glad Ben was taking the
discussion in a new direction. She felt she had been led on the wrong side by
her irritation with Ben, or more accurately his sarcasm, and she felt guilty
about that. She knew his sarcasm, if it could properly be called that, was an
attempt at male humor, and that he meant no harm.
She was also uncomfortable at the
direction the conversation had gone, that is, her part of it, because she
harbored no animosity towards the Scots.
“So Sir Benjamin Anstruther you are
wondering why my petticoat is all dragl’t and wet. Well,” said Amy opening her
eyes as wide as possible and eyeing him strangely, “I will tell you. What you
are about to hear will leave you amazed, terrified, and dumbfounded.”
She laughed. And then in a more
serious mood she told him of the events of the last twenty-four hours. She told
him of the old sailor who brought the pouch. She told him of the old Bristol
newspaper, the letter with its abrupt and enigmatic ending, and the locket with
the picture of the baby that Emma insisted looked just like Amy. But she did
not tell him of her visit to Hillfield House and her conversation with the
Frenchman who said his name was Pierre.
So intent was her account of the
events and why she was trying to find the old sailor, that it was only when
they arrived at the stables at Sibbridge House that she realized she had come
home with a young gentleman and no chaperone.
“If anybody asks, Ben, Sir
Benjamin, tell them you just arrived and give them the impression that we didn’t
arrive together, without lying, of course.”
“Of course.”
As he spoke, old Hubert came out of
the stable. Had he seen them arrive together? She realized that the reins to
Ben’s horse were still wrapped around the dash rail.
“Oh, hello, Hubert, Sir Benjamin
just arrived.”
“What do you think of the weather,
Hubert,” asked Ben jovially.
“Unseasonable weather. This here
weather reminds of the spring of ’74. Or wasn’ it 1773? Be strange weather,
indeed it be. Twenty years ago this year. Rivers swollen. The Arne overflowed
its banks it did. Threatened Stockley, it did.” He looked gravely at the sky.
The muted sun made his grizzled face a landscape of ravines and rills. Hubert
was lost in his memories. “Praise the Lord and spare us from that comin’ agin
this year.”
While Hubert was lost in his
soliloquy and did not seem to be paying any attention, Amy unwrapped the reins
of Ben’s horse and dropped them to the ground. Freed from its tethering, the
horse started to wander away just as Hubert pronounced his brief benediction.
Ben quickly grabbed its reins which snapped Hubert back to the present. As Ben
strolled away, Amy followed him until she felt they were too far away for
Hubert to hear. As they paused she saw Hubert take Pansy and the trap into the
stable.
“Ben?”
He looked at her.
“Emma and I paid a visit to
Hillfield House yesterday afternoon.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“We thought you were home. It is
obvious you were not. We encountered a man there that we had never seen before.
He was a Frenchman.”
“You met...?”
Ben paused looking very uneasy. He
seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. It had not been Amy’s
intention to trip Ben up, but it worked out that way. She was about to take a
cue from Ben’s awkward pause, and tell about meeting his new secretary Pierre
when he suddenly continued.
“You met Henri? Yes he’s a French
businessman. He’s here to discuss some matters of trade with me. As you know,
my family’s deeply involved in trade. But of course, we never engage in it
here, but he was in some rush over an urgent matter and I sent him a message to
meet with me at Hillfield House. Which reminds me, I must be going now to meet
with Henri.”
As Ben rode off at a gallop, she
rounded the corner and walked towards the front door. Amy had many questions.
Foremost was why Ben lied to her. Who is the Frenchman ? With the horrors
going
discussion in a new direction. She felt she had been led on the wrong side by
her irritation with Ben, or more accurately his sarcasm, and she felt guilty
about that. She knew his sarcasm, if it could properly be called that, was an
attempt at male humor, and that he meant no harm.
She was also uncomfortable at the
direction the conversation had gone, that is, her part of it, because she
harbored no animosity towards the Scots.
“So Sir Benjamin Anstruther you are
wondering why my petticoat is all dragl’t and wet. Well,” said Amy opening her
eyes as wide as possible and eyeing him strangely, “I will tell you. What you
are about to hear will leave you amazed, terrified, and dumbfounded.”
She laughed. And then in a more
serious mood she told him of the events of the last twenty-four hours. She told
him of the old sailor who brought the pouch. She told him of the old Bristol
newspaper, the letter with its abrupt and enigmatic ending, and the locket with
the picture of the baby that Emma insisted looked just like Amy. But she did
not tell him of her visit to Hillfield House and her conversation with the
Frenchman who said his name was Pierre.
So intent was her account of the
events and why she was trying to find the old sailor, that it was only when
they arrived at the stables at Sibbridge House that she realized she had come
home with a young gentleman and no chaperone.
“If anybody asks, Ben, Sir
Benjamin, tell them you just arrived and give them the impression that we didn’t
arrive together, without lying, of course.”
“Of course.”
As he spoke, old Hubert came out of
the stable. Had he seen them arrive together? She realized that the reins to
Ben’s horse were still wrapped around the dash rail.
“Oh, hello, Hubert, Sir Benjamin
just arrived.”
“What do you think of the weather,
Hubert,” asked Ben jovially.
“Unseasonable weather. This here
weather reminds of the spring of ’74. Or wasn’ it 1773? Be strange weather,
indeed it be. Twenty years ago this year. Rivers swollen. The Arne overflowed
its banks it did. Threatened Stockley, it did.” He looked gravely at the sky.
The muted sun made his grizzled face a landscape of ravines and rills. Hubert
was lost in his memories. “Praise the Lord and spare us from that comin’ agin
this year.”
While Hubert was lost in his
soliloquy and did not seem to be paying any attention, Amy unwrapped the reins
of Ben’s horse and dropped them to the ground. Freed from its tethering, the
horse started to wander away just as Hubert pronounced his brief benediction.
Ben quickly grabbed its reins which snapped Hubert back to the present. As Ben
strolled away, Amy followed him until she felt they were too far away for
Hubert to hear. As they paused she saw Hubert take Pansy and the trap into the
stable.
“Ben?”
He looked at her.
“Emma and I paid a visit to
Hillfield House yesterday afternoon.”
He looked at her questioningly.
“We thought you were home. It is
obvious you were not. We encountered a man there that we had never seen before.
He was a Frenchman.”
“You met...?”
Ben paused looking very uneasy. He
seemed to be searching for the right thing to say. It had not been Amy’s
intention to trip Ben up, but it worked out that way. She was about to take a
cue from Ben’s awkward pause, and tell about meeting his new secretary Pierre
when he suddenly continued.
“You met Henri? Yes he’s a French
businessman. He’s here to discuss some matters of trade with me. As you know,
my family’s deeply involved in trade. But of course, we never engage in it
here, but he was in some rush over an urgent matter and I sent him a message to
meet with me at Hillfield House. Which reminds me, I must be going now to meet
with Henri.”
As Ben rode off at a gallop, she
rounded the corner and walked towards the front door. Amy had many questions.
Foremost was why Ben lied to her. Who is the Frenchman ? With the horrors
going
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