"Oh no! I am excessive pleased! I think him the very nicest gentleman. In point of fact, I had told Pere—Lieutenant Cranford, that you would make the most delightful couple."
Maria looked briefly startled, then said with a smile, "You have the romantic soul, I see! Ah, but that is to look very far ahead, and me—I find it unwise to look any further ahead than… today." She paused briefly, her face pensive, then went on in a resumption of her quick, vital manner, "Now, you shall tell me how you go on in that great gloomy house with your very fierce lady. Have you the happiness, my new friend?"
"Well, Lady Julia is the dearest thing, you know," Zoe answered, for once choosing her words with care. "And—and Lady Buttershaw is not always quite so fierce as she seems. I think. Besides, I am very fortunate to see some of this great city which is—"
"Which is so very great. Si, si. And the animals they are a joy, and the ladies are to a fault generous. Yet you do not answer my question. Which means, happiness it does not come to you—no?"
"Well, I—I miss Papa and my home, do you see, but—"
Maria halted and gestured to the servants. "I am fatigued," she said, as they came up. "So Miss Grainger and I, we will sit here and talk for a little while. Be so good as to take the dogs for a nice long walk."
The footman bowed and walked on at once, but Gorton hesitated, slanting an uneasy glance at Zoe.
Maria said reassuringly, "Your mistress will be perfectly safe with me, I promise you."
Zoe nodded, and with obvious reluctance Gorton followed Luigi.
"She is loyal, that one," said Maria, leading the way to a bench.
"Yes, she is, or she would not dare leave us alone. She was told never to let me out of her sight."
"La, la! One might think you were a criminal, and preparing your escape!" They both laughed, and Maria went on: "Not that I would blame you. I should so very much dislike to be guarded all the time! To say truth, I am not happy either, my Zoe. This London it is a lonely place for one not born to it. Ah, but I see what is in your mind. The gentlemen, they flock around me, you think. This also is truth. But they do not admire me for what I am, only for what I look like. And an admirer of youth and looks, which do not endure, is very different to a true and faithful friend. You are my friend, and I think something is—as my brother would say—cutting up your peace." She took Zoe's hand. "Will you permit that I help?"
Her warm clasp, the kindness in the deep, dark eyes, the understanding smile, touched Zoe's troubled heart. "Oh, how very good you are," she said. "And you are quite right, Maria. I am very worried. Only… perhaps I am being silly. Except in the matter of my dear Travis."
"There is but one way to tell a tale. Begin, my dear, at the beginning."
A few minutes later, Zoe asked, "Do you think I am being silly? If you knew how guilty I feel, to even suspect that—"
"That this haughty bully of a dowager has put her prying eyes into your most personal correspondence? Pah!" Her own eyes snapping with anger, Maria said, "Like you, I have a brother who is extreme dear to my heart, and far away, alas. If such a one as this Lady Buttershaw had dared intercept a letter bringing news of him, I would"—her slender hand formed into a claw—"I would scratch her! Hard!"
The very thought of such a confrontation awed Zoe. She said, "Then you think I am not being foolish and over-imaginative?"
"I think your so-called benefactor she wishes to learn something. And it must be something of great import for her to risk her good name by resorting to behaviour that is so outrageous. If it should become known, she would be as despised as if she had committed a crime!" Maria paused, her brow wrinkling, then murmured dreamily, "You say your Travis he is coming from India. What if he chances to have rendered some great service to—to a Maharajah?"
A kindred spirit! Her eyes glowing, Zoe said, "Like saving the life of his favourite son!"
"Just so. Or his favourite wife. Or even his own life, which he would likely value more highly than either of the others. So he has rewarded your brother with the great Ruby of Ranjipangidad, and your greedy lady has found out, and is determined to have it for herself!"
"Imagine!" breathed Zoe. "Is there such a place as Ranji—whatever ''Tis?"
"Who knows?" said Maria with an airy gesture. "But something like that—it could be possible, no? And if it should be such a naughty plot, you must be very careful, my little Zoe, and not let your fierce lady know you suspect her wicked designs." She frowned. "Have you spoken of this to Mr. Cranford?"
"Yes. He thinks Lady Buttershaw is short of a sheet."
"Does he so?" Maria laughed merrily. "Which means, I take it, that she is not right in her brain, and with this I agree. Does he advise that you should leave Yerville Hall?"
"No, not now, at least. As he says, the difficulty is that I do not really have any proof. And I cannot very well go rushing off to Aunt Minerva only because I have let my imagination run away with me. Poor Lady Julia would be so hurt."
"Yes, I see that, for she has been kind, poor creature. Perhaps, your fine Lieutenant he is the wise one, and we borrow trouble where there is no cause. But if something should happen to frighten you, Zoe, promise you will come to me. Here—" She fumbled in her muff. "Here is my card, and I will write down my direction… There. You will not hesitate? In case of need, you will come? At any hour of the day or night! Promise me this."
Zoe took the card and tucked it into the pocket of her cloak. "Yes, indeed. I promise. And oh, I do thank you so much for being willing to stand by me. But you must stop and think, dear friend. Lady Buttershaw is very powerful among the ton. If I were to go to you, I fear 'twould get you into most terrible trouble!"
"Pah!" said Maria, with a snap of her fingers. "This, I do not regard! One word to my brother, and he would mince the meat of her and her powerful friends! Besides," she added, with a mischievous twinkle, "we can always call on our beaux, no? Your fine Peregrine, and my dashing Sir Owen. Men, my Zoe, they must be good for something! Ah, here come our people. Is your woman to be trusted?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"Good. Then you must tell her where I live so that in case of need she can bring me a message." She squeezed Zoe's hand and said vehemently, "Be of good cheer, my gentle friend. Now neither of us is all alone in London Town!"
Dusk came a little earlier each night, now that November was almost here, and it was getting dark and the fog swirling in again when Cranford gave his card to Arbour, together with a request that Miss Grainger grant him a brief interview.
The butler bowed, showed him into the library, and went away.
In a very few moments, Zoe came in with a rustle of satin, and her eyes bright with hope. Gorton followed, and sat down just inside the door.
Zoe said eagerly, "Per—Lieutenant Cranford. How nice in you to call."
He bowed, and jerked his head meaningfully, and she led the way to the windowseat, whispering, "Is this very naughty?"
"I rather suspect it is, so we must be quick. Zoe, I am very sorry to disappoint you." Her face fell at once, and he went on, "Pray do not be cast down. Lloyd's was in such an uproar 'twas very hard to make enquiries, and the Jerusalem Coffee House was not much better."
"I quite understand." She smiled bravely. "You were unable to find your friend?"
"Oh, I found him, and I have his promise that he'll send me word the instant he learns anything."
"Do you think he really will? If he has much business on his mind he might not have the time to make enquiries about all the incoming vessels."
"He's busy, 'tis true, but I think he keeps abreast of all arrivals and departures. He has a keen mind and is very knowledgeable. He was able to give me some word that poor Furlong will not like, I'm afraid."
"Not bad news, I hope? He is such a nice gentleman."
"Hmm," he said, fixing her with a stern stare. "You admire him, do you?"
She giggled. "Yes, I do, for I think he is the very best kind of man. And—so does Miss Benevento. Is he a part-owner of some ves
sel?"
"Eh? Oh—no. But his brother's ship is long overdue. She was delayed and is sailing alone, which is very chancy, you know. I was hoping to be able to take some good news to Furlong, but, unhappily, the Lady Aranmore has not yet made port, so—Oh, egad! What did I say?"
Her eyes very wide, Zoe gripped his arm. "The—Lady—who?"
"No. The Lady Aranmore. Derek Furlong's East Indiaman. Whatever is wrong?"
"Oh, Perry!" she whispered. "Oh—my goodness!"
"Yes. I'm here. What is it? Jupiter! How pale you are become! Are you ill?"
"No! It is—it is—that name! I have heard it before! Perry! She is the lady—I mean—I thought 'twas a lady—Oh, my! ''Tis the lady they spoke of! The men I overheard the night Bo came scratching on my door! They said they were waiting for the Lady Aranmore!"
"Did they, though! Are you sure?"
"Yes. Quite sure! What can it mean? Is it important, do you think?"
He said thoughtfully, "I'm not sure. It may be very important indeed!"
Gorton coughed and looked a warning. Cranford rose at once. "I'd best go. Now try not to worry. But I think you are very clever, little Miss Zoe!"
Chapter XII
It was close to one o'clock when Cranford paid off the chairmen and walked slowly across the flag-way and up the steps of his house. Not finding Furlong at his club, he'd left a note for him, then embarked on a search that had occupied several hours, and left him seething with frustration. Sir Owen had not been at Falcon House that day, or at Rossiter Court, or his house on Bond Street, nor had he called in at Laindon House, the great family mansion of Horatio Glendenning's formidable sire, the Earl of Bowers-Maiden. Cranford had taken a hasty meal at Clifton's Chop House, then made the rounds of the clubs and the more popular coffee houses, but without success. Disgruntled, he'd turned for home, deciding that Furlong had very likely taken Miss Benevento to the opera or some such place.
Florian opened the door to his knock. Light streamed from the parlour, the air was warm and smelled of woodsmoke and brandy, and several cloaks hung on the clothes rack.
Relieving him of his cloak and cane, Florian murmured, "Company, sir."
Cranford limped into the parlour. At once, a low-voiced conversation ceased, and three gentlemen turned to regard him unsmilingly.
Owen Furlong stood at the mantel, a glass in one hand and a frown in his eyes. James Morris sat in the chimney seat nursing a wineglass; and August Falcon sprawled in an armchair, long legs stretched out before him, and a tankard balanced on a pile of books at his side.
Exasperated, Cranford began, "Here you are! If that isn't the—"
"What the devil have you been doing?" interrupted Furlong.
Cranford stiffened, the peremptory tone not improving his temper. He poured himself a glass of wine before responding coolly, "I've been to Leadenhall Street, not that 'tis any of your affair. Falcon knows that. He saw—"
"You didn't tell me that the pretty little lady you've been squiring about Town resides at Yerville Hall!"
"Your pardon, sir." Cranford threw an exaggerated salute. "I'd not realized you required a report on my activities."
"You told me," said Sir Owen, "that you'd come to Town because you were obliged to call on some distant relation."
"Which is precisely what I've been—" The haughty words died away. They were all staring at him as though petrified with astonishment, even Falcon rousing himself sufficiently to sit up straight.
"Do you say—" gasped Sir Owen, incredulously, "that you are related to Miss Grainger?"
"Certainly not." Cranford sat down on the sofa, his chin jutting a warning. "If you must know, Lady Clara Buttershaw's spouse appears to have been second cousin to my late Aunt Eudora."
"The mind boggles at such tangled family threads," drawled Falcon, "But one strives. Would this late Aunt Eudora possibly have been the wife of General Lord Nugent Cranford?"
"My great-uncle. Yes."
Morris exclaimed with undisguised horror, "My poor fellow! You are actually related to that—To Lady Buttershaw?"
"Distantly, and by marriage only, and—Dash it all, Jamie! Now see what you've made me say!"
"Bad form, Cranford." Falcon shook his head reprovingly. "A gentleman does not speak ill of a lady. Especially when she is a relative."
Morris offered sagely, " 'The problems in families are usually relative.'"
Falcon put both hands over his eyes and appeared to be praying.
Fully aware of Falcon's loathing of maxims, Cranford smothered a grin and maintained his air of chill hauteur. "I fancy you will tell me why you've invaded my house, and what gives you the right to question my family background, and my activities. When you can spare the time."
Sir Owen, who had been deep in thought, looked up and countered, "Why were you at Lloyd's Coffee House today?"
There was a set to his jaw and a steeliness in his blue eyes. This was Captain Sir Owen Furlong speaking; a far cry from the entranced man who had only last evening been so lost in love. With a quickening pulse, Cranford thought, 'Why? What is it all about?' The unease that had been gnawing at him all day grew stronger, so that he abandoned resentment, and answered, "Miss Grainger has just learned that her brother, who was in the Diplomatic Corps in India, has been very ill and has been sent home. She desired me to try and discover whether he has arrived."
"Why enlist your aid?" demanded Falcon curiously. "I would think her father should have been the one to enquire for his son."
"He did, but could learn nothing. No more could I. But I learned something else, which may be of some interest to you, Owen."
At once eager, Furlong asked, "Is it about Derek? Has he reached port at last?"
"Not that, I'm afraid. And my news may be of little significance. But it seemed to me a rather curious coincidence. I should explain that Miss Grainger is a sort of companion to Lady Julia Yerville. One of her tasks is to see that none of Lady Julia's pets invade the quarters of Lady Buttershaw, who dislikes creatures. A few nights ago, one of the dogs awoke Miss Grainger in the night but went tearing off before she could catch it. She knew Lady Buttershaw would be enraged if the dog was found in that part of the house, so she ran after the animal and had caught it in the lower hall when she heard some guests leaving. Naturally enough, she did not want to be seen in her nightrail. She ducked into a side room and inadvertently overheard a very guarded conversation. It had to do with someone who had evidently violated a trust, or some such thing. And with a lady, whose arrival they were eagerly awaiting so that they could take action. Miss Grainger said it all sounded very grim, and we thought it must have to do with high finance. I'd quite forgot about it until this afternoon, when I chanced to mention the name of your brother's ship to the lady."
Sir Owen said intensely, "The Lady Aranmore? I don't see—" His eyes widened. "Oh, egad! Are you saying she is the lady those men are waiting for?"
Cranford nodded.
"Be damned!" muttered Furlong.
There was a taut silence. Cranford looked from one stern face to the next. He said, "This is all part of what you're about, is it not? And I am somehow involved. Is Miss Grainger, also?"
Falcon drawled, "Up to her eyebrows, I would guess."
"In which case, gentlemen, I'll have the truth, if you please. Now!"
"I wish we could come at it," muttered Furlong.
"Owen," said Cranford through his teeth, "you put me off once before, because I chance to have a crippled leg. You'll not put me off this time!"
Morris, who had been staring at his boots, asked suddenly, "Why could you not learn anything about Miss Grainger's brother? At Lloyd's, I mean. Surely they could give you some idea of when his ship is due?"
Falcon said irritably, "And what, for mercy's sake, has that to say to the matter at hand?"
"No." Sir Owen lifted a delaying hand. "I wondered the same thing. Why, Perry? They're usually accommodating enough."
"Unhappily, Grainger neglected to notify his fam
ily that he was on his way home. They'd not have known a thing about it, save that Mr. Grainger chanced to hear it from a friend, who knew for a fact that Travis had embarked at Calcutta, and should have landed by now. Lacking the name of the vessel, we searched the passenger lists, but he might have vanished into thin air, for all we—"
For the third time he was interrupted as Falcon, his eyes flashing with sudden excitement, demanded, "What was his illness? Not cholera?"
"Why, yes—but how—"
"Oh, damme!" gasped Morris. "You never think…?"
"It fits!" Springing from his chair, Falcon said, "A diplomatist, unwell and terrified for his life. Very likely travelling under an assumed name. Just as young Grainger has done!"
Sir Owen said, "Ramsey Talbot said our man is still in Mozambique."
"And how many months did it take that news to reach his ears? Owen, how can you back and fill like a confounded block? Don't you see? We have the answer at last! This Grainger lad must be your brother's mystery passenger! And his sister is either hand in glove with the Buttershaw dragon, or—"
Cranford leapt up also, and caught Falcon's arm. His face flushed, his eyes deadly, he hissed, "I'll know what you mean by that remark, if you please!"
"They tried to tell you once, you lamebrain," snapped Falcon, tearing free.
Morris contradicted, "Not so. Must be fair, August. We tried not to tell him."
Cranford demanded, "Tell me what? And never try to fob me off with your silly fustian about some kind of League and…" He caught his breath, and said uneasily, "It was so much fustian, was it not?"
Furlong glanced at the others, gave a slight fatalistic shrug, and answered quietly, "Everything we told you before is true, Perry. What we did not tell you is that we have learned the identities of some members of the League of Jewelled Men. The Earl of Collington, for instance, and—"
"Gideon Rossiter's father-in-law? Owen—you're not serious?
"Unhappily so. Besides Collington, we've proven Rudolph Bracksby, Lord Hibbard Green, and we suspect General Samuel Underhill, and—"
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