Never Doubt I Love (26 page)

For a long moment Cranford made no comment, then he said, “I must own you are in her care, and 'tis not considered proper for an unwed young lady to receive letters from admirers. I fancy her ladyship could claim she was exercising her rights.”

“But 'twas
not
from an admirer! 'Twas from my own father!”

“Yes, but she would say she was not to know his writing. Still 'twould have been far more gracious to have asked you about it before taking such a step.”

“Much more gracious,” said Zoe. “And if she held such thoughts, why would she have gone to the trouble to re-seal the letter, to make it look unopened?”

He pursed his lips. “A good point … unless … You know, I have meant to ask you. When first we met, whatever gave you the notion I was a physician?”

It was not what she'd expected him to say, but she told him of Lady Buttershaw's conviction that doctors enjoyed to cut up living patients. A gleam of unholy joy crept into Cranford's eyes, and when she recounted my lady's tale of the evil physician who had cut off the wrong leg and taken it home to determine how toenails grow, he went into gales of laughter, his mirth so infectious that Zoe could not resist joining in.

“'Pon my word,” he gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. “There is your answer, m'dear. I do not mean to speak ill of a lady, but—your poor dowager dragon is short of a sheet! I beg pardon! What I mean is—”

“I know what you mean. She is eccentric, I own, and I must admit is tiresome at times, but I cannot think her intellect is disordered.”

Still chuckling, he said, “Eccentric, is it! For a lady who holds the honour of her house so high, to pry into the correspondence of others is carrying eccentricity rather far. My apologies an I seem to make light of your fears. I do not. 'Faith, but I can well imagine how irksome it must be to have your letters read. Have you spoke of it to Lady Yerville?”

“No.” Zoe sighed worriedly. “I thought of doing so, but she and her sister do not deal very well, and I should not care to cause more trouble between them.”

“And you think Lady Yerville would spring to your defence?”

“I believe she would be outraged, yes. Do you think I should drop a hint to Lady Buttershaw? Tactfully, you know?”

“I think the lady don't know the meaning of the word, and would likely explode like any volcano. Can you not meet the postman and collect your own letters?”

“I doubt he would dare give them to me, even if I was there each time he came. All the mail is taken to Lady Buttershaw, and she distributes it.”

“But you have a perfect right to follow the delivery to her study or whatever, and demand…” She looked terrified, and he said hastily, “No, I see you could not. Well, at least you received your letter. Mine was stolen.”

Zoe gave a gasp. “Stolen? What a dreadful thing! Do you say a thief broke into your house?”

“Yes. I've rooms, actually, in Henrietta Street. The varmint got in whilst I was reading one letter, and—”

“While you were
reading
it? Could you not have prevented him?”

“I fear my unheroical failure must cause me to fall very far short of your beau ideal,” he answered with a wry smile. “But the fact is he crept up behind me and bent his pistol over my head.”

Her own troubles forgotten, she reached out to press his hand and said with ready sympathy, “How dreadful! Oh, but I am a selfish beast! I was so full of my own worries I did not notice, but you do look rather pulled. I am so very sorry! You only came here for my sake, no, never deny it. Likely your head is paining you dreadfully, yet you uttered not a word of complaint. We shall leave at once so that you may rest, my poor friend!”

Deeply touched by such kind concern, he said, “I'm glad you recognize my nobility. No, truly, Miss Zoe, you must not reproach yourself. I am perfectly fit, although I'll confess to being irked that the lamebrain made off with my letters.”

“Was that all he took? But why would anyone do such a thing?” Her eyes brightened. She asked hopefully, “Was there news of great value?”

“I wish I could think there had been, but—no such thing. Not in the one I had time to read, at least. I'll own I'd not so much as broke the seal on the one from my twin.”

At this point a lackey came in to take the tray, and murmur that the guests were assembling for the musicale.

Zoe had been using her fan for some minutes, and as the man left them Cranford suggested, “Shall we slither into the gardens instead of going upstairs again? I doubt Furlong would miss us.”

She was only too willing to agree. A footman escorted them through some French doors opening onto a terrace with a wide flight of steps that led down to the lawns. A few other couples were strolling about. Cranford offered his arm, and they went down the steps and walked slowly along a flagged pathway.

Zoe took a deep breath of the cool afternoon air. “Thank goodness! I do dislike overheated rooms. I was thinking, Mr. Cranford, about the letter from your— Why, you said ‘twin'! I didn't know you had a twin.”

“There are lots of things about me you don't know. All bad.”

“Foolish man. Is he like you?”

His smile faded. He said musingly, “Very. In the days of our mis-spent youth, we took great pleasure in confusing people. You'd not believe the antics we got up to!”

“I can well imagine! My brother knew a boy at school who was one of a pair of twins. He was captain of the cricket team, and a great sportsman. Travis admired him enormously, and thought him the very model of what a young gentleman should be.”

Cranford started, and looked down at her sharply.

“I don't remember his name,” she went on, “but I should, for Travis was always talking of him. I recall his making Papa laugh very much with the story of a cricket match. It was a prodigious hot afternoon, and his idol seemed off his form that day, but not until the end of the game—”

“Did they discover the wrong twin had captained the team.”

She laughed. “Yes. 'Twas all—”

“'Twas a dare,” he interposed again. “Which should never have been taken.”

Her eyes grew very round. They stopped walking, staring at each other in astonishment. She gasped,
“You…?”

“Jupiter, it must be! But— My apologies, Miss Zoe, but be dashed if I can remember anyone named—Travis, did you say?”

“Yes. Travis Grainger. Oh my! How
exciting
this is! 'Tis quite understandable that you would not remember him. He was two years your junior, he said, and he went in such awe of you, he never plucked up enough courage to try and talk to you.”

Cranford reddened, and began to walk on again. “Oh, come now. All I did was play a pretty fair game of cricket. If there was any young chub silly enough to—” He broke off, and halted again, then said an explosive, “
Hops!
I'll wager that's who it was! Used to follow me about, but when I tried to talk to him, he'd colour up and run like a rabbit.” Turning to Zoe, he asked eagerly, “You never had a sheepdog?”

“Hops! Yes. But why would you call my brother after him?”

“Don't be cross, I beg you. Boys are merciless little savages, you know. The lad was so painfully shy. When he first came to school he'd the habit of sort of shifting from one foot to the other when he spoke to a senior. He was always talking of his home, and between his mannerism and the name of his sheepdog— Did he never tell you of his nickname?”

“Never.” She gripped her hands with delight. “Oh, is it not famous? To think that you know my dear brother! And all this time we never guessed it!”

“Which makes us old friends,” he said, restoring her hand to his arm and limping towards a bench. “So it will be perfectly convenable for you to call me Peregrine, instead of Lieutenant, or Mister. And I, with your permission, shall call you Zoe. When we are private, that is. Agreed?”

“Yes. Oh, yes!”

“Good. Now sit here beside me, and tell me about your brother. Does he live in Cotswold country? Or is he off somewhere, making a name for himself?”

She said agitatedly, “He is—or was in the diplomatic corps. In Calcutta. I have been worried because he usually writes regularly, but we've received no word for a long time. And now, Papa has writ that Travis has been terribly ill and has been sent home. And what is worse, or so I think, Travis said nothing. Papa only learned of it from a friend who came home last month and called to enquire if Travis had arrived as yet. 'Tis so unlike my brother. He must have guessed we would be anxious. Why he did not let us know he was recovering from the cholera, I just cannot understand.”

Cranford could think of several reasons why a sensitive young fellow would fail to send letters home. He might have other difficulties besides the fearsome cholera. Got into some superior's black books, perhaps, or disgraced himself with one of the Indian girls who were, he'd heard, very beautiful. If the worst had happened and he'd been dismissed, he would likely be beside himself with worry, and dread to face his family. He said bracingly, “Now, never be so distressed, little Zoe. As I recollect, your Travis is the type of lad who would very likely hold back from sending home bad news. Besides, if he was very ill, he may not have been up to writing.”

“Well, I thought of that, of course. But he must have friends. Or his superior could have notified us. Papa went to the East India Company, and could learn nothing, save that Travis is not on the passenger list of any homeward bound vessel that has arrived recently. Yet Papa's friend said my brother had secured a berth on a ship that was to sail from Calcutta with his own fleet. How can that be? Oh, Peregrine,” she held out her hand, and he gripped it strongly, “ever since I came to London, strange things have been happening, and now—” Her voice shook. “I just do not … I simply
cannot
think what I should do. Must I go home at once, or—”

He put a finger over her lips and said soothingly, “Hush, now. You must not allow imagination to drive you into an attack of the vapours. Have a thought for my poor nerves. I'm a rank coward and should likely swoon away beside you.” Her smile flickered at the picture this conjured up, and he went on, “That's better! There is likely a perfectly logical explanation for everything. You have asked for the benefit of my mighty brain, so let me see if I cannot dust off the cobwebs and put it to work.”

He considered in silence for a few minutes, and said at length, “I think I have not the right to advise you. But, as a friend, I can tell you what I would do in your situation.”

“Oh yes,” she said imploringly. “Pray do so.”

“Very well. First: I think you should not speak to either of their ladyships regarding your violated letter. Not yet, at least. You really have very little proof, you know. Lady Buttershaw would probably advance the arguments I mentioned, and even if she did not, to make such an appalling accusation
without
proof must only cause a very great dust-up. Second: Your brother might have sailed on someone else's ticket—or he could be listed as a member of a party, or family, in which case only the leader of the group might be named. Third: Much of the shipping business is done at the Jerusalem Coffee House. The place is usually a maelstrom of activity, and without a connection your papa might have received short shrift. I've a friend who is a subscriber on one of the vessels and can often be found there, or at Lloyd's. I'll seek him out first thing tomorrow morning, and see if he can't help me learn something of your brother. Will that set your mind at ease, for today at least?”

“Indeed it will.” She blinked up at him gratefully. “I can only thank heaven for sending you to be my friend. How good of you to take the time to go to Lloyd's tomorrow. Oh, but—what of your poor head?”

He looked grave. “I'm a merciless tyrant, I know, but I mean to bully it into going with me!”

He had his reward in her broken little laugh.

C
HAPTER
XI

Despite the cheerful optimism Cranford had shown to Zoe, he could not dismiss a sense of apprehension. After he returned her to Yerville Hall, he went straight to his rooms, intending to consult with Sir Owen, whose strong common sense he valued. En route, a rock was hurled at his coach, barely missing Florian, and there were hooted obscenities and loud laughter from a group of ruffians lounging at the mouth of an alley. Incensed, Cranford drew the pistol he carried in the coach in these troubled times, and shouted to Florian to turn about and give chase, but the ruffians ran for it when they saw the coach rushing upon them, and the alley was deserted by the time Florian drove past once more.

Sir Owen was out when Cranford arrived at Henrietta Street. He went into the parlour, poured himself a glass of Madeira, put some more coal on the fire, and sprawled in a deep chair. Watching the exploring tongues of flame, he mulled over what Zoe had told him. He'd said there was probably a logical explanation for the “strange things” that had befallen her, because she'd been so distressed, poor sweet, and he'd felt bound to try and ease her worries. But the more he thought of it, the more convinced he became that there was a decidedly sinister ring to some of those happenings.

The man she'd seen watching the Hall, for instance. A would-be burglar, perhaps? Yet there had been no subsequent thefts. The furtive midnight conversation she had innocently overheard could have been nothing more than a business discussion, but if that was the case, why so secretive? Why the angry reference to something a “confounded spy” had made off with? There were spies in the world of commerce, so one heard, and in a matter that might involve large sums of money, passions could well run high. But, if the romantically inclined Zoe had not embellished her tale, the discussion did sound to have been excessively grim.