The Captain's Daughter (24 page)

It was
annoying
.
Her twelfth birthday, then suddenly she is told her father has been thrown from
his horse. But that wasn’t her birthday, it was just last year. Shades of
dreams spun around willy-nilly. Her head hurt. No, it was her shoulder that
hurt. Both hurt. And people kept talking jingly-jangly.

“We may have to
give her more laudanum. She’s moaning. She seems to be in pain.”

Voices. That’s mother’s voice. More
voices. Dr. Chisolm’s voice. Her eyes are open. Everything is blurred. What is
happening?

“She is trying to speak. She’s
coming round.”

“Oh!” Amy gasped from the pain.

“Can you hear me,” asked Dr.
Chisolm gently.

Amy tried to nod. She must have
succeeded because Dr. Chisolm asked her: “Do you need more laudanum?”

“What time is it?” asked Amy.

“Just after eleven,” said the
doctor. “That’s a strange question.”

“That late?”

“Late? No dear, it is morning.”

“I slept all night?”

“You were unconscious all night.”

“Unconscious?”

“Yes, dear, you had a very bad
wound in your shoulder.”

Dr. Chisolm was a kindly old Scots
doctor who once had a good practice in London at Cavendish Square. He had given
it up years ago in an effort to retire, but in one way or another found himself
in Stokely-on-Arne working harder than ever for a lot less money.

Dealing with simple folk, for the
most part, he had developed a casual manner which didn’t go over well with some
of the local gentry, whose pride was offended by his casual form of reference
which ignored their high status.

Amy’s vision was clearing up and
she could see a group of worried faces. Her mother was at the doctor’s arm,
with Mattie, Emma, and Effie standing in back. Even her father was there.
Although he wore a solemn expression, he said nothing, and so there was no way
of telling how much he understood.

Dr. Chisolm leaned forward. “Do you
need more laudanum?”

“Not at this time, Dr. Chisolm,”
said Amy, then winced from the pain.

Dr. Chisolm nodded and raised up
with a grim smile.

“You are blessed to be alive, my dear.
That bullet was not far removed from your heart.”

“Did you get it out?”

“Yes, but it was not easy. You gave
me quite a bit of work. I had to really sweat it.”

“I’m sorry for being so much
trouble.”

“Oh, my dear Amy, don’t say that,”
smiled the kindly old doctor and patted her on her other shoulder.

“One of the rewarding pleasures of
the medical profession is when a life is saved. We still lose too many good
people.”

“Will I be all right?” said Amy, a
note of fear in her voice.

“I’m certain of it. I thoroughly
cleaned the wound with wine. When I was in the army, we found that wine for
some reason seemed to heal a wound and prevent fever afterwards—that and a good
cleaning. We don’t know why it works, but some day we will.

“Some army surgeons feel that some
varieties of wine work better than others, but I don’t know. All I’ll concede
is that some wines taste better than others, but other than that, which I will
admit is not to be looked askance at, I rather think they all work, and the
rest is up to the severity of the wound and the skill and dedication of the
healer.”

Amy attempted to sit up higher on
her pillow but it hurt badly, however she was determined to stoically bear it,
at least until evening. She wanted her mind to be clear.

“Despite all the efforts we make,”
continued the doctor, “I am sorry that we cannot avoid a scar, but at least it
is where it cannot be seen. I’ve done all I can do now, but I’ll be back
tomorrow.”

“Will she be all right?” asked
Amy’s mother.

“Don’t worry, Lady Sibbridge. She’s
a strong and healthy young lady. You have nothing to worry about. I’ve got to
run along now to Mae Bickford’s cottage. Her children are sick. I think it’s
likely just a summer cold but I have to take a look.”

As he closed his bag, Mattie said
softly: “A scar. How dreadful.”

Dr. Chisolm walked to the door of
Amy’s room, then turned and instructed no one in particular: “Try cleaning the
wound several times a day with brandy, preferably cognac if you have any. The
last time I was in London, Dr. Greyson was telling me that he found it helped
to reduce scarring.”

After Dr. Chisolm left, Mattie and
Emma came to her side. Mattie held Amy’s hand and looked sorrowfully at her
with tear-filled eyes, while Emma examined the bandages.

Emma was about to speak when their
mother called from the hall outside Amy’s door, which had been left open.

“Dear, someone is here to see you,
are you in a decent condition to receive visitors?”

“Yes mother, she is.” Emma answered
for Amy.

Ben entered alone. Evidently, Amy’s
mother wanted further words with the doctor.

“Well, how are you, Soldier,” said
Ben with forced cheerfulness.

“Not so good. I’m scarred for
life.” Amy was trying to be cheerful also, but another attempt to sit up higher
in bed caused another spear of pain to pierce her shoulder.

“Scars are a badge of courage,”
said Ben.

“I’d rather not have a badge. At
least it is in a place where no one—almost no one—can see it.”

Amy looked intently at Ben.

“Ben, why would someone want to
kill me?”

Lady Sibbridge looked into the room.

“Girls, I need you.”

Ben watched the girls leave. The
door to Amy’s room remained open as modesty demanded. Ben and Amy were alone.
Ben wondered if it was intentional on the part of Amy’s mother. He turned to
look at Amy, her head propped up on her pillow. She winced again in pain, but
she was determined not to becloud her mind with laudanum as long as she could
endure her throbbing shoulder.

“If only I hadn’t reached forward
to grab the reins,” said a contrite Ben.

“What do you mean, Ben?”

“I think...I’m sure the shot was
meant for me. Right now I have a lot of enemies.”

Amy looked sadly at Ben.

“You know, Ben, I’ve received
warnings that I am in danger. How can you be sure the shot wasn’t really
intended for me? I don’t see how you can know that I was not the target.”

“I am sure of it Amy. As I said, if
I hadn’t leaned forward, the bullet would have struck me.”

“Would it, Ben? Did you see where
the shot came from? You didn’t, did you?”

“No, but...”

“Look where the bullet struck. My
left shoulder. I am sure I was turned slightly towards you. The shot was fired
from the bushes and trees that run along beside the River Arne. They are on the
west side of the road. They are across the road from our drive. If the shot was
fired from just a little ahead of where we were, it could easily have been
intended for me. Don’t you see what I mean?”

Amy clenched her teeth fighting the
pain.

“Yes Amy. I know what you are
trying to say, but I still believe you have no cause for worry. If I hadn’t
leaned forward to urge Bucephalus on, the bullet would have hit me.”

“If you were the intended victim,
that doesn’t make me feel any better, Ben, but I think you are trying to make
me feel I have no reason to fear. Please consider this. Your enemies don’t know
where you will be at any given time, but if I have enemies that want to kill
me, they know exactly where I will be and where to lie in wait. Your enemies
would likely waylay you at the old mill path, where they can get away quickly
by riding down the path to the London Road. Do you not see, Ben, that whoever
it was concealed himself just before my drive, just before I have to turn into
my drive. Whoever fired that shot, Ben, must have been targeting me.”

“Amy, rest assured I know and
appreciate your worries, but you’re letting your imagination override common
sense. What are the threats to you? You have what are almost assuredly threats
that may have existed twenty years ago, not now. And we don’t know if they were
threats even then. You might be reading a meaning into that old letter that
wasn’t even intended. Any threat to you, Amy, is at best vague, and likely
insubstantial. It is very unlikely anyone out there bears you any ill-will, or
wishes to do you harm. There is no reason why they should. Tell me, Amy, of any
reason why anyone would want to kill you.”

Amy shook her head, not to say no,
but because she was confused and uncertain.

“Believe me,” continued Ben, “I am
in no way trying to minimize this terrible occurrence, but I have many enemies
and we have crossed paths on a number of occasions, and they know where I live
now. I am absolutely certain of that.”

He pulled a nearby chair over to
her bedside, and sat down close to her. He spoke softly in the hope that any
ears outside her door would not overhear what he had to say, and he supposed
that Effie at least, would be out there in case anything was needed. And Effie
might not have the only ears listening out there.

“I will explain why I am such a
target, but I don’t want anyone else to hear. What I have to say is for your ears
alone.”

Any looked up at him with
curiosity.

“As you know I recently suffered a
wound from highwaymen, but it is not just a band of brigands eager for
ill-gotten gains that I now face. There is more to it than that. French agents
have entered this country intent on assassinating certain of their own
citizens. They are men of the most ruthless and dangerous sort. They are
fanatics, and unlike ordinary highwaymen, they often care little for their own
safety and liberty. They are willing to die to further Robespierre’s evil
machinations.”

He could see that Amy was fighting
pain and waited for her to settle back against her pillow. She looked solemnly
at Ben.

“Are they trying to kill those who
have escaped the Reign of Terror and come to England?”

“No,” replied Ben. “They have
certain men that they are after, and only they know whom and why.”

“That’s funny,” mused Amy, “that’s
what the Frenchman said.”

Ben shot her a surprised look.

“What Frenchman?”

“The one I told you about that
visited here, and at Lord Quillan’s house in Bath.”

“He said that?” Ben was quite
interested.

“Yes, the Compte...” She had to
think a few moments. “The Compte de Blanchefleur. Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just not heard
of the Compte de Blanchefleur being in England. I must ask Pierre.”

“Is Pierre one of their targets?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I am sorry, Amy, but I cannot tell
you.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that. It’s just best that
you do not know at this time.”

Amy was not happy at what seemed to
her to be a lack of trust. But Ben did not seem to notice.

“Pierre is one of their prime
targets, although Pierre is not his true name. For Pierre’s sake, and for the
sake of the success of his efforts against the French agents, he has tried to
keep his identity a secret. Luring the highwaymen has not been my chief goal. I
have been trying to lure the French assassins, but it turns out that they have
formed some sort of alliance with the highwaymen. That is why I moved to my
grandfather’s house, Hillside House here beside Stokely-on-Arne, because of the
attacks on the London Road.”

“I thought the attacks were nearer
to London,” said Amy.

“They are, for the most part. But
we believe they hide their loot, or at the least, divide it up near here. Each
time we follow them, we lose track of them somewhere near here. But we cannot
find out where they go. I thought it might be the old mill, and I waited around
there for several days without success.”

“So that’s why you were at the mill
that day.”

“What day?”

“What day, indeed! The day you mocked
me when Turpin threw me in the river and you were pretending to be some local
ploughboy.”

“It’s more discreet for me to
appear as a simple country swain, rather than as myself. Believe me, you were
not the target of my disguise, although it did add to the entertainment value
of your spectacular flight through the air, and especially the landing.”

Amy laughed then immediately
regretted it. Right now it hurt to laugh.

“They now know where I live and I
am a great danger to them. It is their purpose to eliminate me as a threat, so
it would be wise if I take myself out of their gun sights.”

“You aren’t going to move away from
here?”

“I must find another location to
operate from. Just for now. It is safer that way. Not for my own safety but for
the safety of those that work with me and for the success of our efforts. When
we have eliminated this scourge, when we catch them and they receive what they
deserve for their evil, then you can be sure I will return. I have another
reason to reside at Hillside House now. But it is far too dangerous for me to
remain there at this time. I cannot be effective if they are watching me and
know my movements. And as what happened yesterday sadly demonstrates, I bring
danger to you and your family.”

“If they are after you, then you
cannot be causing any danger to me or my family.”

“Never-the-less, I need to go
elsewhere. After you were shot, I searched in vain for your assailant, but he
had plenty of time to escape while I brought you to the house. I have to go
now. I do not believe you were the target but still be very cautious. It would
be better, for the present, if you and Emma stop making your visits alone to
the hilltop. Especially, since someone might misinterpret why you are looking
through Emma’s telescope.”

Ben stood up and put the chair back
into its place, then he came back over to Amy and patted her hand. Then with a
glance at the open door, he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on her
forehead.