The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster (16 page)

The host wrung his hands and apologized. The serving maid rushed a mug of coffee and a flirtatious giggle to her “very fav’rite gent” and promised to bring Cranford’s breakfast at once. “At once” became twenty minutes, contributing to the fact that he reached the Manor at half past eleven rather than the ten o’clock hour he’d anticipated. During the long wait he had decided to consult with his solicitor, Barnabas Evans, and try to pry some information from him about the Westerman cottage sale. That meant he must go to Town, which was as well, since while there he could visit his twin and assure himself that Perry was suffering from nothing more than an agitation
of the nerves due to his imminent marriage. He thought without much enthusiasm that he would also have to call on his great-uncle and make a final effort to convince him that Miss Cordelia Stansbury wanted none of him.

He slipped into the Manor by a side door and went up to his room. His aunt had seen his stealthy arrival, however, and when she caught Blake apparently “sticking pins” into her nephew, nothing would do but that she inspect his hands. She was appalled to see the splinters he’d collected, and having scolded him for not attending to them before this, insisted on dealing with them herself.

His answers to her questions were evasive and feeble at best, and when he realized that she was really provoked with him, he confessed his venture into jousting. Jane Guild was not without a sense of humour; she laughed heartily and forgave him. If she suspected that he was worrying about his brother’s absence she did not speak of it, but instead made an unsuccessful attempt to persuade him to let Sudbury or Florian drive his light coach on the journey to London. As always, he preferred riding to being confined in a carriage. He told Blake to pack his saddle-bags with sufficient necessities for a possible stay of two or three days, and soon afterwards, having promised to overnight in Woking and hire a coach in the event of rain or snow, he gave his aunt a farewell kiss and at last rode out mounted on Tassels.

T
he man’s an idiot!” General Lord Nugent Cranford, hands clasped behind his broad back, stood before the windows of his study, scowling at London’s steely late-morning skies. “He’s more suited for the position of church sexton than a minion of the law. You should not have wasted your time with him.” Watching his great-uncle from the wing chair, Piers stretched out his legs to the comfortable warmth of the fire. He had passed the night at an excellent posting-house outside Woking, and having reached Town early had intended to go first to Peregrine’s flat. However, it was very early and he went instead to call on his solicitor. By the time he had finished his interview with that gentleman he was ready for breakfast, and having fond memories of the skills of the General’s cook, had come here where, sure enough, he had been served an excellent meal.

Now, thinking that the old gentleman looked more haggard each time he saw him, he said, “It was necessary that I file a report of the crime, at least. Though I guessed what poor old Bragg would say.”

“In which case you were not disappointed. You’d have been better advised to take your complaint to the chief constable at Basingstoke.”

“I rather suspect the outcome would have been the same, sir. The chief constable would likely refuse to investigate the death of a cow and her calf.”

“Perhaps. But he’d be less likely to refuse an investigation of the bastard who shot at you. Have you turned up anything on that score?”

“Nothing. Nor any proof that our Gertrude was drowned deliberately.”

The General turned and regarded him with a frown. “Do you say that the fire at Sweet’s cottage, the collapse of St. Mark’s steeple and bell tower, and the landslide were also deliberate? If that is the case, you’ve a cunning and murderous enemy, my boy.” He went to his desk chair and asked, “Whom do you suspect?”

Piers said slowly, “Lord knows. We certainly had some vicious opponents in our battle with the League of Jewelled Men, and I suppose there could be members of their ugly little army who still mean to even the score.”

The General, who had squirmed and turned pale at the mention of that traitorous organization, exclaimed, “Balderdash! The ringleaders are all safely under lock and key. Besides, your brother was more involved than you were. Came out of it with a knighthood, lucky fella. Have you no other candidates? Men you’ve offended in some way?”

“Probably there are plenty of those.” Piers said with a smile, “Some of the fellows who are determined to buy Tassels turn downright ugly when I refuse ’em.”

“Understandable. She’s a fine animal, but I doubt a man would resort to murder only to buy a horse. Nobody else who has a score to settle? And I trust your list does not include your cousin.”

Piers frowned, but said nothing.

His heavy brows bristling, the General growled, “Gervaise Valerian is a selfish, spendthrift young ingrate, with not a soupçon of filial loyalty. But I’ll not believe him capable of harming a helpless beast, or of planning your murder. He’s far more likely to call you out, if you’ve really annoyed him. Who else has grounds for violence? Someone from the Rebellion, perhaps?”

“I doubt it. I’m rather short of suspects, in fact. There’s Finchley, of course, who holds a deep grudge against me. And perhaps this anonymous would-be purchaser of the estate is trying to run me off. I called on Barnabas Evans before I came here, but in spite of the fact that he’s our legal representative, he’s close as a clam and will tell me only that he has received another offer from the same source. I’ve already turned it down three times. Why he refuses to identify himself I cannot think.”

The General grunted. “I asked Evans about it last week, but received the same nonsense he threw at you. He says he cannot violate the confidence of a client.”

“We are his clients! What legalistic flummery! I think I’ll engage another solicitor! Meanwhile, I have the direction of the Westermans’ man of affairs and will try and pry something from him. Be damned if I’ll allow Muse Manor to fall into the hands of a man who is ashamed of his identity!”

“Bravely said, but it will take more than your oaths and preferences to prevent it. And if the estate continues to be plagued by these ugly incidents, the value will fall.”

“Aha! Perhaps that’s what is behind the disasters! Planned deliberately in an attempt to bring down the value of Muse Manor!”

The General pursed his lips and said, “Don’t sound very likely to me. In your shoes, m’boy, I’d forgo seeking out the Westermans’ lawyer and instead concentrate on pursuing my courtship!”

Piers nerved himself and said firmly, “Sir, the lady has made it abundantly clear that she does not want me. I’ve no wish to—”

Lord Nugent rose from his chair and roared, “Then you must do as you please, but you know my terms, nephew!”

Cranford was still mulling over the General’s “terms” when he rode into Lincoln’s Inn Fields, the rather gloomy home of so many gentlemen of courts and the law. Enquiry of a porter took him to the north and brighter side of the buildings and he left Tassels with a hopeful page-boy who promised, crossing his heart several times, to let no one come near her.

Henry Shorewood, Esquire, had upstairs chambers into which Cranford was shown, with much bowing, by an elderly clerk. A few minutes later the barrister came into the room with a rush, and kicking the door shut advanced upon Cranford at such speed that his robe billowed out behind him. He was a big burly man, with heavy features and small pale eyes that contrasted sharply with skin so bronzed that Cranford thought he resembled a farmer rather than a learned man of the law.

“Shorewood!” he announced as though a hundred people listened eagerly in the courtyard below, and glancing at Cranford’s calling-card he boomed, “Cranford, eh? Heard that name before! Got a crippled brother, ain’t you? Did damned well in that sticky bit of treason last year! Damned well!” A ham-like fist shot out to enclose Cranford’s outstretched hand like a vise, then he marched to his desk, swept all the papers onto the floor and said, “Sit down, sit down!” while lowering his bulk into the large chair behind the desk.

“Now,” he said with a broad grin, “I can give you my undivided attention. Have to do it, y’know. Anything left on the desk, I start to look at it, then forget where I am! How the hell have you managed to hold on to that pretty estate of yours?”

‘Phew!’ thought Cranford. “You’ve seen Muse Manor, Mr. Shorewood?”

“Several times. A client drove me down there to look over a parcel of land. Wants to buy it. Finchley. Made several offers to the Westermans. Know ’em? An interesting lot. Are you in the basket?”

Cranford stared at him resentfully. “Absolutely not. Why would you think we’re in trouble?”

Shorewood’s great boom of a laugh rattled the casements. “Blunt, ain’t I? Don’t have time for backing and filling. Why are you here, then?”

“To try and discover if the Westermans have accepted an offer. I called on them but was unable to talk to Mr. Westerman.”

“Be remarkable if you were! Been dead these ten years!”

Taken aback, Cranford said, “But—Miss Westerman said he was out of the country.”

“Miss Celeste Westerman?” Shorewood chuckled. “Have a care, friend. She’s a huntress if ever I saw one! Pretty, though.”

“I meant Miss Mary Westerman.”

“Hmm. Ain’t met that one. Why d’you want to know about the offer? Want the property yourself? Understood you’d sold it.”

“We did, but I want it back. I’m—negotiating the loan now, but of course, if an offer has been accepted…”

“Ain’t, so far as I’m aware.”

“Did you know Finchley erected a fence around the cottage that fairly blocks access to the bridge, and has put up some damn great sign threatening to shoot trespassers?”

The pale eyebrows went up. Shorewood tore off his wig suddenly and hurled it across the room. “Has he, by God!” His eyes narrowed. With a sly grin he said, “I’ll wager it ain’t up now.”

Cranford chuckled. “You must have a crystal ball. The sign
appears to have—er, fallen down. Can I be hauled up before a judge?”

“Not unless the sign went up by permission of the owners.”

“Miss Westerman said it was Finchley’s idea and she called it a great piece of impertinence.”

“Then the ladies likely think you did ’em a favour. That all?”

“No. I’d like to know who is bidding on our estate. Can you find out?”

“Don’t need to. I know. Can’t tell you though unless I’m give leave.”

Irked, Cranford said, “Can you tell me if there is more than one would-be buyer?”

The solicitor contemplated his wig thoughtfully. “Have you discussed it with your own solicitor?”

“Yes. He wouldn’t tell me.”

“What’s his name?”

“Barnabas Evans of Clifford’s Inn.”

“You hire him?”

“No. My great-uncle did, when he was made Trustee of the estate.”

“Hmm. Poor choice. Don’t like the fella, so I’ll tell you—yes, there are two interested parties. That’s all I can say.”

“My thanks. But as for the river parcel, if the ladies can’t do business, then who.”

“There’s a brother who lives abroad. At the moment they’re still arguing over the pros and cons. They enjoy arguing. If they ever make up their minds I can act for ’em. Liable to be a long wait unless we hear from the brother. Good day, sir. You can pay my clerk on your way out. I’ve another client due any second.”

Cranford was ushered out. Shorewood was irritating, but he found that he liked the man, even so. The liking was evidently mutual, because as he closed the door, Shorewood said, “If you change attorneys, sir, pray keep me in mind.”

Outside, it was cold and a thin mist had drifted from the
river. Cranford acknowledged to himself resignedly that there was no use procrastinating; he must get on with his pursuit of the frigid Miss Cordelia Stansbury. The page-boy was some distance away, holding Tassels and talking with a gentleman who was stroking the mare. Cranford strode to them. “Are you—” he began.

Gervaise Valerian whipped around. “The devil! I didn’t expect to find you here,” he said, his dark brows twitching into a scowl. “But it’s as well I did! We’ve a score to settle, cousin! No man kicks me and runs away clear!”