The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

by Patricia Veryan

“Mother—stop,” said Herbert with surprising resolution. “I did indeed put an end to the filthy beast. I have no regrets. He wanted killing.”

  Over the housekeeper’s distraught wails, Piers observed, “He was a strong and powerful man. What did you hit him with, Herbert?”

  Turner held up a fist. It was large and muscular, and he said, “I can kill a bull with this, sir. I did once, when Farmer Milling’s bull tried to gore me in the meadow. I knew when Grover went down, I’d hit hard.”

  “Straight to the jaw, eh?”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  “No,” said Piers intently. “That’s wrong, Bert. Sidney Grover was beaten to death from behind. His skull was crushed not by a fist but by some heavy object.”

  Through a hushed moment they all stared at him.

  Herbert said haltingly, “Then… is it possible I…”

  “You didn’t murder that evil man,” cried the housekeeper, smiling through her tears as she hugged him. “You would never attack a man from behind!”

  “No. Never. But—I did knock him down.”

  “And someone else came along,” said Piers thoughtfully. “Someone wanting to be rid of him, who saw him, perhaps trying to get up, and finished the business.”

  “Finchley!” The General drove a fist so hard at the desktop that his quill-pen leaped from the standish. “Grover was a threat and very likely blackmailing him, so as you said, Piers, the man saw a chance to end his persecution. And persecution it is! Almost I can sanction his action. If ever I lay my hands on who is—” He broke off hurriedly, turned very red, and said, “Well, you may be at ease, Eliza. Your son has not a man’s blood on his hands. I’d thought we might have to smuggle him out of the country, but by what my clever grandnephew has found, we’ve but to take our case to Bow Street, and—”

  “You’ll not have far to go, my lord.”

  The new voice came from the doorway. Turning, Piers was touched by a chill apprehension.

  Joshua “Pedlar,” clad in a dark brown coat and red waistcoat and distinguished by a neat powdered wig, advanced to show the General a small staff surmounted by a crown.

  “Bow Street?” The General scowled. “How dare you march into my study unannounced, sir?”

  The Runner handed him a card. “You may be glad I did come unannounced, Lord Cranford. I heard enough to convince me of young Turner’s innocence.”

  Reading the card, the General muttered, “Joshua Swift. Hmm… I’ve heard that name, I think.”

  Joshua Swift, who had other names and identities, smiled a tight smile. “‘Not always swift, but sure,’ perhaps, sir? I’ve been so called.”

  “And with reason, by what I hear,” said Piers. “Does this solve your case, Swift? Or are we still to see you—er, peddling around my village?”

  “Time alone will tell, Mr. Cranford. Although, actually, this was not the case I have been following. As I think you are aware.”

  The General said sharply, “What’s this? More trouble?”

  “Mr. Swift appears to believe that is the case,” said Piers with a bored smile. “What will be your next move, Swift?”

  “In this particular case, Mr. Cranford?”

  “Unless you are able tó prove another,” said Piers, his gaze challenging. For just an instant, frustration banished the Runner’s bland and enigmatic smile. Recovering, he said that Herbert must accompany him to Bow Street, though he doubted the youth would be detained.

  Piers said, “I’ll go with you, Bert.”

  “You will do no such thing,” said the General vehemently. “You run along, Mr. Swift. I shall escort Turner to the Court.”

  Piers put up his hand to hide a grin and the Runner looked considerably taken aback at having been told to “run along,” but after a momentary hesitation he bowed and followed Mrs. Turner to the door.

  When they were gone Herbert moved very fast to take up Piers hand and before he could be prevented had pressed a kiss on it.

  “Come now,” said Piers, red-faced with embarrassment. “There’s no call for that, lad.”

  “For that and more, sir,” said Turner, his fine eyes shining with unshed tears. “Always, you have been so kind and—and stood between me and those who despised me. Now—you have saved my life! I really thought I had killed Sidney Grover and I was resigned to pay the penalty! If you knew what it meant to find I had not…! I shall never be able to thank you enough!”

  Piers directed a steady look at his great-uncle. “Why, that’s what families are all about, eh, sir? We stand by our own.”

  The General’s jaw sagged once again.

  Turner said uncertainly, “Do you—do you really think of me as—as part of your family, Mr. Cranford?”

  “I do, and so do we all. Now you had best go and comfort your poor mama; she has had a wrenching time of it, I make no doubt.”

  Herbert nodded and walked quickly from the room, head up and step sprightly.

  Lord Nugent, still staring glassy-eyed at Piers, mumbled, “You… know!”

  “Gervaise told me.”

  “My dear God! Then the whole ton will know!”

  “Not so. He is an honourable man. He’ll keep a still tongue—if that’s what you wish.”

  “Do you say Gervaise is… honourable?” Even more glassy-eyed, the General stammered, “But—I thought—you—and—he—Now, by Zeus and all his confounded thunders and lightnings! I demand to be told—Oh, Gad! I apologize, Eliza, but you should not come creeping in if you don’t want to hear me swear at my infuriatingly sly grandnephew. What do you have in that great box? Some of Herbert’s clothes, just in case?”

  “No, sir. Something of your own, which I now return and can only pray you will forgive me.”

  “Well, I won’t,” roared the General, waving the box away. “I’ll endure no more soul-bearings, and so I tell you! I am a poor gentle old soul, and—” His impassioned and questionable declaration was cut short as his housekeeper allowed Piers to take the box from her. It was heavier than he’d guessed and momentarily he had forgotten his wound. With a gasp he dropped the box and, falling, it burst open.

  “Great… saints!” gasped Lord Nugent, his eyes goggling.

  Scarcely less astonished, Piers stared down at the small fortune in golden guineas and hand-written bank notes that had tumbled from the box. “Why, Eliza,” he exclaimed, “you are a wealthy woman! But Herbert won’t need a tenth of this to his defence, even if he is bound over for trial, which I—”

  His great-uncle, who had been gazing down at the pile, interrupted frowningly. “This is my signature! See here! My note for five hundred guineas… And this one for two hundred… These were amounts I paid to—”

  “To your blackmailing housekeeper!” Sinking to her knees before him, Mrs. Turner said brokenly, “Yes, unlike my son, I am guilty, Nugent. But ’tis all here. I touched not a penny.”

  Piers said quietly, “I’ll leave you alone, sir,” and started to the door.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” growled the General, throwing out an arresting hand. “I want a witness to this chicanery!”

  “I rather doubt Eliza intended the money for herself, Uncle.”

  The General scowled from his grandnephew to his housekeeper. “What then? This woman has been blackmailing me for years!”

  Mrs. Turner raised a woeful, tear-streaked face. “For our—son, Nugent.” She glanced at Piers. “There—now you know.”

  “He already knew! Our guilty secret is doubtless being bruited about from Land’s End to John o’Groat’s by now! What has it to say to anything? You didn’t rob me on the grounds of our natural son—poor fellow.”

  “No, sir. But—because of, and for—him. Yes, I know how you must despise me. It was only—only that… Well, I knew of your unhappy involvement with that treasonable League of Jewelled Men—No! Do not turn from me, I beg! I know you were unaware of their real purpose and had managed to conceal your connection with them. Only—you did so much for the Cranfords when their par
ents died. You sent the boys to University. You gave Dimity a generous dowry when she wed Sir Anthony Farrar. But—year after year, not a penny for poor Herbert. Oh, I know he was an embarrassment to you because of his accident—”

  “No, no,” mumbled the General, avoiding his nephew’s eyes. “He is a good lad. I—I kept him here, did I not?”

  “Yes. And out of sight as much as was possible. And would acknowledge to none that he is your own flesh and blood.” She held up her hands prayerfully and begged, “You are a proud man. I understood how you have felt. But—oh, Nugent, do pray forgive me! I never meant you harm. I was just so afraid that if—if anything should happen to me there would be no one to—to provide for my dearest boy.”

  “Well, and there you misjudge me,” said the General, bending to take her hands and adding gruffly, “Come now, m’dear, get up, do. And there is no call for such censorious looks from you, nephew! I had every intention to provide for Herbert He’s a fine-looking lad—do you deny that, sir?”

  “No, indeed,” said Piers meekly.

  “And but for the accident with that stupid nag would have turned into a son I’d be proud to acknowledge. What d’ye say to that, sir?”

  “I say there is plenty to be proud of now, Uncle.”

  “Then you may keep a civil tongue in your head if you expect me to use this great windfall to fund your purchase of the Quail Hill property—and to tow you comfortably out of the River Tick! Your church steeple and the flood and the cow and the whole blasted rest of it. And there I go—looking after you again! D’ye object, m’dear? Twould be curst lonely in this house if you were to go off and leave me! We shall see Herbert well secure for all his days. I swear it!”

  Mrs. Turner buried her face in her hands, and he threw an affectionate arm about her even as he scowled defiantly át his grandnephew.

  Piers said, “Sir—how can I thank you?”

  “By relieving me of my Trusteeship and taking on all the burdens of your damned nuisance of an estate! I’m done with it as of this minute. Oh, curse and confound it, she’s at it again! Why must females always become watering-pots when they’re happy, I wonder…”

  Cranford left them and walked slowly along the flagway. There was no sign of his coach and he deduced that Bobby must be walking the pair. Was little Mary weeping because she was happy? He thought wistfully that hers was a more sunny nature; she would most likely be smiling. Such a delightful smile with those pretty lips that curved so adorably… He shook himself mentally. It was stupid to scourge himself so. The die was cast. He must be happy—for her dear sake. At least, he had the satisfaction of knowing he had been of some small service to her. And she was fond of him. At least, she had seemed genuinely affected when she’d come to visit him. He would have that memory, and eventually this crushing sense of loss and a grey lonely existence must fade and—

  “Good day to you, Lieutenant Piers Cranford!”

  The harsh accents told him who had spoken, and his heavy heart grew heavier. “Good day, Mrs. Stansbury,” he said, removing his tricorne and essaying a bow.

  Mary’s mother was, as usual, clad in the height of fashion and had to bend her head to avoid displacing her high French wig as the footman handed her from the luxurious coach. They were some distance from the General’s house and she said with marked condescension, “You may escort me to Lord Nugent’s door. Oh dear. You carry your arm in a sling, I see. If you are notable…”

  He assured her he was able, and was inwardly glad she did not lean on him as he offered his good arm and retraced his steps. “You are looking very well, ma’am,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. It is expected of me, and so I contrive. I wish I could return the compliment, but you do not look well at all. Perhaps you will regain your looks in time. Some people do, you know, so do not be in despair. I am here to see your great-uncle so as to set his mind at rest. You will know that my daughter, bless her gentle heart, has received a most flattering offer?”

  He acknowledged that he was aware.

  “But you do not say you wish them happy,” she scolded, slapping his wrist with her gloved hand. “Very mean-spirited in you, sir!”

  “I apologize, ma’am. Pray believe I wish them every happiness. Shall Mr. Stansbury return to England for the—the wedding?”

  “But of course,” she said, halting her graceful progress along the flagway and opening her eyes at him. “What a foolish question. He will have to give the bride away. If he does not, I suppose…Hmm. Perchance Lord Nugent would accept that honour. Now that would serve very well… I must ask him.”

  “Is Miss Stansbury in town, ma’am?”

  The wig shivered to the suggestion of a nod. “She has to choose her bridals. Lucky girl. I vow all London’s ladies will envy her such a fine match. Well, I cannot stand here keeping you company. I wish you good day, Lieutenant. You might have done well to emulate dear Gervaise and spend a little time in sunny Italy. He did not look near as poorly as you, but—you might perhaps benefit from a rest.”

  Her tone said clearly that he had one foot in the grave. She was in alt, of course, but he could not refrain from thinking she could at least have said something kind about his efforts to rescue her daughter. ‘Mean-spirited, Cranford,’ he thought. He bowed awkwardly over the hand that was thrust at him imperiously. It was a thin hand and it turned suddenly to grip his own in a claw-like clutch even as the lady uttered a faint squawk.

  Fearing she had suffered some kind of seizure, he looked up.

  Mrs. Stansbury was holding her large fur muff to her cheek. Shielded by it, she exclaimed, “Disgusting! It offends every sense of propriety!”

  Bewildered, he stammered, “It—does? I mean—what does, ma’am?”

  She glared at him. “Are you blind? Do you not see that I am hiding?”

  The only person he could see nearby was an elderly lady. Wrapped in a voluminous cloak and followed by a servant, she led a small dog by means of a long scarlet riband.

  “I see Lady Bottesdale and her footman,” he said softly. “Has she offended you, ma’am?”

  She hissed, “Of course she offends me, as she offends every person with a modicum of refinement! Oh, how can you look so stupid? Do you not see it?”

  Striving, he said, “It… Er, do you mean her little pug-dog, ma’am? It does stop frequently, but I promise you it has not behaved—er, improperly.”

  Her muff flailed agitatedly and he had to jerk back to avoid being struck. “It walks about!” she declared with a fierce gesture of emphasis. “It offends by being! I might know that a man—a soldier, especially—would be blind to such vulgar conduct, but Elmira Bottesdale knows I am repulsed by the creature and I vow it delights her to distress a person of sensitivity and discrimination. Here we are, thank heaven! You may escort me up these steps. Hurry, before she comes up with us! You can walk quicker than that, surely?”

  Lengthening his stride, he asked, “Do you disapprove of people walking their dogs in Town, Mrs. Stansbury?”

  “I refuse to acknowledge that it is a dog!” she declared. “How any person of sensitivity could choose a pet that holds its tail curled up over its back so that all its—its nether regions are clear to see—Ugh! Tis beyond my comprehension! One wonders how Elmira was bred up. As a lady of culture and refinement, I cannot forgive such a deliberate offence to the eye! Ring the bell if you please, and so farewell, Lieutenant!”

  Biting his lip hard and somehow suppressing the laughter that fought to escape him, Cranford bowed and made his way back down the steps.

  The dowager Lady Bottesdale was level now, and as he drew aside and said a polite “Good day, my lady,” she looked up into his face. She replied as politely, but a pair of dark roguish eyes met his own; one of them winked.

  It was all Cranford could do to control himself.

  Bobby Peale tooled the coach around the corner and Peddars sprang down to assist his employer to climb inside. As the door closed, Cranford delighted his retainers by breaking into whoops
of laughter. His mood was lightened and the day seemed less dark. Thank the good Lord for elderly ladies with a sense of humour! He could scarce wait to tell Aunt Jane of the shocking behaviour of the Dowager Lady Bottesdale.

  As he had expected, when they reached Muse Manor he was in deep disgrace. His aunt was angry and really upset because he had disobeyed all the doctor’s orders and gone racketing off to London.

  “But I left you a note, dear,” he protested feebly.

  “A note! Which I found after you had gone, having deceived me into believing you had just stepped out for a breath of air!”

  His efforts to explain were ignored. The good lady had been terribly distressed and worried. Piers’ declarations of love were not to be heeded. He had demonstrated that he gave not a button for the feelings of those who really loved him, and he had to endure a royal raking down before he was able to tell her of Florian’s innocence. Her mood at once changed from martyrdom to joy, and when he described his encounter with Mrs. Regina Stansbury and the abandoned behaviour of Lady Elmira Bottesdale, Jane Guild laughed till she cried.

  Her relief, however, was soon tempered by concern. She knew her nephew too well to be unaware that his brisk energy had faded. In the days that followed, he was almost unnaturally bright and cheerful but several times when he was unaware that she watched him, she thought to detect a deep sadness in his eyes. Convinced that he was grieving, she called in the local apothecary and an indignant Piers was advised he had overtaxed his strength and was ordered to rest for at least a week. He did not protest this edict too forcefully, but developed the habit of sitting on a chaise longue by the window in his room, reading. Peeping in on him from time to time, his aunt noted that his gaze was seldom on the printed page, but that he looked instead towards the north-east and Quail Hill.

  Troubled, she decided to send off a note to Peregrine, wedding or not, but on that very afternoon Florian drove up in a fine coach, accompanied by a radiantly happy Laura Finchley and a hawk-faced older gentleman. It seemed to Miss Guild that from the moment the coach door swung open, the house came to life again. Piers came downstairs and was embraced by his young friend and by Miss Finchley. The older gentleman was introduced as Signor Gabriele San Sebastiano. He offered a magnificent bow and smiled constantly, seeming a very cheerful individual although he spoke little English.