The Captain's Mysterious Lady (11 page)

He grinned wryly. ‘I stand rebuked,' he said. ‘Another time I will let pop and bring home a dozen.'

‘Oh, I hope not,' Amy said. ‘They are such beautiful birds.'

‘And did you enjoy your picnic?' Matilda asked Amy.

‘Indeed we did. We moored on a lovely spot on the other side of the fen and sat under the shade of a hawthorn. I did some drawing and the Captain snoozed.'

‘I did not,' he pro tested. ‘I was thinking. And I watched you draw.'

‘Amy is an accomplished artist,' Matilda told him. ‘I do not know how good her husband is, for I never saw any of his work, but I doubt he is any better than she is.' She turned to Amy. ‘What did you draw?'

‘The fen and the sky and the Captain in the boat.'

‘After we have finished our meal, you must show it to us.'

‘We met Widow Twitch on the way back. She said I must continue to strive after my memory and gave me a sprig of rosemary to put under my pillow. She also told the Captain he must stop searching for peace of mind, because it would only come once he did,' Amy told her aunts.

‘All nonsense,' James said, dismissing it. ‘My mind is
perfectly at peace, especially here with good friends who entertain me royally.'

‘Thank you,' they murmured in unison and on that note they finished their meal. The aunts went to have an afternoon nap and, as it was still raining, Amy offered to show James round the Manor. ‘That is if you have nothing else you would rather do,' she added.

‘Nothing,' he said. ‘I should like a guided tour.'

He was already familiar with the drawing room and dining room and the wide hall with its blackened staircase, but very little else and was intrigued by the number of small rooms whose function did not seem at all clear. One was used as a sitting room for the ladies on informal occasions, one as a book room, lined with shelves of old books, another as a store room; yet another was cluttered with coats and capes, boots and old guns, some of which could not have been fired for years. In one corner a spiral stone stair case led down to a cellar where the wines and pre serves were kept. To one side of this was a low door. Amy opened it to reveal a cavity in what appeared to be the exterior wall. ‘A priest's hole,' she said. ‘Or so they tell me.'

‘Or perhaps an early privy. I doubt a priest's hole would have so obvious a door.'

‘You may be right, but a piece of heavy furniture pulled across would conceal it, would it not?'

‘Perhaps, but then the poor man would hardly be able to breathe.'

She led the way upstairs, creeping quietly past the aunts' bedchambers and pausing before the door of another. ‘That is my room,' she whispered, and moved on. ‘There are several guest rooms and dressing rooms along here and round the corner at the end is another stair case down to the servants' quarters and further along another to the upper
floors. We do not use those rooms, but there are some fine views. Shall you like to see?'

‘Lead on.'

The stone stair case was in one of the corner turrets and had small slit windows, which he assumed were meant for guns or bows and arrows to be used in defence. The whole place was like a small castle, though built of brick, not stone. Halfway up a corridor led to more rooms, smaller than those below and only half-furnished. At the top was a small room with windows on all four aspects. From this lofty point they could see the round tower on the edge of the estate and, moving to the opposite side of the room, the roof of the Lodge showing between the trees. Far below them the water in the moat was being pounded by rain.

‘I should not like to lead an attack on this fortress,' he said. ‘You can be seen coming for miles and, apart from that small stand of trees, there is no cover. The only way of overcoming the defenders would be to starve them out.'

‘I had not thought of it like that. To me it is simply a comfortable home.' Amy laughed.

‘That is because its occupants have made it so.'

‘You have made me curious. Shall we go down to the book room? I believe there are documents there which might tell us more.'

He followed her down stairs and into the book room where she found a key in a desk and unlocked the door of a cupboard. It was packed with rolled-up parchments, some of them very old. They laid them on the floor and knelt down to go over them. There was a charter from Queen Elizabeth that was yellowing with age, which James said they should not disturb. Some, more recent, revealed that the family had been on the Royalist side during the Civil War a century before. The second Sir Charles Hardwick was put in prison by Cromwell's men, but never charged,
and was released and his estate returned to him when Charles II returned to take up his throne. ‘It is that king's great-nephew who caused the recent Jacobite Rebellion,' he said, aware of how intimate they were, kneeling side by side on the floor.

‘And there is talk that it will flare up again.'

‘The Young Pretender does not have the money, men or arms to mount another invasion. I am persuaded it is nothing but idle gossip.'

‘Can that possibly have a bearing on my loss of memory, do you think?' she asked, suddenly looking worried. ‘Everyone assumed the trouble was in London and I was coming here on a visit, but supposing it had a more sinister reason?'

‘I believe you are being fanciful.'

‘Perhaps. But Widow Twitch was right. I have to know.'

‘Then you must put the rosemary under your pillow,' he said, smiling broadly.

‘You are teasing me!' she exclaimed.

‘Yes, for I put no faith in the old lady's remedies. And the idea you could be involved with the Jacobites is pure fantasy.'

Her worried expression vanished. ‘You are right. Aunt Harriet always used to say I had too much imagination. Lets us pack these things away again and venture out. I do believe the rain has stopped.'

They went outside and wandered round the garden paths, noticing how green the grass was and how fresh all the plants were, after which he fetched his gun from where he had left it in the hall and took his leave, striding away through the trees to the Lodge. She watched him go and wondered what Widow Twitch had meant when she said he was looking for peace of mind. He had admitted,
when they first met, that he was searching for something. She returned indoors and took out her drawing to study it.

Yes, there was something in his expression that indicated he had other things on his mind besides bagging a few ducks. And it must be rooted in Highbeck—why else would he have come to such an out of the way spot? He had mentioned the Jacobite rebellion of five years before, but that was over and done with and though it must have been frightening for those in the path of the advancing rebels, they had never reached as far south as the Wash. She must have been living at Highbeck at the time because it was before she married, but she could not remember it. She looked again at what she had drawn and ran her finger over the Captain's face, just as if it were his real flesh and blood she touched and gave a little shiver. She liked the man, liked him very much, and she wished she could banish his haunting look of sadness.

 

She had another night mare that night, more vivid than any that had gone before. She was in a room looking out of a window, watching for someone. Behind her there was a bag full of gold and silver coins and sparkling jewellery and on top of it a wicked-looking knife. There was a man there, but he was not substantial enough to recognise, although she felt his menace. He took her by the shoulders and started to shake her. He kept on shaking her, yelling, ‘Where is it?' Terrified she reached behind her and picked up the knife, raising it above her head. And then she woke up to find herself sitting up in bed tangled in the bed curtains. The tears were flowing down her cheeks and her right hand was clenched tightly as it would have been if grasping a knife.

Was she reliving something that had really happened?
Had she used that knife on the man? Killed him and fled to the sanctuary of Blackfen Manor? Was that why she was so fearful all the time? Afraid of retribution? Did those two men she had seen know about it? Had they followed her intent on vengeance—or possibly black mail? But no one had seen the men except her, so perhaps she had dreamed them, too. Only she could not stop herself coming to the conclusion that there was something in her past that was evil. Was she a bad person? Had she done something so terrible she had blotted all memory of it from her mind?

She made herself open her hand and lay it flat, half-expecting to see it covered in blood. There was nothing wrong with it. Feeling along the bed, she pulled the rosemary from beneath her pillow and threw it as far from her as she could. If remembering was going to come back to her through terrifying dreams, she did not want to remember.

She tried to go back to sleep, but could not. She lay tossing and turning, longing for James to come and hold her in his arms as he had before, to soothe her and tell her not to worry, because he would look after her. Not Duncan, her husband whom she could not remember, but James, whose comforting presence she could recall very clearly. That was an added complication. She found herself thinking of him constantly, thinking of his masculine good looks, his warm smile, his gentle teasing, the feel of his touch, the sound of his voice. It was impossible to think of Duncan that way because for her he did not exist.

 

Morning came at last and she rose early, dressed and went out into the court yard, but she dared not go beyond the draw bridge. She paced about until she heard the servants stirring and went indoors to help prepare the aunts' breakfast trays, then she had her own break fast and wandered
about waiting impatiently for them to come down stairs. Her dream had lost some of its terror, but it would not go away altogether. It hung over her like that cloud she had drawn on the fen, threatening a storm, a storm of unpleasant recollections she was sure.

Aunt Harriet was the first down and, after commenting on Amy's early rising, disappeared into the kitchen to confer with the cook about the day's menus. It was only when Aunt Matilda came down and they gathered in the little parlour that all three were able to have some conversation together.

‘Why were you up so early, Amy?' Harriet asked. ‘Could you not sleep?'

‘I had a dreadful night mare and could not go back to sleep after it,' she admitted.

‘You should not have eaten that cheese at supper time,' Harriet said.

‘I do not think it was the cheese,' Amy said drily.

‘What, then? Oh, do not tell me you put that rosemary under your pillow? Foolish, foolish child!' Harriet exclaimed.

‘What did you dream about?' Matilda asked curiously.

She told them. Matilda put her hand to her mouth with a little cry of horror. Harriet simply sniffed and said she would have something to say to Widow Twitch when she saw her.

‘But it must have had some basis in truth,' Amy said. ‘I did not conjure it out of the air. Did I use that knife? Am I a wicked person? Am I being searched for to be arrested and punished? If I am, then I am putting you both at risk for aiding me.'

‘I never heard such nonsense,' Aunt Harriet said, as
Johnson, the first footman, came to announce Captain Drymore was at the door.

‘Show him in,' her aunt said, then to Amy, ‘We shall see what he has to say about your dreams.'

James entered the room and bowed to them. ‘Good morning, ladies,' he greeted them, looking from one to the other. Harriet was tight-lipped, Matilda was bright-eyed, but poor Amy looked as troubled as she had when he first met her. ‘What is amiss? Have you seen those two men again?'

‘No,' Harriet said. ‘Our niece has had a disturbed night.'

‘Oh.' He turned towards Amy, one eyebrow raised in enquiry.

‘It was only a bad dream,' she said. ‘Do sit down, Captain. We are forgetting our manners.'

He sat on a chair facing Amy. ‘Does that mean you have remembered something?'

‘I do not know. If it was a memory, it was so dreadful, it is no wonder I wished to forget it.'

‘Memory, pah!' Harriet said. ‘Cheese before bed, more like. Amy has a foolish notion she has done something wicked and is going to be punished for it.'

‘Tell me about it,' he prompted Amy gently. ‘But only if you can bear to repeat it.'

She went over it again and with each telling it seemed to lose some of its terrors, especially now he had come. ‘Tell me it wasn't real,' she finished. ‘Tell me I did not use that knife. Tell me I am not wicked.'

‘I am sure you are not,' he said. If that were the case, she would never have implicated herself by telling him of her dream and putting the idea of a stabbing into his head. ‘You did not dream you actually
used
the knife, did you?'

‘No…' It was said hesitantly.

‘There you are, then.'

‘I always did say my niece had too much imagination,' Harriet said. ‘And that proves it. What have you been reading, child?'

‘Nothing, except some of the papers in the cupboard in the book room. There were documents about the house being sequestered by Cromwell's Parliament and being returned when Charles regained the throne,' Amy went on.

‘That happened a hundred years ago. They would surely not have given you bad dreams,' Harriet commented.

‘We did touch on the Jacobite rebellion and the possibility of Prince Charles invading again.'

‘We?' Harriet enquired with a raised eyebrow.

‘Yes, the Captain was with me. It was while you were sleeping yesterday afternoon.' She paused. ‘Perhaps I should not have gone to the cupboard.'

‘There is nothing there that is not already known. We have nothing to hide.'

‘I wonder if we ought to meddle with Mrs Macdonald's memory,' James murmured. ‘Perhaps it were better to let sleeping dogs lie.'

All that did was to convince Amy that he knew more than he was saying and it was not good. Oh, when would this torment end? And what was Captain James Drymore really doing in Highbeck? And those two men she had seen, who were they? Everything was closing in on her. She felt unable to breathe. Standing up suddenly, she said, ‘I must go out in the air.'