Never Doubt I Love (9 page)

The room he left was silent for several moments.

The front door slammed hard.

Morris jumped, and said unhappily, “Oh, Lord! Poor old Perry. I suppose 'tis logical he would think that.”

“If he hadn't lost his silly foot, I'd have punched his head for him,” growled Glendenning.

Furlong said slowly, “To an extent, he was right. He's had more than his share of misery, so we wanted to keep him clear. Now, he is. But I doubt he'll ever speak to any of us again.”

“He didn't believe a word of it,” sighed Morris.

“Not a word,” agreed Furlong. “Jupiter! If one of our closest friends don't believe us, how can we wonder nobody else does?”

C
HAPTER
IV

Zoe awoke to find the bed curtains drawn back and sunlight flooding in at the windows. Delicious breakfast smells filled the room, and a tall maidservant had spread a snowy tablecloth over the little round table and was setting out plates and cutlery, and some covered dishes.

Zoe blinked at her sleepily for an uncomprehending moment, then sprang up in alarm. “Gorton! Oh, my! Whatever o'clock is it? Should I be downstairs?”

“'Tis half-past eight, Miss. Both of their la'ships take breakfast in bed, so you wasn't expected in the breakfast room. Since 'tis such a nace day, Ay thought you might like to sit here, where you can see the garden.” Gorton poured hot water into the washbowl and added politely, “Ay trust you slept well?”

Hurrying through her toilette Zoe declared she had slept very well. “Which I did not expect to do, since London is so very noisy.”

Gorton helped her into her dressing gown and assured her she would soon get used to city sounds, and that this was actually a very quiet neighbourhood. Pulling out a chair at the table, she waited until Zoe was seated, then said, “Perhaps you could tell me which morning dress you wish to wear.”

Beyond noting that the two presses were full of garments, Zoe had been too downcast last evening to pay much heed to them. Now, beaming at two eggs, some succulent-looking slices of ham, and three steaming hot scones, she discovered another treasure—a little covered pot full of strawberry jam. With a squeak of delight, she took up her knife and answered, “I shall leave that decision to you.”

Gorton opened the press and selected a gown of pale green taffeta. “May Ay enquire if you find the bedchamber to your liking?”

“Oh, very much so,” said Zoe, spreading jam on a scone. “In fact, I am rather surprised, Elsie—yes, I shall call you that whilst we are private, for Gorton sounds so … unfriendly.”

Slanting a quick glance at her, Gorton saw wistfulness in the expressive features, and felt a pang of sympathy. But Zoe's shoulders pulled back almost immediately and she went on brightly, “What I had expected, you see, was quite a small room, since I am really here only to serve as companion to Lady Julia.” She threw a quick glance around the large and comfortably furnished chamber. “This room is much bigger than my own at Travisford. Is it, perhaps, a temporary arrangement?”

“Not that Ay am aware of, Miss. There is a plain white chemise, if you prefer, but Ay think this one with the green frill about the sleeves is nace.”

“Yes. Lovely. From what I could tell last evening, the ladies' suites are at opposite ends of this floor—no?”

“Yes, Miss. Lady Clara not much caring for Lady Julia's creatures, if Ay am not too bold.”

Zoe, who had dined with Lady Buttershaw in a large breakfast parlour, and gone early to bed, had not yet set foot in Lady Julia's apartments. She said, “Not at all bold. But here I am, in this fine big room, miles from either of their ladyships. Does that not seem odd to you?”

Gorton hesitated, then lied, “Nothing their la'ships do—er, does … seems—er, odd to me, Miss Grainger.”

“Oh dear,' thought Zoe. ‘She likely dares not say, poor thing. And 'tis naughty of me to question the servants. But—who else am I to talk to? And I am, after all, no more than a servant myself.'

Starting on the second egg, she asked, “How many—er, creatures, does Lady Julia keep?”

“Six, Miss.”

Zoe blinked, and asked uneasily, “All—small animals…?”

“Ay reelly would not say so. Caesar is a
good
size. Nor Ay wouldn't call Cromwell … small exactly. And Viking is a
giant!
” Closing the chest of drawers, Gorton added reassuringly, “Charlemagne is quite tiny. But a terrible troublemaker. When you are ready, Miss, Ay will brush out your hair. Lady Julia wishes you to go to her at ten o'clock.”

By the time Gorton was conducting her along the wide passage, the loneliness that had assailed Zoe during the hours of darkness was forgotten, and her usually sunny outlook was restored. She inspected her new surroundings with ever-increasing curiosity. For such a modern structure, Yerville Hall had a pronounced air of antiquity. She thought, ‘It even smells old!' The furnishings, while beautifully preserved, were ponderous and more of the thirteenth than the eighteenth century. Many of the portraits adorning the walls appeared to be very old indeed, the coiffures and apparel being those worn in medieval times. There were faded tapestries here also, and some large oil paintings, most depicting great castles or battle scenes.

Smiling at a maid who bobbed a curtsy as they passed, Zoe exclaimed, “Goodness me! I wonder why they did not simply move into a castle.”

“May ladies were most fond of their ancestral home,” murmured Gorton, “which was burnt. Although they could not do so on the outside, they tried to make the inside of this house as like it as possible. Even, so they say, to the secret passages and priest's hole. Here are Lady Yerville's quarters.”

The passage ended at a pair of closed doors beside which a cadaverously thin lackey with a mournful expression waited.

Gorton said, “Miss Grainger is expected, Phipps.”

His sad blue eyes scanned Zoe curiously, then he rested his ear against one of the doors for a moment before opening it with slow caution. He peered inside, then stood back.

“Go on, Miss!” urged Gorton on a note of urgency. “Quick!”

Zoe slipped past.

The door clicked shut behind her.

She whipped around and was dismayed to find that Gorton and Phipps had remained outside. It was foolish, but her heart began to pound faster and she found herself tiptoeing as she walked on.

Only the chiming of a clock sounding the quarter hour broke the stillness. The passage stretched out before her, seeming at first much the same as the one she'd just left. She came to realize, however, that this area was even more museum-like, and there was a decidedly musty smell on the air. Probably, she decided, from the tapestries, for there were many of those, some faded and curling with age, alternating with great banners and more paintings. A suit of armour was set in a shallow alcove; a war axe hung above a fine Italian dagger complete with furnishings. Looking at all the curiosities, Zoe heard six chimes in a deeper tone than the clock that had sounded the quarter-hour. Neither had been right. Even the clocks, she thought, were behind the times. A moment later yet another peal announced the half-hour. Zoe's amusement vanished and she gave a squeak of fright as she trod on a small ball, skidded, and almost fell. She was relieved when a footman hurried from an open doorway to offer his hand and murmur apologies.

“They should have seen fit to let me know you was here, Miss,” he grumbled. “My lady is wai—”

A small ginger and white cat shot from another open door and raced past at frenzied speed. There came a sudden pounding, scrambling noise, and a deep, terrifying growling. The footman gave a shout and leapt aside. Her heart in her mouth, Zoe shrank against the wall as an enormous black and white hound thundered straight at her. Its claws slipped on the polished boards, and the powerful back legs slid from under it. The floor shook. A narrow table was slammed against the wall and a marble urn toppled. With a bark that rattled the suit of armour, the hound recovered itself, and tore in pursuit of the cat.

“Oh, my heavens!” cried Zoe, distressed. “The poor little moggy will be killed!”

Muttering something under his breath about “reducing the livestock,” the footman straightened the urn, then said blandly, “That was Charlemagne, Miss. It'll be all right. It's his cat. This way.”

He stalked off, and Zoe followed, wondering who “he” might be, and why it had never occurred to her that there might be a Lord Yerville.

Such speculation ended when she was ushered into a spacious parlour.

“Miss Grainger, milady,” announced the footman, and withdrew, closing the door softly.

Fine rugs were spread on the polished floors; mauve and white hangings tied back with gold ropes were at the windows. A curio cabinet, two bookcases, and a fine escritoire were white. Two graceful white chairs covered in mauve velvet were set to one side of the Italian marble fireplace, on the mantelpiece of which stood a splendid gilt tower clock. There were more clocks in the curio cabinet and on the escritoire, each one ticking away busily. All this Zoe noted in fragmentary fashion as she approached the gold brocade chaise lounge set before the windows. Lady Julia Yerville reclined there, book in hand. She wore a white satin negligee trimmed with blonde lace. A dainty matching cap was tied over her neat wig. A tabby cat sprawled on her lap, and a big liver and white spaniel lying at the foot of the chaise lifted its head and looked at Zoe, its tail thumping a welcome. The large black cat she had met yesterday was perched, Sphinx-like, on the window seat, and a small white terrier that had been lying nearby jumped up emitting shrill barks and expressing its mistrust of the new arrival by a series of hysterical charges and retreats.

“Boadicea, hush!” cried my lady, lowering her book.

Boadicea instead became more strident, so that Lady Julia clapped her hands and said a sharp, “Bo! That will do!”

Annoyed, the tabby abandoned her lap to resettle itself in a sunny spot on the rug. Boadicea cowered and fled to the window seat where she crouched, growling, behind the black cat, who ignored her and continued to watch the proceedings with aloof boredom.

“My apologies,” said Lady Julia with a rueful smile. “Pray do not be alarmed, Miss Grainger. My friends will soon get to know you.”

A beam of sunlight touched the white satin negligee so that the frail lady seemed almost to glow. Zoe thought her ethereally lovely, and she came forward shyly to make her curtsy and clasp the fine-boned hand that was extended to her.

Her ladyship indicated a nearby chair and said in her gentle voice, “Do sit down, my dear. How very pretty you look this morning. I am so glad to see that Hermione's garments fit you. My sister was sure they would. Ah, you look mystified. The fact is that my cousin's youngest child was to have come as companion to me, but she was reluctant, so Lady Clara ordered a complete new wardrobe sewn to entice her. Alas, the prospect of waiting upon an invalid dimmed the lure of new fashions. I do not blame Hermione at all for refusing such a glorious opportunity.” Patting Zoe's hand, she said with a twinkle, “Are you offended to be offered garments intended for another lady?”

Zoe was relieved rather than offended. “Not at all, ma'am. In fact, I had wondered that Lady Buttershaw should have ordered so many garments for me. As if, you know, she had been sure for some time that I would come. It seemed…”

“A presumption? Or perhaps that she could see into the future? Fie upon me, for dispelling so lovely a mystery!”

As she spoke a clock chimed four times. For the first time Zoe realized that there were actually six clocks in the room, only one of which displayed the correct time.

Lady Julia said, “Ah, you have noted my clocks. 'Tis one of my hobbies. I shall tell you all about it later. We have plenty of time. If you will forgive the play on words.”

They laughed together, and the spaniel pulled himself up and came over, tail wriggling, to sniff at Zoe's shoes and permit himself to be stroked.

“There,” said Lady Julia. “Cromwell has accepted you already. But I must introduce you to the rest of them. The cat Boadicea hides behind is Attila—you will remember him from yesterday. The tabby is called Caesar. My little ginger pussycat, Charlemagne, and the largest of my pets, Viking, are somewhere about.”

“They—er, passed me in the passage,” said Zoe. “I see that I must have misunderstood. I thought your footman said that the ginger cat belongs to a gentleman.”

“A
gentleman,
is it?” Amused, my lady shook her head. “I doubt he rates so dignified an appellation! ‘Ruffian' would be more apropos, and he can upon occasion be very rough indeed! But I am being naughty and confusing you again, poor child. The thing is, you see, that the three dogs were all gifts as puppies, whereas the cats, as cats will, adopted me from time to time. I was fearful for their safety at first, but the strange thing is that as each cat came into my life, it chose a dog for itself as one might choose a friend and protector. I know that sounds unlikely, but 'tis really so. Little Boadicea is Attila's dog, and Cromwell here, my most amiable spaniel, belongs to Caesar, the tabby.”

Zoe asked in awe, “Then do you say, ma'am, that the tiny little ginger cat chose that enormous black and white hound?”

“Viking.” Lady Julia nodded. “Just so. Is it not quaint? Charley—or Charlemagne, to be precise, teases Viking constantly. Truly, I marvel that the mischievous creature has not been savaged. But although Viking chases him ferociously, he has never yet done more than make a great deal of noise, and they are actually inseparable. If Charley wanders off, sooner or later Viking will go in search of him. 'Tis most amusing to see their antics, I promise you. But enough of my pets. We must learn about each other. My life, alas, is dull, for I never married and have no children to fill my days. My uncle, the present earl, allows me to live in this house for my lifetime. Lady Clara had a large home, but she is childless, and when her husband went to his reward she moved back here.” She smiled and said confidingly, “She worries about me, you know, although I am not nearly so frail as she chooses to believe. Even so, my health does not permit that I go about very much. Fortunately, I have friends who are faithful, bless them, and call upon me, so that I am not altogether out of the world. Have you friends, Miss Grainger?”