Taking Liberties by Diana Norman Page A

now.’ The voice was toneless but the American accent was strong.
    Colonial mercantile, thought the Dowager.
    Mr Powell wasn’t impressed either. ‘But, madam, you can understand . . .’ His hand indicated not only the Dowager’s position but her widow’s weeds.
    â€˜Sorry for your loss, ma’am.’ The woman didn’t look at Diana; her eyes were on Powell. ‘But, see, my daughter’s missing and that man there knows where she is.’
    It had been a terrible day, a terrible week for Makepeace and Oliver Hedley. After a breakneck journey from Newcastle to London, it had transpired that Andrew Ffoulkes, the rising young luminary of the diplomatic corps on whose help Makepeace had counted, was absent, sent abroad on a secret mission. At the house of the Marquis of Rockingham, another influential friend, they’d learned that the master was in Yorkshire.
    Though they’d scattered money like rose petals around the Admiralty, its clerks had been too harassed by the developing situation at sea to search for the information needed by an increasingly distraught woman. When, finally, they’d managed to trace the fate of the Lord Percy , the news had been awful.
    Nor had it been final; that was the thing. Apart from the fact that they had been involved in dreadful events, whether Philippa and Susan were alive or not was still uncertain; they had been supercargo, civilian passengers, and, as such, no department had been willing to assume responsibility for them.
    At last, one clerk had been helpful. ‘You want the Sick and Hurt Office, ma’am. They got them sort of records.’
    â€˜ I know where she is?’ Mr Powell asked now.
    â€˜That’s what they told me.’ Makepeace was keeping her voice steady, but when she tried to get up from her chair she sagged. She hadn’t eaten and had barely slept for seventy-two hours.
    Oliver began to fan her with his hat. Idly, the Dowager handed him her fan. ‘Use that, young man.’ She recognized desperation when she saw it and was touched. She turned to the commissioner. ‘Perhaps you had better deal with this person, Mr Powell. Now, I think, and here.’
    â€˜Oah, but all records are in my office.’
    â€˜They can be fetched,’ the Dowager told him with finality. The woman was obviously exhausted. In any case, she found herself intrigued and had no intention of missing the story about to unfold. ‘I am prepared to wait.’
    â€˜Very well, if your ladyship is sure.’
    She was sure. She took a chair at the back of the room out of everyone’s eyeline. ‘Please proceed.’
    Obediently but somewhat put out, Mr Powell seated himself at the head of the table opposite Makepeace and Oliver. ‘Name?’
    â€˜This is Mrs Hedley. I am Oliver Hedley, her stepson.’ Oliver took up the running. He produced a notebook. Having won her point and the necessary attention, Makepeace had slumped.
    â€˜March the sixth this year,’ Oliver said, ‘a Royal Navy dispatch carrier, the Lord Percy , left New York bound for London. My stepsister and a friend, Miss Susan Brewer, were onboard. Halfway across the Atlantic, the Percy was engaged by the American navy corvette Pilgrim. Percy ’s captain was killed.’ Without looking up from his notes, Oliver put a hand on Makepeace’s shoulder for a moment; she’d been fond of Captain Strang. ‘ Lord Percy was forced to strike her colours and the remaining crew and passengers were taken aboard Pilgrim . That is what the Admiralty told us.’
    Mr Powell rose from his chair. Makepeace looked up, quickly. ‘Are you listening?’
    â€˜I’m sending for the records, madam,’ Mr Powell told her. He went out into the corridor to speak to someone and came back to Oliver. ‘Yes, yes, continue. Your sister and friend, now aboard the Pilgrim . American vessel.’
    â€˜They were . But on May the