The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (9 page)

Florian lost no time in replacing his arm. Smiling fondly into his lady’s flashing eyes, he pointed out that Mrs. Stansbury had tried to arrange a match between her daughter and Gervaise Valerian. “And you say Cordelia loves the gentleman—no?”

Laura sighed and nestled close against the handsome young man whose jet hair and olive complexion reinforced the opinions of those who held him to be of gypsy birth. “She has loved him all her life,” she said sadly. “But…”

“But Miss Cordelia is neither beautiful—No, do not fly into the boughs, my loyal little love! Be honest.”

“Are you being honest? When did you last see her?”

“I think I have never seen the lady. But I’ve heard that despite the fact she is judged rather plain and has now come home in deep disgrace, she rejected Mr. Cranford when he was so gallant as to offer for—”

“Ooh!” Laura wrenched away again and declared, “I would think, of all people, you would understand her feelings!”

Florian’s dark eyes hardened. “Of… all people…? Do you mean that because your sire judges me a—what did he call me the last time?—‘a thieving gypsy bastard’ who has not the right to polish your shoes, much less aspire to your hand—”

Distressed, she pressed her fingers to his lips and murmured, “Never say such things, my dearest love. You know I do not share my papa’s prejudices. What I meant was that—because we are sadly denied our happiness I think you might sympathize with my poor Cordelia’s predicament. When she laughed at Mr. Cranford’s offer—”

Florian gave a gasp. “She
laughed?
Oh, Jupiter! Small wonder
my Lieutenant had a face like a thunder-cloud when he came back home! I do not understand, Laura. If her admired Gervaise don’t want her—and mind you, he’s not a quarter the man Mr. Cranford is—one might suppose she’d be grateful to—Whoops! I’ve done it again! You’re gnashing your teeth at me!”

“You deserve that I should! What is she to be grateful for, pray tell? An offer from a gentleman she knows has not the smallest interest in her, and would wed her purely to save the face of that puffed-up uncle of his?”

“Great-uncle, love. And Miss Cordelia’s face would thus be saved also, I think. But we have other things to talk of then—”

“Than my poor friend?” Miss Finchley uttered a lady-like snort. “Who is offered a marriage made in heaven, no less! Small wonder she refused to accept such a loveless bargain.”

Florian sighed, but lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly, “And what of her fierce mama? How did she view this—bargain?”

“She boxed poor Cordelia’s ears and said she had thrown away her last chance for a respectable marriage—which was the most she could hope for now she has ruined herself. And that she does not intend to support a spinster daughter for the rest of her days.”

“The lady would seem to have a hard heart. I collect Miss Cordelia has no choice but to apologize and accept my Lieutenant, which would be in her best interests at all events. Now can we not talk of our own—”

“You mistake it!” overrode the single-minded Miss Finchley. “Cordelia is proud—too proud to spend her life kissing Mr. Cranford’s boots and whining of her gratitude and—and repentance!”

“As if he would expect such slavish behaviour,” said Florian indignantly. “Piers Cranford is one of the finest men I know. He may not possess a great fortune, but as his wife Miss Stansbury would be treated with a kindness she’d likely never have been shown by that strutting popinjay Valerian!”

Laura pulled the hood of her cloak tighter against a gust of cold wind and said slowly, “You may be right, dear. But I think Cordelia will never wed any other, however her mama may plot and scheme.”

“Gemini! Do you fancy Mrs. Stansbury will try again to—”

“To entrap another hapless bachelor? Most definitely! Cranford didn’t really suit her, at all events. She says he is a nobody and not to be compared with Gervaise Valerian for looks or fortune.”

“Which is why every matchmaking mama in the
ton
is on the catch for him. One might think she would have realized her daughter was, er”—Florian hesitated and finished cautiously—“not likely to catch his eye.”

“True, I suppose. Gervaise is everything most girls dream of—handsome, charming, wealthy, and heir to a baronetcy. Mrs. Stansbury knew he could have his pick of London’s beauties and that there was no chance for Cordelia unless he were forced into offering. Oh, Florian! If you but knew how
mortified
she was at that dreadful ball.”

“What do you suppose she will do now? Life with her mama must be insupportable, I’d think. Has she relations who would take her in?”

“I rather doubt it. Mrs. Stansbury quarrelled with all of them and they have been completely estranged ever since.”

“Even so, Miss Cordelia must live
somewhere
, dearest. Surely her mama would not dare turn her out into the street, and she is too young to set up her own household.”

“She told me she has—a Plan.” Laura looked solemn. “And—oh, my goodness, I know her—Plans. Faith, but I dread to think of what may happen.”

Florian kissed her cheek and tightened his arm about her. “Then turn your thoughts instead to what may happen to us, my love.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder and said sadly, “I
dread to think of that as well. If my father should ever find out that I sometimes slip out to meet you!…”

“He would have my ears, I know. And in truth I cannot blame the gentleman. You deserve a splendid match, rather than to be tied to a young fellow who cannot even claim a legal family name and has no fortune whatsoever!”

Smiling at him fondly, Laura said, “You will succeed, I know it. You have looks and charm and—”

“And had it not been for the Cranford twins I would have starved by this time.” He said without enthusiasm, “Perhaps I should take the King’s shilling and enlist in the Army. I might work my way up—”

“And in the meantime I would never see you!” Seizing him by the collar of his coat, she cried, “And you might be killed! Oh, Florian! I could not bear it if I lost you! Only think, dearest, Lieutenant Piers has already made you his steward—a splendid achievement for so young a man!”

“And that achievement would render me acceptable in the eyes of your sire? Hah!”

“But—but I am growing older, Florian! I am nineteen already. We have only to wait until I am of age. Papa cannot forbid me to marry you then.” She tilted up his chin and peered into the eyes that had been turned from her. “Dear one—you
will
wait? No, look at me! And promise you’ll not go rushing off into the Army.”

He forced a smile and kissed her and gave her his promise. Soon afterwards, watching her scurry across the park towards her father’s great house, he was all too aware that meeting her against Major Finchley’s wishes was dishonourable conduct. Lieutenant Piers had warned him repeatedly against coming here. Yet what other hope had they for ever seeing each other? Piers Cranford was a fine man, but if he had ever loved deeply, he would understand. Still, the need for all this secrecy brought a troubled frown to his face, and returning to the shrubs where
he had tethered his horse, he acknowledged wistfully that he and his beloved had small chance of ever finding their happiness.

“It’s agin me nature to come frettin’ ye with it, Mr. Cranford.” Oliver Dixon perched on the very edge of his chair in the Muse Manor study, turning his hat in gnarled, agitated hands as he gazed across the littered desk at his young landlord. “If we hadn’t had so much dratted rain, the river likely wouldn’t’ve backed itself up, nor the bridge wouldn’t’ve fell itself down. But as things are, sir, I be powerful glad you’re home again.”

“Yes.” Cranford smiled and said bracingly that he would ride over to the farm in the morning. “And well see what’s to be done, Oliver.”

Dixon looked even more distressed. “If ye could possibly come today, sir,” he pleaded. “The fields are gettin’ flooded, and me cows be already hock-deep in water, and the feed’s gettin’ soaked and turnin’ mouldy, and I cannot haul feed in wi’out Hound’s Tooth Bridge!”

Cranford nodded worriedly. “I wish I could come today, but I’ve two fellows waiting to see me, and there’s no point in my riding out to the farm after dark. Have you been able to discover what caused the river to back up? We’ve come through more severe winters than this with no trouble.”

“By what I can tell, sir, the side of Hounds Tooth Hill just give way and slid down. Blocked the whole channel and sent the water rushin’ into my fields!”

“Did it, by Jove! Then until we can clear the river-bed, there’s nothing for it but you must haul your supplies over the east bridge. It’s the long way round, but—” Cranford paused. “What now?”

The farmer shook his head and said glumly, “Can’t be done, sir. We’d have to cross the Westermans’ property. I rid over,
but there’s big signs bin put up, and it’s more’n I dare do to go past ’em and open the gate.”

“Gate?” Cranford stood and came around the desk to ask frowningly, “What gate?”

“The gate in the fence round that there great house they call a cottage. Fence went up whilst you was away, it did, and they’ve stuck up a sign saying as trespassers will be shot!
Shot!
But I ’spect—if
you
was to go, sir?…”

Taken aback by this news, Cranford concealed his vexation and said lightly, “Are you trying to be rid of me, you rascal?” He swung the door open, and calmed Mr. Dixon’s protests, assuring him he spoke in jest, that there must be some misunderstanding on the part of the Westermans, and that he would ride over first thing in the morning, inspect the damage and then call at the Westerman cottage.

His tenant departed, looking somewhat gratified, but Cranford’s reassuring smile faded. Why the deuce would anyone put up so grim a sign in this peaceful countryside? The sooner he came at the root of it, the better. Despite what he had told Dixon, he was of a mind to ride out as soon as he finished here, if the light held. Glancing up, his heart sank. Aunt Jane was talking with the curate, who had joined the two villagers waiting to see him. They all looked anxious. So much for riding out soon. It would be, he thought stifling a sigh, a long afternoon.

“I would not trouble you with it, dear,” murmured Jane Guild, watching her nephew carve the roast pork, “but it drips right onto my bed, which I cannot like, you know.”

“Well, of course not, love,” answered Cranford, wondering where he could find sufficient funds to repair the bridge and the damage to the Home Farm, and rebuild Ezra Sweet’s cottage, which had unaccountably caught fire three nights ago—thank God the poor old fellow had not been hurt! And now the
bells of St. Mark’s Church must be replaced, to say nothing of dealing with the havoc they’d wrought on the choir loft when they’d come crashing down.

“Piers! Thank you, but that’s quite enough!” said Miss Guild, taken aback by the increasing mound of sliced pork on her plate.

“It’s so old, you know,” muttered Cranford, adding yet another slice.

“The pork?” asked his aunt, eyeing it uneasily.

He looked up at her. “Pork? No! St. Mark’s, of course. Didn’t I—” He broke off, flushing as he saw the massive serving he had prepared for his aunt, who was not a large lady. With an embarrassed grin, he said, “What on earth am I about? Your pardon, m’dear.” Removing some slices, he handed the plate to footman Peddars, who smiled indulgently as he delivered it to Miss Guild.

“You will think me properly wits to let,” said Cranford ruefully.

She was thinking that the poor boy had a great deal too much on his shoulders, but she smiled and evaded, “How did you find Lord Nugent? Were you able to enjoy a comfortable chat with him?”

“Not… exactly. Valerian was there.”

“Sir Simon? Such a delightful gentleman. I hear that London seldom sees him since he came home from Paris.”

“Not Sir Simon. His heir.”

“Gervaise? Good gracious me! Then I quite comprehend why you were unable to enjoy a comfortable cose! Nugent likes Sir Simon. We all do, come to that.” She waited until Peddars had finished serving them, and when Cranford had sent him away she said indignantly, “But to hear Gervaise speak of him, one would fancy Sir Simon to be a hydra-headed monster—which I do assure you he is not! That wretched boy should hang his head in shame for distressing his father so.”