The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (10 page)

“I agree, but I doubt Gervaise Valerian would ever—” He
closed his lips over that caustic remark, then said, “Never mind about the silly fellow—what were you trying to tell me while I was carving you such a gargantuan meal?”

Miss Guild put down her wineglass and looked at him steadily. “The roof leaks. Over my bed.”

“Oh, egad! And you’ve told me of it before!” Remorseful, he said, “Forgive. I’m really a woodenhead not to have—”

She leaned to pat his hand. “No such thing. Piers, what is amiss? And do not tell me ‘nothing’. You’re worrying. I can tell. You must let Perry help if we’re in deep trouble.”

“What? Pull my lovesick twin down from his rosy cloud? And only because we’ve a little difficulty with the river, and the church steeple has chosen to join the choir? Scarcely ‘deep trouble,’ love.”

Miss Guild was not deceived by his charming smile, and in her gentle but determined way demanded to know what else had him “into the hips.”

Cranford teased her and accused her of “borrowing trouble,” but he was relieved when Peddars came in to announce that Lord Glendenning had called and was waiting in the library.

Horatio, Viscount Glendenning, was a lifelong friend of the family, and one of Miss Guild’s favourites, and she was as delighted as her nephew to welcome their unexpected guest and insist he overnight with them.

His lordship raised small objection. He interpreted Cranford’s sidelong glance correctly and stepped into the breach, joining them at table as another cover was called for. A skilled
raconteur
, his light-hearted tales of Town and mutual acquaintances brightened the meal, banishing Miss Guild’s apprehensions and bringing her often to laughter.

Not until the good lady had gone to her bedchamber and the two men were alone before the library fire did his lordship demand bluntly, “All right, Piers. What the devil’s going on here?”

“Some wretched weather, mostly, and—”

The viscount’s lips compressed and a spark came into his eyes. “Never try to fob me off as if I were a casual acquaintance. I’ve known you since we both were in short coats. If I can sense there’s a rat in your pickle barrel, you may be sure Perry will.”

Alarmed, Cranford exclaimed, “Jove! Is he on his way here?”

“Not to my knowledge. But I’ve a decided feeling he should be. And if you mean to play the strong and silent chivalrous knight, be damned if I don’t ride to Town and fetch him!”

Cranford swore softly, but he was in really desperate need of a friendly and sympathetic ear, and Horatio was, beyond all doubt, the best of friends. Suddenly exhausted, he put back his head and drew a hand across his eyes.

Watching him, Glendenning’s apprehension deepened. Over the years he had seen this man overcome one drawback after another so as to keep his family together and turn the estate into a paying proposition. Piers was not one to be easily crushed, but at this moment he looked nigh foundered. “Come on, old fellow,” he urged in a gentle voice. “If it weren’t for you and Mitten and Perry risking your own necks, my foolish head would even now be grinning from a spike on Temple Bar. I owe you my life. The least you can do is allow me to help, if ’tis only to offer my far from sage advice.”

Cranford turned his head against the sofa cushion and for a long moment regarded this man he knew so well. Powerfully built, though not above average height, the viscount could not be described as handsome, but he had a fine pair of green eyes edged by the laugh lines that spoke of a sunny nature. His loyal friends declared that his nose, if not of slim and classical proportions, was “strong.” The mouth below it was wide and humorous, though the chin had a stubborn jut. Freckles hinted at the auburn hair that today was powdered and tied back, and which had sufficient red in it to speak of the impetuous and
rebellious spirit that during the recent Jacobite Uprising had almost cost him his life.

All in all, thought Cranford, it was a good face, and the depth of concern in the eyes was touching. “Very well,” he said wearily. “But not a word to Perry. I’ll have your promise, Tio.”

“You have it.”

And so Cranford told him of his hopes for the river parcel. He saw the viscount’s expression change from understanding to astonishment when he described the banker’s evasiveness. Glendenning did not interrupt until he spoke of the interview with his great-uncle, at which point he exclaimed, “The devil you say! He really wants you to pull Valerian’s chestnuts out of the fire?”

“Not quite how he worded it, but in effect, those are his wishes.”

Glendenning scowled, rose, and crossing to the sideboard, carried over the decanter of port to refill their glasses. Sitting down again, he muttered, “Jupiter! I thought my sire was difficult, but—”

“And I’m an insensitive clod not to have enquired about your lovely lady. How does Miss Consett go on, Tio? Is the earl—ah—”

“Reconciled to my taking a lady with neither fortune nor high title for my bride?” The viscount grinned happily. “Amy has wrapped him quite around her little finger. The dear old fellow dotes on her.”

“Splendid, and she’s taking the Town by storm, I hear. Your stepmother’s doing?”

“Yes, bless her. Though Amy charms everyone, and—Enough of that, slyboots! We are discussing your kettle of fish, not mine—”

“For a change,” inserted Cranford with a twinkle.

“True enough. No, seriously, you never mean to offer for Miss Stansbury? You’d do better to call Valerian out. The
ton
would then consider your family honour vindicated and—”

“The deuce they would! And much good would it do me if I were dead! He may be a dandy, but I’ve heard it said that he’s a damned fine swordsman.”

Glendenning sighed and said heavily, “Aye. He is that.”

“You’ve seen him fight? He’s really good?”

“Good enough that I’m glad I was not the one to face him.”

Cranford turned to scan him curiously. “A duel? When?”

Reddening suddenly, Glendenning shrugged, and answered with exaggerated nonchalance, “Och, I disremember. ’Tis of no import. The thing is—”

“It was on the
battlefield!”
breathed Cranford, his eyes widening. “By heaven, you faced his steel at—where? Prestonpans? Culloden?”

Glendenning stared into his wineglass in silence, his face sombre.

Lowering his voice, Cranford persisted, “Do you say that mincing dandified fop fought beside you?”

“No.”

“Then—he was for King George?” Glendenning’s eyes met his own levelly, and Cranford said, “I’d not have believed he had that much gumption! And—he was really a man to be reckoned with?”

“I told you I’d not care to have faced him.”

Coming from this man who was a skilled swordsman, it was high praise. Cranford whistled softly and there was a pause before he murmured, “Tio—have you ever wondered what we’d have done if Perry or I had faced you?”

“Aye. ’Twould have been a—sticky wicket, old lad. What do you think
you’d
have done?”

“I suppose—tried to disarm you…”

“And then—taken me prisoner? To be dealt Cumberland’s hideous ‘justice’?”

“Lord forfend! But—suppose you’d overpowered one of us? What then? A swipe of your claymore?”

They looked at one another askance for a moment, then Glendenning chuckled. “What claymore? Did you ever try to heft one of those monstrous swords? I doubt I could lift one, much less swing it. And you’re trying to lead me off the subject again. You will never do as your great-uncle demands?”

“If I do not, Perry won’t get his acreage or his house.”

“Then let me, or my father—” His answer was a flashing glare, and he sighed and dared not finish the offer, saying instead, “Can you not build Perry’s house on another parcel? Ah! I see you’ve not told me the whole. What more, my buck?”

Reluctant to speak of his humiliating encounter with Mrs. Stansbury and her daughter, Cranford evaded, “Only that we seem to have run into a flock of disasters. The steeple and bells of the village church tumbled into the choir loft; one of my tenant’s cottages burnt down; the river has decided to change its course and in so doing has flooded the Home Farm; and just for a small bonus—this roof is leaky as any sieve! If I don’t satisfy the old gentleman and get my loan, I’ll be dashed fortunate to hold on to Muse Manor, much less buy back the river property. Do you see?”

Glendenning pondered, then asked slowly, “When do you mean to offer for the unfortunate lady?”

Cranford flushed and was silent.

“Jove!” gasped the viscount. “You silly block! You’ve already paid your addresses!”

Cranford muttered, “Say rather I made the attempt.”

“Made the
attempt?
Do you mean—You cannot mean—You offered the poor creature the only chance for a respectable alliance she is ever likely to receive and… and she
rejected
—No, that cannot be the case, of course. Her mother is a dreadful batüeaxe. Likely, she still hopes to entrap Valerian and all his lettuce. Is that the way of it?”

Cranford answered slowly, “The lady threatened to bring suit ’gainst my ignoble cousin for breach of promise.”

“Ha! She’ll catch cold at that! Valerian’s no green boy.”

“True. I believe it was an empty threat. She appeared to me to be thunder-struck when her daughter found my—my offer ludicrous. Oh, it’s quite true, Tio. I am really sorry for Miss Cordelia Stansbury, and have no wish to speak ill of her, but I fear…”

He hesitated, then said, “I tell you in confidence that the lady is extreme proud. She is quite attractive and most elegant, and affects the very latest French fashions. In short—a far cry from the shy little waif I had expected to meet.”

“But—but she’s
disgraced!
Utterly ruined! Does she not realize that?”

“So far as I can tell, she has not a vestige of the shame or humility one might expect from a lady in her predicament.”

Incredulous, Glendenning exclaimed, “Can I credit it? She
really
rejected you?”

“Not in so many words. She just… laughed.”

“Laughed?”

Squirming at the recollection, Cranford said bitterly, “Until she cried. I took my leave at once, feeling several kinds of a fool, as you may imagine. All the way out to my carriage I could hear her mother screeching.”

“I can scarce blame her. But—rejoice! You’re free, old lad. You tried. His lordship will have to accept that your offer was rejected. Have you seen him since?”

“I called on him before I left Town this morning.” Cranford scowled. “He says Miss Stansbury was likely ‘overset’ and that I must try again.”

“You’re never going to? Now that is above and beyond the call of duty! You cannot seriously contemplate taking such an ill-mannered creature for your wife?”

“You may be sure it is not my wish.” With a rueful sigh, Cranford said, “And that is an ungentlemanlike thing to say, is it not? The fact is—dash it all, Tio! I think the girl is still mad for my worthless dandy of a pseudo-cousin!”

“Good! But I suppose you were too mannerly to say as much to Lord Nugent.”

“I told him she’d have none of me.” Cranford paused, looking glum. “He said I was not forceful enough, and that a lady likes to be pursued.”

Lord Glendenning’s opinion of that edict was as forceful as it was impolite.

R
iding with the viscount to the Home Farm next morning, Cranford’s worst fears were verified; the south field was now a wide lake and the water in the farmyard was ankle-deep. They located Oliver Dixon in the stables, hard at work with two of his farm-hands. He looked exhausted and admitted he’d had little sleep. “It do be sad to see the place like this, sir,” he said wearily.

His own heart heavy, Cranford agreed, and asked if they had lost any livestock.

“Not so far as I know, sir. Not in the barns and stables, anyhow. But I’ve got my three boys out to the pastures in case any beasts are in trouble. I mean to join them soon as I finish here.”

“I’d sooner you get some sleep, before we have
you
in trouble,” said Cranford. ‘Tour lads will give you a full report, I’ve no doubt.”

Pleased by this compliment to the sons of whom he was justly proud, Dixon invited Cranford and Glendenning to go up to the house, where his lady wife would be “only too glad” to
prepare them breakfast. Mrs. Dixon was a fine cook and Cranford was tempted, but he was anxious to get to the site of the slide, and having reluctantly declined the offer, he and the viscount rode out again.

They negotiated the muddy ground with care and skirted the flooded fields, both men dismayed by the extent of the damage. When they reached the source of the blockage, Horatio Glendenning reined his mare to a halt, leaned forward and viewed the bare gash in the hillside, below which labourers were industriously clearing rocks and debris from the river. “It appears to me that some of those large boulders were dislodged by the rain,” he said. “And when they came down it started a tidy little avalanche. Your fellows will have their work cut out to clear the beastly mess, even if it don’t rain.”

Cranford glanced at the sky. The early-morning was chill and overcast but it was bright and there were no heavy clouds. “It’s going to take a week at the very least,” he agreed. I’ve sent Florian down to Short Shrift to hire more men and another team and waggon to haul away the rubble.”