Never Doubt I Love (31 page)

“Not as one measures time. Another play on words! How bad of me. 'Twas made by Mr. Tompion, who is known as the father of English watchmaking. They are calling them grandfather clocks now, you know.”

“Yes, I've heard that. Did the gentleman invent clocks, ma'am?”

Her ladyship laughed merrily. “No, indeed, child. The earliest mechanical clocks were used in European churches in the thirteenth century, but they did not know of the pendulum then, and their clocks were very poor timekeepers, 'tis said. Often an hour or more behind the time. Only think how late everyone must have been! Speaking of which, I must not keep on or you will be here forever, and I fancy you have plans for this day, yes?”

Zoe blushed. “Well, I did hope Mr. Cranford might call. But he is not here yet. Will you show me what you are working on?”

“With pleasure!”

They went back into the work room, and her ladyship sat down at the bench once more. A beautifully enameled pocket watch case lay open and empty. On a black cloth were spread many little toothed wheels and springs, and tiny deeply grooved columns which Lady Julia said were called pinions. Watching, awed, as her ladyship took up one of the wheels with a delicate pair of pincers and fitted it carefully into place, Zoe murmured, “Oh, but you are so skilled! What incredibly precise work. And what a lovely case.”

“And quite valuable,” said Lady Julia, “for 'twas made by Mr. Pluvier over a hundred years—”

Viking, who had been watching Cromwell chew on the brush, threw up his head and barked shatteringly.

Lady Julia said, “I suspect someone has called. Run along, child, 'tis likely your gallant.”

“But I have not finished the cats! Are you sure—”

“You can finish later. Come to me when you return, and you shall see the little watch all put back together and running merrily.”

*   *   *

Pleased by Gorton's advice that Lieutenant Cranford did indeed wait below-stairs, Zoe changed quickly into a Watteau gown of soft pink taffeta that she had been eager to wear. Gorton draped a charming pink and white woollen shawl about her shoulders, and she hurried downstairs.

Cranford had been cornered in the morning room, and it became clear that Lady Buttershaw had no intention of allowing him to escape. She was hospitality at its finest, and was all apologies for having been obliged to neglect him. The health and occupations of General Lord Nugent Cranford were enquired after with many flattering asides as to that retired gentleman's brilliance. Cranford, who rarely saw his great-uncle, had little to impart, but his answers were exclaimed over as though the information they contained was of earth-shaking importance. Of equal fascination were the activities of his
charming
twin, Piers, and his
delightful
sister, Dimity, Lady Farrar, who was, Cranford said with a proud smile, “determined to make me an uncle again.” This confidence sent Lady Buttershaw into transports. Sir Anthony and his lady must, of course, be praying for a son, since they already had “a
precious
little daughter.”
Dear
Cousin Peregrine must let her ladyship know the
instant
the babe arrived, so that she might send something
very special
to welcome the newborn.

“I do so
adore
little ones,” she said sadly, and added with a sigh, “Would I had been blessed with some of my own.”

Zoe, who had heard her referring to the children who played in the square as “destructive brats who should be confined to their own gardens,” stared in astonishment.

Cranford saw her jaw drop and the glazed look come into her eyes and was hard put to it not to laugh out loud. As always, her emotions were written on her expressive little face for all to see. But if my lady saw that look, he was very sure the fur would fly. He did not want Zoe to be frightened again, and so diverted her ladyship's attention with an account of his small niece's antics.

“Ah,” said Lady Buttershaw benignly, “There is naught like family, is there? They bring our greatest joys and deepest sorrows. Take poor Miss Grainger, now. She is most anxious for her brother. Never look so surprised, my pet. Your dear papa has writ to me of Travis and his—ah, rather peculiar behaviour.”

Speechless, Zoe stared at her.

Cranford thought, ‘Why, you brazen fraud!'

Lady Buttershaw blinked at his expressionless face and said with angelic innocence, “He seems to have vanished somewhere 'twixt Calcutta and Bristol. Such a worry for the sweet child. Perchance you have friends or connections in the shipping business who may be able to help, cousin?”

A stifled gasp came from Zoe.

Cranford said coolly, “It will be my pleasure to be of assistance to you, ma'am.”

For a split second her eyes narrowed. Then, she boomed, “Splendid! How do you mean to set about it? If you knew Sir Owen Furlong, 'twould be useful, my dear, for his brother commands an East Indiaman. Might he be the captain you told me of? He could be of great help, I fancy.”

From the corner of his eye, he noted that Zoe had become quite pale. He bowed. “You are a fount of—er, wisdom, ma'am. I do know Sir Owen, and will seek him out, certainly.” He turned to Zoe. She lifted scared eyes to meet his. He winked surreptitiously, and offered his arm.

“Now?” persisted her ladyship, following them to the front doors.

“Now, I have arranged to take Miss Grainger on a journey,” he drawled.

Lady Buttershaw all but sprang before them.

“Along the Thames,” he finished sweetly. “I have rented a boat.”

“You have?” Her ladyship looked with marked unease at his peg-leg. “Shall you be able to manage, poor boy?”

He gritted his teeth and assured her he would be able to manage.

“'Twas all I could
manage,
” he told Zoe when they were driving along South Audley Street a few minutes later, “not to strangle the wretched woman! Could you believe the gall of it? She learned of your brother's predicament from
your
letter! Not from anything your father writ to
her.
As if he would do such a thing. She is practically a stranger to him.”

“Yes, I know. She is truly dreadful. But—oh Peregrine, I have been so anxious. Have you anything more to tell me of Travis?”

He thought grimly that he had something to tell her, but not of Travis, and not here. And he said, “No, I am sorry to say. But the instant I learn anything, you will know, I promise you.”

She stifled a sigh, and said bravely, “I know I have taken a great deal of your time and—and I am so grateful. But you must not feel obliged to take me on the river today.”

He smiled. “Although you would like it, of all things.”

“Oh, yes!” She clasped her hands and said with her eyes like stars, “It must be the greatest river in the whole world, do you not think? All the people who have travelled along it! The history it has seen!”

He teased, “Like the Vikings, who sailed up it and slew everyone and burned everything in their path!”

“I think you have no romance in your soul,” she told him severely.

“Very true. But you have sufficient for both of us, and I'm a good rower, despite what Lady Buttershaw might think.”

“I know you are. Travis told me you stroked for—”

“Travis told you a lot of fustian. Now pray do not be tearful and worrying again. He is likely safe and sound and I do not doubt you'll see him very soon. Meanwhile—here we are at Whitehall Stairs, and your royal barge awaits, madame.”

That won her to a smile because the “royal barge” was a small rowing boat. But although he had spoken lightly she knew him well enough by now to sense a repressed tension, and she asked, “Why did you decide to take me on the river, Peregrine?”

“Because I have something to say to you, and I don't want you to start jumping up and down.”

Her heart gave an odd little leap. She said meekly, “Very well, kind sir.”

“Besides,” he added, “you look so pretty in that gown, I want all London to see you.”

She blushed and did not know what to say, and was glad that he was handing her down from the carriage so that she could bow her head and hide her confusion.

The boatman had thought he was to be hired to row, and was clearly disappointed. Helping Zoe into the boat, Cranford said with a grin, “Be off with you! I do not propose to share my lady with anyone!”

Cheered by the coins that had been slipped into his ready palm, the boatman cast off the line, and Cranford eased the boat deftly out from the stairs and into the stream of boats and barges travelling the busy waterway.

The river sparkled and gurgled under a kindly sun, and Zoe was delighted by it, and by the wider view it offered of the city that lifted its towers and domes and steeples along the banks. Cranford directed her attention to the Privy Garden Stairs, and the new bridge at Westminster which had, he said, been a'building almost ten years and was still not done. The House of Lords and the House of Commons awoke her awed admiration. She inspected each boat that passed by, marvelled at the size and number of the barges, and was amused by the antics of the bargees, several of whom waved and bowed saucily to her.

“They're audacious rogues,” Cranford warned. “Do not encourage them!”

She laughed, and trailed her fingers in the water, happily forgetting her anxieties for a little while. Peregrine rowed remarkably well. She studied him covertly. He didn't look like a man trying to forget a broken heart. In fact, she would always enjoy to remember him like this, with the sunlight on his lean face and the blue of the skies reflected in the eyes that could change with such lightning speed from gravity to rage to laughter. She looked away hurriedly as his head started to turn to her, and knew sadly that she had become much too fond of him, and that she was only a country girl who was, perhaps, helping him forget his lost love.

He asked, “Now what are you dreaming of? Some ardent swain in Burford who is heavy-hearted because you are gone?”

She chuckled. “Give me credit for more than one ardent swain, sir.”

“Oh, I do. Poor fellows, has their lustre paled, by comparison to your London beaux?”

Her eyes shot to his face, but he was leaning into his oars, his head downbent. She said, “Alas, I think I have none.”

“Come now—what of poor old Reggie Smythe, and Purr, and Gil Fowles—heaven forbid you'd choose him!—and—”

“Oh, Lud! With such romances as these I must be glad to return to Burford!”

“Not up to snuff, eh? Perchance you prefer a different type of man. Such as—” He met her eyes and his courage failed him, so that he stammered, “—er, Furlong. You—ah, you like him, I think?”

“Oh, indeed I do! Any lady would.” Recalling that moment of enchantment when Sir Owen and Maria had first met, she murmured, “‘Who ever loved that loved not at first sight…?'”

Watching her tender half-smile, Cranford scowled, and said irritably, “You ladies and your poetry!”

“But you must own that the poet can take the words we are too shy to speak, and fashion them so beautifully that no one will dare make them a mockery.”

“For example,” he said, guiding the boat towards a quiet area of the bank, “‘Fain would I, but I dare not; I dare, and yet I may not; I may although I care not.'”

She laughed. “Wretched man! Why must you always drive away the spirit of romance?”

For a long moment he looked at her in silence, then he shipped his oars, secured the line to a mooring ring, and said quietly. “Just as well, I think, little Zoe. Come.” He climbed out and reached down a hand.

His arm slipped around her as she stepped onto the bank, and her heart thundered. She tried to speak calmly. “Are you going to make me walk home because I dared to speak of romance, Peregrine?”

He did not at once answer. Then he said, “Home to Yerville Hall? No. You are not going back there at all.”

She halted, her eyes wide. “What do you mean? Ah, you said you had something to tell me. Is it that you have found Travis after all? Has Papa sent for me? Am I to—”

He put a hand over her lips. “You are to sit down. Here—” He spread his cloak on the grass. “And you are to listen.”

C
HAPTER
XIII

A large yawl drifted past, her sails flapping in the freshening breeze, and from the city came the clear voices of bells, tolling the hour. Zoe gave no sign of noticing either, but sat very still on the grassy bank, staring blindly at the ever-changing face of the Thames. The hand Cranford held was very cold, and, watching her, he began to chafe it gently. For fear of terrifying her, he had at first given her a considerably expurgated version of the affair, but she had refused to believe he was serious and had laughed at him, so that in order to convince her of her danger, he'd been obliged to broaden his account.

“I know you are frightened,” he said, “but you will be quite safe with your aunt—no?”

She did not reply.

He bent forward and peered into her pale face anxiously. “Zoe?”

She murmured, “You hold that t'was all a plot, from start to finish. Lady Buttershaw set out to meet my step-mama only so as to trick Papa into letting me come to Town.”

“Yes.”

“The gowns
were
made for me. They wanted me there in case my brother wrote to me. But,” she frowned in perplexity. “Why not leave me at home? They could have watched me at Travisford just as well, without going to all this bother.”

“I doubt it. In a country place everybody knows everybody else, and strangers stand out like a sore thumb. Besides, they very likely guessed that your brother would not dare go home. If he wrote to you and Mr. Grainger sent his letter on here, it could be more easily intercepted. Also, Travis might feel safe to visit you in Town.”