The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

by Patricia Veryan

  “In what way? You still mean to challenge me to a duel?”

  “Blast your eyes! You know very well what I mean! Your supercilious attitude towards me—”

  “Supercilious! Contemptuous, rather. Which you earned with your clever masquerade!”

  “Even so, in public you shall have to continue to regard me as though I were something less than a slug. And another thing—when Cordelia Stansbury is wed, it will be to me, so do not cherish empty hopes.”

  Cranford said grimly, “Well see about that. But we have to find her first!”

  “It is my opinion your wits are to let,” grumbled Valerian, standing with the horses and watching Cranford scramble down from the top of the rise. “Look at you! You cannot even command your feet! When did you eat or sleep last?”

  “Your father’s cognac has stood me in good stead.”

  “Or made you so lushy you don’t know what you’re about! Why are we on Finchley’s estate? You told me the Hall had already been searched. If Mary were there she would have been rescued long since.”

  “If she had been there. Tis my belief the Major would not want his daughter to know of his infamous behaviour and has Mary hid somewhere close by.”

  “Now what are you about? Do you mean to leave the horses here? Why?”

  “So that we can keep watch from the top of the rise.” Following his example, Valerian secured Walker to a nearby shrub, and said, “Why would the old duffer take such a risk as to kidnap a lady of Quality? He don’t know about the precious necklace, so what would he stand to gain?”

  “He very probably does know about the necklace. His daughter Laura and Mary are bosom bows, don’t forget. If Mary told Laura about the beads and Laura chanced to mention it to her father, he may very well have put two and two together.”

  Valerian gave a disparaging snort as they walked up the rise side by side. “You give the malevolent Major higher marks for intelligence than do I. Nor did his daughter impress me as being needle-witted. Laura… Hi! Ain’t she the lady your gypsy steward fancies?”

  “Yes. And she may not be clever, but Laura Finchley has a kind heart and is a charming young woman.”

  “Not charming enough to risk hanging for, in my humble opinion.”

  “Florian did not kill Grover, though he had plenty of provocation. And nor is he the only man to admire Miss Finchley’s charms.”

  “So I’ve heard. Among them, another of your odd retainers, if somewhat indirectly.”

  Cranford turned and looked at him. “Now what do you imply? Young Peale perhaps, or Sudbury?”

  “I don’t imply. I state. And I refer to our great-uncle’s bastard.”

  “What the devil—”

  “Did you not know?” Valerian laughed softly. “Why do you suppose a proud man like General Lord Nugent Cranford would keep a gardener who is short of a sheet?”

  “If you mean Herbert Turner, he is an excellent gardener and the son of my great-uncle’s housekeeper—”

  “And our great-uncle! Oh, never look so taken aback. These things happen. If you paid heed to ton gossip you would have learned one or two of our family’s more lurid secrets. If you don’t believe me, ask your valet. Blake knows. Young Turner was crying on his shoulder Monday. I chanced to see them when I was cutting across your pristine acres to visit my father, after the race.”

  “And—Turner was really distraught?”

  “Nigh hysterical, I thought. Almost, I felt sorry for the poor clod.”

  Cranford said nothing, but his tired mind was slowly fitting the pieces together. Grover had tormented Herbert Turner for years… poor Herbert had always worshipped Laura Finchley and knew of her unhappy home life… and Blake, the boy’s uncle, had left his service very abruptly shortly after Grover’s murder…

  “What are you staring at down there?” demanded Valerian. “Whose hovel is that?”

  “The late Sidney Grover lived there.”

  “Finchley gave his groom a cottage of his own? That’s odd.”

  “Especially odd for a clutchfist like the charming Major. It might serve him to keep Mary there. The local people are superstitious and would very likely have drawn back from searching the home of a murdered man.”

  “But if he does have her, why has there been no ransom demand?”

  “I doubt he would risk such a move. He may believe she knows the location of the barrow.”

  “If there is such an article. My father is brilliant, never doubt it, but he could be mistaken.”

  “Or he could be right, which would explain everything. There are rumours that Finchley is deep under the hatches. He has a surfeit of pride and loves his estate, and if he is really rolled up, I think he’d stop at nothing to lay his hands on a possible fortune in ancient jewels and artifacts.”

  “I thought all buried treasure belonged to the crown—but if, as you say, he is really desperate, he’d find a way to conceal…My God! He may be trying to force Mary to tell him where to find it! Come on!”

  Whirling about, he ran down the slope, tore Walker’s reins free and sprang into the saddle.

  Coming up with him, Cranford caught at the stallion’s bridle. “Wait! We don’t know how many may be down there! We’ll do Mary no favour if we are outnumbered. Better to take them by surpri—”

  “Surprise—hell!” snarled Valerian, and was off, up the rise and down the far side, riding towards the cottage at the gallop.

  Groaning anathemas on his reckless cousin, Cranford followed.

  “I do not understand why you keep me waiting for so long.” Sitting on the shabby sofa before the hearth in this cheerless parlour, Mary complained, “Tis freezing in this dirty cottage. What is behind that half-wall? The scullery?”

  Gresford Finchley nodded. “And wash-house. Though I doubt Grover ever washed anything.”

  “I believe you.” She shivered. “Can you not light a fire at least?”

  Finchley spread his large hands and said with an ingratiating grin that he had sent his men out to find firewood. “Poor Sid Grover was an indifferent housekeeper, I own.”

  “Yes, but you have only just arrived. And if, as you claim, your daughter is so desperate to see me, why has she not come? The groom who brought me her message said ’twas a matter of life and death, so I came at once. But ’tis past dinnertime. I am hungry and my aunts will be worried.” Standing, she said firmly, “I must get home, Major Finchley. When Laura comes—”

  “No, but you must not go.” He walked over to a rickety table set by the half-wall to the scullery and took up a covered basket. “I have fetched you some bread and ham, and a jug of milk. But I cannot light the fire; Laura insisted we must not, lest the smoke be seen.”

  “Oh, my!” Mary moved to occupy the chair he pulled out for her, and asked breathlessly, “Is this to do with Florian, then? Does she hope to free him? How?”

  Finchley took off his riding coat and wrapped it solicitously about her shoulders. “There, my dear. Now you may be warm and comfortable while you eat the poor supper I’ve brought. There’s a little pot of mustard if you want it, and a spoon.”

  Mary did want it, and added mustard to her ham with a lavish hand.

  Watching her, the major shook his head and said enviously, “You young people have cast-iron insides. I Wish I could eat such highly spiced food.”

  ‘If you drank less, you might be able to do so, and would likely not have such a red nose’ thought Mary, but she smiled and made no comment.

  “I’ve no least notion why Laura is taking such a time,” he muttered. “I only hope she has not made a mull of things. ’Twould have been better to let me handle the business, and so I told her, but she would have it that old Bragg would treat her more kindly, especially if she has to resort to bribery.”

  “Dear heavens!” Looking up from retrieving a plate with some thickly buttered slices of bread, Mary said, “The constable is an honest man—he would never agree to break the law! Is Laura all about in her head?”

&nbs
p; “An apt term, Miss Stansbury, if rather naughty. I forbid Laura to use cant expressions. But I have to admit I fear that very thing. She is so devoted to this young fellow, you know, and held that if she offered a large enough sum…” He sighed. “Alas, ’twould likely require more than I was able to give her. My finances are not…” He shrugged.

  Incredulous, Mary bit hungrily into her bread, and taking up a forkful of the ham, said rather indistinctly, “You gave Laura funds to—to bribe Constable Bragg?”

  Finchley nodded sadly.

  The bread was newly baked and delicious, and the ham tender. Much as Mary disliked and mistrusted this man she enjoyed her impromptu supper, and said at length, “But—you have always objected, most violently, to Florian Consett’s courtship and Laura’s affection for him.”

  He sighed again. “As any well-meaning parent would do, you must admit. Especially in view of these dreadful charges ’gainst him. But it has been borne in upon me that their attachment will prove lasting. I love my daughter too dearly to break her gentle heart. So—I gave her all I had.”

  His eyes were downcast; he looked despairing. Watching him narrowly, Mary continued to do justice to the food, then asked, “If Laura succeeds in freeing him, where will they go? Do you dare to hide them here?”

  “No, no! I am assured this would be the first place the law would seek them. There are Runners coming from London, as I fancy you know. And those hounds will never rest until they are taken. I have arranged for passage to France. How they will go on after they reach land, I dare not contemplate. I can give them no more and there is no one I can ask for a loan without betraying them, alas.”

  The Major, thought Mary, was just trying to prevent the young couple from escaping. She said, “But they must have funds! Perhaps I can help.”

  Finchley’s eyes shot to her face, “You are’ kind. But—your mama will surely not allow it.”

  “No, nor would I approach her. But I have a little money of my own, and—some pieces of jewellery they might be able to sell in France.”

  He clasped his hands and exclaimed, “How good a friend! And such generosity! Now that I recall, Laura did mention something about a—what was it, a necklace? But if your mama gave it to you?…”

  In the act of pouring some milk into her mug, Mary’s hand paused for an instant and from under her lashes she slanted an oblique glance at the Major’s face. “My mother did not give me the necklace. In point of fact, I chanced to find it—that is to say, I found some beads. I supposed they were just glass, and indeed they may be. But they are quite old, I believe, and may have some value. My papa will know, for he studies antiquities.”

  “But—so do I, my dear child! If you would allow me to see the beads, we could know their value at once! And we could then go to where you—you did say you—found them?…”

  Mary lifted her head and looked at him levelly. His heavy features were flushed, the small eyes glittering with avarice and—triumph. She said softly, “Why, you deceitful creature! Laura never sent for me! It is all a hum!”

  Finchley started and his sugary smile became fixed but, striving still, he purred, “Now that is not a proper term for a young lady to use, my dear.”

  “Nor was it proper for you to lure me here with your wicked lies—only so as to find out where I found my beads!”

  The smile lost its sugar and became a snarl. Leaning to grasp her wrist he shouted, “Insolent chit! With your besmirched reputation you dare to censure me? You’ll tell me where you found that necklace—if you don’t want to wind up in the river!”

  “Oh!” she gasped, paling. “You are just trying to frighten me! You never would do such an evil thing! You would surely be hanged!” But despite the brave words, she sank down into the chair again, her eyes closing.

  “Do not tempt me,” he said, throwing down her wrist contemptuously. “When you were found everyone would believe you had decided to end your shamed life. No one would suspect me of—”

  Springing to her feet, Mary declared unequivocally, “You are a bad man!” and seizing the heavy glass milk jug, dashed the contents into his face.

  Reeling back a pace, spluttering with astonishment and disgust, he gulped, “Wretched… doxy! What lady would—would do such a thing!”

  “My sort of lady! And here is something for you to cleanse your dirty self,” cried Mary, and slapped several slices of ham and the second piece of bread at his variously milky and purpling face.

  Roaring profanities, the Major grabbed for her with one hand, while pawing frantically at his buttery eyes with the other. He failed to recall that the ham had been liberally spread with mustard. His furious attempts ceased abruptly and he let out an anguished howl. “Morgan! Brackett! To me! Quickly. You—you stupid fools! This unnatural witch has—has blinded me!”

  Mary heard the front door open and ran quickly around the half-wall to the scullery and the back door. Reaching for the latch, she gave a gasp of dismay and jumped back as the door burst open.

  Flourishing his sword, Gervaise Valerian plunged into the dark scullery and rushed past her, roaring, “Where is she, you unconscionable villain? What have you done with her?”

  “I’m here, Gervaise,” called Mary, but her words were drowned as four men ran in from the front. They were a rough-looking crew, all armed with knives or clubs, and she recognized one, who carried both weapons, as having been with the supposed Mohocks who had attacked her and Piers Cranford during their ride in the park.

  Undaunted by the formidable odds against him, Valerian positioned himself in the corner of the wall and cried, “Come on, you ill-dressed bravos! Have at me, and die young!”

  They whooped and shouted as they rushed him. Breathless with anxiety, Mary knew he was hopelessly outnumbered and must fall, but his sword flashed and darted and their clubs failed to beat that deadly blade from his hand. In a lightning attack, he sprang forward, sword thrusting, and an unshaven rogue screamed and went down.

  Mary gave a small cry of shock as a strong hand gripped her arm.

  Piers Cranford said, “Come,” and led her to the door.

  “No!” she exclaimed, pulling away. “Help him!”

  “I shall. When you are safe.”

  Finchley dodged his way to the fireplace and tugged on a rope, and somewhere outside a bell clanged stridently.

  Dismayed, Mary cried, “He has called in his men! Make Gervaise come—now!”

  “I mean to. Do you take Tassels and bring my people!”

  She hesitated, but even with Cranford to aid him they would be sadly outnumbered. She nodded and ran through the scullery.

  Cranford swung around, and drawing his sword sprang to his cousin’s side.

  Glancing at him from the corner of his eye, Valerian shouted, “Hey! This is my battle!”

  Deflecting the club that would have brained him, Piers answered, “Aye, and if you don’t pay heed and abandon it, ’twill be your last!”

  Major Finchley mopped at his streaming eyes, and howled, “Use your knives, you thrice-damned blockheads!”

  Two heavy daggers were hurled almost simultaneously. Valerian staggered slightly. At once Cranford closed the gap between them but they were losing the protection of the corner and with shouts of triumph Finchley’s bullies moved to each side of them.

  Cranford shouted, “Blooded?”

  “Naught to matter. Guard your side!”

  The rogue who badly needed a shave was on his feet again. Beside him, a squat, powerfully built man snatched up a chair and flung it, and again the cousins were separated.

  Valerian reeled, and another ruffian with long greasy hair ran in from the front door and sprang for him, dagger upraised.

  Cranford leaped, and with a crouch and a stamp forward drove his blade under the descending dagger and struck home. There was a gurgling cry and they faced one less bravo.

  Valerian cried breathlessly, “Jolly good!” and the battle raged on, the cousins now fighting back to back.

  Finc
hley retreated to the battered sideboard and wrenched open a drawer.

  Mary had gone no farther than the scullery. She whispered, “Oh, my Lord! He has a pistol hid!”

  She looked about in desperation, and her eyes lit on the milk jug. After she’d hurled the contents at Finchley, the jug had fallen to the table. She darted into that violent room, only to dance back again as a heavy club, aimed at Cranford’s head, barely missed her.

  Howling threats and obscenities, the tall man from the park jumped clear of Valerian’s next lunge and hurled his dagger.

  Valerian sprang aside.

  Finchley drew his pistol and aimed it at Cranford’s back.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Mary ran forward, snatched up the milk jug and brought it crashing down on the Major’s head.

  With an odd little grunt, Finchley half turned, folded up, and sprawled across the table, his pistol falling from his lax hand.

  Mary picked it up and levelled it at the tall man from the park. He was facing Valerian, a confident leer on his coarse features, but his expression changed as he saw the girl aiming that very large pistol with two small and inexperienced hands. Backing away, he whined, “Now, ma’am… now, missy. Put it down, do, ’fore ye hurts yer pretty young self.”

  Risking a swift glance behind him, Cranford groaned, “I told you—”

  Mary cried shrilly, “Surrender, you wicked creatures, else I’ll shoot your friend!”

  “Shoot away, mistress,” howled a youthful rogue with a loose mouth and an evil grin. “You only got one shot and I’ll wager you don’t rightly know how to use that there wepping!”

  “You are very likely right,” said a deep and familiar voice from behind Mary. “But I do. Allow me to relieve you of that nasty thing, Miss Stansbury.”

  She relinquished the pistol gladly into Henry Shorewood’s hand and the ruffians drew back, watching murderously as the barrister aimed the weapon with steady assurance.

  “Are you much hurt, Valerian?” he enquired.