The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (23 page)

Cranford tensed. “Did you know the man?”

“Never see him afore, sir.”

“What did he look like?”

The groom, who had for a time been a prize-fighter, watched him curiously. “Nothin’ outta the way, sir. About yer height, but not a ‘top o’ the trees’ like yerself. A well-built cove, though. I says to meself as he’d likely peel to advantage. Nice spoken and perlite. A gent, certain.”

“Hmm. What kind of hack?”

“A fine beast. Sixteen hands; full of spirit; black as pitch.”

“When was this? What was the gentleman’s name?”

“Why, ’twere day afore yest’dy, Mr. Cranford. As to the gent’s name—le’see now…’Twere Gordon—or… Grant… Began with G, that I do recall.”

‘Valerian,’ thought Cranford, ’surely would not leave his first name?’

“Judge!” exclaimed the groom, triumphant. “That’s it, sir. Mr. Judge!”

Unable to wring any more details from the man, Cranford thanked him, and gave strict orders that two grooms were to stay in the stables all night, as there had already been an attempt to steal his horse. The groom, much shocked, promised faithfully that Tassels would be guarded “like she was royal!”

Tipping him generously, Cranford left. The “gent” with the pitch-black horse may very well have been Valerian. On the other hand, there were many black horses in Town. If Mr. Joshua pedlar was in fact a very different article, he might also own such an animal.

Cranford walked slowly up the steps to the Madrigal Club, wondering if it was purely coincidental that in the Bible, “Judges” was the book that followed “Joshua.”

T
he Golden Goose was a modest inn prettily situated on the banks of the river Wey not far from Woking. During the winter months it was a sleepy hostelry, most of its desultory trade derived from travellers suffering the poor road to or from London. On this cloudy Friday, however, the cobble-stones of the yard rang to the stamping of impatient and high-bred hooves; the chill air was rent by the snorts and whinnies of horses, the rumble of carriage wheels, and shouts of greeting as friend met friend. The solitary ostler had been augmented by three farm lads who shouted also as they rushed from one arriving coach to another; and all was noise and bustling good-humoured confusion.

Florian Consett turned from the window of an upper room that overlooked the courtyard, and exclaimed as the door opened, “Good morning, sir! Blake packed some clothes, as you asked. What a crush! It’s almost as crowded as was the Fair on Mitcham Common last summer! I’d never have—” He broke off, regarding his employer in alarm, “Are you well, Mr. Piers? You’re extreme pale and look—”

“Never mind how I look,” said Cranford, smiling as he threw his saddle-bags on the bed and crossed to slap his steward on the back. “You’ve worked miracles, as usual! However did you manage to secure a room for us? From what I could tell, half London is down here, and I was warned there’s not a bed to be had from Redhill to Windsor! I had visions of us sleeping in the stables!”

The praise brought a pleased flush to Florian’s lean features. “You gave me advance warning, sir, else there’d have been no hope. I fancy you were the cause of that howl I just heard.” He started to unstrap the saddle-bags. “You’re one of the favourites.”

“You mean Tassels is. No, leave that, if you please. I want you to go down and be sure she is well-quartered. And we must guard her tonight.”

With his hand on the latch of the door, Florian paused and glanced back.

“Trouble, sir?”

“Yes. Some Mohocks—perhaps. Tried to make off with her near Hyde Park several days ago. Miss Stansbury and the General think ’twas an attempt to keep her from running.”

Florian’s dark eyes had widened at the mention of Mary’s name, but he said only, “And you were able to spoil that attempt. But you didn’t come off scot-free, I think?”

“The important thing is that Tassels wasn’t harmed. I’ve left her with Sudbury; I’m glad you brought him, but you’d best go and look to her, then I want to hear all the news from home.”

Florian nodded and left. Cranford crossed the small chamber and peered out of the window. In the yard below, a group of young Corinthians moved towards the back door, conversing merrily at the tops of their lungs. Cranford recognized Bertie Crisp, a well-liked and wealthy marquis, whose round and cherubic features gave no indication of his passion for sports of all kinds.

A splendid coach was being tooled deftly through the press
of vehicles and the liveried footman ran to let down the steps and hand out a most elegant older gentleman, who glanced around idly, then raised a belaced hat to Cranford’s window. Opening the casement, Cranford called, “Welcome, Your Grace. Does your grandson ride, then?”

“He does,” answered the Duke of Marbury. “Come down, Piers. I wish to see your famous filly.”

Hurrying down the stairs, Cranford was swept into the boisterous crowd. Many of these sportsmen were old friends who thumped him on the back and shouted greetings, assured him their bets were on him, or warned that the odds were against him, since Roly Mathieson’s grand Rumpelstiltskin was entered.

Cranford responded as best he might while attempting to win through to the door without offending anyone. He caught a glimpse of carelessly powdered red hair and a pair of blue eyes set in a freckled and familiar face that grinned at him, and he managed to dodge around an argumentative trio seeking to detain him. Shouting that he’d return directly, he gripped Duncan Tiele’s arm and pulled him into the passage leading to the kitchens.

“Whew!” he gasped breathlessly. “Well met, Duncan. What a crush!”

“The price you have to pay for being a favourite,” said Tiele as they shook hands. “You still mean to ride, then? Heard you’d been hurt by Mohocks and was likely to cry off.”

Cranford’s gaze narrowed. “Who told you that?”

“Hi! Don’t slay me with that steely glare! Be dashed if I can recall who…Yes, I can, by Jove! It was Valerian. Leastways, I think it was… Kin to you, ain’t he? Claims he is, at all events.” Watching Cranford, the redhead chuckled. “Don’t like the dashing dandy, eh?”

“The relationship is a distant one.” Cranford bit back the following “Fortunately!” and asked instead, “Are you entered to ride?”

“Yes, but I know my chances are slim. Don’t have a hack who’d hold a candle to your Tassels. Or Mathieson’s animal, come to that. But strange things can happen during a cross-country race. I was surprised to hear you’d been accepted, not—No, do come down from the boughs, man! Egad, but you’re crusty today! I only meant that you don’t leave your place in Surrey very often; I’d not have thought a steeplechase could drag you away.”

“Hampshire,” corrected Cranford. “And a fellow has to put in a social appearance occasionally, lest he fade from the memory of the mighty
ton.
We don’t all have flaming locks like yours to render us unforgettable. Speaking of which—who else is here? I saw Bertie Crisp, and Marbury just arrived.”

“So he did. With his ladies, the old rascal.”

“Ladies? I saw no—”

Interrupted by a roar of laughter and recognizing a raucous howl, Cranford’s dark brows drew down briefly.

“I see you’ve identified those strident tones,” said Tiele with a sly grin. “Finchley. Your neighbour, ain’t he? A former military man, like yourself.”

Cranford grunted. “I resent the comparison. Is he riding, d’you know?”

“Yes. And winning no admirers with his boasts that his bay cannot lose. It’s a grand brute, I have to admit. What, are you off? Stay and hoist a tankard with me.”

“Gladly. Later, though. I’ve kept Marbury waiting as it is!” With a grin and a wave to his friend, Cranford started away, then turned back to ask with proper nonchalance, “Have you seen Tio Glendenning?”

“Yes, indeed. He’s entered, in fact. Fine chestnut mare called um…”

“Flame. Yes, I know.” Turning to the door, Cranford’s smile died abruptly. He thought, Tio, you
idiot!
Did you not get my warning?…’

The stables were crowded and buzzing with talk; the race,
the odds, the points of the various horses, the merits and expertise of the riders being the only topics of conversation. In a centre stall the Duke of Marbury was caressing Tassels and chatting with Daniel Sudbury, Muse Manor’s head groom. A sturdily built man in his late forties, Sudbury curried the mare and answered the duke respectfully. As Cranford made his way through the throng and came up with them, he heard Marbury say, “… doesn’t appear capable of showing her heels to my grandson’s Rumpelstiltskin, but the word is she’s a very fast little lady.”

“’Tis a word you may believe, sir,” said Cranford. “And speaking of ladies, I’m told you have several in your party.”

The duke smiled faintly as they exchanged a handshake, but said nothing. His early marriage had been disastrous. After his wife’s death, many handkerchiefs had been dropped for him, for he was the possessor of a great fortune. He had eluded every “parson’s mousetrap” set for him, however, although through the years several beauties were known to have enjoyed his protection. Only five months ago he had astonished Society by wedding the widowed Lady Clorinda Ericson, his childhood sweetheart.

Wondering if the ducal eye was already wandering, Cranford dared to murmur, “I suppose I must not ask if one of your fair companions is your charming lady wife?”

“Certainly not,” declared the duke. “Can you believe I would bring the duchess to an event intended for vulgar male creatures?”

Tassels snorted and tossed her head, impatient for Cranford’s caress. He moved at once to stroke her velvety nose and assure her she was as lovely as ever. The duke looked amused and Cranford said with a grin, “She is all female, sir, and demands her share of affection.”

“Yes, I can see that your Miss Tassels is properly devoted to you, though I suspect the feeling is mutual. What a pretty creature she is, to be sure. And you are agog with curiosity to
know whom I have escorted today. I promise you, my boy—” Marbury glanced around and lowered his voice. “I promise you I have—er, mended my ways. I refused to offer these ladies my escort unless they were veiled as propriety demands, and I’ve no intention of revealing their identities.” He chuckled and dug an elbow in Cranford’s ribs. “There are very few of the fair sex here today, and Roland will be beside himself with curiosity. Now tell me: Is it truth that you are in the basket?”

The duke had spoken softly, but the abrupt and typical shift of subject took Cranford off-stride. He flushed and glanced around, embarrassed. “Not quite that, Your Grace. The fact is that I am in hopes of enlarging the estate but seem to have encountered some determined opposition.”

“From Lord Nugent? Why? Yes, am I not the rude old gentleman? Never mind, here come my ladies, so you are reprieved.”

Cranford’s relief at the timely interruption was short-lived. Two ladies approached, each with a hand tucked into the arm of the gentleman who walked between them. They wore warm cloaks and were, as the duke had said, heavily veiled. Their cavalier, the epitome of elegance, minced along on high red heels and made no attempt to restrain the mocking grin that curved his beautifully shaped mouth.

“Valerian!” thought Cranford with revulsion.

“How glad I am that the look in your eyes is not aimed in my direction,” remarked the duke
sotto voce.
“But I’ll warrant you cannot name the lovely creatures on the arms of the—er, “deplorable dandy’”

So His Grace knew of his sobriquet for his unwanted kinsman. Irritated, Cranford wondered if these ladies, who defied convention by coming here, were the latest victims of Valerian’s much-vaunted “charm.”

“Well, well,” drawled the dandy. “If it ain’t my gallant military cousin come to lose the race.”

A familiar giggle sounded, and one of the mysterious ladies trilled, “How
droll
you are, Gervaise!”

“Deuce take it!” gasped Cranford, the mystery resolved. “Mary! What on earth are you doing here?”

A plump little hand emerged from its muff and Lucretia Westerman scolded teasingly, “Naughty, naughty boy! You should address me first, you know.”

Ignoring his cousin’s amused chuckle, Cranford bowed over Mrs. Lucretia’s fingers and apologized. “But you should not have brought her, ma’am. This is not a suitable meeting for a lady to attend without inviting notoriety.”

Miss Mary twitched away a corner of her veil and briefly her eyes twinkled at him. Small wonder her eyes were so sparkling, he thought. She must be in
alt
to be on the arm of her idol.

“I am already notorious,” she asserted pertly. “Besides, the duke was so kind as to offer us his escort. You will surely not find fault with His Grace for bringing us here?”

“Touché!”
exclaimed Valerian, laughing. “Well done, Cordelia. Wriggle out of that, if you can, cousin mine.”

Cranford ignored him. “Of course I don’t find fault with the duke’s kindness, but you must be aware, Mrs. Lucretia, that it is not—”

“—the thing,” interposed Miss Stansbury. “La, but what a piece of work you make of it, Lieutenant. I’d think you might be grateful because we came to cheer you on when your lovely Tassels wins.”