Mary Nichols - The Captain's Mysterious Lady

She blushed suddenly remembering the only memory that had flitted into her mind earlier that day, that he had held her in his arms. When and why? And had she been content or outraged? She was glad when the butler came to announce that supper was on the table, and the Captain offered his arm to escort her into the dining room behind the aunts.

It was a big oak-panelled room with heavy dark oak furniture that had probably been there since Elizabeth was on the throne. They took seats at one end of a long refectory table and were served with soup, followed by a remove of boiled carp, roast chicken, braised ham, peas, broccoli and salad, together with several kinds of tartlets.

‘Do you know if those two criminals have been brought to book?’ Amy asked, after they had all helped themselves from the dishes, and was surprised when he appeared startled.

‘Two criminals?’ he repeated to give himself time to digest what she had said. Surely she knew nothing of Randle and Smith? It was not that he wanted to keep his quest for them a secret, but simply that if she had known of them, it would give the lie to her loss of memory and set her firmly among the ne’er-do-wells.

‘Yes, those two who held up the coach. My aunts are sure they stole my baggage, for I had none when I arrived.’

He breathed again. ‘Oh, those two,’ he said. ‘No doubt they followed us and looted the coach after we left it. It was in a sorry state and everything scattered. Unfortunately we were not able to gather anything up.’

‘There, I was sure that was what had happened,’ Harriet put in, busy cutting up the chicken, ready to be offered round. ‘You would never have set off without a change of clothes.’

‘It is strange that so momentous an adventure can have slipped my mind,’ Amy said. ‘You would think it of sufficient import to be unforgettable, would you not? Were they masked? How did they speak? Did they injure anyone? Were they gentlemanly?’

‘Certainly not gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Rough spoken and in black cloaks and masks, impossible to identify. They were armed and each fired once, but hit no one. I think they took pity on you, for after they had robbed me, they let us go.’ He was, he realised, being sparing of the truth. He did not want to give her nightmares.

‘Did you lose much?’ she asked.

‘A few guineas that were in my purse. The rest of my money and valuables I had concealed about my person.’

‘How clever of you!’ she exclaimed.

‘I do a great deal of travelling, Mrs Macdonald, and have learned to be as cunning as the criminals.’

She wondered why he travelled and if he had more knowledge of lawbreakers than he had admitted. He might even be one of them, for all she knew. Except of course her aunts had accepted him as being known to Admiral Lord Trentham, who had sent a glowing introduction. That, of course, could be a forgery. How suspicious and untrusting she was! Had she always been like that or was that something she had learned recently?

‘But you have not heard of them being apprehended?’ she queried.

‘No, unfortunately I have not.’

‘Tell me again about the man who died. What manner of man was he?’ Amy asked.

‘I know nothing of him. He boarded the coach with you and your tickets were in his pockets, so one supposes he was looking after you. He certainly bought your refreshments whenever we stopped.’

‘So I was totally dependant on him,’ she mused.

‘It would seem so.’

‘How did I react to his death?’

‘You were unconscious and knew nothing of it at the time,’ he pointed out.

‘How long was I unconscious? And how did I get from the overturned coach to the inn?’ she pressed.

‘I rode one of the coach horses with you in front of me. Have you no memory of that?’ he asked curiously.

‘None at all,’ she said swiftly. But that was her memory. A slow ride, cradled in front of him on a horse with no saddle. She had felt warm and protected, with his arm about her and his coat enveloping them both. She did not remember arriving at the inn, so she must have drifted into unconsciousness again. ‘How difficult and uncomfortable that must have been for you.’

He noticed the colour flood her face and felt sure she had remembered it. How much more was she concealing? He would have it out of her, one way or another, before another day was out. ‘It was my privilege and pleasure,’ he said, lifting his glass of wine in salute to her and looking at her over its rim.

Quizzing him was making her feel uncomfortable and she changed the subject to ask him what he thought of the village and its surrounds, to which he replied he had not yet had the opportunity to explore, but intended to do so when his business permitted, and on that uncontentious note they finished their meal with plum pie and sweetmeats.

He declined to stay in the dining room alone and repaired with them to the drawing room for tea. Noticing the harpsichord in the corner, he enquired if anyone played it.

‘I used to years ago,’ Matilda said. ‘But I have not touched it in years. Amy is the musician here.’

He turned to look at her. ‘Will you play for us, Mrs Macdonald?’

She went over to the instrument, sat herself down at it and, after a moment’s hesitation, played ‘Greensleeves’ with unerring accuracy and sensitivity. As the last notes died away, she turned towards him, eyes shining. ‘How strange that I remember that,’ she said. ‘I know I have always loved music, just as I know I love flowers and can tell their names and recognise birds by their song.’

He smiled. ‘That is a good sign, don’t you think. And can you ride?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said eagerly. ‘I love to ride.’

‘Then would you like to ride out with me tomorrow and show me the countryside? I am sure I shall enjoy it the more for having you to guide me.’

She readily agreed and, having arranged a time for him to call, the evening was brought to an end. He took his leave and rode back to the inn, feeling more benign than he had done for years.

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