The Crafters Book Two

by Christopher Stasheff

  “Miss Gosling.”

  Anthea looked up, startled. “Lady Fortrain!”

  The imposing dowager forced a slight smile. “May I present Mr. Roman Crafter, late of the exotic lands of the East.”

  The young man bowed, and Anthea suppressed a slight shiver. So close, she found that he fairly exuded an air of worldliness which she found more repulsive than attractive.

  “Your aunt has told me of your interest in geography,” Lady Fortrain went on, “so I thought you might wish to learn of Mr. Crafter’s experiences in India.”

  “India! Oh yes, Lady Fortrain, thank you! Really, Mr. Crafter, how did you come to India?”

  The grave young man gazed directly into her eyes with such a deep and probing look that Anthea had to suppress a shiver. “It was in the course of private curiosity, Miss Gosling, though it came to be on the King’s business.”

  Lady Fortrain smiled benevolently and moved on. Anthea rather wished she hadn’t; there was something decidedly unsettling about Mr. Crafter. Perhaps the steady gaze of those large, surprisingly light gray eyes, so fitting beneath the mane of ash-blond hair—or perhaps it was his excessive leanness, or the bronze hue of his skin. All in all, he gave the impression of someone left out in the sun too long, which he may well have been. Most probably, though, it was the aura of almost fanatical intensity that seemed to surround him like a cloak.

  But he was immaculately dressed, his neckcloth pristine and precisely folded, and she certainly had his undivided attention. “I confess to puzzlement, Mr. Crafter. How could private curiosity turn to royal affairs?”

  “By the press of events, Miss Gosling. But really, may we dance while I tell you of it? I should very much like to.”

  “Why, thank you.” Anthea took Crafter’s arm and stepped out onto the floor, repressing a shudder at his touch. As they began to move through the paces of the dance, his eyes never left hers, and to ward off his intensity, she pressed. “Do go on, Mr. Crafter. What were these events that took you to India?”

  “That was a matter of trade, Miss Gosling, as much as of curiosity.”

  She was surprised at his boldness in so openly admitting to being in trade. He seemed almost brazen, in fact. “Trade, Mr. Crafter? Has your family no land, then?”

  “Why yes, a considerable amount, and they are ever acquiring more, I understand—though it’s rather inaccessible to me, being in America.”

  Brazen indeed! Would he proceed to tell her to which spymaster he reported? And why did he make no mention of his English relations?

  “I was chosen to serve in His Majesty’s Navy,” Crafter explained, “and given very little choice in the matter.”

  “You mean you were—impressed?” She was shocked—and somewhat thrilled.

  “My father was, actually—we were passengers aboard a ship bound for Jamaica. The captain of the man-of-war that overhauled us thought Father would do splendidly as an able-bodied seaman, never mind that he was en route to represent the Government of the United States in a Crown colony—and thought I would do as a powder monkey, being only ten at the time.”

  “A common seaman?” Anthea gasped.

  “Not willingly, I assure you. I was privileged to take part in the battle of Trafalgar, though I can’t claim to have seen anything but the powder supplies and tunnels, and the wounded. Through a rather unique set of circumstances, I was fortunate enough to be able to contact some relations of mine ... .”

  “Not a baronet, by chance.”

  “Ah, you have an ear for the gossip! Yes, I’ve a cousin of that rank, though it was the squire in Ireland who bought a commission for me. That protected me from the worst of the life of a foremast hand, and gave me a pittance to save in the bargain. I sold out when I attained my majority, repaid my cousin, and invested in the British East India Company.”

  Anthea found it interesting to note that there was an Irish cousin that gossip did not speak of—but then, one frequently didn’t speak of the Irish. “How did this lead you to India, though?”

  “I desired to be sure my money was being put to good use.”

  “To be sure of it! Really, sir, if one cannot trust the East India Company to increase one’s money, whom can one trust?”

  “No one, I begin to think—for the mismanagement and nest-feathering I witnessed were quite disheartening. I determined to take a hand in affairs, and managed to impose some discipline—but in the process, I became an informal envoy to a rajah’s court.”

  “A rajah!” Anthea breathed, all agog.

  “A small one,” Crafter temporized, “though his palace was large enough, and had the requisite peacocks to announce visitors—and if I can’t speak of piles of jewels to either hand, I can at least assert that his wives did seem to be entrusted with a substantial portion of his capital.”

  Anthea laughed, almost in spite of herself, and Crafter responded with a smile of amusement. “The Rajah, it seemed, wished to forestall the incursions of the Company by treating directly with the governor-general, who is at least nominally in the service of Crown as well as commerce—so there I was, a subject of His Majesty and an emissary to him, one and the same.”

  Anthea laughed again, and would have liked to ask him more, but the music ended, and Crafter stepped back, releasing her hand with a bow. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Gosling. May I look forward to repeating the pleasure?”

  “I ... I think perhaps the third gavotte.” Anthea examined her programme carefully, which was rather difficult, as it was completely blank. However, she inscribed Mr. Crafter’s name, then curtseyed and said, “Thank you for your fascinating conversation, Mr. Crafter. I shall look forward to more accounts of your exotic adventures.”

  Crafter smiled and bowed again, then left her—and her friends flocked around immediately.

  “Really, the Man of Mystery himself, Anthea! Did he tell you of murderous deeds and mysterious doings?”

  “Is he as ominous as they say, Anthea?”

  “You laughed quite well, Anthea. Was he truly amusing?” Then everyone fell silent at the approach of three gentlemen, and someone drew breath rather sharply, for at their head came Lord Delbert, his eyes sparkling as brightly as the diamond in his neckcloth, crowned with a mane of raven hair, his bright blue eyes seeking out Anthea as he bowed. “Miss Gosling! May I have the pleasure?”

  Her friends stared as Delbert led her out onto the floor, and Anthea thought he must surely hear the pounding of her heart.

  “Where have you been hiding, Miss Gosling?” Lord Delbert asked. “You have never graced London before.”

  Anthea gave a little laugh. “Not since I was ten, your lordship. We have been living in Kent in the interim.”

  “How naughty of your parents, to hide away so dazzling a beauty!”

  Anthea’s face flushed with pleasure, though she told herself it was only empty flattery. Still, she knew that she was pretty enough, and that the light of the massed candles showed the auburn glints in her hair to their best advantage. “But, sir! You must not speak so!”

  “No, I must, for beauty deserves tribute. Do you remember much of the town, Miss Gosling?”

  “Only Saint Paul’s and Saint James’s, Mr. Delbert.”

  “Then you must allow me to show you more of it! There are such brave sights, Miss Gosling. We must begin with the Park ...”

  By the time the dance ended, he had claimed three more, and had cajoled her promise to allow him to call on the morrow and take her driving in his phaeton.

  On the way home, Anthea chattered and exclaimed without pause. Aunt Trudy listened with a fond smile, prompting her with a question whenever she seemed to be slackening. She was only just beginning to run down as they came home. When they had come in, though, and the footmen had divested them of their cloaks and the maid had brought them Cambric tea, Anthea finally realized that Aunt Trudy had been much
more quiet than was her wont. “Did some aspect of my evening trouble you, Aunt? My dances with Mr. Crafter, perhaps?”

  “Crafter? Pooh!” Aunt Trudy waved him away. “A pleasant enough gentleman, certainly, though contaminated with the aroma of trade. There is some justification for him in the rumor that he enjoys it as other men enjoy their horses or cards, but it is nonetheless déclassé. Still, he is impeccable in his conduct, to the point of dullness.”

  “Then is it ...” Anthea swallowed. “Lord Delbert?”

  “Delbert has the face and form of an angel, and the tongue of a devil,” Aunt Trudy said, frowning. “There is nothing to be said against him, of course—he comes of excellent family, and has never been observed to be improper. Still ...”

  Anthea’s heart plummeted at the “still.”

  “There are rumors,” Aunt Trudy went on. “Nothing definite, you understand, all very vague, but there is some question as to why he is still a bachelor in his thirties.”

  “No doubt the arrow of love has never found his heart!”

  “Or has found it all too often,” Aunt Trudy said grimly. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you his company, Anthea—but I would urge caution.”

  Aunt Trudy had good reason to recommend wariness. Nonetheless, Lord Delbert called the next day, and his conversation and bold gaze quite thrilled Anthea till her blood seemed to bubble in her veins. His visit was almost concluded, and he was just soliciting again her promise to drive in the Park with him that afternoon, when the butler brought in Mr. Crafter’s card. Aunt Trudy looked up and nodded, and the butler bowed and departed. Lord Delbert, however, seemed not to have noticed, so he was still chatting with Anthea quite amiably when Crafter appeared in the doorway. Lord Delbert looked up, and rose to his feet as Crafter presented himself with a smooth and somehow sinister grace that flowed into a bow. “Lady Brock, how good of you! Miss Anthea, a pleasure! And yourself, Delbert.”

  “Bit out of your territory, ain’t you, Crafter?” Delbert said with a devilish grin. “Too far from the counting-house by half.”

  “A distance which I would recommend to you, milord,” Crafter said, returning the smile.

  Delbert flushed angrily, to Anthea’s surprise, and turned to bow to her. “Until this afternoon, Lady Anthea.”

  “Until then, my lord,” she murmured, and he rather ostentatiously kissed her hand, then turned away.

  Puzzled, she turned back, to see Mr. Crafter following Lord Delbert’s exit with amusement in those gray eyes.

  “Please be seated, Mr. Crafter,” Aunt Trudy urged. Anthea drifted into a chair.

  “Thank you, Lady Brock,” Mr. Crafter sat. “I fear I have clouded a bright afternoon.”

  “Not at all,” Aunt Trudy said briskly. “I am sure Lord Delbert is far more entertaining in the phaeton than in the drawing room. Tea, Anthea?”

  “Yes, thank you, Aunt.” Then Anthea fell silent, at a loss for a topic.

  Mr. Crafter slid smoothly into the momentary silence. “Are you enjoying the Season, Miss Anthea?”

  “Oh, yes! It is so gay, even festive! Really, I am so glad to be back in London!” The statement gave her the idea for a possible topic. “And yourself, Mr. Crafter? Did you find your return to London pleasant, or would you have preferred to remain in India?”

  “I assure you, I blessed the cool breeze of England,” Mr. Crafter said, smiling. “India has its attractions and fascinations, but it is, when all is said and done, alien, and I found I’d no wish for it to be otherwise.”

  “Did you tire of it, then?”

  “For the moment,” Mr. Crafter said judiciously, “though I would not be loath to return at a later date. It is not one large country, you see, but a host of small ones. I saw only a tenth of it, perhaps not even that.”

  “But their customs! Surely they don’t differ from one kingdom to the next?”

  His eyes brightened; she realized, with a start, that he hadn’t expected her to know that many of the independent states in India were sovereign kingdoms. “There are small differences between neighboring countries, but there are great ones between the North and South ...”

  And they were off into a discussion that was, in its own way, just as fascinating as Lord Delbert’s visit, though much less exciting. Anthea found, to her surprise, that Mr. Crafter listened to her opinions with respect, and never contradicted them—he only narrated such of his own experiences that confirmed or denied what she had read. Aunt Trudy finally had to call a halt to the conversation, though she confessed that she herself was loath to. Nonetheless, the ladies did need a few hours to prepare for the afternoon, so Mr. Crafter was dismissed. He did not, upon his going, kiss Anthea’s hand, or even try to—but he looked long and deeply into her eyes, and said that he hoped they would have occasion to chat again. Then he bowed to Aunt Trudy, and departed.

  “A man with a somewhat checkered past,” Aunt Trudy sighed, “but a fascinating one! Though I fancy most your age would find his accounts boring, Anthea.”

  Anthea was rather surprised to find that she hadn’t.

  * * *

  The drive in the Park was a scintillating pleasure, the more so since several women they passed looked rather nettled to see her in Delbert’s phaeton—but after the third such glance, Anthea did begin to wonder as to the nature of their envy. Was it only that they wished to be where she was—or that they already had been? Of course, a gentleman might drive with any number of young ladies, in fifteen Seasons—but had there been more to it than a drive? And there were the half-dozen who took one look at Delbert and turned their faces away, driving resolutely past him with stony gazes. That seemed to amuse Delbert, but he made no mention of it, only kept up with his stream of lively and amusing gossip, setting Anthea alternately to laughter and exclamations of disbelief.

  But when they came home, he assisted her down from the carriage with both hands and did not let go, but stood looking down into her eyes, his own with such a glow as to set her heart a-flutter, then pressed his lips to her hand in such a way that she knew he aspired to higher things.

  * * *

  So it went for several weeks, Lord Delbert’s visits exciting and stimulating to the emotions, Mr. Crafter’s stimulating to the mind—and if Lord Delbert’s attentions aroused feelings that not only exalted Anthea but also somewhat frightened her, Mr. Crafter’s were oddly soothing and reassuring.

  Her life was not a perfect whirlwind of suitors and gatherings, though—there was responsibility, too, as she found out when she noticed how pale and wan her maid, Hester, appeared to be one morning. “Are you ill, Hester?” she inquired.

  “No, not at all, miss. Just too late arising this morning, it would seem.”

  “Didn’t you sleep well?”

  “Oh, well enough, I suppose, miss.” But Hester was growing more and more agitated, and now that Anthea looked, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen—not terribly much; rather as though she had bathed them in cold water to reduce the swelling, but still noticeably. She caught her maid’s hand and softened her tone. “What is the matter, Hester? Truly, you may tell me without fear.”

  Hester hesitated, irresolute.

  “I swear I shan’t betray you,” Anthea pressed. “But if there is trouble, do tell me of it! Two may see a way through where one would not.”

  Then the floodgates sprang open, and Anthea was alarmed to find herself the crying-pillow for her own maid. She consoled and comforted as best she could, and when the wave of tears had slackened, the story came out between sobs. It was a footman of another household who was the cause of the problem, it seemed. Hester had met him when the two households had joined for holiday festivities, and had fallen in love straightaway. He professed that he felt as she did, and pursued the matter with all the eloquence and soulful looks at his command. Swayed by passion as well as love, she had yielded to his pleading, then had been horrified to discover t
hat she was with child. Her lover had been even more horrified, protesting that he could not wed her till he had gained the rank of butler, which was still several years away. When she had pointed out that the child would not wait so long and that she would lose her place because of it, he had retorted that he had no desire to lose his place, and had told her to “take care of the thing.”

  “Oh, but you mustn’t!” Anthea had cried, aghast even though she wasn’t quite certain of the meaning.

  “I would never think of it, miss,” Hester replied, eyes dry but swollen thoroughly now. “I shall bear the babe if it is my last living act—but, oh! —how am I to manage? Your aunt would throw me out into the street if she knew! What am I to do?”

  Anthea hesitated between fear and propriety for a moment, then clasped Hester’s hand firmly and said, “You must have faith in your mistress.”

  “Oh, I do, miss! What do you bid me do?”

  “Not just myself, Hester—Aunt Trudy.”

  “Oh, no, miss!” Hester pulled her hand free, shrinking away. “She’d fly into a rage if I told her! She cast me out on the instant!”

  “She would do no such thing,” Anthea said firmly. “You know her, Hester—she is a kind and understanding person, who would never condemn another woman for being swayed by love. Come, we must tell her.” And taking Hester by the hand, she swept her off, protesting, to Aunt Trudy, her confidence in her aunt so great as to surmount any doubt.

  That confidence was not misplaced, though Aunt Trudy was saddened by the news, then lectured Hester on her folly. Hester, to her credit, only acknowledged the truth of her employer’s words and asked Aunt Trudy’s pardon, which was given instantly. “But what are we to do with you, girl? We can’t have you staying here to suffer the ridicule of your fellow servants, and have your shame known to the world.”