He left her to tend to the girl’s bruises and went downstairs again to find the others had arrived and were making themselves comfortable in the parlour with a quart of ale each, while food was prepared for them. ‘What now?’ Sam asked when he joined them.
‘She is known to the innkeeper’s wife. It appears she has kin close by and someone is going to fetch them to take charge of her,’ James told him.
‘Thank the Lord for that, for a moment I thought we were going to be saddled with her.’
James realised, with a jolt, that her predicament had driven the main purpose of his journey from his mind, but it was time he began to think of it. ‘And you wouldn’t want that, would you, my friend?’
‘To be sure, it would put a spoke in the wheels. Has she got her senses back?’ Sam asked.
‘Yes and no. She is conscious, but still too dazed to know what has happened to her. No doubt the sight of her relatives will be all that’s needed.’
‘Then we go on?’
‘To Peterborough?’ James queried vaguely, his mind still half with the mystery of the girl.
‘Yes, had you forgot where we were going and why?’
‘No, I had not and I’ll thank you to mind your manners.’
‘I beg your pardon, Cap’n sir, but you must admit you can’t be worrying about that one upstairs when we are so close to success.’ Sam was almost as determined on catching those two as he was, knowing what it meant to him.
‘How do you know we are close to success?’
‘We know they were on that coach and going to Peterborough, don’t we?’
‘Just because they paid the fare to Peterborough, does not mean they meant to travel all the way there. They could have left the stage anywhere to put us off the scent again. Or they may have gone on somewhere else,’ James pointed out.
‘And they might have been held up by those two highpads. That would have delayed them, don’t you think?’
‘Very true, but in the absence of evidence to the contrary we will head for Peterborough.’
‘I took the liberty of making enquiries, Captain, and there’s a coach coming through at first light which will take us on to Downham Market. And there are connections to Peterborough.’
‘Good. We can’t do anything more here.’
After they had eaten, James went up to speak to the young lady and take his leave of her. She had swallowed a little supper, he was told, but she was still dazed. ‘She’ll be fine as ninepence when the Misses Hardwick come to take care of her,’ the innkeeper’s wife said, as they stood outside the bedchamber talking quietly.
‘You have sent word to them?’
‘Yes, but they are maiden ladies and will not venture out at this time of night. They will be here in the morning.’
‘Are you sure of that?’ He was torn between staying and leaving. It was curiosity mixed with pity and a feeling of responsibility that made him want to stay and see her safely with her kin, while the determination to find his wife’s killers and see them hanged drove him relentlessly.
‘Oh, yes, indeed. Lovely ladies they are, always pleasant, always have a kind word for everyone and they do a deal of good in the village. I reckon she must be a niece or something of the sort. It’s a mystery, though.’
‘What is?’
‘No baggage, no money, nothing, according to the coachman.’
‘I will recompense you for her food and lodging.’
‘I did not mean that, sir, indeed I did not. I am sure the Misses Hardwick will see to that. I was thinkin’ what a mystery it was.’
‘Yes, to be sure. But no doubt when the lady recovers her senses she will be able to enlighten you. In the meantime, can I leave her with you?’
‘Yes, of course. You must be anxious to continue your journey.’
‘I am.’ His mind was made up. ‘Pressing business, you understand. We shall go on the early coach, but a bed for the rest of the night will be welcome.’
‘Certainly, sir. I’ll see to it.’
He took several coins from his purse and handed them to her, enough to cover his and Sam’s stay and the young woman’s. ‘I will go in and say my farewells. I doubt I shall see her in the morning.’
He opened the door and stepped into the room. The invalid lay in the bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought.
‘Madam,’ he said, moving over to stand beside her. She looked small and frail in the big bed.
She turned towards him. ‘Captain Drymore. That is right, is it not? I have remembered your name correctly?’
‘Yes, that is my name. Can you tell me yours?’
A tear found its way down her cheek. ‘I must have had a really bad bang on the head, for I cannot remember it. I have been lying here, racking my brain, and it just will not come.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Do not distress yourself. When you are with your relations again and in familiar surroundings, everything will come back to you.’
‘I expect you are right. But I must thank you for what you have done for me. The landlady has told me and it seems I am in your debt.’
‘Not at all. I did nothing.’ He stood up. ‘I came to say goodbye and to wish you well. I am leaving very early in the morning to continue my journey. Mrs Sadler has assured me I can safely leave you in her care until your relatives come for you.’
‘Then goodbye, sir. And again my gratitude.’
He gave her a small bow and left the room. He did not like leaving her, but Sam was right, he could do nothing more for her. They were strangers who had passed a few hours in each other’s company, that was all. But she was a courageous little thing and he hoped she would make a full recovery. One day, perhaps, after he had seen justice done for Carrie, he might call at Blackfen Manor and enquire after her.
Chapter Two
Amy was walking across the fields surrounding Blackfen Manor, stopping every now and again to watch a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, or a skylark soaring, or gazing into the water of the river at her own reflection. It was like looking at a stranger. The image gazing back at her was unknown to her. She saw a woman in a plain unpadded gown, with fair hair tied back with a ribbon, a pale face and worried-looking eyes. It was the same when she looked in the mirror in her bedchamber, a stranger’s blue eyes looked back at her. ‘Who are you?’ she would whisper. Teasing her woolly brain about it only brought on a headache.
‘Do not fret, it will come to you, my dear,’ Aunt Matilda had said. She was the rounder and softer of the two ladies who had come to the King’s Arms to fetch her after the accident. The other, Aunt Harriet, was taller and thinner, more practical and down to earth. Both wore gowns with false hips, though nothing like as wide as those worn in London, and white powdered wigs. They were, so they told her, her mother’s sisters and their surname was Hardwick, none of which she could remember. She didn’t remember her own name, let alone that of anyone else.
‘You are Amy,’ Aunt Harriet had told her, when Matilda could not speak for tears. ‘And once we have you home, you will soon recover your memory. It is the shock of the accident that has taken it from you. You will be chirpy as a cricket tomorrow and then you can tell us what happened.’
‘I am glad I have found someone who knows who I am,’ she had told them. Lying in bed in the inn with no recollection of who she was, or how she had got there, had been frightening.