The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

by Patricia Veryan

  “And I shall call you…Piers” she said throbbingly. “Such a lovely, lovely name. I think—”

  “If you did, sister,” growled Mrs. Caroline Westerman, coming heavy-footed from a corridor that apparently led to the back of the house, “you would know that Mr. Cranford probably has not come to see you, but rather—”

  Miss Celeste uttered a shrill titter. “But how foolish you are, dear Caro. You surely do not flatter yourself that he has come to see you? La, but I declare ’tis positively amusing.” Her long eyelashes fluttering, she lowered her voice once more and urged, “Tell her why you are come, dear… Piers,” and behind her fan said clearly, “’Tis not kind to tease the poor creature.”

  Mentally, Cranford groaned. “I think I am in error,” he said. “It is my pleasure to see both of you charming ladies, but I had hoped for a word with—” He broke off as a laughing voice declared:

  “Aunty Caro, I have torn the hem of my gown. I am still unused to these wretched heels… and…” Entering the hall holding one very high-heeled slipper and walking jerkily on the other, Miss Cordelia Stansbury came to an abrupt halt. The laughter vanished from her eyes and the colour from her cheeks as she saw Cranford. “Oh… my…” she whispered.

  “Just so, Miss Mary” said he sternly.

  The wig she wore was dishevelled and a curling tendril of golden-brown hair had escaped. She had not applied her paint and patches, and she seemed smaller and only half-dressed minus all the jewels she’d worn when first they met.

  Raising a hand to straighten her wig, she forgot the shoe she held, with the result that the wig was knocked sideways. Scarlet-faced but recovering, she snatched at it frantically, and gabbled, “Lieutenant—Cr-Cranford. How—er, charming that you have called upon—”

  “Me!” interposed Miss Celeste sharply.

  “Nonsense,” barked Mrs. Caroline.

  “I was under the impression I had called upon Miss Cordelia Stansbury—or is it Miss Mary Westerman?” said Cranford, his eyes bleak.

  “Why, you silly boy,” teased Miss Celeste, preparing to take his arm. “Don’t you know—”

  “We know that we must ask Cook to prepare tea,” said Mrs. Caroline, in a voice that brooked no argument. “Come along, sister. Be so good as to show the Lieutenant into the withdrawing-room, Mary.”

  Miss Celeste’s squeaked protestations faded as her sister took her firmly by the arm and all but dragged her from the hall.

  Cranford said, “May I help you with your shoe, Miss Stansbury?”

  For answer, Cordelia kicked off her other shoe, gathered up her trailing skirts and said defiantly, “Oh, come along and do stop looking daggers at me. You have found me out. You know perfectly well who I am.”

  Following her along an over-furnished corridor into an even more over-furnished withdrawing-room, he said, “You would appear to be two ladies, ma’am, both of whom have been playing a game with me.”

  She was silent until they were seated on either side of a merrily crackling fire. Watching the flames thoughtfully, she murmured, “Yes. You are entitled to an explanation, I suppose. My mother, you see, never liked the name Mary. My father had chosen it and my aunts liked it well enough, but Mama judged it too—ordinary. She refused to call me anything but Cordelia. Mama judged my aunts ‘ordinary’ as well. Which they knew. There were—disagreements and eventually a sad rift. Afterwards, my aunts insisted on calling me Mary Westerman, and of late I’ve not minded using that name since my own is so sadly disgraced. Family nonsense, you see, but I trust you are not going to claim that I have broke your heart, sir.”

  “It would be foolish in me, considering that we had never met prior to the day I called upon your mama and you saw fit to make mock of my offer.”

  Her hazel eyes lifted and scanned him with a candid and unwavering gaze. She nodded. “I apologize for being so gauche. But now you must please be honest. Do you even like me?” He hesitated, then said, “I like Miss Mary Westerman.” “But not Miss Stansbury. Did you dislike Cordelia on sight?”

  “I—er, I try never to rely on—on first impressions, ma’am.”

  “Now you are evading. You strike me as being the type of man who would form immediate first impressions and seldom revise them.” She saw the slow smile that crept into his extremely attractive blue eyes. “In which case, Lieutenant,” she said with a small chuckle, “why ever did you offer for me? No! You are a soldier, I’m aware, but pray answer me honestly and do not exercise tactful diplomacy.”

  She had asked for honesty, but if, as he suspected, she was deep in love with his revolting “cousin,” he had no wish to hurt her. He said, he hoped nonchalantly, “I have sold out and am no longer a soldier, ma’am. I will tell you that I stand in need of a bank loan which I cannot obtain without the consent of my great-uncle.”

  Her brows lifted. “General Lord Nugent Cranford?” “Yes. He is a very—proud gentleman and will fight tooth and nail to protect our family from any hint of dishonour.”

  She said with a faintly sardonic smile, “And you are, I believe, related to Mr. Gervaise Valerian?”

  “Unfor——er, I mean—distantly, ma’am.”

  “Ah. I see that you do not like the gentleman.”

  He shrugged. “As you say.”

  “But you have been commanded to—what is it you men say? To ‘pull his chestnuts from the fire’ by offering for the lady he rejected, and thus restore the family honour. Is that the case, Mr. Cranford?”

  Her candour would be judged by many as scandalous, but she was reacting calmly and sensibly, thank goodness, and he was emboldened to admit, “You are in the right of it, ma’am.”

  “Right of it!” She sprang up, eyes flashing suddenly and cheeks flushed. “Right of it? I would say rather you have the wrong of it! It is disgusting! Indecent! Immoral!”

  Startled, he said jerkily, “You asked for—for an honest—”

  “Beneath contempt!” Her voice shrill with fury, she cried, “Not caring a button for the poor creature, you were willing to take her for your wife only to secure money for—”

  He had stood also, and gripping her shoulders, interrupted harshly, “You insisted upon the truth. Try using some yourself. I am no matrimonial prize, I grant you. But I could have offered the lady a good name at least—”

  “To cleanse her sullied reputation? I wonder so proud and upstanding an officer would stoop—”

  “Be quiet! I know she—you—are in love with my cousin.”

  Her head bowed at this, and she stood silent and passive in his grasp.

  “But I would have made no demands upon the lady,” he declared. “However much I—”

  “Lusted for your rights as a husband?” she shot at him.

  “I was going to say, however much I deplored Miss Cordelia’s taste in men,” he replied, taking his hands from her shoulders.

  She turned away and walked to a window, her careful dignity marred by an occasional trip, since her gown had been fashioned for wear with high heels. Reminded of Dimity as a child dressing up in one of Mama’s gowns, he smiled faintly.

  “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Cranford?” she asked in a calmer voice.

  “Surely every man has been in love at some time during his life.”

  “You are skilled at evasions, sir, but I wonder if you know what it means to…really… love someone.”

  “The same thought occurs to me regarding Miss Cordelia and her—passion for Valerian.”

  She swung around and regarded him smoulderingly. “You almost said ‘unrequited’ passion.”

  “Ill-judged, rather.”

  “If you admit it to be genuine passion, how could you endure life with a lady who loved another?”

  “Probably-by finding myself—‘another,’ as you put it.”

  She said with a curl of the lip, “A splendid basis for a happy marriage, I do declare!”

  With a nonchalance he did not feel, he responded, “We live in a modern age, Miss Cordelia. I am—” He pa
used as a maid entered, carrying a tray laden with tea-time paraphernalia which she proceeded to set out on a low table.

  Returning to her chair, Cordelia took up the teapot, then slanted a glance at Cranford and murmured, “Alas, you will not care for it. No brandy, Lieutenant.”

  His eyes were fixed hopefully on a plate of steaming buttered crumpets, but meeting her gaze and finding a sparkle of laughter there, he grinned in response. “Ma’am, I am too famished to quibble for such unorthodox seasonings.”

  “Famished? A late breakfast, perchance?”

  “No lunch. After we parted I went to see my brother and then to your—Miss Cordelia’s home.”

  She at once handed him a plate and offered the crumpets and strawberry preserves. “I trust you found Sir Peregrine not badly injured?”

  “He goes along better than I’d dared hope. The attack was stupid and pointless.” He said thoughtfully, “At least, I think it was pointless,” and sank his teeth into a deliciously juicy crumpet.

  Conversation languished as they enjoyed their tea, but when his hostess offered to ring for more crumpets, Cranford declined and asked her instead to tell him about the island where she had been cast away. “If ’tis not too painful for you, ma’am.”

  “Oh, no. Not at all,” she answered, so blithely that he looked at her in surprise. “Well, of course, it was terrifying—the storm, I mean,” she amended hastily. “But the island was lovely. So sunny and warm. And the natives were very kind.”

  “They did not—er—That is to say, you were not—ill-treated?”

  “If you mean was I ravished,” she said outrageously, “I was not, sir.” She saw the lift of his brows and her chin went up. “You are thinking that ladies do not make such remarks, but I will tell you that I was in fact treated with far more respect than I have received here in London.”

  Her defiant flare faded into a wistful resignation, and Cranford waited, saying nothing.

  “I suppose,” she went on, running a fingertip around the handle of her cup, “you are wondering why I did it.”

  “Did—what? Come back to England?”

  “No! This is my homeland; of course I would come back. I meant—why I set out.”

  “I understood your mama sent you to Egypt.”

  “Not so, Mr. Cranford. The truth is that—that I was so humiliated when poor Gervaise was entrapped into offering for me…” Her voice trembled a little. She took a deep breath and said, “I—knew he didn’t care for me, you see. And I—I just could not bear it.’

  Awed, he asked, “Do you say your mother did not send you? That you ran away?”

  “I did.” With a sideways glance at him, she said, “Are you greatly shocked?”

  He was certainly taken off-stride, but he managed to say, “It must have taken a great deal of courage, I think. But—you never managed it alone?”

  “My aunts helped me, the dear things. That was the worst part of it for me. Knowing how worried they must have been, and blaming themselves.”

  ‘Well, you’re safe home now, so they may be happy again. But if you won’t have me, what shall you do? Or have your aunts decided to confront Valerian and oblige him to—er—”

  “Force him to honour his word, do you mean? Good gracious—no! That is the very reason I ran away in the first place. I have my pride, Mr. Cranford. I want no gentleman to marry me as a duty, and having no affection for me.”

  “But—your pardon—if you care for him…”

  “I do,” she admitted, her face saddened. “I always will. But—I know I am socially ‘beyond the pale’ now. And even if I were not, I would never condemn him to a loveless marriage. Or you to an even more loveless marriage, since in our case there would be love on neither side.”

  “Then…you will live here? With your aunts?”

  “For the time being.” She nodded, then said with one of Miss Mary’s michievous smiles, “Never look so troubled, Lieutenant Piers. I have—a Plan, and if all goes well, shall do very nicely.”

  Whatever her Plan, it would almost certainly be judged brazen by most of the ton, but he could not fail to be impressed by her resourcefulness. He said, “I hope for your sake it does go well. But if it should not, my offer still stands. Arranged marriages sometimes turn out to be the best, so they say. And you like my country home.”

  “Indeed, I do. But—Oh my! Will you really lose it if I refuse you? Surely the General would not be so unkind?”

  “To say truth, ma’am, I also have a Plan that may save Muse Manor for us. I am obliged to admit, though, that were you ever to consider me, I could not offer you all the elegancies that Valerian would provide. Our finances are at a low ebb at present, and we’ve to cope with several costly repairs.”

  He looked rather grim, and she probed curiously, “We? Do you mean you and your twin?”

  “Yes.” Scanning her face in sudden anxiety, he said, “If you should meet Perry again, I must beg you not to mention the little difficulties that—”

  “That require ‘costly repairs’? The truth is that you’ve not told him of the flood, or your poor cow, or any of it, have you? Why not? I thought you said he was not badly injured, in which case you could have at least discussed the situation and asked his opinion. Or is he fumble-witted?”

  Indignant, he exclaimed hotly, “Certainly not! If you’d been in England last year, you would know he was knighted for gallantry.”

  “Ah. So he has become too high-in-the-instep to help with your difficulties.”

  “Not so! Good heavens, ma’am, how you do take one up!”

  “Do I? Perhaps. But I would have to be foolish indeed not to realize that there must be some reason why you won’t allow him to help, and shut him out as though he were a child.”

  His temper flaring, he said, “If you must know, he’s had a miserably painful three years because of a war injury. He has found his lady now, and is soon to be married. God knows, he deserves his happiness.”

  “And you mean to ensure that nothing spoils it. I see.” Her sudden smile beamed at him. “I think Sir Peregrine is a lucky man to have you for a brother, Lieutenant Piers.”

  Her eyes were very kind, so that he said with a grateful but rather embarrassed smile, “Thank you. Now that you have evidently put me on a most undeserved pedestal, are you quite sure you won’t reconsider my offer?”

  She shook her head. “’Twould be unkind to both of us. But I will very much like to have you for a friend—if you have any use for the friendship of a disgraced lady.”

  “I would be honoured,” he said, and was mildly surprised to realize that he meant it.

  Her aunts did not reappear, and soon afterwards he bade her good night and took his departure.

  Outside, it was dark and cold, but he felt the need of some exercise and, refusing the footman’s offer to call up a chair, he set off at a brisk pace. A chill wind moaned between the buildings and whipped the flambeaus that blazed beside most doors. He scarcely noticed the lowering temperature; his thoughts were on the house he’d just left and the incredible story Miss Stansbury had told him. She was a courageous little lady, but he wondered if she fully comprehended the enormity of what she had done and the inevitable judgment of a Society that could be merciless. In his opinion, Mrs. Regina Stansbury was responsible for her daughter’s rash action, but for a young and pretty girl to be, as she herself had said, ‘beyond the pale,’ was a sad fate. The kindest of the ton hostesses would not invite her to their parties or pay her morning calls. She would be shunned and avoided and all Society’s doors would be closed to the poor girl. There would be only two avenues open to her: she must either wed someone of good family, or a powerful ton hostess must defy public opinion and take the outcast under her wing.

  He chuckled to himself, recalling the way her eyes had flashed when she’d stormed at him and labelled his offer for her hand as being “disgusting, immoral, and indecent.” As he turned onto the New Road to Kensington, he could almost hear her saying she would not cond
emn him to a marriage in which there would be love on neither side… Surely, most ladies caught in so unenviable a situation would have jumped at the chance of a respectable alliance, and have given not a button about saddling a gentleman with a “loveless marriage.” A rara avis was Miss Mary…

  The gust of wind was so strong, it broke through his introspection and sent his cloak billowing. He pulled it closer, finding that he was shivering with cold. Hoofbeats were coming up behind him and he turned sharply, hoping to find a hackney coach. This coach, however, was large and far from being a vehicle for hire. By the light from a flambeau he saw that the coachman was holding his team to a walk. Briefly Cranford had a strong impression that he was being watched, then he had to leap back as the coachman cracked his whip and the carriage plunged past so close that it brushed his cloak. He caught a glimpse of the man inside and his instinctive shout of anger died away. It was a brief glimpse and the passenger jerked back at once, but Cranford’s eyes were keen and he stared after the fast disappearing carriage curiously. The likeness had been truly remarkable. If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was the pedlar fellow who came so often to Muse Village.

  He shook his head and scolded himself for such foolishness. As if an impoverished pedlar could have ridden in that fine coach—or even be in Mayfair.

  A hackney carriage approached, the jarvey slowing his horse and peering hopefully at a possible fare. Cranford waved his cane and the coach was turned smartly and pulled up alongside. Directing the jarvey to the Madrigal Club, Cranford settled back against the worn squabs. At once Miss Mary again occupied his thoughts. Did she really intend to strike out on her own? Surely, such a daring course was unlikely. It was also unlikely that she would be “on her own” for long. She was a taking little creature, and if a match in her own strata of Society was not forthcoming, she would probably win the admiration of some worthy Cit and be perfectly happy living in obscurity. For some reason that solution irritated him. He shrugged impatiently and turned his thoughts to Muse Manor.

  Not until he was enjoying a fine supper in the Madrigal Club did he recall Tio Glendenning’s reaction to the pedlar, Joshua somebody, they’d seen in the village. Tio had been markedly uneasy. “Be wary of him,” he’d warned. His own efforts to cope with the various calamities that demanded his attention had driven that warning from his mind. Now, in the act of lifting a forkful of succulent roast beef, his hand stilled. If Joshua Pedlar was in truth an Intelligence officer, he might very well have been in that carriage just now! And if he had been ordered to monitor Piers Cranford’s activities, he was likely aware of the close friendship that existed between him and the hot-at-hand viscount. A chill shivered between Cranford’s shoulder-blades. He’d thought they were clear of that terrible threat. But if the Horse Guards and Bow Street were still on Tio’s track, then they all were at risk. Dimity and her fine young husband, Perry; Aunt Jane; and himself; for each one of them had given aid to a man they knew to have followed Prince Charles Stuart and would share his cruel fate if that fact were proven.