The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (13 page)

“Aha! So that’s why Florian decked him!” Piers grinned. “I never did have the straight of it. ’Twas jolly well done. Especially when you consider Florian is half Grover’s size.”

His aunt uttered an exasperated but lady-like snort. “How can you say that it was well done? Do you not see what has come of it? Sidney Grover is the type of ruffian who will do anything to even the score, and I fear he’s not a man to play fair.”

He watched her thoughtfully. She was clearly upset and nervous, which was unlike her. He said, “It seems to me that Florian was in the right of it to defend a boy who is in a roundabout fashion one of our people, and I’d guess the village folk would agree. Speaking of whom… Have you had any dealings with that pedlar who’s taken to wandering about the village?”

“Not many. Why? Do you disapprove of the man?”

“I know nothing to his discredit. He must be doing a good trade, since he is here so often.”

Miss Guild looked dubious. “I doubt he shows much profit. His prices are reasonable enough. He called here a few times. His name is Joshua, and I must say he was very polite and respectful, in fact he gave me a bargain on some wool for—” Her eyes sharpened and she interrupted herself to demand, “But what has that to do with Florian defending Herbert Turner?”

“Nought,” he said, offering her another slice of cheese. “I suppose my mind wandered, love. It happens as we grow older, I’ve heard.” She laughed and told him to speak for himself, and he said lightly, “The fact is that we chanced to see your pedlar friend in the village today, and Tio had the notion he knew him from somewhere but couldn’t recall where. Since you ladies always manage to learn everything about anyone new…”

Undeceived by his nonchalant manner, she interposed keenly,
“Tio
thought he knew him? Oh, heavens! Do you take Joshua for—for some kind of government spy? If that is the case, I cannot be of much assistance. He is always ready for a chat, but never speaks of himself or his background. Do you want me to see what I can find out?”

“There’s probably nothing to it, but—yes, you might poke around a little. Carefully. Just in case, you know. May I peel an apple for you?”

“You may stop trying to make light of the business. Dear, oh dear! I
knew
you were worrying about something!”

“Not so. I may err on the side of caution, but I never worry. You should know that.”

“Fiddlesticks! You worry about all of us and guard us, like—like a hen with her chicks!”

Revolted, he exclaimed, “No! That’s a horrid simile, Aunt Jane! At least name me a rooster!”

“Well, you know what I mean. You work day and night and seldom take time for yourself and your own interests—”

“You are my interest,” he teased, quartering the apple and passing it to her.

“And that’s another thing. You should be looking about for a pretty lady to marry, but you so seldom go into Society that the hostesses have given up asking…” The smile had left his eyes and his face was suddenly stern; noting which she broke off and said apprehensively, “Forgive. I don’t mean to be a nag, but—”

“But my lack of a lady is not what’s really disturbing you, is it? Out with it, love.”

She hesitated, then said miserably, “Oh, Piers—I wish I had not to bring you more bad news, but… Oliver Dixon was here while you were out—”

“What—again? Tio and I rode over to the farm this morning and saw the flooding. It’s an ugly mess but Florian has hired another waggon and two extra workers, which should help, if—Ah. There is something else, I see.”

With a heavy sigh, she said, “It’s the new plough you bought, dear. One of the farm-hands found it in a ditch. It had been smashed. Deliberately, so Dixon believes. And—and, oh my, it is so sad, but… They have found Gertrude and her calf.
The poor creatures drowned sometime during the night.”

Piers sat very still and seemed scarcely to breathe. His aunt saw the colour drain from his face, leaving him very pale. He had purchased the strange-looking black-and-white heifer from a Dutch farmer who had shipped four beasts to Sussex, saying they were Friesians and demanding a high price. Piers had been among the very few men willing to meet that price. It was one of the rare occasions when the twins had disagreed. Peregrine was against the purchase, but Piers had stuck stubbornly to his convictions. It had been a struggle to raise the funds, and many there were who had scoffed and said he’d thrown his money away. Jane had named the new arrival Gertrude after a friend who had always worn black and white, but others named the animal “Cranford’s Folly” and laughed because they thought her ungainly. Peregrine had resented the jeering but Piers had taken it all in good part. He’d been proud of the heifer when she grew to be larger than other cattle, and, confident that he’d be well rewarded for his investment, had searched carefully for a worthy mate. He’d paid another high price as stud fee, and again there had been laughter and criticism. But Gertrude had presented him with a fine bull calf and the scoffers had been silenced when she became a splendid milk producer. Other landowners had begun to show an interest in the animal and Piers had planned to show her at the Summer Livestock Fair in Short Shrift. Her loss was more than a financial matter, however. Gertrude had become an affectionate creature, and would invariably wander across the pasture to greet whoever approached. They had all been fond of her, even Peregrine admitting that his twin had done well in his risky investment.

Watching her nephew’s stricken face anxiously, Miss Guild patted his hand and said, “My dear—I am so sorry.”

He thanked her and said gruffly that he would ride over to the Home Farm at once.

Miss Guild walked to the stables and waited with him while his mare was saddled up. Watching his supple mount, and the way Tassels came almost at once to the gallop, she found herself praying that this latest disaster would be the last to worry him.

T
he air was chill by the time Cranford left the Home Farm, and the dark clouds that were climbing up the eastern horizon matched his mood. Oliver Dixon had looked grim and had little to say about the loss of Gertrude, but Mrs. Dixon, a tender-hearted woman, had shed tears. Dixon had accompanied him to the field where the cattle had been found and pointed out the spot where the flood waters had concealed a ditch into which the animals had blundered. Folding his arms across his broad chest, he’d tucked in his chin and waited in silence.

Investigating, Cranford formed his own conclusions, saying at length, “Does it not seem odd to you that Gertrude would wade so far into the water? Surely, a beast would instinctively keep to higher ground?”

“Aye! And so I do think, sir.” Obviously gratified that his suspicions were shared, the farmer had growled, “Nor her bull calf wouldn’t have gone paddling in that muck. Not,” he added meaningfully, “less’n he was druv! Mischief, it were, sir! Plain wickedness! Likely done by some o’ they vandals and tramps
as curate were speaking of last Sunday; them what took William Goode’s pig. The wicked shall not go unpunished,’ he said. And no more should they! Trying to make off wi’ our Gertrude, they was, mark my words, and druv her into the water, being iggerant and not knowin’ how to herd cattle. Be ye goin’ to tell the constable what we thinks and about our smashed new plough, sir?”

Cranford had promised to do so, and had then left the farm and ridden towards the Westerman property to see the new fence. Dixon’s solution to the puzzle did not satisfy him. He was plagued by a suspicion that the gunshot which had so narrowly missed him could be connected to this series of calamities and had to tell himself sternly not to allow imagination to get the best of him. If he allowed himself to believe the worst he’d have Perry sensing his alarm and posting down here! Deep in thought, he paid little attention to his surroundings until he found they were atop the Quail Hill Bridge. He swore in disgust and reined Tassels to a halt. The old hump-backed bridge was not blocked, but at a short distance from the north end a fence had been erected, running from the water’s edge northward across the lane for twenty or so yards, then swinging in a wide curve back to the east, where it connected with a taller fence around the Westerman house. There was a narrow gate barely sufficient to allow a single horseman or a pedestrian to pass, and a pair of wider gates, now closed, allowed access to the house. A tall sign positioned outside the house bore the warning that had so angered Oliver Dixon, painted in bold red letters.

“Be damned!” exclaimed Cranford. “Did ever you see such an ugly mess, Tassels?”

The fence was indeed unlovely, consisting of unpainted boards and rising to a height of about four feet. It had not been designed for beauty but to keep traffic out, and this it very efficiently did, for the river was too deep at this point to allow a team to wade across, and few men would go to the house braving that ominous sign.

Cranford’s jaw set. He started Tassels towards the cottage, but upon glancing up saw that once again a lady wandered about the high meadows. Perhaps Miss Mary Westerman was here with her maid and there was no one else to speak with. He hesitated briefly, then turned Tassels down the bridge, flung open the smaller gate and rode towards her, raising his hat as he came up. “Searching for more of your beads, Miss Westerman?”

She swung around, looking startled. “Oh! Good day, sir. Yes, I—er, was, as a matter of fact.”

Her sunny smile had dawned almost at once, it was an infectious smile and his dark mood was lightened. With an answering smile he said teasingly, “And alone again! Do you not fear that your militant abigail will take you to task?”

She gave a little rippling laugh and declared that she was in truth shaking in her shoes. Reaching up to caress the mare, she said, “You were riding this lady the first time we met. Is she your favourite? I’d not be surprised. I never saw a prettier creature. How do you call her?”

“Her name is Tassels. Thank you, but pray do not flatter her. She is so much admired that she is already far too impressed by her own consequence.” Miss Westerman’s eyes, sparkling with amusement, met his own. He said, “No, really, it is truth. I am forever rejecting offers for her.” He put his hand over one of Tassels’ ears and half-whispered, “Some are quite tempting, but she is a managing female, and won’t allow me to consider them.” Tassels shook her head as if in confirmation, and releasing her ear he said, “There! Do you see how she voices her opinion?”

“I do, and I am quite in sympathy with her. But don’t worry, Miss Tassels. I think your master is a great tease and has no least intent to ever let you go.”

Watching her, in some unaccountable fashion he was reminded of Cordelia Stansbury; yet how different they were. Mary Westerman was such a friendly, cheerful damsel. Her
fresh young face was innocent of powder and paint, and the glossy curls that peeped beneath the hood of her cloak were her own. Nor did she wear hoops, and the small feet that he glimpsed below her gown were encased in sensible half-boots. No paint and wig and high Spanish heels for this young lady, and in his eyes she was far more attractive for the lack of them.

He swung down from the saddle. “Perhaps I can help? Is this where you broke your beads? I had thought it was over there.”

“You are likely right, Mr. Cranford. Thank you.”

He accompanied her up the rise and Tassels grazed as they talked and searched about. It was easy to talk to Mary Westerman, and before he knew it Cranford found himself telling her about the flood and the loss of his prize cow.

She halted and touched his arm with ready sympathy. “Oh, the poor dear thing! However did it happen?”

He felt a rush of gratitude for her understanding, and told her what he knew of the matter and of the suspicions he and Dixon shared. He was not given to betraying his feelings and was embarrassed to realize that he had been rambling on for several minutes and that his voice sounded hoarse and strained in his own ears. He stopped speaking abruptly, and feeling his face grow hot, exclaimed, “What a fool I am to babble on like this! I apologize, Miss Westerman, and hope you will believe that I have not quite taken leave of my senses. I do apprehend that she was, after all, only a cow.”

“Not so! I saw her and her calf one day. Such an unusual animal, and when I called to her she came over to chat with me in the most friendly way. Tis no wonder you considered her to be more of a pet. I know little of cattle but I thought her very beautiful and can appreciate that you had such plans for her. It is indeed a great loss. I am so very sorry.”

Overwhelmed by such warm kindness, he thanked her gruffly and there was a brief but not uncomfortable silence as they walked on side by side.

With his head bowed he exclaimed, “Jove! I believe I’ve found another of your beads!” He retrieved the small stone and wiped away the mud that coated it. “No—I think this cannot be—”

Miss Westerman took it from his hand eagerly. “It is! What keen eyes you have!”

“Are you sure, ma’am? It is red, and the other was green, as I recall.”

“My necklace is of mixed stones. Very old, and quite unusual.” She shivered. “Goodness, how cold it has become. I must start back, sir.”