Never Doubt I Love (36 page)

Zoe stopped abruptly. It must be two of the footmen! They were coming up the stairs, and she was too far from her own room to reach it before they would turn at the first landing! Once again, she must hide. To her left was the big musty room with all the historical paraphernalia. The two men might logically be going in there. Desperate, she plunged into the room on her right, and knew she would be safe for the moment. They certainly would not come into Lady Buttershaw's bedchamber.

A voice she recognized as that of Hackham, her ladyship's personal footman, sneered, “Lots of rich old hags buys themselves pretty boys, mate.”

“Aye, but not
that
pretty boy! She's gone off her tibby, proper. Unless you're bamming me.”

It sounded as if they had stopped just outside! Zoe's heart convulsed as the door latch lifted. ‘Dear God!' she thought, panicked. ‘They
are
coming in here!'

She was so frightened that she turned completely around, searching for a refuge. Her wide paniers would prevent her from climbing into one of the three large presses, or slipping under the bed. Then she saw another door at the side of the room. A dressing room, perchance, or the abigail's room. Running to it, her heart in her mouth, she heard Hackham say threateningly, “I'll prove it, all right. But—you
ever
tell I let you in here, it'll be the worse for you, my cove!”

The door started to open. Zoe rushed through the inner door, and had time only to draw it partially closed.

She was in a small dark room.

And several people sat there, watching her!

Her heart stood still. As from a great distance she heard the two footmen laughing softly but hilariously. In this room nobody spoke. Hardly able to breathe, she reached out to steady herself against a chest, only to discern another face nodding at her from atop it. A featureless face. She thought, ‘Thank goodness! They are only wigs on head stands!' The relief was so intense that she had a sudden need to laugh … To shriek with laughter … Or to burst into tears. Her knees gave out under her and she sank down, pressing both hands over her mouth, lest hysteria overcome her.

Through the slightly open door she caught a glimpse of the other man. Whipley. Lady Julia's personal footman. Hackham was telling him not to make so much noise.

Whipley gulped, “I never woulda believed it! Right by her bed, too! Can't you just see the old bag, lying there, eating her heart out for the ‘breed'? And him not worth a decent Englishman wiping his boots on! Cor! Can't help laughing, can yer? If ever I see such a sorry set-to!”

Hackham said, “Well, you've seen one now. And that's sixpence you owe me!”

“It was worth it, mate! Come on down to my room, and I'll pay up!”

“Careful! You moved that eiderdown. Tidy it up, quick! She's got eyes like a cat, and if she ever thought I'd been in here—Gawd help us all!”

A rustle was followed by some whispering and the cautious opening of the outer door.

They were gone.

As soon as her rubbery knees would support her, Zoe followed. She could hear the housekeeper's voice as she passed the stairs, and her blood ran cold as a familiar bellow assailed her ears. Lady Buttershaw had returned! She flew along the corridor to her room, horrified to realize how narrow an escape she'd had.

Her bedroom door opened and Gorton's head peeped out. Zoe rushed to her, and suddenly was in her arms, weeping.

“Oh … Miss!” quavered Gorton, weeping also. “I were that scared! When Hackham and that horrid Whipley went past I was sure … as sure you'd be caught. Oh, Miss! You're so
brave!
”

“Brave!” Zoe groped for her handkerchief and wiped her eyes furiously. “Only see how brave I am! Snivelling and shaking like any leaf, when I should be strong and—and leaving this beastly place!”

Her face a study in distress, Gorton cried, “
Leaving?
You—you don't never mean for good and all, Miss Zoe? Say you don't!”

“I must.” Zoe ran to snatch a warm cloak from the press. “I cannot explain now, Elsie, but at all costs I must keep my brother from…”

Her words died away. The letter had come on Saturday, and this was Monday. Travis had written that he would call ‘in a day or two'! What if he should come even while she was on her way to him? There was a strong family resemblance. He was sure to be recognized, even if he gave his assumed name. Chilled, she thought, ‘Heaven help the dear soul if they ever get their hands on him!' No, she could not leave. But somehow she must warn him.

Gorton asked hopefully, “Has you changed your mind, Miss?”

“Yes.” Zoe handed her the cloak. “But I must get a message to my brother. If I wrote a letter, could you take it to— Oh, no. That will not do. Whipley would likely follow you!” She began to pace up and down, wringing her hands, and trying to think. If only Peregrine would come … or if she could just get word to Maria … Of course! Maria could go to Sir Owen, who would tell Peregrine and all would be well! She said, “Give me my cloak, Elsie, and put on your own. We're going out for a walk!”

Downstairs, a lackey sat on a stool in the alcove by the front doors. He was engrossed in picking at his cuticles, but he sprang up as Zoe hurried across the hall, and bowed respectfully. “Very nasty out there, Miss Grainger,” he offered.

It was unprecedented behaviour, and Zoe's strained nerves grew tighter. She said coolly, “Indeed? I feel the need of some fresh air, even so. Be so good as to open the door.”

Instead of obeying, he moved to block the way. “The streets is most unsafe,” he said, “and her la'ship asked partic'ler that you stay indoors this afternoon. If you please.”

“I do not please,” said Zoe, trying to look haughty. “Now, stand aside at once!”

“I am indeed sorry, Miss Grainger,” said Arbour, coming across the hall at his stately pace, “but Lady Buttershaw left strict orders that you should not venture out. There have been more street riots, you see, and…” He shrugged apologetically.

“Are you saying I am
forbidden
to go out for a walk?” demanded Zoe. “Lady Julia said nothing of the kind to me.”

Arbour looked pained, and murmured that Lady Yerville would return shortly, and he would be only too glad to abide by her instructions.

Zoe stared at him. He was clearly not a happy man, probably living in dread of being turned off because he had left the casement open last night. It would be more than he dared do to contravene Lady Buttershaw's instructions.

“Perhaps,” he suggested, “Miss would care to walk in the back garden?”

“Miss” had no time to waste on back gardens, for already another scheme was forming in her mind. She told Arbour coldly that she would wait until Lady Yerville returned, and went back up the stairs once more.

In her bedchamber, she threw her cloak aside and hurried to the desk.

Gorton said in a failing voice, “They don't mean to let you go out, Miss Zoe! Oh, how dreadful it is! Whatever does it all mean?”

Zoe snatched up a quill pen and pulled out a sheet of writing paper. “Elsie, if I write a note to my brother, is there someone you could pay to deliver it?”

Receiving no answer, she turned in the chair. Gorton, very pale, stood staring at her wide-eyed over hands that were clasped to her mouth. Zoe put down the pen and went to hug the woman. “My poor friend, I know how much I ask of you. But, I swear, Elsie,
truly
this is a matter of life and death!”

Gorton wet her lips and croaked, “If—if I get caught, Miss … I'll be turned off without a character—surely! I—I'll starve!”

It was a grim, and very possible result. Zoe said earnestly, “If you get caught you can always say that you were only obeying me. And—and that it was not your place to refuse my orders. But—oh, Elsie, I promise you faithfully, when I leave this horrid house, I will take you with—” She did not finish the sentence.

From nearby there came a familiar howl.

Gorton gave a squeal of fright.

Zoe felt the blood draining from her cheeks.

Had Lady Buttershaw given orders that Miss Grainger was not to go out because she had questions to ask Miss Grainger? Did my lady mean to demand that she be told where Travis Grainger might be found? And if—as she must—she refused to give that information … What would they do to her?

She heard again Peregrine Cranford's dear angry voice ‘… a dainty, timid little flower, setting herself up in opposition to a fire-breathing dragon…'

She was not a dainty little flower. And she was a good deal more than timid; she was a rank coward. Her attempt to be a spy had been a nightmare, and she had seemed to spend most of her time shaking in her shoes and ready to faint from fright. The prospect of the terrifying Lady Buttershaw shouting at her, bullying her, perhaps, heaven forbid, beating her, made her eyes grow dim and her breath come in shallow little gasps.

There came a brisk heavy tread in the passage outside. A hand was lifting the latch of the door.

Gorton leapt to her feet and rushed to open the press and fumble among the gowns, whispering, “Oh, gawd! Oh, gawd help us!”

It was a prayer Zoe echoed.

C
HAPTER
XV

“No doubt you misunderstood,” said Cranford, holding open the door that the footman attempted to close. “I wish to see Miss Grainger. Did you give her my card?”

“As I said before, sir,” responded the footman, his stiff demeanour reflecting disapproval of such ill-mannered behaviour, “Miss Grainger is—not—at—home.”

“Which covers a multitude of sins. Do you mean she is not at home to Mr. Cranford? Or do you mean she is gone out? No, do not try and push me away, else I'll forget my manners!”

He looked quite capable of it, thought the footman. You had to be careful of gents with that particular glitter in their eyes. Smit, was this Cranford cove, and when a gent was smit, there was no telling what he might do. In an attempt to soften the rejection, he lied, “Miss Grainger is gone out, sir.”

“I'll wait.”

To the footman's great relief, a rescue party in the form of Mr. Arbour and a lackey advanced ponderously across the entrance hall. “I do not expect their ladyships until very late tonight, Mr. Cranford,” said the butler. “However, an you would care to leave a message…?”

Cranford looked grimly from one to the other. Realizing that Zoe might not wish to receive him, he had scrawled a hurried “Miss Grainger—I have some news for you!” on the back of his calling card. He'd been left to cool his heels on the doorstep until the footman had returned to deny Miss Grainger and make it clear that he was expected to leave at once. He knew that however much Zoe might despise him, she would be eager to learn if his “news” concerned Travis. The unlikeliness of her having refused to see him took on an ominous significance. He was sure that both these fellows were lying, but he could not very well demand to be allowed to wait until “very late tonight.” He therefore declared an intention to return in the morning, and walked out into the rain.

Crossing the street, he stood with his back to the enclosed gardens and looked up at the mansion. Undoubtedly, he was being watched, and without turning his head, he said softly, “Tummet…? Are you about?”

A rustle of leaves and Tummet's growl, “Abaht to take root, Mr. Cranford! Is the cats-a'purring?”

“I collect that refers to rats stirring, rather than felines purring, in which case I fear they may be. Tell me quickly. Did any of the ladies leave the house today?”

“Both the lady nobs done. Yussir.”

“Was Miss Grainger with them? Be quite sure, now.”

“That she were not! Lay me life to it, I would, mate. The two la'ships went out a hour or so back. One come home.”

“Came home? Which one? When?”

“The one what's mad fer me guv'nor. Lady Buttershaw. 'Bout ten minutes ago.”

Cranford's jaw set. “In that case, I want you to go at once and find something for me.”

“Can't do that, mate. Me orders is to keep watch, and—”

“I am countermanding your orders. Besides, if I know you, Tummet, you'll be able to do what I ask with no difficulty, and be back here in jig time.”

The man whom August Falcon referred to as his “pseudo valet” had known many occupations in his eventful life, and few things had the power to surprise him, but when he learned what he was expected to produce, he said an alarmed, “Strike a perishin' light! You never mean it, Lieutenant, mate! You couldn't never—”

“Probably not. But you could. Now I'll tell you where to put it until we're ready. Oh,
do
stop arguing, man, and pay heed!”

*   *   *

A lackey flung open the door to Zoe's bedchamber, and Lady Buttershaw stamped in, reticule on her wrist and her eyes narrowed.

Zoe stood, and waited with wobbly knees, and her breath fluttering.

“I am informed that you were annoyed because I thought it best that you not go out,” bellowed her ladyship. “So you sit and sulk, do you? And are pale besides! Pretty behaviour! I will tell you that pallor and pouts are most unattractive qualities in a maiden. You may be grateful I had the foresight to desire you to remain at home. My friends and I encountered ruffians loitering, and the weather is inclement besides. How have you occupied yourself in my absence?”

Zoe tried to speak and had to cough to regain her voice. “I was writing a letter to my papa, ma'am.”

The beady dark eyes darted to the little desk and the clean sheet of paper lying there. “You have no news to convey, I take it,” said her ladyship dryly. “I have something for you, however. Can you guess what it is, I wonder?”

“I—er, no, my lady,” croaked Zoe.

With the manner of a conjuror pulling a rabbit from a hat, Lady Buttershaw drew what appeared to be Travis' letter from her reticule and waved it aloft.