Never Doubt I Love (5 page)

Gorton was recovering her wits and her accent, and self-preservation asserted itself. She said shakily, “Ay beg you will not, Miss. May lady would be very cross and say 'tis may fault for allowing of you to venture into the poisonous night air.”

Realizing that she herself would very likely incur my lady's wrath, Zoe reluctantly agreed not to report the criminals. She instead ordered that tea be sent to her room, and, dismissing Gorton's uneasy predictions that “may lady” would not be pleased, prevailed upon her new abigail to share it with her. Two considerably shaken women sipped tea and discussed the Savage Incident, and by the time Zoe went to scratch at my lady's door many of the constraints between her and her new abigail had disappeared.

Lady Buttershaw enjoyed her table, and the host knew better than to set anything but a most excellent supper before her. Zoe scarcely noticed what she ate, however. Her sadly changed circumstances, and my lady's loud and boring monologue concerning the
Domesday Book,
were overshadowed by the shiver-some horrors of the amputated foot. As a result, her appetite was considerably impaired, which brought down upon her a severe reproof.

“Mine is a most amiable disposition,” asserted Lady Clara with questionable accuracy, “and few things offered me. Even so, to peck at fine food when it is generously bestowed I judge both stupid and ungrateful. You would do well, Miss Grainger, to consider the many people in the world who are starving. Doubtless by reason of their own slothful ways, for there is work for all those willing to exert themselves.” She paused, having momentarily lost her train of thought. Zoe started to respond, but was waved to silence, and her ladyship made a recover and swept on. “I will excuse your die-away airs this evening, on grounds of missing your family—though what there is to miss escapes me! However, when we reach Yerville Hall I shall expect you to mend your ways. You may now speak.”

“I apologize,” said Zoe, and deciding to confide in her “benefactor” added, “To say truth, I had a most upsetting experience while walking in the gardens, and—”

“There is much to be said for walking. I myself walk quite often in Hyde Park, which is situated conveniently close to my home. The neighborhood is of the first stare, though the other mansions do not compare to Yerville Hall, of course. Still, you will find yourself in the most fashionable of the new areas, and among the best people, for which you may be grateful. Not that I approve of new things, you understand. Indeed, my sister and I prize the things of antiquity. In especial, we are proud of our lineage. You are aware that our late Papa was a belted earl. I daresay you will be held spellbound for days together when you see the historical artifacts which Lady Julia Yerville has assembled. I will spare the time to give you some preliminary instruction on our family background.” Lady Buttershaw cleared her throat, tucked in her chin, and was off again. “The first Yerville of whom we have certain knowledge was Montague de Yervillaunus, who came from Gaul with the Phoenicians to trade for tin in Cornwall; the time being about fifty years before Our Saviour was born. Montague was a great friend of Julius Caesar, and later became involved with the Druids. I should not be surprised if he was able to instruct the savages in the erection of Stonehenge. His eldest son…”

‘I wonder,' thought Zoe, letting the “preliminary instruction” sweep past her ears, ‘if there is a word of truth in all her nonsense.' The beady eyes were boring at her, and she smiled sweetly and nodded as though enraptured. It was a great pity she had not obtained the full names of the monsters in the garden. She could have reported them to the constable. There had been three of them, evidently. The one called Templeby she'd not seen, because he had run off like a coward. The gentleman in powder, whose name appeared to have been James, had referred to his foul-tempered friend as Terry—or might it have been Perry? Not much to go on, but if she ever saw either of the rogues again, she was quite sure she would know them.

After such a crowded and emotional day she was very tired, but she passed a restless night. As they tend to do, the hours of darkness deepened her grief and loneliness, and the future loomed grimly forbidding, so that her pillow was wet with tears when she at length fell into a deep sleep.

The morning dawned cold and overcast. A chill wind scattered the falling leaves, and the trees were beginning to acquire a threadbare look. Gorton's “refined” accent was not quite as pronounced when she assisted Miss Grainger with her toilette, but at a suggestion that she be called a less formal “Miss Zoe,” the tall woman all but threw up her hands in horror. “May lady,” said she, “would judge such a form of address to be an impertinent familiarity.”

Zoe stifled a sigh. “Is Lady Julia Yerville of a—a similar disposition to her sister?”

Gorton hesitated, then answered carefully, “Lady Yerville does not enjoy robust health. She has a—er, very gentle manner.”

“Oh.” Brightening, Zoe smiled at her handmaiden.

Gorton's severe face relaxed into a grin. “Just so, Miss.”

Fully prepared to be instructed as to the merits of porridge over bacon and eggs, Zoe went down to the dining room. My lady did not appear, however, and the host's wife, a stout and bright-eyed little person, conducted Zoe to a small table near to the window, “where Miss can look out at the gardens.”

Zoe rather hoped that the charming gentleman she'd encountered on the stairs yesterday would come in, but the only other occupant of the room was an elderly clergyman who blinked near-sightedly in her direction, nodded his head, and retreated behind a copy of
The Spectator.
She did not want for company, however. The serving maid was of a friendly disposition, and Zoe's admiring remark about the gardens opened the floodgates. In no time both the maid and the host's lady were chatting with their guest. The minutes slipped away amid a flurry of talk and laughter and there was no time for pining or loneliness.

She felt quite cheerful as she climbed the stairs once more, but it soon became evident that Lady Buttershaw was vexed. Her stentorian tones reverberated along the upper hall, and Zoe paused, shrinking from an angry scene.

Gorton sounded tearful. “But, may lady, it was may understanding—”

“
Understanding?
It appears to me my good woman that your
understanding
is inferior! Which is quite contrary to what I was informed by my butler. Indeed, I shall have to advise him of my displeasure.”

“Oh, may lady, never be cross with Mr. Arbour! Ay—”

“I shall be cross with whomsoever I please! Nor do I need instructions as to my dealings with servants! A pretty presumption, I declare! If you were so concerned for his position in my household I would think you might have followed my orders! I believe my voice is clear and my enunciation precise. Further, my instructions to you were couched in simple terms such as I felt not beyond your powers of comprehension. My nature is generous, however, and I will repeat them now and allow you to make one last effort to take them into your brain. Miss Grainger is
country bred
and does not know how to go on in Town. She is to be
never
out of your sight! If that is too complicated for your
understanding,
Gorton, you had best own to it at once, so that I can make other arrangements.”

Quailing, Zoe tried to gather her courage. She had stood up to those two villains yesterday evening. Why must she be so much more afraid of this big, bullying woman? Because she was a coward, of course! And Lady Clara Buttershaw frightened everyone. But poor Gorton
needed
her! She took a deep breath, clenched her hands, and made her feet step forward. A maid carrying a pile of sheets scurried past, slanting a scared glance at her. Zoe opened the door.

Lady Buttershaw, her gaunt features flushed and her little eyes glaring, stood in the centre of the bedchamber. Wringing her hands, Gorton quailed before her.

Zoe's tongue seemed to freeze to the roof of her mouth. Travis always said she had an over-active imagination. She would use it, and fancy herself a warrior lady, like Queen Maud or Boadicea. She was surprised by the steadiness of her voice when she enquired, “Is something amiss, my lady?”

Lady Buttershaw spun around, but was for a moment rigidly still, as one battling conflicting emotions. She then said in a controlled but grating voice, “You are not to be blamed, Miss Grainger, for you have not as yet benefitted by my instruction. Gorton, however, knows very well that a young lady of refinement does not enter a public dining room unescorted.”

‘Queen Maud! Queen Maud!' thought Zoe, and responded, “As indeed she told me, ma'am. But—much as I like Gorton, you know, I had far rather go down with you, Lady Clara, for your stories I find prodigious fascinating. So I told Gorton I had rather meet you downstairs, and was most disappointed when you did not come. Was it wrong in me to hope for your company?” Even with the warrior queen's assistance, her nerves were fluttering. From the corner of her eye she could see Gorton's awed expression, but she smiled sunnily into Lady Buttershaw's suspicious countenance, and waited.

“Ahumph,” said my lady gruffly. “Your motivation in this instance was commendable, and I shall not censure you. You will do well to remember, however, that you are in my care and I am responsible for your actions.” She swept to the door. Zoe met Gorton's look of gratitude, smiled encouragingly, and barely managed to regain her saintly innocence before my lady turned back to advise that the coach would be ready to leave in a quarter hour and that she did not care to be kept waiting.

Gorton flew to close the door, this task evidently having been beneath Lady Buttershaw's dignity. “Oh, Miss,” she said softly, “how brave you are! Mr. Arbour, the butler, is a kind gentleman, and his wife is in poor health. If he'd lost his situation because of me…!”

Zoe was feeling rather limp, which she concealed by crossing to the mirror above the hearth and straightening her cap. Travis, she thought, would be proud of Miss Timidity, as he'd been used to call her, for she dared to think she'd fought two battles rather well; first giving those horrid men with the foot the set-down they deserved, and then managing to turn Lady Buttershaw's wrath. With a mental heartfelt “thank you” to Queen Maud, she said, “Oh, I doubt her ladyship meant what she said. I fancy her heart is kind and she is not near so fierce as she pretends.”

Gorton's lips tightened, but she said nothing and busied herself in gathering the last few items to be packed away.

Pausing, comb in hand, Zoe asked thoughtfully, “Is London an excessively dangerous place? I mean, is it safe for ladies to go about in the day time?”

“Oh, it is indeed, Miss. No one would dare interfere with a lady of Quality. There are special constables about, and lots of gentlemen besides, who would be quick to help if there was trouble.” Gorton paused, and added with a frown, “Of course, there's been riots … Men who hate the aristocrats, and do most dreadful things. Malcontents, Mr. Arbour calls 'em.”

“Ah. Then that may be why Lady Clara was so anxious I not go out alone. Is she as protective of her sister?”

Another hesitation, then Gorton said quietly, “In all my days, Miss Grainger, Ay never heard of Lady Buttershaw being protective. Of
nobody!
Not till now. She must've taken a real liking to you!”

Touched by sadness, Zoe thought that since she had been so unkindly thrust from home and family, it was as well that somebody had taken a liking to her. She stifled a sigh, then frowned at her reflection. To indulge in self-pity was disgraceful, she told herself sternly. She was young and healthy and had benefitted from a happy childhood with a loving family. Thus far her new life had not been too dreadful. Rather surprisingly un-dreadful, in fact. She had been given beautiful new clothes and was to live in a luxurious mansion in the greatest city of the civilized world. She would try to please Lady Julia Yerville, and perchance she could really be of help to the poor woman. Furthermore, with such an unfortunate disposition poor Lady Clara could not be a happy person. If she exerted herself, she might even win the
grande dame
to a more cheerful frame of mind.

This noble resolve was severely tested during the journey to London. When my lady was not criticizing the behaviour of coachmen, waggoners, postilions, and riders, she instructed Zoe on the history and industry of the various areas through which they passed. They were traversing the Thames basin, actually the London basin, which had been settled in the Iron Age. Fine furniture was being crafted in little Beaconsfield, “A fact that one would never guess from looking at the place.” Miss Grainger was doubtless aware that Caesar's camp had been established hereabouts and that the great Roman emperor had much to do with the early development of the Metropolis, and had done “quite well, despite the fact that he was Italian.” This last statement struck Zoe as so exquisitely humorous that she allowed a snort of mirth to escape her and was obliged to quickly convert it to a “hiccup.”

My lady, unconvinced, fixed her with a cold stare. “I will tell you,” she said repressively, “that foreigners are
not
to be trusted. Their personal habits are vulgar, their intellect inferior, and they have
no
manners. You should never associate with such people. Furthermore—”

The “furthermore” was cut off as a small group of horsemen came from behind, and with shouts and hoots of breathless laughter galloped past, two on either side of the cumbersome carriage. Zoe recognized one of those exuberant faces. It was the attractive gentleman she had met last evening on the stairs of the Three Horse Inn. She started to comment on that fact, but her words were drowned as a light carriage thundered alongside, the youthful coachman cracking his whip over the heads of his horses, egged on by a gentleman who hung half out of the open window shouting encouragement.