By the time the host, apparently acquainted with her ladyship, had murmured his thanks, they had reached the first floor. Following him along the narrow passage, Zoe said, "But, ma'am, there is no need to impose upon your woman. I can manage my own toilette, and—"
"'Tis painfully obvious that you can do no such thing," retorted my lady, her withering glance sweeping Zoe from head to toe. "Nor have I the slightest intention of requiring either my abigail or my dresser to assist you. There are far too many maids frippering away their time at Yerville Hall. I have promoted one to your service. She is not superior, but she has been well trained and knows what is expected of my servants. Here is my room. I shall rest now and do not require to see you again until a quarter to eight o'clock, at which time you may scratch upon my door."
The wide-brimmed hat nodded dismissal, and with a hushing of her satin skirts my lady sailed through the door the host threw open for her. Zoe heard a female voice enquiring solicitously after madam's venture into the wilds, and the host closed the door upon Lady Buttershaw's tersely uttered, "Just as I thought. Crude and primitive!"
The next door was flung open. As Zoe passed inside the host's eyes twinkled at her with amused understanding, and she smiled appreciatively. The chamber was small but cosy, immaculately clean, and with a fine four-poster bed.
A tall, severe-looking woman rose from the window seat where she'd been sewing, and came to make her curtsy. "Good evening, Miss Grainger," she said in frosty and affectedly precise accents. "Ay am Gorton."
Zoe's heart sank, but she said brightly, "Then you are my abigail. How nice that will be."
Eyes of a chill blue slid over her. A faintly aghast look dawned.
Zoe sighed. "Oh dear. Am I quite hopeless, Gorton? I am from the country, you know. This is my best travelling gown. I had thought it would be perfectly suitable for London."
"Never mind, Miss," said Gorton, repressing a shudder. "Ay feel sure we can—ah, improve matters."
An hour later, Zoe was forced to acknowledge the truth of that statement. Her gown had been removed and whisked away. Her hair had been brushed until her scalp tingled, then arranged into soft curls. Her corsets had been laced so tightly that for several seconds she had been unable to draw a breath. An excitingly fashionable gown of pale peach ribbed silk had been slipped over her hoops. The stomacher had looked so tiny that she'd been quite sure it would never encompass her, but under Gorton's ruthless assault it was secured at last. Surveying herself in the mirror while a dainty ruffled cap was placed on her shining hair, she could scarcely believe that the elegant young creature in the glass was Zoe Grainger, and when a simple gold chain and locket were added, she exclaimed an involuntary, "Oh, my! How nice I look! Thank you, Gorton!"
Meeting her abigail's glance in the mirror, she thought for a moment to glimpse a softening in the pale blue eyes, but the voice was as cool and detached as ever. "Ay tray to please, Miss."
It wanted fifteen minutes until seven o'clock, and Zoe was too restless to be confined to the small room for over an hour. She asked Gorton to find an appropriate shawl, and said she would take a stroll in the gardens.
The abigail turned a surprised countenance. "Outside, Miss?"
"Of course. The air will be cool now, I fancy."
"But—but ''Tis getting dark, Miss Grainger! And we are in the wilds! It is not seemly!"
Zoe stared at her. "But that is silly! We are still in England and not lost in some snake-infested jungle. The shawl, if you please!"
There was a touch of hauteur in the young face, and authority in the firm tones. Elsie Gorton realized that her new lady might be the "poor little lass" she'd mentally dubbed her, but she was not entirely lacking in spirit. Which would, she thought, be interesting.
She opened the valise in which Zoe had packed the articles likely to be needed for the journey, and took out a white crocheted shawl exquisitely embroidered in pastel shades. Slipping it about Zoe's shoulders, she said admiringly that it was "Very nace. Was it you as done the 'broidery, Miss?"
'The accent slipped,' thought Zoe. "No. I am not clever with my needle. The shawl was a gift from my… Mama." The reminder of her beautiful and so terribly missed mother brought home all the ills of her present situation, and she hurried into the passage. It was remarkable that for a little while she should have almost forgotten that she had been banished from the home where she had lived all her life, and that Papa had carelessly fobbed her off on the odious Lady Clara Buttershaw.
She started down the winding staircase, and reflected that despite her odiousity it was extreme generous of Lady Buttershaw to provide her with new gowns. Pausing, she tapped her fan against her chin and her brows wrinkled. Odiousity. That didn't sound right. Odiousness…?
A discreet cough awoke her from her introspection. The stairs were narrow and her paniers wide. A gentleman waited at the foot, watching her enquiringly. She summed him up swiftly. Tall; lean; older—early thirties probably, but good-looking and well set-up with a fine pair of shoulders. His own hair, powdered; light complexion. Eyes: a warm blue holding a tentative smile, and with little lines at the corners, as though he had spent much time under a hot sun. 'Military' she thought. 'Or Navy, perchance.' And, liking him instinctively, she gave him her own sunny smile and hurried down.
"I do apologize, sir. I was lost in thought, you see."
Amused by this artless and most improper confidence, he said in a lazy good-natured voice, "So you were. You appeared to be trying to recall something or other. Am I right, ma'am?"
"I was wondering," she replied, "which is correct. Is the word 'odiousness'? Or 'odiousity'?"
The smile spread from his eyes to his well-shaped mouth. He said gravely, "They both are charming. All things considered. But I rather suspect are not—ah, widely used. Might you perhaps substitute—'disagreeable'?"
Zoe pursed her lips and considered. "It has not quite the same force, do you think? And—what about the 'ness'?"
"Ah. Well, the 'ness' would make it into a noun, of course."
"Can one?"
"But with perfect propriety, ma'am."
"Then why can I not have 'odiousness'?"
The smile became a soft chuckle. "Heaven forbid I should deprive you of it. And you are quite correct. 'Odiousness' does indeed have more force."
"Miss!" Gorton hurried down the stairs, wrapped in a cloak and regarding Zoe in horror.
"Oh dear." The gentleman stood aside as Gorton passed, her outraged eyes accusing him. Bowing politely, he said to Zoe, "I am delighted to have met you again, ma'am. Pray remember me to your family."
Zoe promised to do so, and as she passed, he added sotto voce, "But—no odiousity, I beg."
She giggled.
Bustling along beside her, Gorton hissed, "Miss Grainger! To speak to a strange gentleman! And all alone! Most improper! May lady would think it—fast!"
"But—he was not strange. You heard him ask to be remembered to my family."
"We must tell may lady, Miss! And may lady will wish to have the gentleman's name, Ay am very sure!"
"Then my lady must be disappointed, for to say truth, I cannot recall it. I am dreadfully forgetful, you see. Are you going out?"
"Ay am accompanying you, Miss."
"Whatever for? I am unlikely to get lost in the gardens."
"'Tis not convenable for a young lady to wander about without her footman, or a maid, Miss. Especially, a young and most attractive spinster lady of Quality!"
"Is it?" Zoe walked on again, then asked thoughtfully, "Do you say that whilst I am in London I must take you everywhere I go?"
"Unless Lady Clara or Lady Julia assigns a personal footman to you, Miss. Yes."
"How tiresome. But we are not in London now. And I particularly desire to be alone for a little while."
Gorton's shoulders rustled under her cloak, for all the world as though she had been a large bird ruffling her feathers. "In that case," she said with determination, "Ay shall follow at a discreet bu
t proper distance, Miss Grainger."
Zoe sighed and, capitulating, passed through the open door and into the gardens.
Chapter II
Zoe was pleased to find that the gardens behind the Three Horse Inn were quite extensive. In addition to a neatly scythed lawn there was a large flower garden with well-kept paths meandering among the various beds in which chrysanthemums were out-blooming some rather leggy late roses. An area for vegetables was separated from the main gardens by high hedges, and the rear of the property was taken up by a sizeable orchard.
Autumn was shortening the days; the sun had already gone down, and dusk was deepening to evening. The air was still fairly warm however, and carried upon it the smell of cooking and the tangy aroma of woodsmoke. Several other guests were enjoying a stroll before dinner. Zoe encountered a gentleman and two older ladies who nodded politely as they passed; a lady walked hand in hand with a small shy-eyed boy, and the bantering voices of several gentlemen could be heard beyond the hedges that screened the vegetable gardens.
Zoe wandered aimlessly, wondering what Papa might be thinking at this moment, if he was able to think at all. Mrs. Mowbray's children were wildly undisciplined, and although the two smaller ones would be in the nursery at this hour, the other four would be quarrelling and crashing about the house until eight o'clock. Poor Papa. How he would enjoy the peace and privacy of this quiet stroll instead of—
From the vegetable gardens there came a louder outburst of shouts and hilarity. Zoe drew back uneasily, which was fortunate, because something hurtled over the hedge, barely missing her before it thumped to the ground.
An indignant male voice was raised. "No, really, that is too bad of you, Templeby! You had no business to interfere with it!"
Glancing down at the object that had been "interfered with," Zoe uttered a shriek of horror. A human foot lay before her, the severed area above the ankle hideously gory and jagged. She felt faint, and heard again my lady's voice telling of evil surgeons and carelessly mistaken amputations. Sickened, she was grateful for the arm that steadied her as Gorton rushed to her aid, only to herself emit an even more piercing shriek.
There was a male chorus of muffled groans and exclamations.
"Oh—Egad! Women!"
"Now see what you've done!"
"I'm off! Go and make your excuses, Perry!"
"No you don't you villain! Hey! Come back! You threw it! You go and make things right! Blast the traitor—he's gone! Jamie—will you…?"
Someone was pushing his way through a break in the hedge. Another man vaulted over a lower spot, almost colliding with Gorton, who informed him roundly that he was a callous viper and should be ashamed of himself.
The newcomer snatched up the foot and declared with shrinking nervousness that he and his friends were most sorry, and had no thought to have alarmed anyone. He was somewhere in the mid-twenties Zoe judged, with powdered hair, an open, boyish face, and freckles that were apparent even in the fading light. "I do promise you, ma'am," he stammered, "that we'd no idea ladies were—er, nearby, else—"
His agitated gesture had allowed her a brief but clearer view of the foot. Revolted, she thought, 'He has painted the toenails!' and she interrupted shrilly. "Oh! How could you be so grossly unfeeling?"
Gorton's view was also improved, and she let out a most ungenteel, "Fer shame! Monsters is what you is! Both on yer!"
The freckle-faced man gave a gasp of mortification and whipped the foot' behind his back. A second individual emerged from the hedge, only to stumble and almost fall, so that his friend was obliged to steady him.
Zoe was sickened, but when inspired by a Cause, her usual timidity was forgotten, and she persisted, if rather unsteadily, "You are b-both intoxicated, is what it is! Disgraceful! I have heard't-tell of the atrocities perpetrated by your kind upon your hapless victims—"
"We are not intoxicated!" The defendant was about the same age as his freckled companion, but taller and more slenderly built, with dark, unpowdered hair, and a lean well-featured but stormy countenance. His brows had drawn down sharply at Zoe's words, and, still clinging to his companion, he protested indignantly, "And why you must gabble about atrocities, when all we did was—"
"Nothing, in your eyes, I collect," said Zoe. "I did not at first believe what I was told about you and your—your ilk! But I see that my informant was quite correct when she named you as heartless, depraved, and with not an ounce of feeling for the misery of those poor souls who come to you for help! I wonder—
"I ain't surprised," the dark man interjected angrily. "I wonder too, don't you, Jamie? I wonder what the—I wonder what you have 'twixt your ears, madam, and would earnestly recommend that you change your ways! If you keep on rushing about the countryside accusing people of atrocities and—and ilks and what-have-you, some right-thinking citizens are going to have you clapped up! Were I you, I would get to bed with a calming powder!"
Throughout this inflamed monologue his companion had been plucking at his sleeve and mumbling nervously. Now, he begged in great agitation that "Terry" not raise his voice to the poor lady.
"Words will not harm me, sir," Zoe declared loftily. " 'Tis his knife that strikes terror in my heart. How many deluded innocents have you turned it on, I wonder, you—you blackhearted villain!"
At this, the dark gentleman's jaw dropped and he gawked at her.
Gorton pulled at her arm and entreated her to come away "before the evil creature turns his knife on us, ma'am!"
"God… bless… my… soul!" gasped the gentleman in powder.
"You're stark… raving mad," said his dark friend unequivocally.
"Whatever I may be, sir," called Zoe as Gorton all but dragged her away, "at least I am not an intoxicated physician!"
He lurched forward, and with an alarmed squeal, Gorton tugged her into a trot.
"Did you see?" gasped Zoe. "Did you see the—the toenails?"
"I did fer—for sure, Miss," said Gorton, a shudder in her voice. "He had—he had painted em! And each one a different colour! It's downright heathen! I vow, Miss Grainger, we are lucky to have escaped with our very lives!"
They had by this time reached the rear door of the inn, and as Gorton swung it open a sudden outburst of masculine hilarity from the two "heathens" spurred them into a rush for indoors and safety.
Her heart thundering with fright and indignation, Zoe said, "I shall call for a constable! Those wicked men must be taken in charge!"
Gorton was recovering her wits and her accent, and self-preservation asserted itself. She said shakily, "Ay beg you will not, Miss. May lady would be very cross and say ''Tis may fault for allowing of you to venture into the poisonous night air."
Realizing that she herself would very likely incur my lady's wrath, Zoe reluctantly agreed not to report the criminals. She instead ordered that tea be sent to her room, and, dismissing Gorton's uneasy predictions that "may lady" would not be pleased, prevailed upon her new abigail to share it with her. Two considerably shaken women sipped tea and discussed the Savage Incident, and by the time Zoe went to scratch at my lady's door many of the constraints between her and her new abigail had disappeared.
Lady Buttershaw enjoyed her table, and the host knew better than to set anything but a most excellent supper before her. Zoe scarcely noticed what she ate, however. Her sadly changed circumstances, and my lady's loud and boring monologue concerning the Domesday Book, were overshadowed by the shiver-some horrors of the amputated foot. As a result, her appetite was considerably impaired, which brought down upon her a severe reproof.
"Mine is a most amiable disposition," asserted Lady Clara with questionable accuracy, "and few things offered me. Even so, to peck at fine food when it is generously bestowed I judge both stupid and ungrateful. You would do well, Miss Grainger, to consider the many people in the world who are starving. Doubtless by reason of their own slothful ways, for there is work for all those willing to exert themselves." She paused, having momentarily lost her train of thou
ght. Zoe started to respond, but was waved to silence, and her ladyship made a recover and swept on. "I will excuse your die-away airs this evening, on grounds of missing your family—though what there is to miss escapes me! However, when we reach Yerville Hall I shall expect you to mend your ways. You may now speak."
"I apologize," said Zoe, and deciding to confide in her "benefactor" added, "To say truth, I had a most upsetting experience while walking in the gardens, and—"
"There is much to be said for walking. I myself walk quite often in Hyde Park, which is situated conveniently close to my home. The neighborhood is of the first stare, though the other mansions do not compare to Yerville Hall, of course. Still, you will find yourself in the most fashionable of the new areas, and among the best people, for which you may be grateful. Not that I approve of new things, you understand. Indeed, my sister and I prize the things of antiquity. In especial, we are proud of our lineage. You are aware that our late Papa was a belted earl. I daresay you will be held spellbound for days together when you see the historical artifacts which Lady Julia Yerville has assembled. I will spare the time to give you some preliminary instruction on our family background." Lady Buttershaw cleared her throat, tucked in her chin, and was off again. "The first Yerville of whom we have certain knowledge was Montague de Yervillaunus, who came from Gaul with the Phoenicians to trade for tin in Cornwall; the time being about fifty years before Our Saviour was born. Montague was a great friend of Julius Caesar, and later became involved with the Druids. I should not be surprised if he was able to instruct the savages in the erection of Stonehenge. His eldest son…"
'I wonder,' thought Zoe, letting the "preliminary instruction" sweep past her ears, 'if there is a word of truth in all her nonsense.' The beady eyes were boring at her, and she smiled sweetly and nodded as though enraptured. It was a great pity she had not obtained the full names of the monsters in the garden. She could have reported them to the constable. There had been three of them, evidently. The one called Templeby she'd not seen, because he had run off like a coward. The gentleman in powder, whose name appeared to have been James, had referred to his foul-tempered friend as Terry—or might it have been Perry? Not much to go on, but if she ever saw either of the rogues again, she was quite sure she would know them.
Never Doubt I Love Page 3
