ‘I’ll simply have you put me in one of my old dresses in case I wish to see if the library has a book worth reading.’

  She chose one of the travelling dresses, hoping Ella did not think it an odd choice.

  As Ella finished arranging her hair, Claire told her, ‘I will not need you here today. Not at all. Spend the day with Cullen, if you can.’

  Cullen’s future was uncertain now. Ella would soon learn hers was as well.

  ‘But if you are not feeling well, I should stay here,’ Ella protested.

  Claire took the girl’s hands in her own. ‘I tell you, I am not ill. I just need rest. Go. Be with Cullen. He will need your support.’

  Ella looked uncertain. ‘If you think so.’

  ‘I do.’ She shook her hands in emphasis.

  Ella stepped back. ‘I could go now, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. Go now.’

  ‘I’ll just put some of your things away.’ She started to tidy the room.

  Claire rose from her chair. ‘I’ll do that. It will give me something to do. You could ask Cook to send breakfast up to my room. That would be very nice.’

  ‘I’ll do that, m’lady.’ She skipped into the dressing room and picked up her hat and shawl. She hurried to the door. ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked before leaving.

  Claire took one long look at her, committing her image to memory. ‘Only one more thing,’ she murmured.

  ‘What, m’lady?’

  Claire smiled. ‘Enjoy your time with Cullen.’

  Ella grinned. ‘I will!’

  As soon as Ella left, Claire went over to the desk and took out paper and ink. She began writing a letter of recommendation for Ella.

  Before she finished a footman brought up a breakfast tray. Though she had no appetite, she made herself eat. She did not know when she would have another chance.

  Then she returned to her letters. The one to Stonecroft was by far the easiest, because she was certain he did not care about her, nor she, him. She wondered what he would have been like if his wife and child had lived. Whatever part of him that had died with them was a part for which she might have developed a fondness.

  Ella’s letter was difficult. She was saying goodbye to her only woman friend.

  It turned out she did not need to write Lucien at all. That was almost harder than putting pen to paper for him. She wrote a letter to Sir Richard instead, begging him to look out for Cullen and Ella.

  When she finished she was in tears again. This time she let herself weep openly, because she was alone on this floor and no one would hear. She’d heard Miss Attwood leave a while ago and peeked out her door to see that she’d taken her lady’s maid with her. Lord Stonecroft was to have left very early. Both would be out until late afternoon.

  When her letters were completed and her tears dried, she opened the desk drawer and placed the letters inside for safe keeping until she was ready to leave. Nothing else left to do but pack her trunk and portmanteau.

  She went into the dressing room and found the small bag Lucien had purchased for her that first day in Ireland. As she packed one other dress, one nightdress and the brush, comb, hairpins and other essentials Lucien had bought her, she had the sense of packing like this once before. Not while with Lucien. Some other time, a time of packing with a sense of urgency. It was not quite a memory, but almost one and she had an inexplicable feeling of dread.

  A knock on the door made her jump.

  She walked into the bedroom. ‘Yes?’ she called through the door.

  ‘M’lady?’ It was one of the footmen.

  She opened the door.

  ‘A Lord and Lady Brookmore here to call on you,’ he said.

  Who? ‘Did they say what they wanted?’

  Was she supposed to know a Lord and Lady Brookmore? She’d not met them in Bath, she was certain. She’d worked very hard to remember all the names of people she’d met.

  ‘They did not say, m’lady,’ he responded. ‘But they said it was very important they speak with you. They will wait all day to speak with you if necessary.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll be down directly.’ Was this someone from her past? ‘Are they waiting in the drawing room?’

  ‘They are.’ He bowed and left.

  She took a deep breath and started down the stairs.

  The footman announced her.

  ‘I will not need you,’ she told him.

  He bowed again and continued downstairs to attend the hall.

  She stepped into the room.

  A lady and gentleman, more her age than the Stonecrofts, stood.

  ‘You wished to speak with me?’ she asked.

  The lady’s face was obscured by a veil over her hat. Neither she nor the gentleman said anything. The lady walked towards her.

  And lifted her veil.

  * * *

  Lucien had time to kill before the mail coach left. He woke early and took a long walk, turning in his mind everything that had transpired between him and Lady Rebecca. Everything on the walk reminded him of her, of when she’d led him through the streets of Bath, knowing all the buildings, but not knowing why. Even the passers-by reminded him of her.

  A gentleman and lady passed him on his way back to the Circus. The lady reminded him of Lady Rebecca. Not her face, because it was obscured by a veil, but otherwise she had the look of Lady Rebecca.

  So had another woman, though, who did not look anything like Lady Rebecca, but her laugh reminded him of Lady Rebecca’s laugh, the first thing that had attracted him to her.

  He’d been drawn to her from the start, from the moment of hearing that laugh. She was unlike any other woman he’d known with her courage and her vulnerability.

  He’d told himself what he admired was caused by her amnesia. He’d convinced himself she’d turn into a haughty aristocrat as soon as she remembered who she was. Now he was not so sure. There was an essence of her that could be genuine.

  He’d done a lot of thinking since the day before. Turned out he was not able to drink away his emotions. Instead he’d nursed his second tankard of ale for several hours. A man had to be a very sorry sort, if he lost even the solace of drink.

  He kept telling himself how glad he was to be getting another ship, but inside he only felt loss.

  He returned to Sir Richard’s house and handed the footman his hat and gloves. ‘Do yo
u know where Cullen is?’

  ‘Believe he and his Ella are visiting below stairs, sir,’ the man replied. ‘Shall I send him to you?’

  ‘No.’ Lucien might as well speak to Ella, as well. ‘I’ll go down to them.’

  He found them in the servants’ hall eating biscuits and drinking tea.

  Cullen jumped to his feet. ‘Sir! Do you have need of me?’ He wore a wounded expression.

  ‘Sit, Cullen,’ he said. ‘I want to talk to you both.’

  Ella piped up. ‘He already knows, Captain. I told him.’

  Lucien felt a stab of guilt. ‘Forgive me, Cullen. I meant to tell you last night.’

  ‘Do not fret, sir,’ Cullen said in a stoic tone. ‘I knew you would be leaving sooner or later. I’ve packed for you.’ He looked like he’d lost his best friend.

  Which was rather like Lucien felt when he thought about the young man.

  ‘Are you sure you must leave?’ Ella asked.

  Was he sure? ‘Yes. I need to leave today or lose the chance to get a ship.’

  ‘Because I am worried about Lady Rebecca,’ Ella went on. ‘She says she’s not ill, but she looks so pale and her eyes are all red. I think she is sick, but she doesn’t want a physician and I do not know what to do.’

  Sick? Lucien felt an immediate impulse to run to her, send for a doctor. Something. Anything.

  Cullen spoke up. ‘I told Ella Lady Rebecca is probably just upset. Red eyes usually means a fit of weeping. Or, at least, that’s what it always meant on my sisters.’

  She’d seemed composed the day before when he’d said goodbye. Had something else happened?

  ‘Did she say how she felt?’ he asked.

  ‘Unwell, is all.’ Ella toyed with her teacup.

  ‘I do not know what to say.’ He sat in one of the chairs and picked up a biscuit from the plate.

  Ella rose this time. ‘Shall I find you a cup, Captain? Would you like some tea?’

  ‘No, stay here a moment. I want you both to know I am leaving Cullen a year’s wage, just to help tide him over until he gets a new position.’

  ‘That is kind of you, sir.’ Cullen’s voice thickened.

  Ella sat down again. ‘I do not think you should leave. Not with my lady sick and that mad man out to harm her and all.’

  ‘She’s to marry Stonecroft, Ella,’ he said in a patient tone he did not feel. ‘It is not up to me to help any more.’

  ‘She can’t marry that old man!’ Ella cried. ‘He is as cold as stone. You have to stop it.’

  His insides twisted in pain. ‘It is what she wants, Ella. She told me.’

  ‘Well, she doesn’t mean it!’ She lowered her head into her hands. ‘She simply can’t.’

  Cullen put his arm around Ella. ‘Now, do not you become upset.’

  Lucien stood again. ‘I should speak with Sir Richard.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Cullen said in depressed tones.

  Lucien walked away with Ella’s voice echoing in his mind.

  She doesn’t mean it.

  * * *

  Claire stared into a face that looked exactly like her own, so alike the lady could have stepped through a looking glass.

  ‘You look like me,’ she whispered.

  ‘Claire! It is me! Yes, I look like you. I am so sorry. So sorry. I thought you had drowned. I saw you get washed overboard! I thought you were dead!’

  Claire’s head started to pound. ‘You were on the Dun Aengus?’

  ‘You know I was!’ the lady cried.

  Claire held up a hand. ‘Wait. Are you my sister?’ She didn’t know she had a sister, especially not a twin sister.

  ‘What sort of question is that?’ the lady cried. ‘Of course I am not your sister.’

  The gentleman spoke. Lord Brookmore. Was that name familiar? ‘Something is wrong, Becca. Let her speak.’

  Becca? Did he mean Rebecca? Who was he talking to? Let who speak?

  She lowered herself into a chair. ‘Forgive me. I cannot stand.’

  The woman who looked like her—Lady Brookmore—pulled a chair close to hers, with an expectant look on her face.

  Her husband chose another chair nearby. ‘We read about you in the newspaper. About your rescue after the shipwreck. I assure you, we have not come to cause you any trouble. None at all. But there is something you must know—’

  Claire pressed her fingers against her temple. This was like waking up on the raft all over again. In a world she did not know. With people she did not recognise.

  ‘I—I don’t remember,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t remember?’ Lady Brookmore cried. ‘How can you not remember?’

  Claire lifted her gaze to the face so like her own. ‘When I woke up. After the shipwreck. I—I did not remember anything.’

  ‘You forgot the shipwreck?’ Lord Brookmore turned to his wife. ‘I have seen that before. Soldiers injured in battle. Afterwards they can’t remember it.’

  Claire pressed her temples harder. ‘You do not understand. I remember nothing from before waking up on the raft.’ In Lucien’s arms. ‘Not who I am. Not my family. Or my home. Not you. Or what I had done the day before or the month before or ever before.’

  Understanding dawned on the woman’s face. ‘Then you think you are—’ She broke off and turned to her husband. ‘She thinks she is—’

  He leaned towards Claire. ‘You did not know your name?’ he asked gently.

  Claire shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘Someone told you that you were Lady Rebecca?’

  ‘Lucien.’ Her head pounded. ‘I mean, Captain Roper.’

  ‘The man who rescued you,’ he stated.

  She nodded.

  ‘Oh, Claire! You don’t remember?’ Lady Brookmore cried.

  ‘I know how to do things. I remember facts. I could even lead Lucien all around Bath, but I have had only one memory and that was fleeting. I remembered drinking the waters here in Bath, but nothing else.’

  Except that sinister figure in her dreams. And the little girls doing their schoolwork.

  She turned to Lady Brookmore. ‘Why do you call me Claire?’

  ‘Because that is your name,’ Lady Brookmore said in a low voice full of sympathy. ‘You are Miss Claire Tilson.’

  The name did not surprise her, but neither did it feel real.

  Lady Brookmore continued. ‘And I am Lady Rebecca Pierce.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Claire thought her head would burst. Lady Brookmore’s words echoed over and over in her mind, I am Lady Rebecca Pierce.

  The lady continued, ‘We met by happenstance on the packet boat. Like this, suddenly seeing each other’s faces. It was remarkable and we spent time together to try to understand it all.’

  ‘Are we related?’ Claire asked.

  ‘We never found any connection,’ Lady Brookmore went on. ‘We are not related. It is merely a fantastic coincidence, but it was a little like finding a long-lost sister. We spent most of the voyage together, talking as if we were sisters. I was headed to London to marry Lord Stonecroft and you—you were travelling to the Lake District to be governess to Lord Brookmore’s nieces—’

  ‘No. No,’ Claire broke in. ‘I was not dressed as a governess.’

  Lady Brookmore blushed and she lowered her head. ‘We swapped clothing. To fool people. I dressed you in my clothes and everyone thought you were me. Even—even Nolan, the maid sent with me.’ Her voice cracked. ‘The maid who drowned.’

  A maid! The maid her brother—Lady Rebecca’s brother—spoke of.

  Could this be the truth?

  ‘Then I am this Claire Tilson? A governess?’

  ‘You are the daughter of a vicar. Your mother died when you were young, or when you were born. I don’t remember. Your father sent you to school. When he died,
you became a governess.’

  She pressed her temples again. ‘Was this school in Bristol?’

  ‘Yes,’ her likeness said. ‘Yes, it was.’

  She started to believe this. Even though she did not remember, these facts did not unsettle her. The name did not alarm her. She’d been more alarmed to think she was Lady Rebecca.

  ‘Everyone thinks I am Lady Rebecca.’

  ‘And you can stay Lady Rebecca for all I care.’ The lady’s voice thickened with emotion again. ‘I pretended to be you. I woke up after a fever and—and Garret—’ She glanced over at her husband. ‘Garret was there. He thought I was you. And, because I did not want to be me, on my way to marry a man who cared nothing for me, I let him and everyone think I was you. I am so sorry, Claire. I thought you were dead.’

  Claire turned to Lord Brookmore. ‘I was supposed to be your governess?’

  ‘To my nieces. Yes,’ he responded.

  She looked from Lady Brookmore to Lord Brookmore. ‘You pretended to be the governess, but now you are married?’

  They shot each other adoring looks. ‘Yes,’ they said in unison.

  How lovely for them.

  So unlike a marriage with Stonecroft would be, a marriage that would never occur.

  She held a hand against her forehead. ‘Forgive me. I do not remember any of this, but it makes a certain sense.’ She gazed from one to the other. ‘Am I truly Claire Tilson, a governess?’

  They both nodded.

  ‘Then what do we do now?’ she asked.

  ‘You have not married Lord Stonecroft,’ Brookmore said. ‘I assume the footman would have addressed you as such if you had.’

  ‘No, I have not married him.’

  ‘Do you want to?’ Lady Brookmore—Rebecca—asked. ‘Because I remember you thought marriage to him would bring me security. A house of my own to manage. A place in society. Children. It is all right with me if you want to.’

  She’d said almost those exact words to Lucien.

  ‘How can I marry him?’ Not that she still intended to. ‘I cannot sign the register as Lady Rebecca if I am not she. Did you marry as Claire Tilson?’