Never Doubt I Love (10 page)

“Oh, yes, my lady. My best friend married last year, and went out to the Americas with her husband.” Zoe stifled a sigh. “I miss her. But that is the way for young ladies.” Here, recollecting Lady Julia's single state, she blushed hotly, and stammered, “N-not always, of course. Some ladies are not inclined towards—towards matrimony. Indeed, Papa says that I am well on the way to becoming—” She had done it again! Biting her lip with mortification, she choked the words off.

Lady Julia chuckled. “Becoming what? An old maid? Nonsense! You were born to be loved by some lucky man. And do not be thinking that the single state is mine by choice. I was betrothed to a gentleman I adored, and who loved me as deeply. We were about to be wed, in fact, when…” The brilliant light blue eyes became closed and remote suddenly. She finished in a far-away voice, “There was a—a terrible … accident.”

Acutely embarrassed, Zoe said, “Yes, ma'am. Lady Buttershaw told me of the fire. I am so sorry, but you were spared any— I mean, there is no sign of—” She floundered, and gulped, “You are very pretty, ma'am.”

“How kind.” The wistful eyes saw her again. “I will tell you about it, though, so that you do not have to wonder, or feel sad for my sake. He was young and very handsome, you see. A vital, healthy man from a noble house. He had to have heirs; sons to follow him and carry on the name. And my life was despaired of, so…” She shrugged and gave a wry smile.

Aghast, Zoe exclaimed, “Do you say he drew back? No, surely not? If ever I heard of such a thing!”

Lady Julia unbuttoned her cuff and rolled up her left sleeve. Zoe could not restrain a gasp. The arm was red and shiny, the skin puckered and cruelly scarred. “My face and hands were not marked,” said my lady, “but much of me is—as you see. How could I blame him?”

Zoe exclaimed fiercely, “I could blame him! If you love someone you do not abandon them only because they are ill, or—or hurt, through no fault of their own! Had
he
been burned or crippled or something of the sort, I am very sure
you
would have stood by him! I vow, you are well rid of—of such a fair-weather friend, ma'am, and will find another suitor who is far more worthy of such a sweet and pretty lady! Not all gentlemen are so lacking in character. I know my brother would
never
behave in such a way!”

Lady Julia, who had listened to this impassioned speech with increasing amusement, now gave a little trill of laughter and held out her arms. “You dear, warm-hearted girl! What a fine champion I have found. Come, and let me hug you! Oh, we are going to go along splendidly, I know it. Now, sit here beside me, and tell me all about this gallant brother of yours. Is he at school? Shall I have the pleasure of meeting him soon?”

Returning that scented embrace, Zoe sat where her ladyship indicated, and with very little coaxing was soon telling her all about Travisford and Papa, and her beloved Travis.

The moments slipped away. Lady Julia watched the bright, animated young face, and inserted a question from time to time. And, listening, she could envision the rambling old house, the silver ribbon of the river, the kind but foolish father, the beloved brother. After a while, the big black cat, Attila, jumped up and appropriated my lady's lap. The little white terrier, Boadicea, at once came over to fuss and fidget about Zoe resentfully, but settled down when Lady Julia extended a quieting hand.

The door opened softly. A tall elegantly attired gentleman looked in and raised an enquiring eyebrow. Over Zoe's shoulder, my lady met his glance, and shook her head slightly. The gentleman withdrew, and the door was closed as softly as it had been opened. The spaniel, who had started to the door, barked. A frown flickered across my lady's face, and Zoe glanced around.

“Oh, how I have run on,” she said. “You should not let me waste your time, ma'am.”

“But you did no such thing. I have thoroughly enjoyed our chat. Cromwell likely heard someone arriving, and they will wait, never fear. Tell me now, do you think you will like to stay here? I promise not to burden you with many duties, for my hobbies keep me very occupied, and my friends are always coming and going. Sometimes, I will want you to read to me, but mostly, I will ask that you take care of my pets; groom them, and take them for walks, and keep them from bothering Lady Clara, for she is not fond of animals. You will have plenty of time for rides in the park, and shopping, and if there is some special entertainment I wish to go to, you shall accompany me. What do you think? Will it suit?”

It would, said Zoe fervently, suit very well indeed.

And so, for a while, it did. The sisters had not exaggerated when they'd said there would be few demands on her time. Lady Julia told her kindly to spend the first few days exploring the great house and identifying the servants. At some time each day, she was summoned to brush the cats or take one or other of the dogs for a walk, or to talk to Lady Julia while she rested in the afternoon. The frail lady was unfailingly kind and gentle. She betrayed a flattering interest in Zoe's childhood and in her life at Travisford which sounded, she said wistfully, so jolly compared to her own rigidly controlled youth. “I have never climbed a tree in all my days,” she sighed. “Never played rounders with other girls and boys; never galloped a pony over country meadows, or gone for long walks with a beloved brother and his friends. Mama and Papa were very strict, you see, and they moved in such select circles that Clara and I were always obliged to be models of propriety.”

The picture of such a restricted way of life appalled Zoe, although she could not but wonder that anyone would judge Lady Buttershaw to be a “model of propriety.” She saw that formidable
grande dame
seldom during these early days, for Lady Buttershaw seemed always to be rushing off to some function or other, usually with Hackham, her personal footman, in attendance. On the few occasions that they met, Lady Buttershaw would have many suggestions for the improvement of Zoe's dress and deportment. She also showed an interest in life at Travisford, but her remarks were invariably disparaging, and she lost no opportunity to criticize Mr. Grainger and his son, both of whom she felt had been remiss in failing to ensure that Zoe be properly instructed and given a London Season. Zoe found herself constantly obliged to defend her father and to regale the lady with accounts of Travis' scholarly achievements and of her sure belief that honours must attend his diplomatic career. This became rather tiresome. Fortunately, however, her ladyship's voice was exercised the instant she crossed the threshold. Zoe noticed that when those piercing tones were heard, the passages would quickly empty of all the servants who dared escape, and she lost no time in following their example.

The promised rides with Lady Julia had not as yet materialized, but Zoe kept busily occupied. The house was a regular museum of artifacts, all having to do with England's history, and the large part the family Yerville appeared to have played in it. She spent her free time in wandering about the mansion, and wrote long letters home and to her brother, telling of her discoveries.

After the first excruciating evening spent dining with and being “educated” by Lady Buttershaw, she was not sorry to be left to take her meals alone. But the breakfast parlour was large and silent, the butler waited on her with quiet efficiency, and she found solitude to be, after all, not much of an improvement over Lady Buttershaw's trumpeted monologues.

Following an excellent meal on her fourth evening at Yerville Hall, she wandered into the book room. It was vast and chilly, with no fire on the hearth. The room was not pitch dark, for the moon was up and painting the rug with its silver rays, but there was no sign of the lackey who should have come to light candles for her.

She crossed to the window and looked out. The street was bright with the glow of the flambeaux that blazed on each side of the entrance. The square was deserted, and the little garden at the centre looked dark and mysterious. A coach came rattling up the street, and stopped outside. The footman sprang down and threw open the door, and three gentlemen alighted. They were laughing and talking cheerily, and Zoe watched them, envying their good-fellowship as they started up the steps. She could tell when the front doors were opened, for the increased light shone across the pavement and cobblestones, and deepened the shadows in the central garden. How differently things appeared at night time; one of those shadows might almost be the figure of a man … Curious, she moved closer to the window. It
was
someone, for the figure had drawn back quickly, as if fearing to be seen. The light faded as the front doors were closed. The coach rolled away, and the street was quiet again. There was no sign of anyone in the central garden now, and although she stood there for at least five minutes, she could detect no more movement.

Perhaps she had imagined it, after all. Perhaps it had just been a trick of light and shadow. Or it might simply have been a servant from one of the great houses, walking his master's pet, even as she had done earlier. But surely by this time he would have opened the gate and left, or at least have moved about? And why would a servant, who had every right to be there, have behaved in so furtive a way? If it was a tramp, seeking a place to spend the night, the unfortunate creature would have good cause to hide, for he would not have had the key to the gate and must have climbed the fence, and it was a crime for unauthorized persons to go into the private garden. She thought with a chill of fear, ‘Perhaps 'twas a Jacobite, making his way to the Thames to take ship for France! They say there are many desperate fugitives, still in hiding!'

And there she went again, romanticizing, just as she and Travis had loved to do; taking a trivial incident and endowing it with mystery, each of them layering one dramatic possibility on top of another, until he would laugh and say he could not compete with her “overblown imagination.” She smiled nostalgically, and, half-convinced she must have been mistaken once again, heard something there was no mistaking: an urgent whispering and a half-smothered giggle.

At the open door two figures were briefly outlined against the glow from the corridor; a man and a girl, both tall, who slipped inside but made no attempt to light candles.

“Cecil! You must be fair addled!” This said in a breathless female voice that continued urgently, “No! Stop that! What a dreadful chance to take! If we should be caught may lady would—”

A deep male voice, kept low, and with a hint of cockney, interrupted, “Be green with envy is what she'd be! The old harpy likely don't recollect how it feels to have a man's arm round that skinny waist of hers! I haven't had a word with you for days, love. Give us another kiss, do!”

“All right … Now
go!
For mercy's sake!”

“But I just came. And I can slip out quick, if—”

Zoe, who had been much titillated by this conversation, awoke to the fact that she was eavesdropping, and said quietly, “I think you had best stop.”

A faint scream.

The man groaned, “Oh, Lor'!”

“'Tis no use to run away,” said Zoe, as the woman jerked back. “I know who you are. Close the door and light some candles, if you please.”

The woman began to cry. Zoe heard the scrape of flint on steel and in another moment the flame of a candle revealed two terrified faces.

Forgetting her accent, Elsie Gorton sobbed, “Oh, Miss! Oh, Miss—don't tell! I beg you! Don't tell her la'ship! We'd both be turned off without characters, sure as sure, and—and we'd starve! Oh …
Miss
!”

The man was Stone, Lady Buttershaw's coachman, a brawny individual of about five and thirty, with narrow dark eyes and heavy weather-beaten features. He was pale, but he put one arm protectively about Gorton's shoulders and said with hoarse desperation, “It's my fault, Miss. Not Elsie's. She told me not to come to this part of the house, but their la'ships is usually not about at this hour, and we don't get much chance to—to meet, Miss.”

“Why?” asked Zoe, interested. “Are not your intentions honourable, Stone?”

“That they is, Miss! But Lady Buttershaw don't allow no—what she calls ‘flirty-fying' among her servants.”

“She says 'twould turn our thoughts to—to sinful behaviours,” put in Gorton tearfully. “When we'd oughta be thinking of her.”

Incredulous, Zoe said, “But surely you wouldn't think of that
all
the time?” She saw Stone's eyes widen, and her face flamed as she amended hurriedly, “What I mean is—are you obliged to think of my lady every minute of the day and night?”

Gorton tore at her handkerchief and nodded. “May lady says that them as works for her pay belongs to her, and she don't want her servants having no indecent distractions.”

‘Good gracious,' thought Zoe. She said, “But you are able to meet on your days off, no?”

“I only get a afternoon, Miss,” said Stone. “And that has to be fit in when I'm not wanted. And Elsie gets one day a month. It's”—he gulped and his face became red, but he persisted doggedly—“it's awful hard, Miss, when a man's found the—the One And Only Woman, and she's give up her—her heart in return, as you might say.”

Zoe looked from one to the other. Who would have dreamed that the rigid and prim Gorton should be concealing a passionate attachment? Or that behind Cecil Stone's stolid and commonplace exterior beat the heart of an ardent lover?

Misinterpreting the astonishment in the young face, Gorton blurted out, “Oh, Miss, I know you must think 'tis shocking, but—I do so love my Cecil! And to not even be able to say a word to him hardly, for weeks on end, is very sad. I—I don't even dare smile at him, for fear Mr. Whipley should see! He wanted his sister to be your abigail, and he'd like nothing better than to tell Lady Julia I'm a evil woman!”