The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

by Patricia Veryan

  “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 th
at 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.

  Mary broke it at length, saying in a calm way, “The last time you offered, Mr. Cranford, you implied that you did so because your family felt responsible for my—disgrace. Is that why you have spoken again? Do you feel further obligated to rescue this… notorious Amazon?”

  “Much I care about notoriety,” he declared, staunchly if not wisely. “Besides, once you are a married lady, people will forgive your—er—”

  “My torrid past? You fancy your name will offer me a shield ’gainst the condemnation of the ton? And what of yourself, sir? Would you not be criticized for wedding such a scarlet woman?”

  He said with a shrug, “To say truth, we live rather ‘out of the world’ at Muse Manor. I seldom know what the rumour mills are brewing in London. Nor do I care. If you could be content with country life, we need seldom go into Town.”

  Her laugh sounded a trifle shrill. “La, sir! How uncomfortable for you to feel the need to keep your bride shut away from Society!”

  Sensing belatedly that this was not going the way he had hoped, he said, “If I feel a need, it is to cherish and protect a very brave lady—”

  “And to reward her bravery with a gold ring that will lift her from degradation to respectability!” She looked up at him, and he was dismayed to see that her hazel eyes were bright with wrath. “Thank you, kind sir,” she said mockingly. “You are more than generous, but I am not so desperate as—”

  “No!” Seizing both her arms he said, “Mary! I do not offer for your hand as a ‘reward’! Acquit me of such intolerable conceit!”

  “Why, then?” she demanded fiercely. “Why would you wed me knowing I love another man?”

  Cranford flinched. “Hoping that perhaps, in time, you might find you did not know your own heart.”

  “Stuff!” she said rudely, wrenching free. “Your pardon if I mistrust such unselfish generosity. I find it more likely that your great-uncle snapped his fingers under your nose again, so that once more you dance to his tune!”

  “In point of fact, Lord Nugent forbade me to offer at all! He is convinced that Valerian has formed a tendre for you, which would—”

  “Which would restore your family honour! Assuming, of course, that I accept such a belated offer, and, with floods of grateful tears, cast myself at his feet!”

  Very pale now, Cranford said, “And you must pardon me if I find it questionable that you would reject such an offer!”

  “I will not pardon you, sir! For you may believe I would reject any such offer from any so-called ‘gentleman’!” Contemptuous, she added, “Whether he were the darling of Mayfair—or a nobody!”

  “The latter being myself.” He bowed stiffly. “Forgive me, Miss Stansbury, for wasting your time. I will relieve you of my unwanted presence.”

  He turned and strode down the hill, his hopes in fragments about him and his heart aching because she had dealt with him so unkindly.

  “Wait!”

  She had picked up her skirts and was running after him. Even as he looked back she tripped and fell headlong. He gave a horrified cry and ran to kneel and help her sit up. She clung to him. There were tears on her cheeks and he asked frantically, “My poor girl! Are you hurt?”

  “No! Yes! Oh, Piers—I am so sorry! I was rude and vulgar and horrid! It was just… I was so angry when you called me an Amazon and said I was not dainty or petite!”

  “Did I say such stupid things?” He groaned and said remorsefully, “What a fool I am! Forgive!”

  She put a finger across his lips. “You are not a fool. And I thank you for your very kind offer. But—”

  “But you still want—him.” He sighed, and sitting beside her said heavily, “I see.”

  “No. You do not see at all. I told you once that I had a Plan…”

  “Yes. It worried me.”

  “My Plans always worry my friends. And you are my friend, Piers Cranford. I know that. The thing is well, if I go back to my mama, I am sure she will try to—to—”

  “To arrange another—er, engagement for you?”

  “To entrap some hapless male is what you really mean.” She sighed and said ruefully, “And it is truth. My mother is not an evil lady, but—well, she is proud, and to hold her position as a Leader of Fashion, tends to outrun the constable. Papa tried to convince her to practice economies, but he gave up and went away to Egypt. Mama is very frightened now, I think. I spoilt her plan to marry me off to a rich man, but if I were under her roof she would try again, I am sure of it.”

  “You said you meant to reside with your aunts. Is that your Plan?”

  “For a while. Six months… perhaps it will take a year.”

  “To do—what?”

  “You say you do not follow the London gossip, so perhaps you’ve not heard. An East Indiaman went down a few years ago, and the survivors managed to reach an island somewhere. I forget the details, but not long ago another vessel found them and offered them rescue. One lady refused to come back to England. She said she knew she would be looked on with revulsion, and rather than endure such disgrace, she stayed with the savages.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I recollect. A very sad story.”

  “Perhaps. But”—her chin tossed upward—“I thought she must be very missish.”

  He touched one of the glossy curls that had come down when she fell, and said tenderly, “Is that why you resolved to come home and face whatever awaited you in Polite Society?”

  “It is why I have resolved to”—she looked at him squarely, her eyes dancing with mischief—“to write a book, Piers! About my adventures.”

  He stared at her, speechless.

  “I shall call it ‘Spinster Amid the Savages’ she said musingly. “What do you think?”

  He gasped, “You cannot mean it! You would really be ostracized! I doubt you could find a publisher! And your reputation would be in shreds!”

  “Yes, but don’t you see? That is the whole point. The more shocking I become, the more eager people will be to read my lurid tale! Oh, publicly they will shun me, I have no doubt, even as they devour the pages in private. Would it not be wonderful if it made lots of money? My future would be assured! I could set up a home of my own—with perhaps one of my aunts or cousins to play chaperone.”

  She clapped her hands triumphantly, and he was won to a smile. Taking her small hands within both of his, he said, “Do you know, Miss Mary, I think you are a little bit of a rascal! Oh, my dear—are you quite sure this is what you want? Would not your life be more peaceful if you were happily wed? Not to me—I know I am not your choice, though I had hoped—” He bit his lip. “But if Valerian does offer…”

  “I will send him to the r
ight-about,” she said, with a defiant toss of her head. “And, yes, I know that is not a proper term for ladies. But I, you know, mean to be outrageous!”

  Jane Guild heard Piers laughing while he was still above-stairs putting off his riding coat before coming down to a late luncheon. She had thought to see a wistfulness in his eyes when he’d arrived home, and she scanned him curiously as he came into the breakfast parlour.

  He crossed to drop a kiss on her forehead, and she patted his arm fondly. “You must have had a good morning.”

  He paused for an instant, then said, “It could have been worse.”

  “You saw Florian? Poor lad, how does he go on?”

  “Quietly. I told Bragg we must talk with Miss Finchley. If her sire objects, I shall sign a summons.”

  “Why, dear? Do you think Laura knows something of import?”

  “I am convinced she knows something, and that Florian does, also. Since he won’t confide in me, I hope to persuade her to tell me whom he is shielding.”

  Miss Guild was intrigued, and after Peddars had served them and left, she demanded to know what else Piers had done with his morning. His answers did not satisfy her and at length she said, “Yes, that is all well and good. I’m glad Constable Bragg was not badly hurt, and it is a pity Ezra Sweet has become so cantankerous in his old age. He was used to be a jolly fellow when he tended your dear mama’s flowers. I cannot think, however, that his behaviour is what sent you into whoops just now.”

  Cranford said with a grin, “You are very right.” He handed her a folded letter. “Here, my perceptive Aunt. You will see that I am properly driven to the ropes…”

  Curious, she unfolded the letter, and read:

  Mr. Cranford,

  I have not been long in your service, and regret that I must now terminate my employment.

  It is my hope, sir, that I have met your requirements. I have tried to please. However, I have my reputation to consider, and I feel it would be prejudicial to my future were I to continue in the service of a gentleman who refuses to wear a wig, and objects to the refinement of lace on his jabots.