The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (34 page)

The shave completed, Blake brushed and powdered Cranford’s thick hair, and tied it back neatly. His later attempt to attach a snowy jabot to the stock was summarily rejected. Cranford said indignantly, “What are you about, you sly rascal? You know I do not care to have lace foaming out under my chin! Plain, if you please!”

The valet sighed. “If you would but wear a wig, sir. I fear you are sadly out of the fashion.”

“Very likely,” said Cranford shortly, and having shrugged into the riding coat Blake held for him, he hurried in search of his aunt.

Mrs. Burrows came into the breakfast parlour in answer to his ring. She explained that Peddars had sustained a black eye during the struggle at Muse Village and Miss Jane feared the footman may also have a broken nose, so had taken him to the apothecary. Setting a plate of eggs and sliced ham before him, she shook her head and said heavily, “By what I heard, that
was a shameful to-do last evening, Mr. Piers. Sir Peregrine looked quite pulled this morning, I thought.”

“Did you!” In the act of removing a piece of toast from the rack, Cranford asked, “Was his limp worse?”

Devoted as ever, the housekeeper nodded. “Seemed to me as it was, sir. I know he was beaten in London, which surely did not help matters. He shouldn’t be rushing about from pillar to post so soon afterwards. As I told him.” She sniffed and filled his coffee cup. “Much good it did me. I can but be glad, sir, as you took no serious harm. The world’s gone mad, so it has, when the Quality can be attacked on their own estate!”

He said gently, “And you’re worried about Florian, are you not?”

“Fair worried sick, I am, Mr. Piers.” Her voice trembled and she said shakily, “He’s a fine young gentleman and wouldn’t do such a heathen thing. Though—not wanting to speak ill of the dead, I’m bound to own that Sid Grover was not a good man and was bound to come to a bad end soon or late.”

Cranford recalled her words as he rode Tassels into the village. He agreed with the housekeeper’s sentiments but could wish that Grover had come to his “bad end” somewhere other than on Muse Manor land.

When he reached the village, his reception brought a furtive grin to his lips. Every female he encountered sent a smile his way, while the men avoided his eyes even as they touched their brows respectfully. Constable Bragg looked tired but was pleased to report that all was quiet today, and there had been no further trouble. “Keep alert,” advised Cranford. “This being a case of murder, we’ll have Runners down here today, I fancy. I may be out at the Westerman cottage for an hour or so this morning, but you can reach me there, or at the Manor, if you need me.”

Bragg looked worried, but nodded and took Cranford back to the cell. Florian greeted him eagerly. There was a look of
desperation in his dark eyes and when Cranford went inside and sat on the cot beside him he stammered that he could not endure to be locked up in such a confined space. “I suppose ’tis because I lived outdoors so much as a child,” he muttered. “These walls suffocate me. If I am condemned to spend the rest of my life shut up… My God! I had sooner be dead!”

Cranford gripped his shoulder and shook it, saying sternly that he wanted to hear no more of such nonsense. “You’ve to deal with a nasty bump in life’s road, Florian, but you have friends who will stand by you, and a sweet lady who cares for you. It was Miss Finchley sent me word of your trouble, you know.”

Florian brightened and asked, “Is that why you came, Mr. Piers? I daren’t hope you would get here in time.” His eyes clouded again. “If you had not come…”

“Well, we did come. My brother and I, and Peddars and Oliver Dixon and others. Peddars is at the apothecary this very minute because he took a broken nose during the little—er, fracas.”

“I shall have to thank him, poor fellow. And—the ladies!… Gad! Was that Miss Stansbury who swung the torch? What a swath she cut!”

Cranford chuckled. “She did, indeed. And trimmed the hair of one of the Major’s hired bravos!” He paused, then asked quietly, “You have no notion of who really killed Grover?”

A brief pause, then, “None, sir.”

Cranford looked at him steadily. “Why have I the feeling you protect someone?”

The dark eyes shifted. Gazing at the door, Florian answered, “I don’t know, sir.”

“I see.” Standing, Cranford said, “If you should change your mind, lad, send for me at once.”

In the small office he asked for the constable’s view of the matter.

Bragg looked solemn. “If young Mr. Consett is shielding
someone, sir, he’s a fool and will likely pay the full penalty under the law. The Bow Street men don’t know him as we do, and since Grover was a commoner I fancy they’ll not waste much time on looking for the guilty party. Consett will hang, sure as check. He hated the man and were found bending over the body with blood on his hands. ’Tis all the proof Bow Street will need.”

“They won’t hang my steward if I can help it,” said Cranford grimly. He opened the door, then turned back. “By the bye, has that pedlar fellow come around lately?”

“Joshua, you mean?” Bragg took himself by the chin and considered. “Not for a week or thereabouts, I think. Likely on his rounds. Them as follows that trade don’t stay in one place for long, y’know, sir. No telling where he might have gone.”

‘If I’m guessing rightly,’ thought Cranford, ‘Joshua has been in London Town these past two weeks. Hot on the trail of one foolhardy rebel!’

He retrieved Tassels and allowed several small hands to reach into his saddle-bag for the sweetmeats he carried there on such occasions. Their innocent squeaks of childish joy brought a grin to his face as he mounted up, returned their farewells, and then rode towards Quail Hill and the Westerman cottage. He had to rein in sharply, however, as a frail figure tottered out in front of him.

Ezra Sweet flourished his cane erratically, causing Tassels to shy in alarm. “What’s to become of I, Squire?” he demanded in his shrill, querulous voice. “I axes ye! What’s to become of a poor old chap like I be?”

“If you jump in front of a large horse in that foolish fashion you’ll likely not be much older,” snapped Cranford, stroking the mare’s neck soothingly.

“Easy fer you to say,” wailed the old man. “You got a fine roof over yer head, and yer own fire ter sit by of a evening. What has I got? Nought! Ye promised me a new cottage, lieutenant Piers! Ye
promised?
” His voice quavered, and he went on
brokenly, “And I does not hesitate ter—ter say as—Squire or no, it bean’t kindly fer a rich gent like you be… to go disappointing of a poor old chap as likely… won’t live long enough to enjoy—” He broke off, dabbing a vivid purple kerchief at his eyes.

Touched, Cranford said in a kinder tone, “Never despair, Ezra. I keep my promises. You should know that.”

“Aye, but—how? That’s what I axes ye. How? And when? Now that yer gypsy steward’s going to hang, as ’tis just and proper he should, though if I had my way—”

“Yes, well, we all know your way,” interrupted Cranford. “But Mr. Consett is innocent, and will neither hang nor lose his head.”

“So
ye
do say! There’s them as says there’ll be Runners from Bow Street come, roaring and stamping and clumping down here with pistols and handicuffs and chains ter drag him away and top him. What ye think ’bout that, Squire?”

“I think you would do well not to listen to such foolish gossip. I doubt very much if Bow Street will take Mr. Consett away. And if they do—”

“Or if they a’ready
has”
inserted Ezra, a sly grin creeping into his rheumy old eyes.

Cranford frowned at him. “Now what are you hinting?”

“Not
me
, Squire! Oh, never me! Minds his
p’s
and
q’s
do Ezry Sweet. Allus has. ’Tis why he’s lived to be such a very old man. But—” He stepped closer and, clinging to the stirrup, hissed, “There’s them as holds Bow Street is here a’ready. And has been here many and many a day. Slithering about, axing questions, picking up a snip here and a snap there! And if ’tis truth, ye’d be wise, Squire, ter keep clear o’ some of yer fine friends. ’Specially them as has unnatural strange green eyes and red hair under their fancy wigs!”

A chill shivered between Cranford’s shoulder-blades. He said curtly, “You speak slander, and that can carry a gaol sentence, Sweet.”

The old man quailed, and babbled nervously, “No, no, sir! Not me, Squire! And ’tis all woman talk and spoke in whispers, mind. Whispers as holds that Joshua pedlar bean’t a pedlar ’tall, but a Army spy, hunting down Rebs.” Recovering again, he said hoarsely, “And there be another whisper, jest a whisper, mind, as says that there lord friend o’ yours—the one with them nasty green eyes—were out with Bonnie Charlie!”

“Nonsense! You shouldn’t listen to such malicious gabble! And what is more, Ezra, you had best hope the gossips don’t stir up trouble for his lordship. Viscount Glendenning is a splendid architect and has promised me that just in case Florian is delayed in building you a new cottage, he is willing to help. If he should hear how you speak against him, however—”

“Oh, don’t ye go saying nothing, Squire! A poor feeble old man begs of ye!” The cane was thrown down. Raising gripped hands prayerfully, Sweet begged, “I do get took foolish-like at times, sir. My Bessie, she says I oughta be ’shamed. And I is, Squire. I won’t say no more! I swear it! If yell just not tell his lor’ship—”

He looked really close to tears now, and Cranford said, “Very well. But think twice before you say such things, Ezra, or you may be living with Bessie longer than you plan!”

Ezra shuddered at this terrible prospect, and Cranford rode out followed by fervent vows never to lend his ears to gossip again.

The gates to the Westerman cottage were closed and there was no sign of life. Disappointed, he turned to leave, but decided to ride a short distance towards Quail Hill, just in case Mary was searching for her beads again. There was no feminine figure in sight today; no pretty pink gown rippling in the breeze. Dismounting, he began to walk, letting Tassels wander, while he sought about in the meadow grasses, hoping that he might please her by finding one of her precious beads. Luck was with him; he saw a small glint half-hidden under a weed and retrieved another bead, a blue one this time, larger than
the others and smooth. He was cleaning it with his handkerchief when a shadow fell across the grass and he turned quickly.

Mary stood stroking Tassels and smiling at him. Today she wore a cloak of dark red velvet clasped high to the throat with large gold buttons; the hood, richly embroidered with gold thread, framed her face. There were roses in her cheeks and her bright eyes echoed her smile. Tongue-tied, he thought, “How lovely she is. And how could I have been such a fool as not to see it?”

“I am so glad you came, Lieutenant Piers,” she said and reached out to him.

He thrust his handkerchief into his pocket hurriedly so as to take her hand. “And I £m very…” His voice sounded strained and hoarse in his ears. He coughed and apologized, feeling clumsy and stupid, and stammered, “I am glad… also. Er—that
you
came, I mean. And—and—oh, Mary, you were splendid last evening! I tried to find you afterwards, but you’d gone. I wish you had not. I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank
me?
You are the one stopped those dreadful men from murdering Fiorian! I think I have never been so angry as when that coward clubbed you down from behind.”

“Even so, I was properly vanquished till you charged so bravely to the rescue.”

She chuckled and they began to walk slowly up the hill together. “I had my little army, don’t forget,” she said.

“I am never like to forget such dauntless Amazons.”

“From what I have read”—Mary glanced at him from under her lashes—“the Amazons were very warlike women, strong and aggressive and always fighting. Is that… how you think of me?”

“’Tis a picture I shall carry to my grave! You swinging that blazing torch—cutting a swath through the crowd! I am all admiration!”

“Are you?” She stopped and looked up at him. “I would have
thought you the type of gentleman to admire a dainty and petite lady; the shy, gentle sort.”

“Much good a dainty and petite lady would have done me last evening!”

“Oh.” A small frown wrinkled her brow so briefly that he did not see it. Her lashes fell. Walking on again, she asked, “Do you think Florian has any chance of proving his innocence?”

“No. I think we must prove it for him. How is Miss Finchley taking all this?”

“She is shattered, poor dear. And what makes it worse is that her horrid papa is gloating and triumphant because he says the guilty party is in gaol and—Well, he delights to describe Florian’s dreadful fate. If only we knew what really happened. Have you any suspicions at all?”

“Many. Grover was far from popular and several men had good reason to hold a grudge ’gainst him. But I had a strong impression last night that Florian knows more than he has said and is shielding someone.”

“My goodness!” She touched his arm and asked urgently, “Did you tax him with it?”

“Yes.” He put his hand over her fingers. “He denied it. I think the only person he might confide in would be his lady. Do you suppose Miss Finchley might be persuaded to visit him?”

“In
gaol?
Heavens—no! The Major would never permit it.”

“If it were a matter of life and death…”

“And you think it might be?”

“If it were indeed—and if I were able to help her, would she dare to defy her father and slip away?”

Mary pondered worriedly, then shook her head. “I very much doubt it. She is a gentle creature.” Another searching glance was slanted at him. “Not,” she murmured, “an Amazon… like me.”

“Very true.” He drew her to a halt. She seemed a little flushed. He wondered if she guessed what he was going to say,
and taking a deep breath, nerved himself and began, “Miss Mary, it seems an age, but I know it is not long since I spoke, and I am probably rushing my fences. But—you know me a little better now, I think. Will you not consider my offer?”

Mary stood very still, gazing at a gorse bush, her face expressionless.

His heart pounding madly, Cranford waited through a pause that seemed endless.