Never Doubt I Love (33 page)

Despite Zoe's intense unhappiness, however, when they entered the fifteen-year-old building its magnificence drove away every emotion but wonderment. From their box she could look down upon a great crowd of people who stood in the pit throughout the performance. They were well dressed, but not well behaved, for it seemed to her that they ignored the music altogether, and spent the evening in hailing friends, and engaging in talk, flirtation and laughter. The three galleries were crowded with more elegantly attired ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were scarcely less rowdy than those in the pit. The glare from the huge ring-shaped chandeliers over the stage, which held as many as three hundred candles, awoke a thousand gleams and glitters from the jewels worn by the ladies, and the cravat pins and rings of the gentlemen. Zoe's attention was caught by an especially brilliant necklace in a box across the theatre, almost opposite to her own. She was surprised when the lady bowed slightly, and her heart gave a spasmodic lurch when she recognized Maria Benevento, with Sir Owen Furlong beside her, impressive in full-dress uniform.

Zoe glanced swiftly at her companions. Like Lord Coombs, the Honourable Purleigh had indulged himself at table, and they both kept nodding off to sleep. Lady Buttershaw and Lady Coombs were appraising the throng through their lorgnette fans, and providing a running critique of the attire and reputation of the various leaders of the
ton
who were present, much to the delectation of Sir Gilbert and Mr. Smythe. Lady Julia was in deep conversation with Lord Sommers. Hiding behind her fan, Zoe managed furtively to beckon to Maria, who gazed at her for a moment, then nodded. From that moment Zoe scarcely noticed the efforts of the musicians, which indeed could scarcely be heard above the din. Maria would come to her, she was sure, but if they were to speak she must find a way to escape the box.

When the first half of the program ended, her problem was solved. Lady Buttershaw and Lady Coombs went off with Mr. Smythe and Sir Gilbert to visit friends. Simultaneously, Zoe saw Maria and Sir Owen leave their box. Lord Sommers took Lady Julia out “for a breath of air,” and Zoe was left with the Honourable Purleigh, who was snoring softly, and Lord Coombs, who was snoring loudly.

A moment later, Maria slipped into the box. “My poor sweet,” she whispered, her amused gaze on the male occupants. “What enlivening companions!”

Zoe sprang up and took her hand eagerly. “Thank you, thank you! I prayed you would manage to come!”

“Your prayers were answered, my dear. Sir Owen stands guard outside and will warn us if your ladies return. But we must be quick, for should the Buttershaw find me here, there will be a fuss and she will raise her great voice, which you will not at all like. Tell me why you are so agitated.”

“It is for Lieutenant Cranford,” Zoe whispered, with one eye on the sleepers. “Have you seen him since this morning? He fell, did you know?”

“I knew, but I did not know
you
knew of it. Were you perhaps together at the time? Or did you chance to witness the—er, incident?”

“Yes. Well, that is—” Zoe burst out distractedly, “Oh, Maria! 'Tis my fault that he fell, and I have felt so wretched and been so anxious for him.”

“Nonsense! How could it be your fault?”

“We quarrelled, and—and I was angry, and— Oh dear, oh dear! I—I
pushed
him!”

Maria's eyes opened very wide. “
You
did? My gentle Zoe? But how is this? I had understood he fell while walking along the riverbank.”

“Yes. He had taken me out in a boat. And—and—oh, I dare not take the time now to tell you the whole, but—he …
kissed
me!”

Maria's eyes danced. She asked roguishly, “Where?”

“Full on—on the lips!”

“So I would expect if he knew what he was about. I meant—surely, he did not perform this wickedness in the boat?”

“No. 'Twas on the bank, where
everyone
could see. And the sailors and the—the bargees were laughing and shouting at us, and—Oh! 'Twas
dreadful!
”

Vastly titillated, Maria said, “Shocking! If ever I heard of such a thing! He must have been mad!”

“Well, he was. What I mean is, he was exceeding cross, and lost his temper, and seized me like any—any cave man!” Zoe sighed wistfully.

“Hmm. Why was he so cross with you?”

The Honourable Purleigh snorted and moved slightly, and Zoe answered hurriedly, “Because I would not do—something he wanted me to do.”

“Oooh!” breathed Maria. “This Peregrine Cranford, he is not the man I thought him! A gentleman would not behave in such a way. And if he did, would feel honour bound to offer for the lady's hand.”

“Yes. Well, he did offer. And that's when I pushed him down the bank.”

“Because he—offered for your hand?” Maria blinked. “I can see that you were insulted because he kissed you. But surely, in offering for you he made things right.”

“He did not mean it,” sighed Zoe. “He was very kind to offer, because, as he said, it was
de rigeur.
I refused, of course, and he asked if I would accept him if he said he—loved me.”

“But how charming! You did exactly right to push him, my brave one! Me, I should have struck him! With my shoe! You must see him no more! Never!”

“Oh. I mean—no. Of course not. Only…”

A glance at the woebegone little face made Maria's lips twitch. She prompted, “Yes, my Zoe?”

“He fell so hard. I have been fairly beside myself with anxiety. Has Sir Owen mentioned it at all? I pray he was not injured again?”

“No, no. He is of steel, that one. I fancy his pride was hurt, for Sir Owen tells me he is rather—ah, I have not the word … um—” She scowled darkly.

With a wan smile Zoe supplied, “Surly?”

“
Si!
That is the one! But—”

There came a flapping of the curtains at the rear. Zoe gasped, and Maria said, “Ah, that will be my faithful Owen. I must go. I will meet you in the park on Monday. Now never fret, my little friend. Your lieutenant he will soon recover his good humour, and likely be calling to take you to church tomorrow.”

Mr. Peregrine Cranford did not call to escort Miss Zoe Grainger to church, however, and she joined the retinue that braved a dark and grey morning to accompany Lady Julia to early service at the Parish Church of St. James' off Piccadilly. Zoe had never worshipped in so large a sanctuary. Despite a steady downpour, the fashions worn by the members of the congregation were of prime interest to many of those present, but if Zoe's attention wandered from the sermon, it focused not on fashion but on the splendidly carved pelican above the altar, the exquisite marble font, and the organ case, all of which, Lady Julia imparted later, were carved by that genius Mr. Grinling Gibbons.

When they emerged, the skies were even darker, and the rain unrelenting. A quiet day was spent at Yerville Hall. After luncheon Zoe tried without much success to write a letter to her father, until she was summoned by Lady Julia to read St. Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians, and then to talk to her of Travisford.

Several of Lady Buttershaw's friends came to dine, among them Viscount Eaglund and the Honourable Purleigh Shale. Zoe liked the viscount, but his son's sudden bursts of loud laughter combined with Lady Buttershaw's harsh voice to give her the headache, and she was very glad when they all went off somewhere and she was able to escape to her bedchamber. She prepared for bed, then sent Gorton away and sat down to finish her letter.

It was a forlorn endeavour. Her page faded into a picture of Peregrine gazing down at her with such gentle sympathy; the white gleam of his smile when he'd been overcome by mirth; the molten glare that had been levelled at her when he'd become enraged and swept her into his arms. The memory of his kiss made her heart ache with longing, but then would come despair because he had been trying to protect her, in return for which she had brought him unspeakable humiliation. As brief as had been their acquaintance, she knew him well enough to be aware of his fierce pride. If he ever looked at her again it must only be with, at the very least, dislike. To envision his blue eyes regarding her in such a way brought grief so painful that she could scarcely endure it. But she could envision also her beloved brother, hunted and alone and ill. He would not go near Travisford if he thought his presence would endanger those he loved. But he might try to get a message to her, and if he did and discovered where she was, he would find some way to see her. He might even appear at the front door one day! She shivered. No, she could not have acted in any other way …

She awoke abruptly. She had fallen asleep at her little desk, and her neck was stiffly uncomfortable. But something had disturbed her. Perhaps one of the animals had escaped again. She carried the candle to the mantelpiece and peered at the clock. Almost twenty minutes past two. Blowing out the candle she took off her slippers, tiptoed to the door and rested her ear against the panel. Almost at once, she heard a woman laugh softly, and the murmur of a man's deep voice. A voice she had heard before but could not at once identify. It might be perfectly innocent, of course; perhaps Lady Buttershaw had come back with more friends to engage in nothing more sinister than a game of cards or one of the historical discussions that she so loved to dominate. Zoe heard the rustle of satin; the soft click of high heels. The sounds faded; they must be going downstairs. If only she could see who it was, or hear what they were talking about! She edged the door open a crack.

Her bedchamber was situated at the rear or north side of the mansion, with guest suites separating her from Lady Buttershaw's quarters to the left, and Lady Julia's apartments to the right. Opposite was the open well over the entrance hall, and to the right of the well the Long Gallery stretched all the way to Lady Julia's domain.

Zoe eased the door wider. It was very dark except where the outside flambeaux cast a glow through the windows of the Long Gallery. The guests might be standing on the steps waiting for their carriage. An efficient spy would go bravely to the gallery and open one of the windows so as to hear them talking. An efficient spy would not stand here shivering, for fear of being caught. And she had promised Peregrine she could be useful.

She gathered her courage and slipped into the silent corridor, her bare feet making no sound as she ran past the well. The air was sweetened by a whiff of scent; a spicy, alluring fragrance of the type gentlemen loved, and that had probably come from Paris and cost as much as Cook at Travisford spent on a week's groceries for the entire household …

Thank heavens, she had reached the window undetected! Mercifully, the catch released easily, and she began to open the casement. She gave a gasp of fright as it let out a shrill squeak. In her overwrought state the sound was ear-splitting, but luckily the lady downstairs was laughing, and the squeak appeared to have gone unnoticed.

Zoe pressed a hand to her jolting heart and leaned out. There were just two of them, standing on the steps in the glow of the flambeaux. The lady's hood concealed her features, but she did not trouble to guard her voice now, and Zoe heard her say in French, “… strange bedfellows, indeed! I hope I may be far away when she learns of it.”

The man said in the same language, “She will be enraged. So, I think, will many others.”

“And you among them, eh, my friend?”

A pause, then he answered slowly, “'Tis far from our original intent. I sometimes think you do not welcome this new alliance any more than I.”

There came the rumble of distant wheels and the lamps of a carriage bobbed along the deserted street.

The lady said, as if on a sigh, “We all have our loyalties, do we not? One does what one must do. Almost the trap it is ready to close. All will be over very quickly, I think, and—”

“And the Squire will launch his—”

“What are you about, may I ask?”

That harsh autocratic voice sent Zoe's heart leaping up behind her front teeth and for an instant she was as if frozen with terror. Wheeling around, her knees were so weak she had to lean back against the window for support.

Lady Buttershaw came marching along the corridor, holding a lamp high.

Zoe felt sick. She tried to answer, but her tongue seemed nailed to the roof of her mouth. And then she heard Lady Julia say, “I thought I heard something.”

Dazzled perhaps by the light from her lamp, Lady Buttershaw was addressing her sister, who approached from the other end of the corridor. Zoe was overcome by relief. She had not been seen after all! ‘But I will be at any second!' she realized. She looked about in desperation, but this time there was no convenient sideboard to shield her. A large chest between the next two windows was at least ten feet distant, and even if she managed to run so far without the movement being noticed, should either lady bring a lamp into the gallery she would certainly be seen!

Her fingers, wet with perspiration, touched the draperies beside her. Heavy draperies; tied back with silken ropes. If she untied one, it would be remarked. But she was quite small. Perhaps … She knelt and dove under the bottom half of the drapery, gathering her dressing gown tight, and trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible.

“Of course you heard something,” said Lady Buttershaw tartly. “My guests are departing.”

“Do your guests cause that curtain to click on its rod?”

Peeping out of the narrow space between the drapery and the wall, Zoe saw the light brightening. To her horror it shone on the wet imprint of a small hand below the window-sill. She thought, ‘I am going to be sick…!'

Large feet were advancing. Lady Buttershaw boomed. “Only look at this!” Zoe's eyes began to blur and she waited with growing faintness to be discovered.

A bony hand shot out.

Zoe's heart seemed to stop beating.