Never Doubt I Love

by Patricia Veryan

  "You thought it best to change 'will' to 'will not'!" he growled.

  Zoe frowned. "I can understand your feelings, Mr. Young, but kindly do not use that tone of voice to me. At the time of the accident I was upset and did not stop to think that—"

  "You thought enough," he interrupted again, consulting the statement. "You thought enough to say as this here Mr. Perry-green Cranford was 'a—bad—man.' And when asked, specific, if the victim had walked crost the street, your very own words was: 'Of—course—what—would—you—think?'"

  "Oh, dear. I did say that. But—"

  "But now, you bin and changed your thoughts, ma'am. And what I would like to know is this: What brung about this sudden change? I bin round afore today, ma'am. And I were turned away every time. And now you tells me as this good-looking young gentry cove ain't a bad man after all, and that you was—"

  "Be so kind as to tell me who this—person—is, Miss Grainger," commanded Lady Buttershaw, coming into the room with a rustle of satin and an expression of abhorrence. "And why you saw fit to interview him alone."

  The Runner held up a short baton surmounted by a crown. "I am a orficer o' the law," he announced. "Exercising of me right as such to—"

  "I believe I asked you a question, Miss Grainger," barked Lady Buttershaw, ignoring him.

  The face of the officer of the law became a darker red, his eyebrows more bristly than ever, and his jaw even more pugnacious.

  Zoe said, "This is Mr. Young, from Bow Street, my lady. He brought the statement that—"

  "A fig for his statement! He was told yesterday, and the day before, that you had erred and had no clear recollection of the incident. I have no time to waste on silly nonsense. Arbour!" Her ladyship turned to the doorway where the butler hovered. "Show this person out!"

  "If you please, ma'am," said Zoe firmly. "I feel I owe Mr. Young an explanation of why—"

  "Once again your feelings are misplaced! You owe him nothing! Any Bow Street officer worth his salt should know better than try to force statements from a gently bred-up young lady who is clearly in a swooning condition!"

  The Runner snapped, "The law, me lady, is the law! And not no one's got the right to—"

  "Be still, you insolent creature!" Lady Buttershaw's volume made Zoe wince, and rattled the prisms on a lamp shade. "You do not browbeat some poor unfortunate commoner! Let me warn you that my late husband was well acquaint with Chancellor Hardwicke. As am I! And if you do not take yourself off at once, 'twill be my duty to apprise him of your disgraceful manners! Remove yourself, my good man!" She waved her long arm regally. "You offend my sight! Begone!"

  The mention of the mighty Lord Chancellor had caused Mr. Young to shrink. He lost all his ruddy colour and it seemed to Zoe that even the chevaux-de-frise wilted. With abject bows and murmurings of "most sincere apologies" and "deepest regrets" he beat an ignominious retreat.

  "If ever I heard the like!" snorted Lady Buttershaw. "You will, I trust, have learned something of how a person of Quality must deal with such presumptuous mushrooms! The creature, one hopes, is thoroughly ashamed of himself!"

  'If he is not,' thought Zoe, mortified, 'I most certainly am!'

  When Gorton came into her bedchamber an hour later, she was writing a letter to advise Aunt Minerva of where she now resided, and to ask what that dear lady knew of the present family Yerville. She was still seething over the Turkish treatment that had been accorded Mr. Young who, although rather rude, had some excuse for being provoked and had simply been doing his duty. "Yes?" she asked, without her usual smile.

  Gorton eyed her uncertainly. "Ay knew you would be cross, Miss Zoe. But as Ay told Chubb, he had only himself to blame."

  "What? Who is Chubb? And what has he done?"

  "One of the lackeys, Miss. Leastwise, he was. Ay beg your pardon. I thought you knew, and being so kind-hearted as you are… But he shouldn't have let in that Runner. Got turned off."

  Dismayed, Zoe cried, "Oh, never say so! Whatever will become of him?"

  "Says he'll take the King's shilling. Likely he will. Ay don't think he much enjoyed being a lackey. The Army will suit him better. Now never be upset, Miss. 'Tis not your fault. And only look! Ay have a letter for you! And Lady Buttershaw wants you to change into your prettiest gown. Mr. Cranford has asked permission to take you to Lord Eaglund's house this afternoon! Only think, Miss! A musicale at the home of a viscountl"

  "And such a nice gentleman! How lovely!" Clapping her hands with excitement, Zoe jumped up and danced over to take the letter. "Oh, 'Tis from my Papa!" She flew back to the desk and broke the thick seal with great care, but as she spread the closely written and crossed sheet another piece of sealing wax fell out.

  Papa's news banished the joy from her eyes. Travis had been very ill and was coming home.

  Gorton hummed merrily as she selected her personal favourite among Miss Zoe's new gowns, a robe battante of silvery blue damask, very décolleté, the neckline and stomacher trimmed with silver lace.

  A shadow had fallen over Zoe's happiness, and she gazed in silence at Papa's ominous words. Absently, she took up the little fallen piece of wax and fitted it back into place. Or would have. But there was no splinter in the seal. She had opened the letter so carefully that the wax had broken cleanly. She saw then the broken piece seemed to have attached itself to the underside of the paper, and that it was a darker shade of red, almost as though… Stunned, she thought, 'Oh! My heavens! Almost as though it has been opened and re-sealed!' Shock was succeeded by incredulous anger, and she had to struggle to appear calm and to remind herself that she must not again jump to conclusions. It could be a simple case of Papa having forgotten something and being obliged to break his initial seal so as to add a note. Only—there was no note; nothing had been added after his signature. And surely he would have written a little postscript to explain why he had opened the letter, rather than going to such lengths to disguise the broken seal? But if Papa had not opened the letter, who had? Her suspicion turned at once to the logical culprit, but she had to abandon that unkind thought. Papa had mentioned at the end that he was a lonely bachelor again, as his "dear wife" and the children were at Hampstead, visiting her parents. So Mrs. Mowbray had not been at Travisford to pry into his letter. In which case…

  When she could command her voice, she asked quietly, "What becomes of the post when it is brought in, Elsie?"

  Inspecting the blue damask for creases, Gorton answered, " 'Tis all delivered to Lady Buttershaw, Miss, so her la'ship can sort it out. Then, she gives it to Mr. Arbour, or Chef, or the proper party."

  "I see. And when did my letter come?"

  Gorton turned to look at her curiously. "Why, today, Miss. Lady Buttershaw gave it me just a few minutes ago. Is something wrong?"

  Zoe brought herself up short. To discuss her suspicions with a servant was unthinkable. To even harbour such suspicions must be the height of ingratitude. "Oh, no," she said lightly. "I just wondered. I had not heard the postman's horn."

  "Likely not, Miss. In the morning he comes at eight o'clock, and your room being at the back of the house, you'd not hear him."

  Zoe nodded and returned to her letter. But she could not write. Her anxiety for Travis distracted her, and her thoughts kept turning also to the several things that worried at the edges of her mind. Foolish little worries by comparison, she told herself. But they were beginning to mount up; to form a pattern she could not understand. And that was starting to make her uneasy.

  The home of Rupert Shale, Viscount Eaglund, was one of the Bloomsbury palaces. " 'Tis even bigger than Yerville Hall," Zoe confided to Cranford as they moved across the marble floor of the extremely large entrance hall, "only more cheery. Take that pretty painting over there, for instance. So much livelier than all those dusty old tapestries."

  Since the "pretty painting" was of a voluptuous nude that the eyes of ladies usually avoided, Cranford was hard put to it not to laugh, and suggested piously that Miss Grainger might do better th
an to stare at it so obviously.

  She glanced up at him and saw laughter glinting in the blue eyes. Her own bright beam dawned at once. "You are quizzing me again. But, do look, Mr. Cranford. Surely the artist has exaggerated. Even my step-mama does not have such enormous—"

  "Very true, ma'am," he over-rode loudly, and hissed, "quiet, you little wretch, or you will cause the dowager behind us to swoon dead away! Lord Eaglund's art collection," he went on in his normal voice, "is believed to be one of the finest in Europe."

  "I think you are very prim, for an Army man," she whispered mischievously. "My brother used to—" She stopped and her face clouded.

  Cranford said, "What is it? I had no thought to hurt your feelings, Miss Zoe. ''Tis just that what can be said to one's brother in the country, is not always—er, convenable in London Town."

  She sighed. "I know. I am hopeless."

  He patted the small hand that rested on his arm. "You are a delight," he said, and realized with something of a shock that he meant it.

  Zoe halted abruptly, and searching his face, said an astonished, "No, am I? Nobody ever said that to me before."

  "Dare I ask what improprieties you have been voicing to this lovely creature?" enquired a deep, amused voice.

  Cranford swung-around. "You did come! Are you all about in your head, Owen? You know you should not be here!"

  Far from endorsing these sentiments, Zoe said impulsively, "Oh! 'Tis my odiousity instructor! How nice to see you again, sir!"

  "You've met?" asked Cranford, surprised.

  "To my very great pleasure," Furlong answered. "Be so good as to present me."

  Bemused, Cranford made the introduction, then said with a dark frown, "This all sounds very havey-cavey, Owen. You never told me you were acquainted with Miss Grainger. When did you meet? And what a'plague is an odiousity instructor?"

  "Must I tell you all my secrets?" Sir Owen bowed, and offered his arm, smiling down at Zoe as she placed her free hand on it. "Have you been afflicted with this oaf for very long, ma'am? If so, I'll be more than glad to relieve you of his—"

  "Oh, no, you don't," interrupted Cranford indignantly. "Go and find your own lady!"

  They walked along together, and Zoe pleaded that Sir Owen not be sent away. "I like him."

  Furlong chuckled. "There. That gives you back your own, Perry. You are the one to be dismissed. Miss Grainger has chosen wisely."

  "If I had chosen at all, which I have not," said Zoe, clinging tightly to Cranford's arm. "I would not have chose you, sir."

  Sir Owen looked taken aback. By now accustomed to Zoe's frankness, Cranford grinned.

  Zoe patted Furlong's arm kindly. "You are very handsome, Sir Owen, although you look rather wan today. I so much like your smile, and the way you have of making me feel I am somebody. But I scarce know you, and Mr. Cranford is an old friend. Or," her brow wrinkled, "he seems an old friend. The thing is, though, that I should like to keep you both, if you please." Her artless gaze travelled from Cranford's dark, finely cut good looks, to Furlong, Saxon fair and equally, though differently good to look at, and she added, "It cannot fail to add to my consequence, you see."

  They were all laughing merrily when Lord Eaglund came up. He bowed gallantly over Zoe's fingers, shook hands with Cranford and told him he was glad to see him in Town again, and scanned Furlong's pale features and shadowed eyes with some anxiety. "Not another bout with that miserable fever, Owen?"

  "Just a slight brush with the beast, sir," admitted Furlong. "Nothing I can really grumble about."

  "It don't look so slight to me. I wonder you came to this affair." The viscount leaned nearer and said with a wink, "Cannot stand musicales myself. Still, Lady Eaglund will be most pleased to see you. To which end, we should probably go upstairs. We're to have some poetry readings first, I regret to say. Afterwards, there will be refreshments downstairs in the ballroom before the music begins, so you may escape then."

  Furlong laughed, and Cranford said with a grin, "You must take us for a graceless lot, my lord. I thank you for inviting me."

  "You must come more often, Perry." Eaglund smiled at Zoe. "Especially if you mean to bring this lovely little creature."

  The guests were starting to drift up the wide staircase, the viscount's attention was claimed by a small colonel with a big voice, and Zoe and her two escorts mingled with the brilliant throng.

  The music room on the first floor was large and superbly Romanesque. Quite a number of people had already assembled here. Few had settled on the numerous chairs that had been grouped about, however, and were instead engaged in chatting merrily and greeting friends and acquaintances. Cranford guided Zoe to three-chairs, as yet unclaimed. Furlong was buttonholed by a statuesque young woman wearing a magnificent gold silk gown, and Cranford leaned to Zoe's ear, and murmured with a grin, "Mrs. Pettifor. A widow. Striking, isn't she?"

  "Sir Owen seems to think so."

  "The poor fellow was born to be a diplomat. Truth is, the lady has pursued him relentlessly ever since his fiancée was lost at sea in forty-six, and—Now what have I said to throw you into gloom again?"

  His use of the word "diplomat" had inevitably brought Travis to mind. Zoe said, "There is something I want so much to tell you, and—and to ask for your advice."

  The worry in her face inspired him with an urgent need to dispel it. "I am not very wise, alas," he told her. "My brother has all the brains in the family. But 'twould be my pleasure an I could help. We will find a way to be private after the readings."

  He stood as several military acquaintances and their ladies came towards them. It was the start of a steady stream. He struggled manfully with introductions, but the names swept into Zoe's head and out again. It seemed that half the people in the room wanted to shake Cranford by the hand, and tell him how pleased they were to see him. He responded gratefully, if rather shyly. Zoe sensed that to be the object of so much attention embarrassed him, for which quality she did not like him any the less.

  Lord Eaglund rang a little bell for quiet; the crowd dispersed to their places, and Cranford sat down with a whispered, "Phew!"

  Furlong eased into his chair, murmuring that he'd fancied he would never fight his way through the crush of Cranford's admirers.

  A plump and jolly woman moved to the centre of the clear area before them, and extended a welcome to her "dear friends." She was a far cry from the proud viscountess Zoe had imagined, and with such a natural manner that her popularity was easily understood. She introduced the first reader, and a gaunt and grim gentleman clad all in black made his bow and offered an "Ode to the Damsel Dark." His intonation was sonorous, his ode a gloomy tale of unrequited love, and Zoe's thoughts wandered to her brother, and Papa's letter. She was startled when Cranford nudged her and she joined hurriedly in the applause.

  A moment later, she was applauding in earnest. The second reader, breathtaking in a magnificent gown of dark pink velvet trimmed with swansdown, was Miss Maria Benevento. There were several admiring cries from the gentlemen, and so much applause that she held up her hands at last in an amused plea for quiet.

  A hush fell. The beauty stood there, slender, poised, half-smiling, as she scanned the room. Her first selection was from A Midsummer-Night's Dream, and she began to read, the familiar words enhanced by her rich, faintly accented voice.

  “I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,

  Where oslips and the nodding violet grows

  Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,

  With sweet musk-roses, and with eglantine …"

  Sudden tears stung Zoe's eyes. Almost she could see herself and Travis wandering among the great trees of Wychwood in the springtime, gathering the violets that dear mama had so loved… And now her brother had near died from the dread cholera and was coming home, never having writ a word to let them know—She gave a gasp of embarrassment, for Cranford was nudging her again. Preparing instinctively to clap her hands, she realized that Miss Benevento had gone on to another se
lection, this time from Richard II:

  "… happy breed of men, this little world,

  This precious stone set in the silver sea,

  Which serves …"

  Another nudge. Indignant, she saw that Cranford's eyes were alight with mirth. He nodded very slightly towards Furlong. Curious, she turned to her left. Sir Owen was leaning forward, so still that he seemed scarcely to breathe, and his eyes had a dazed look as they held intently on the lovely reader. That husky voice was stilled. A brief hush, then the air rang with applause. But Sir Owen Furlong remained silent and motionless, as one bewitched.

  Applauding heartily, Cranford bent to Zoe's ear. "I think your new friend has captured another heart, or else poor Furlong has turned to stone! We shall either have to wake him up, or have him hauled away!"

  She turned to him, her eyes sparkling. "I do believe you are in the right of it! Oh, what a lovely couple they would make!"

  "Cruel!" he exclaimed, with a hand clasped to his heart. "I am betrayed and tossed aside! You promised the lady was just right for me!"

  Zoe's eyes fell. He was only funning, of course, but her cheeks were hot and she was seized by an unfamiliar confusion. "Oh," she said. "Well, I did. But I—er, I changed my mind." Peeping up at him, she met a brilliant grin that set her pulse galloping in the most foolish way. Thrown into deeper confusion, she stammered, "M-might we go downstairs now, do you think?"

  "Miss Grainger! Oh, how glad I am that you came!"

  Maria Benevento was hurrying to them. Zoe had not dreamed that the beauty would break away from her admirers only to renew their acquaintance, and she returned a hug gladly. "Lieutenant Cranford was so very good as to bring me," she said. "I so enjoyed to hear you read. 'Twas prodigious moving."

  Watching Cranford as he endorsed those sentiments and bowed over her hand, Miss Benevento said shrewdly, "Something troubles you, I think, sir."

  Zoe's gaze flashed to him. She had thought him a trifle heavy-eyed, but had supposed he'd stayed late at his club.