Never Doubt I Love (14 page)

“Exactly so. You know he was a tool of the League of Jewelled Men?”

“Yes. Ah, then you think it was an execution!”

“He made mistakes. The Squire d-don't permit mistakes. I think they gave him more latitude than-than most, but they decided to punish him, and to do so in such a way that one of us would be blamed.”

“You, Sir Owen! Praise God, it did not work.”

“It came blasted close to working! Their fiendish coach passed us the first time to make sure I was driving. On their second p-pass, they must not have realized that Lieutenant Cranford had taken the ribbons!”

Florian said gravely, “A neat trap, sir. Meant to kill two birds with one stone.”

“But sprung on the wrong man. You-you must f-find Lieutenant Morris and t-tell him all this.”

“Not now, sir. Forgive, but you are shivering again. When Mr. Peregrine comes back, I'll slip away. Please, try to rest now.” He stood and walked to the door, then turned back. Sir Owen was watching him. He said, “One last question, if I may, sir. Shall you be able to keep my master clear of the League? Is it possible, now?”

Sir Owen sighed. “I don't know, Florian. We can sure as the devil try!”

C
HAPTER
VI

By the time a pale and fearful Gorton had been restored to her and a very scared Cecil Stone had driven them home, Zoe felt quite wrung out, and ready to follow Gorton's suggestion that she lie down and rest in her quiet bedchamber. In some mysterious fashion, however, news of the tragedy had preceded them. They reached Yerville Hall to find Lady Buttershaw's great coach drawn up outside, with her coachman and personal footman on the box, two lackeys standing up behind, and three mounted gentlemen apparently ready to serve as outriders.

Lady Buttershaw herself emerged onto the front steps, wearing an awesomely high wig, wrapped in a sable cloak, and clutching a furled umbrella much as if it had been a military baton. She waved the umbrella on high and howled, “Forward to … Bond…” Catching sight of Stone and the small coach at that point, her call to arms faded. The rescue mission was disbanded, and, looking somewhat thwarted, my lady led the way into the house. Lady Julia hurried to Zoe's side, and one glance at her pale and anxious face was sufficient for Zoe to declare that she had suffered no injuries beyond a few bruises, and would be quite all right if she might just rest for a little while.

Comfortably settled on a sofa in the withdrawing room, with a hot cup of tea in her hand, she gave a very brief account of the incident. Lady Julia uttered occasional murmurs of shock or sympathy. Lady Buttershaw was attentively silent, her thin lips tightly compressed and her eyes glittering.

“It was truly dreadful,” said Zoe, her voice tremulous. “That poor gentleman! I never saw anyone k-killed before.”

Lady Julia squeezed her hand and said understandingly, “Of course you did not, poor child! I wonder you were in a condition to be driven home, I am sure such a sight would have left me quite prostrated!”

“I have not a doubt of it,” Lady Buttershaw agreed, with a scornful glance which reduced her sister to silence.

Zoe said quickly, “I knew you would be worried for my sake, so I asked to be allowed to come home at once, instead of making a statement at the scene.”

From Lady Buttershaw came an explosive snort. “If there is one thing I cannot and
will
not countenance, Miss Grainger, it is that any least breath of—
scandal
—should touch this house!

Taken aback, Zoe protested, “Surely, 'tis not scandalous, ma'am, that I chanced to witness an accident?”

“Accident? I understood you to call it by quite another name. Did not you, Julia? Was this debacle not described to us as a foul murder?”

Lady Yerville said hesitantly, “Well, er, yes. But if—”

“Exactly so. And murder, I advise you, will be reported in the newspapers. Vulgarity in its most depraved form.” Lady Buttershaw shuddered, and closed her eyes. “I never
dreamed
the day would dawn when anyone under my roof would consort with such low people!”

Beginning to feel like a criminal, Zoe said, “But I did not consort with anyone, my lady! I promise you I would have nothing to do with that horrid—”

“Had you not been wandering about the back streets
unescorted,
you would have been spared such a tawdry encounter! Indeed, why Gorton was not at your side is something I shall be pleased to have explained to me!”

“Yes, but the poor child must be quite worn out, Clara,” interposed Lady Julia valiantly. “Surely we need not—”

“One gathers,” Lady Buttershaw swept on, overriding her sister's gentle tones, “that we must be grateful Miss Grainger escaped the indignity of being hauled off to Bow Street!”

“The Runner wanted me to go there,” admitted Zoe. “But fortunately, he agreed to bring the papers here inst—”

“
What?
What papers?”

“Why, I—I promised the Runner I will sign a statement that I saw the way that disgusting creature was driving, and—”

Lady Buttershaw thundered, “You—will—do—no—such—thing!”

Zoe had never heard even her step-mother shout so, and she shrank. But although her voice shook, she persisted bravely, “My apologies an that dis-distresses you, ma'am, but I consider it my duty to testify—”

“Consider again, gel! While you are under my roof—”

Surprisingly Lady Julia put in with quiet but rare firmness, “Now Clara, we must not be hasty.”

“I cannot stand idly by,” persisted Zoe, “and let that evil doctor—”

“
Doctor?
'Twas my understanding that the person driving—” Lady Buttershaw's teeth snapped shut, as if she'd said more than she intended.

Lady Julia stroked Zoe's hand soothingly. “Are you acquainted with the gentleman, my dear?”

“Not acquainted, ma'am. But I had—er, encountered him before, as I tried to tell Lady Buttershaw, when he drove past us on the way to London.”

Lady Buttershaw stared, then, comprehension dawning, she demanded, “Do you say your murderous driver was that same insolent
ruffian
who made off with my wig when we came up from High Wycombe?”

It was one way of putting it, thought Zoe. “The very same, ma'am. And at the Three Horse Inn I had seen him playing with—with a severed limb!”

“God bless my soul,” gasped Lady Julia. “The man must be a monster
veritable!
”

Lady Buttershaw, who had been struck to momentary silence, now bellowed, “Why was I never
informed
of this? I will tell you, Miss Grainger, that it does no
good
to go through life with your tongue in your pocket. You are duty bound to supply whatever details Bow Street may require of you. Especially since you were an actual witness to the crime. Collect your thoughts and tell them exactly what you saw. Pon rep, but I fail to see the difficulty!”

Zoe's head was aching and she was beginning to feel very tired indeed. She said, “I will, ma'am. Though … if you please, I do not want to think of it any more today! It was so horrid!”

Lady Julia stood. “It must have been, indeed. Clara, the child must not—”

“Dwell upon it?” her sister interrupted. “I agree, and we shall change the subject, for I've a more important matter to discuss.”

Zoe's heart sank, and Lady Julia exclaimed with real indignation, “
Now?
Surely this is not the time!”

“Why ever not? My dear sister, pray do not indulge your foolish habit of making every molehill into a mountain! It was a sad occurrence, and the perpetrator must be punished. But the unfortunate victim was, after all, unknown to Miss Grainger, and while it would be proper for her, in Christian charity, to include him in her prayers tonight, his passing has nothing to say to us, and there is no cause for her to be weeping and wailing and gnashing her teeth!”

A little flushed, Lady Julia ventured, “Nor is she doing so, but I scarcely think—”

“That is all too apparent! If you did so, Julia, you would realize that I have gone to considerable pains in behalf of Miss Grainger, and I am entitled to hear what she has to say!”

“Yes, but not—”

“You may leave us, sister. I am very sure your creatures are pining for you!”

Pierced by a blazing glare, Lady Julia stood her ground for a moment, then wilted, murmured something incoherent, and drifted away.

“There,” said Lady Buttershaw as the door closed behind her sister. “Now we may be comfortable. I should warn you, Miss Grainger, not to be unduly influenced by Lady Julia Yerville. She is good hearted, but hers is not—er, in the general way of things—a strong spirit. You will do much better to model yourself after me. But we will say no more on that head, for I require to have your opinions.”

Zoe, who would have thought her opinions were of not the slightest interest to this formidable matron, stammered, “My—opinions…? On—on what, ma'am?”

“Great heavens, gel! What would you suppose? The
prospects,
of course! Heaven knows, I gathered the pick of the current crop for your approval. All scions of the finest families and with the best of connections. Charming young gentlemen, of most excellent address. And, last, but by no means least, not one having less than fifteen thousand a year!” A crocodilian smile was levelled at Zoe's astounded countenance. My lady prompted coyly, “Well, my dear?”

Zoe gulped, “Do you—do you refer to the gentlemen who attended your party l-last evening, ma'am?”

“To whom else would I refer, pray? Hackham? Or my coachman? Do try not to be such a widgeon! I promised to find you a husband, did I not? Be so good as to tell me which one you favour.”

Conjuring up Sir Gilbert Fowles' leering grin; the vapid incoherencies of the man called “Purr”; Mr. Reginald Smythe, with his malicious tongue and high-pitched giggle; Zoe thought numbly, ‘And those were the best of a very silly lot! My heavens!'

*   *   *

“I cannot properly express my admiration of you, my dear boy.” Lady Buttershaw fluttered fan and eyelashes at her morning caller, and purred disastrously, “To venture out on a rainy morning, only to see me! And especially when it must be monstrous difficult for you to get about.”

A muscle rippled in Peregrine Cranford's jaw. Yesterday's appalling tragedy and his subsequent battle with the Bow Street blockheads had been nightmarish. He'd hoped today would be better, but he had not dreamed when Great Uncle Nugent desired him to call upon a distant relation that he would become the victim of so tiresome a lady. The “tour” of the innumerable historical artifacts in this gloomy saloon had taken a full hour, during which time he'd made a really heroic effort to appear interested. He had thought then to escape, but had been thwarted at every turn, and was now trapped with a glass of sherry in his hand and a strong sense of ill usage in his heart. He declared that he found it not in the least difficult to “get about,” and was further irritated to be the recipient of a sympathetic smile and a murmured, “So brave! So uncomplaining!”

“Furthermore, ma'am,” he pointed out, “the rain stopped half an hour since, and the sun is shining. As I said, the general desired me to call and present his compliments, which I have been pleased to do.”

“Thus so kindly granting me the pleasure of your company,
dear
cousin Peregrine,” she trilled.

So far as he could unravel the family connection, the general's late wife, Great Aunt Eudora, had been second cousin to Lady Buttershaw's mama-in-law. To name him “cousin” in so proprietary a fashion was, he thought aggrievedly, taking advantage of the situation. Further appalled by her coy glance, he lied that the “pleasure” had been all his, and rather pointedly set down his glass.

“Ah, but you are eager to leave me,” she said, pouting a little. “Alas, alas! And just as I was trying to summon the courage to avail myself of dear Nugent's generous offer.”

He thought, ‘Heaven help us all! Now what?' and lifted his brows in faint enquiry.

“How well you do it!” She gave his wrist a playful little rap with her fan. “Such a proud tilt to your handsome head; so haughty a droop of your lips. Every inch the proud aristocrat. Disdain conveyed, yet with not a word uttered that might give offence! I have seen it practised by
la fine fleur de la société
and I will tell you that—aside from August Falcon who is a master of the art—I never saw it done better! Which is remarkable in so young a man!”

His face flaming, he said, “Ma'am, I assure you I meant no disrespect, but—”

“But I bored you with our family history, and then irked you by referring to your affliction, and like all proud men you do not like your wounds touched, no?”

The glittering eyes that bored at him, and the smile that made her upper lip appear glued to her teeth held more of triumph than amusement. Almost one might have heard the ring of crossing swords; a duel she had won—thus far, at least. He met her regard steadily and evaded in a cool drawl, “I believe you referred to an offer the general had made?”

“And I am properly set down. Bravo!” Her laugh set his teeth on edge. She said in that too-loud bray of a voice, “No, my fine gallant.
You
did. Never say you have forgot, naughty one. The general commanded you to be of service to me. That
was
what you told me, I think?”

“But, of course, ma'am.” Dreading her answer, he enquired, “Have you a commission for me?”

“Just a very …
teensy
one. But— No! Not for the world would I interfere with the far more important demands on your valuable time! So you are free to go.” She sighed. “Even though our visit has been sadly brief. “Or so it has seemed to me, at least.”