The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

by Patricia Veryan

  She showed him a sparkling smile and, apparently not in the least disappointed, said ecstatically, “Was it not wonderful? Oh, I am so glad I saw it! Thank you so much, Lieutenant Cranford.”

  “It was truly my pleasure, ma’am. I’m only sorry His Majesty did not wear his crown for you. I fear all this pomp has delayed you. Shall I call up a chair now?”

  She looked doubtfully at the crowded streets. “I don’t see any, do you? Truly, I’ve not very far to go now. I fancy you also have business to attend to.”

  The business he had intended to “attend to” had lost its urgency in the face of a deepening anxiety for the well-being of his twin. At first attributing his unease to the naturally distracted state that seemed to plague bridegrooms, he could no longer dismiss the feeling that something was very wrong.

  Watching him, Miss Westerman said, “You are troubled, I think? You don’t appear to look forward to whatever—Oh, how very thoughtless of me! You were likely on your way to see your brother, and I have delayed you! Do pray, go at once! I shall be at home within ten minutes, I promise you.”

  She looked distressed. Her kindness touched him, but he had no intention of allowing her to walk alone in this noisy crowd. He caught a glimpse of an unoccupied sedan-chair and waved the bearers to him. “Now I can know you will get home without mishap,” he said, handing her inside despite her protests.

  “You are very kind.” She leaned to the open door. “I do hope you find Sir Peregrine improved.”

  Cranford tensed. “Improved? Is he ill, then?”

  “You did not know? You looked so anxious, I thought—”

  “We are twins. Sometimes we can sense if the other is in trouble. I have feared something was wrong, but ascribed it to—Well, that is neither here nor there. I think Perry is not in deep distress—Do pray tell me I’m right.”

  She said wonderingly, “What a remarkable gift. I believe you are quite correct, Lieutenant.” She saw how intently he searched her face and she went on quickly, “Sir Peregrine and his future brother-in-law were walking home from the Bedford Coffee House last night when they were knocked down by some lunatics racing their horses. After dark, of all the ridiculous things!”

  Shocked, he said, “But you heard my brother was not badly hurt? My great-uncle said nothing of it this morning.”

  “I doubt ’tis widely known yet. I only heard of it because a friend of my aunt chanced to ride by and saw it happen.”

  “Forgive, ma’am, but I must see him at once.”

  “Pray go. I’ll give the chairmen my direction.”

  He thanked her and mounted up, guiding Tassels along the Strand while cold fingers seemed to close around his heart. The unease he’d experienced when Perry hadn’t come to Muse Manor had deepened into anxiety today, but he’d been so busy with their various disasters that all he’d done was concoct a tale he’d hoped would fob Perry off. Tool!’ he thought remorsefully, and urged Tassels to a faster gait.

  Peregrine occupied a ground-floor flat in a charming house on Henrietta Street. Now that he was about to become a benedick, he was looking for a suitable house, but Piers had urged him to bring his bride to Muse Manor, where there was plenty of room for them to live comfortably until a permanent home was found. The page-boy ran out to take charge of Tassels as Cranford dismounted and in two long strides was atop the front steps. The porter already had the door open and greeted him with a nod and the observation that he was not surprised to see him.

  Townes, his brother’s new valet, answered his knock and with a faint welcoming smile took his hat, cloak and gauntlets. As always, he was immaculate, his wig neatly combed and his cravat like snow. For fifteen years he had served aboard some of the finest vessels in the East India fleet, valeting various captains. He had left the Company when he’d fallen in love with and married a passenger who had been returning to England with her soldier father. Sadly, influenza had claimed his bride less than a year later, leaving him heart-broken and without hope or purpose. A tavern brawl had led to a friendship with Enoch Tummet, Mr. August Falcon’s unorthodox valet, who had encouraged him to apply for the position vacated when Florian Consett left Peregrine and moved to the Cranfords’ country estate. Townes had adjusted well, but he appeared older than his thirty-five years and the deeply lined face gave mute testimony to his personal tragedy. He said in his well-modulated voice, “Miss Grainger will be pleased you have come, sir. She is in the parlour.”

  “Thank you. No need to announce me. Please tell the page to take my mare around to the stables and see she is fed and watered.”

  Townes bowed and went outside and Piers hurried into the small parlour.

  Zoe Grainger uttered a cry of relief and rose from the sofa to greet him.

  “My poor girl.” He took her hands and held them strongly. “How bad is it? Can I see him?”

  Zoe shook her auburn curls and lifted tear-wet green eyes to meet his. She was somewhat below average height, and pretty rather than beautiful, but with a shapely figure and usually a bright and cheerful disposition. Now, however, her voice trembled as she said, “Not too bad, I pray. Dr. Naseby is with him now, and has asked me to wait here. He said yesterday that Perry was lucky to have escaped serious injury, but one of the horses’ hooves struck his bad leg and—and we don’t know yet what—what the outcome may be.”

  He thought an anguished, ‘Dear Heaven! Not more surgery?’ and it was an effort to say calmly, “What a dreadful shock for you. I understand your brother was injured also? Not seriously, I hope.”

  “Travis was cut about the head and suffered a sprained wrist, but—Oh, Piers! I’m so afraid!”

  Still holding her hand, he sat beside her on the sofa. “If I know my twin, he will do nicely, as he always does. I just wish I’d come sooner.”

  “I wonder you arrived so quickly. I suppose you sensed he had been hurt. You must have rid all night. The thing is… It was so senseless, Piers! Those wicked creatures had not the common decency to stop and help. In fact, Travis was getting to his feet, when one of the riders turned back and beat him down with his riding crop. That’s how his head was cut. If Perry had been able to get up—or if a coach hadn’t driven up at that moment… Oh, I dread to think what they may have done.”

  He stared at her pale little face. Another disaster… Could it be tied to all the rest? And if so—what was the purpose?

  Zoe said, “Might it be more reprisals from that evil League of Jewelled Men? I thought that was all behind us, but who else would wish to harm Perry?”

  “No one,” he said firmly. “And the tale of the League is told—forever! FU wager it was a matter of drink coupled with two irresponsible young bucks looking to prove their manhood.”

  “That’s what the Bow Street Runner said,” she murmured doubtfully.

  He was at once tense with apprehension, but knew his brother would keep any private concerns from the girl he loved. He asked gently, “The Runners were here? What did they have to say?”

  “Nothing to the point, or so Perry thought. They as good as said he should have been more vigilant and that any citizen in these lawless times should exercise caution when walking after dark. He is not a peer, of course, else they might perhaps have been more thorough. I believe Perry is more concerned that something is amiss down at Muse Manor.” Searching his unwontedly stern face, she asked, “Is that the case?”

  He summoned a smile. “Is my brother fretting himself to flinders?”

  “He is, that’s what frightens me so,” she said, appearing not to have noticed the evasion. “He’s no coward, Piers.”

  “Lord! I know that!”

  “But he dreads more surgery, poor darling. And he says that thanks to him our—our wedding might have to be postponed. Piers, he is making himself even more ill with all this anxiety.”

  In which case, thought Piers grimly, Perry must know nothing of recent events at Muse Manor.

  He sprang up as Dr. Naseby hurried in.

  “How is he?” he a
sked, shaking hands with the plump little physician.

  Naseby smiled over the big round spectacles that gave him an owlish look. “Not good, but not bad enough to cause you to be in despair. You got here promptly, which don’t surprise me in view of the odd mental link you share with your twin. He told me he was on the verge of coming up to your estate, fretting that something is amiss.” He scanned Piers shrewdly. “Is it?”

  Irritated, Piers said, “Nothing of import. But let me have the tale with no bark on it, if you please. I understand his maimed leg is damaged.”

  Zoe half-whispered, “Are you going to operate again?”

  The doctor glanced at the decanter. Remembering his manners, Piers stifled his impatience and poured a glass of Madeira and Naseby sat down and accepted it with a murmur of thanks and the observation that “it has been a busy day.” He took a mouthful of wine, sighed with gratification, and said, “Your brother is quite battered, Mr. Piers, but I suspect he got off lightly. The main damage is to his leg, which is lacerated. At first I’d feared surgery was indicated, but I’m happy to say I don’t think well have to resort to that, if all goes well.”

  Zoe wept with relief. Putting his arm about her, and saying a mental prayer of thanks, Piers gave the doctor a steady look. “I can go in and see him now?”

  Interpreting that glance correctly, Naseby said, “Yes. But just yourself, if you please. Young Grainger is with him and I don’t want his nerves overset. One visitor for a few minutes only. I’ll come with you and haul Mr. Grainger out.” He patted Zoe’s hand and went with Piers into the corridor.

  Piers said softly, “There was a qualification, I think.”

  “I didn’t want to alarm the lady. The nature of the wounds leads me to wonder if this was a random accident. I suspect your twin knows more than he has said, and fears for the safety of his fiancée. His anxieties are hindering his recovery.”

  “Miss Grainger says he dreads that his injuries may cause them to delay their wedding.”

  “Nonsense. He is in a deal of pain, but if he can just be convinced to stop worrying and get some sleep, he will do splendidly. I tried to give him laudanum, which was a forlorn hope, as usual.”

  “Yes, he loathes the stuff. I think it reminds him of all the misery he endured when he lost his foot.”

  The doctor nodded. “Understandable. Well, do what you can to make him more tranquil. That’s the best medicine for him just now. I’ll tell Miss Grainger her brother will be out directly, I fancy you want a quick word with him. A quick word, mind!”

  Piers nodded and opened the bedroom door. Peregrine gave a whoop and shouted gaily, “About time you arrived, old slowtop!”

  Travis Grainger rose from the bedside chair. Six years Zoe’s senior, he had the same auburn hair and green eyes and the family resemblance was strong.

  Shaking hands, Piers noted that he was pale and looked wan. “Hello, Hops,” he said warmly. “Has my graceless twin dragged you into trouble again?”

  Amused by the schoolboy nickname, Grainger confirmed this, and Piers moved past him to bend over his brother. The blue eyes were, he thought, too bright, but the hand that reached out to him was no more than normally warm. He thought, “No fever, thank the Lord!’ and chided, ’Well, halfling? What possessed you to allow two drunken bullies to put you flat on your back again? I can’t be running up to Town every other day, you know.”

  “No more can I be trudging into the country,” said Peregrine.

  Grainger said quietly, “We doubt they were drunken bullies, Piers, though don’t tell Zoe I said so.”

  Piers sat on the side of the bed. “What, then? If they were the League’s assassins you’d both be dead.”

  “Very true. But”—Peregrine glanced to the door warily—“it was no accident.”

  Grainger said, “We thought at first it was attempted robbery. Mohocks again. You know what a plague they are for violence and thievery in the City. But these two varmints were mounted.”

  “On fine hacks,” put in Peregrine, shifting restlessly in the bed.

  Piers asked sharply, “What kind of animals? Were you able to see?”

  “Well enough to note that one was a splendid black.” Peregrine said. “Reminded me of August Falcon’s Andante.”

  Dr. Naseby stuck his head around the door. His dark eyes glinted, and he remarked testily that there were too many people jabbering at his patient.

  Grainger said, “Aye, aye, sir!” and hurried out.

  Piers scarcely noticed him leave. He was thinking, ‘A splendid black…’ Falcon wasn’t the only man who owned such a horse—their alleged “cousin” Gervaise also rode “a splendid black.” He made no comment and kept his face expressionless, but watching him narrowly, his twin said, “All right, now you can tell me what’s wrong at home. And don’t say “Nothing.” I knew days ago that I should come down there. Would to heaven I had! As soon as this stupid leg improves—”

  “Lord, what an ego,” said Piers, laughing. “D’you suppose we cannot handle a few minor problems without screaming for your sage counsel?” He saw Peregrine flush and look irked, and hurried on, “If you must know, your friend Florian came to cuffs with old Finchley’s head-groom and—”

  “Grover? Florian’s no match for that ruffian. Was he hanging around the Finchley preserves again? I warned him the charming Major would take exception to his interest in Laura. But—there’s more, I think. What aren’t you telling me? I am still part of this family and I’ve a right not to be shut out of—”

  “All right, all right!” Piers said resignedly. “We have had a small problem at St. Mark’s—the steeple and bell tower fell into the choir loft, but I promise you we’re in a fair way to rebuilding, so there is no cause for you to be into the boughs about it. Aunt Jane sends her love and will doubtless want me to drive her to town so as to visit you. Is that sufficiently sinister to warrant your morbid imaginings?…”

  “It is sufficient to cause me to beg that you not tell her of this fiasco! Seriously, twin, it was bad enough having the Runners hover over me, but poor Aunt Jane would be in a state over something that may be, as the Runners implied, laid to my own lack of alertness. And—for Lord’s sake, don’t tell our great-uncle of it! If he should come stamping and bellowing over here I would truly be driven to the ropes!”

  Piers grinned but warned that if the attack should get into the newspapers he would have no way of keeping Lord Nugent in the dark.

  Nodding gloomily, Peregrine demanded more details of the estate, and Piers obliged him at some length, teasing his brother and making light of events at Muse Manor, his performance so convincing that by the time he left, Peregrine was comfortably asleep.

  8

  I am very sorry, Mr. Cranford.” A sleek and slender individual, with a tendency to flourish his gloved hands in elaborate gestures, the Stansbury butler looked bored rather than sorry as he explained that Mrs. Stansbury was attending an afternoon musicale and Miss Cordelia Stansbury was from home.

  The short winter afternoon had already faded into dusk; Cranford was cold and very aware that he had not as yet enjoyed luncheon. He could return to Perry’s flat, where he knew he’d be offered a meal, or go to his club, but he was eager to put this unpleasant task behind him.

  He said, “I am most anxious to talk with Miss Stansbury. Do you know where I might find the lady?”

  The butler’s pale eyes slithered over him in a swift appraisal, then blinked at the ceiling as he imparted that he “could not say.”

  Recognizing the signs, Cranford took out his purse.

  Doncaster Close was located in one of the newer areas that were springing up west of Hyde Park. The houses were neatly kept and of a good size, but there was no central private garden, and the Close conveyed an impression of comfortable affluence rather than the aura of great wealth which pervaded an adjoining square. Cranford’s tug on the bell of number fourteen was answered by a large and gorgeous footman. His protuberant eyes swept the caller briefly, a
nd although he appeared to be somewhat deaf, he was sufficiently impressed by Cranford’s card to admit him to the entrance hall, and having bowed him to a stone bench sailed away, desiring that he “be so good as to wait” while he ascertained whether “the ladies” were at home.

  Cranford watched the footman’s majestic progress to the stairs and resigned himself to a long wait. He glanced around the hall. Empty, it would have been a large chamber, but it was so crowded with furniture that it appeared to be quite small. The pieces were seemingly unrelated and of such widely diverse styles that he was put in mind of a second-hand furniture warehouse. Although far from being an expert in such matters, he was able to recognize that an elaborate credenza on one wall was of the baroque style, while beside it was a tall mahogany coat-stand such as might be found in an English country house. The bench he occupied looked to have been culled from a garden; the enormous gilded mirror reflecting his curiosity would have been more suited to a ballroom; and a marble-topped sideboard appeared to be of Italian origin. He was gazing in fascination at a purple velvet chaise supported by black marble griffin’s legs when footsteps sounded from a staircase at the rear of the hall and he sprang to his feet.

  The lady who tripped to greet him was tall and willowy, her height accentuated by the large blue feathers that bobbed above her French wig.

  “Miss… Celeste…Westerman…?” he stammered incredulously.

  Wielding an outsize fan of matching blue feathers, she advanced, hand outstretched, eyes gleaming with delight. “Lieutenant Piers Cranford! Why, you dear thing! You have sought me out!”

  He bit back the instinctive denial, which could only offend, and dropped a reluctant kiss on the hand that was thrust at his lips. “The—er, pleasure is mine, ma’am, but—”

  “Silly boy. We are alone at last. You may call me”—she lowered her voice and purred provocatively—“… Celeste.”

  “Thank you,” he gulped, edging back as the fan whisked across his nose. “I had—”