Free The Captain's Daughter by Minnie Simpson Page A

twenty
years ago.”
    Emma examined the locket and the
letter.
    “Read the letter Emma and tell me
what you make of it. Emma read it slowly and carefully.”
    Dear
Beloved Child, I have long struggled over whether to write this letter. Having
decided to do so, I now find I must pen it with great urgency since the time is
much shorter than I expected. Yet I do so with trepidation. There are things
you need to know, but this knowledge could expose you to great danger, because
there are those who would not wish you to learn what I am about to reveal...
    Emma looked at Amy. “The letter is
unfinished, in fact it looks as if it was just begun to be written when the
writer was interrupted.”
    “Exactly. But it cannot have been
written to me. I was a baby when it was written. No one would write a letter to
a baby since that just would not make sense.”
    “Maybe it was written in advance
and you were intended to read it when you grew up. I’ve read that has been
done.”
    “The problem with that, Emma, is
why would a stranger write me a letter telling of danger, but not write to my
parents. Who would write me such a letter and why? What could that danger
possibly be? You did notice that the letter was addressed to Dear Beloved
Child . The letter was not addressed to me.”
    “How can you be sure of that, Amy?”
    “Look at our life, Emma, and where
we live. Just tell me how I could possibly face any danger that would not face
Father, or Mother, or you, or Mattie. Why just me? Why not my parents?”
    “I don’t know. But that letter was
written by someone for a reason. And someone, likely the writer of the letter,
wrote your name on the pouch twenty years ago when you were just a little baby.
And they included an old newspaper. It must all add up somehow.”
    “Well, if it does, Emma, I just
don’t see how.”
    Emma was examining the locket
again. Suddenly, it clicked open. Inside was a miniature of a baby.
    “Let’s go and show these items to
mother,” suggested Amy, as she put them back into the pouch.
    They found their mother in the
sitting room working on her embroidery. She did not mind rain as long as it was
the usual British drizzle but when it became intense she became religious. She
never said as much, but Amy always had the impression that heavy and intense
rain combined with hail and thunder and lightning somehow suggested to their
mother that the Apocalypse was imminent. She was visibly nervous and agitated.
    “Mother.” Amy tapped her mother on
the shoulder to get her attention. “Look at this.”
    She looked up at her daughter.
“What is it dear?”
    “Look at this.”
    When Lady Sibbridge saw the old
timeworn pouch, she wrinkled her nose in disgust and drew back as if it was
some diseased object.
    “Oh dear,” she said sounding
perturbed, “what is that dirty old thing.”
    “An elderly sailor left this for me
while Emma and I...”
    She paused, remembering that her
mother didn’t know of the girl’s little trip to Camp Hill and Hillfield House.
    “...the old sailor approached
Hubert, and Hubert seeing how scruffily he was dressed didn’t think we would
want him in the house so he sent him to Mrs. Pemberton.”
    “Good for Hubert,” said Amy’s
mother, “he may be old, but he really is a jewel. I don’t know how we would get
along without him.”
    “He left this pouch with Mrs.
Pemberton. He said he was supposed to give it to me in person. But when he
couldn’t, he made them promise they would make sure it was put into my hand.”
    “Why didn’t Mrs. Pemberton just
send for you?”
    “He had a coach to catch. Anyway,
there were three items in the pouch, and I want to ask you about them,”
continued Amy.
    She opened the pouch and took out
the newspaper, the locket, and the letter. Setting the pouch on the small table
next to her mother, an act that her mother clearly disapproved of, she gave her
mother a quick introduction to the three items.
    “These all date from when I was