Never Doubt I Love Page 4

  After such a crowded and emotional day she was very tired, but she passed a restless night. As they tend to do, the hours of darkness deepened her grief and loneliness, and the future loomed grimly forbidding, so that her pillow was wet with tears when she at length fell into a deep sleep.

  The morning dawned cold and overcast. A chill wind scattered the falling leaves, and the trees were beginning to acquire a threadbare look. Gorton's "refined" accent was not quite as pronounced when she assisted Miss Grainger with her toilette, but at a suggestion that she be called a less formal "Miss Zoe," the tall woman all but threw up her hands in horror. "May lady," said she, "would judge such a form of address to be an impertinent familiarity."

  Zoe stifled a sigh. "Is Lady Julia Yerville of a—a similar disposition to her sister?"

  Gorton hesitated, then answered carefully, "Lady Yerville does not enjoy robust health. She has a—er, very gentle manner.

  "Oh." Brightening, Zoe smiled at her handmaiden.

  Gorton's severe face relaxed into a grin. "Just so, Miss."

  Fully prepared to be instructed as to the merits of porridge over bacon and eggs, Zoe went down to the dining room. My lady did not appear, however, and the host's wife, a stout and bright-eyed little person, conducted Zoe to a small table near to the window, "where Miss can look out at the gardens."

  Zoe rather hoped that the charming gentleman she'd encountered on the stairs yesterday would come in, but the only other occupant of the room was an elderly clergyman who blinked near-sightedly in her direction, nodded his head, and retreated behind a copy of The Spectator. She did not want for company, however. The serving maid was of a friendly disposition, and Zoe's admiring remark about the gardens opened the floodgates. In no time both the maid and the host's lady were chatting with their guest. The minutes slipped away amid a flurry of talk and laughter and there was no time for pining or loneliness.

  She felt quite cheerful as she climbed the stairs once more, but it soon became evident that Lady Buttershaw was vexed. Her stentorian tones reverberated along the upper hall, and Zoe paused, shrinking from an angry scene.

  Gorton sounded tearful. "But, may lady, it was may understanding—"

  "Understanding? It appears to me my good woman that your understanding is inferior! Which is quite contrary to what I was informed by my butler. Indeed, I shall have to advise him of my displeasure."

  "Oh, may lady, never be cross with Mr. Arbour! Ay—"

  "I shall be cross with whomsoever I please! Nor do I need instructions as to my dealings with servants! A pretty presumption, I declare! If you were so concerned for his position in my household I would think you might have followed my orders! I believe my voice is clear and my enunciation precise. Further, my instructions to you were couched in simple terms such as I felt not beyond your powers of comprehension. My nature is generous, however, and I will repeat them now and allow you to make one last effort to take them into your brain. Miss Grainger is country bred and does not know how to go on in Town. She is to be never out of your sight! If that is too complicated for your understanding, Gorton, you had best own to it at once, so that I can make other arrangements."

  Quailing, Zoe tried to gather her courage. She had stood up to those two villains yesterday evening. Why must she be so much more afraid of this big, bullying woman? Because she was a coward, of course! And Lady Clara Buttershaw frightened everyone. But poor Gorton needed her! She took a deep breath, clenched her hands, and made her feet step forward. A maid carrying a pile of sheets scurried past, slanting a scared glance at her. Zoe opened the door.

  Lady Buttershaw, her gaunt features flushed and her little eyes glaring, stood , in the centre of the bedchamber. Wringing her hands, Gorton quailed before her.

  Zoe's tongue seemed to freeze to the roof of her mouth. Travis always said she had an over-active imagination. She would use it, and fancy herself a warrior lady, like Queen Maud or Boadicea. She was surprised by the steadiness of her voice when she enquired, "Is something amiss, my lady?"

  Lady Buttershaw spun around, but was for a moment rigidly still, as one battling conflicting emotions. She then said in a controlled but grating voice, "You are not to be blamed, Miss Grainger, for you have not as yet benefitted by my instruction. Gorton, however, knows very well that a young lady of refinement does not enter a public dining room unescorted."

  'Queen Maud! Queen Maud!' thought Zoe, and responded, "As indeed she told me, ma'am. But—much as I like Gorton, you know, I had far rather go down with you, Lady Clara, for your stories I find prodigious fascinating. So I told Gorton I had rather meet you downstairs, and was most disappointed when you did not come. Was it wrong in me to hope for your company?" Even with the warrior queen's assistance, her nerves were fluttering. From the corner of her eye she could see Gorton's awed expression, but she smiled sunnily into Lady Buttershaw's suspicious countenance, and waited.

  "Ahumph," said my lady gruffly. "Your motivation in this instance was commendable, and I shall not censure you. You will do well to remember, however, that you are in my care and I am responsible for your actions." She swept to the door. Zoe met Gorton's look of gratitude, smiled encouragingly, and barely managed to regain her saintly innocence before my lady turned back to advise that the coach would be ready to leave in a quarter hour and that she did not care to be kept waiting.

  Gorton flew to close the door, this task evidently having been beneath Lady Buttershaw's dignity. "Oh, Miss," she said softly, "how brave you are! Mr. Arbour, the butler, is a kind gentleman, and his wife is in poor health. If he'd lost his situation because of me…!"

  Zoe was feeling rather limp, which she concealed by crossing to the mirror above the hearth and straightening her cap. Travis, she thought, would be proud of Miss Timidity, as he'd been used to call her, for she dared to think she'd fought two battles rather well; first giving those horrid men with the foot the set-down they deserved, and then managing to turn Lady Buttershaw's wrath. With a mental heartfelt "thank you" to Queen Maud, she said, "Oh, I doubt her ladyship meant what she said. I fancy her heart is kind and she is not near so fierce as she pretends."

  Gorton's lips tightened, but she said nothing and busied herself in gathering the last few items to he packed away.

  Pausing, comb in hand, Zoe asked thoughtfully, "Is London an excessively dangerous place? I mean, is it safe tor ladies to go about in the day time?"

  "Oh, it is indeed, Miss. No one would dare interfere with a lady of Quality. There are special constables about, and lots of gentlemen besides, who would be quick to help if there was trouble." Gorton paused, and added with a frown, "Of course, there's been riots… Men who hate the aristocrats, and do most dreadful things. Malcontents, Mr. Arbour calls 'em."

  "Ah. Then that may be why Lady Clara was so anxious I not go out alone. Is she as protective of her sister?"

  Another hesitation, then Gorton said quietly, "In all my days, Miss Grainger, Ay never heard of Lady Buttershaw being protective. Of nobody! Not till now. She must've taken a real liking to you!"

  Touched by sadness, Zoe thought that since she had been so unkindly thrust from home and family, it was as well that somebody had taken a liking to her. She stifled a sigh, then frowned at her reflection. To indulge in self-pity was disgraceful, she told herself sternly. She was young and healthy and had benefitted from a happy childhood with a loving family. Thus far her new life had not been too dreadful. Rather surprisingly un-dreadful, in fact. She had been given beautiful new clothes and was to live in a luxurious mansion in the greatest city of the civilized world. She would try to please Lady Julia Yerville, and perchance she could really be of help to the poor woman. Furthermore, with such an unfortunate disposition poor Lady Clara could not be a happy person. If she exerted herself, she might even win the grande dame to a more cheerful frame of mind.

  This noble resolve was severely tested during the journey to London. When my lady was not criticizing the behaviour of coachmen, waggoners, postilions, and riders, she
instructed Zoe on the history and industry of the various areas through which they passed. They were traversing the Thames basin, actually the London basin, which had been settled in the Iron Age. Fine furniture was being crafted in little Beaconsfield, "A fact that one would never guess from looking at the place." Miss Grainger was doubtless aware that Caesar's camp had been established hereabouts and that the great Roman emperor had much to do with the early development of the Metropolis, and had done "quite well, despite the fact that he was Italian." This last statement struck Zoe as so exquisitely humorous that she allowed a snort of mirth to escape her and was obliged to quickly convert it to a "hiccup."

  My lady, unconvinced, fixed her with a cold stare. "I will tell you," she said repressively, "that foreigners are not to be trusted. Their personal habits are vulgar, their intellect inferior, and they have no manners. You should never associate with such people. Furthermore—"

  The "furthermore" was cut off as a small group of horsemen came from behind, and with shouts and hoots of breathless laughter galloped past, two on either side of the cumbersome carriage. Zoe recognized one of those exuberant faces. It was the attractive gentleman she had met last evening on the stairs of the Three Horse Inn. She started to comment on that fact, but her words were drowned as a light carriage thundered alongside, the youthful coachman cracking his whip over the heads of his horses, egged on by a gentleman who hung half out of the open window shouting encouragement.

  The road was not wide enough for both vehicles. Enraged, my lady rose from her seat and screamed orders for the "ill-bred young ruffian" to at once draw back.

  A wheel went onto the grassy verge, the carriage lurched wildly, and my lady was bounced onto the squabs. The "ruffian" inside the other vehicle turned a dark and laughing countenance.

  "Oh!" cried Zoe. " ''Tis that horrid doctor!"

  Struggling to escape the hat and wig that had descended over her eyes, my lady uttered a strangled howl and elbowed her way up again. "STOP!" she commanded in a voice that should surely have caused strong men to tremble. "You… dastardly villain! Give way! At once I—say!" But the carriage rocked, and with an expletive that sounded suspiciously like a very naughty word, she was again tossed back.

  Attempting to be of assistance, Zoe had as well have tried to restrain a tiger. Lady Buttershaw's long arms flailed, one skinny leg shot into the air, and, although muffled, there could be no doubt as to her extreme^ naughty words.

  "My lady…" gasped Zoe, also jolted about, but succumbing to the ridiculous aspects of the incident and fighting laughter. "Let me help—"

  "Doctor, did you say?" screeched her ladyship. "Confound and—curse the wretch!" She heaved herself up, but the wig was her undoing and its might and majesty—and weightiness—bereft her of sight. All but incoherent with wrath, she struggled to her feet. The "wretch's" coach bade fair to skid into the ditch, and the occupant was lost to sight.

  "Shameless… animal!" howled Lady Buttershaw. "How dare you?"

  Muffled but defiant came the breathless response, "You've been—hogging the road for—miles, madam! Spring 'em, for Lord's sake, Florian, and pass this silly female!"

  The light carriage all but leapt forward.

  "Silly—female?" Gobbling with wrath, my lady's glittering eyes darted about, but found no suitable missile within reach. Her wig slid. She tore it from her head and hurled it, hat and all, at the man who'd dared defy her. He was in the act of picking himself up from the floor. A glimpse of tousled dark hair was blotted out by the flying wig, then his coach shot past, the wheels of the two vehicles all but scraping. Lady Buttershaw gave vent to a triumphant screech. "A hit, by the Lord Harry! It caught him full and fair! Did you see, gel?"

  Zoe tried not to stare at the shorn aristocrat, and stammered, "I saw it—f-fly, ma'am. Did you recognize the gentleman?"

  "Gentleman? Pah! A pox on him! I did not catch a clear look at his face, for the monstrous creature seemed more on the floor than on the seat. Intoxicated, I make no doubt! One of these young care-for-nobodies who call themselves Corinthians! I'd Corinthian him!" Lady Buttershaw leaned out of the open window to first howl abuse at her coachman for having allowed "that lawless viper" to best him, and then instruct him to turn off to Uxbridge. Breathing hard, she settled back on the seat. "My woman will procure me a new wig there," she said, seemingly unaware of the amused glances thrown their way by the occupants of the Portsmouth Machine as it rumbled past, westward bound.

  Her ladyship's mousy brown hair was twisted into corkscrews and contained by hairpins. Bereft of the glory of her wig she looked oddly nude, but had lost not one whit of her arrogance and appeared not in the least embarrassed. Trying not to stare, Zoe mumbled, "I wonder you would—would bother with a wig, ma'am. Your own hair is so—abundant. Most ladies find it more comfortable nowadays to wear their hair short and—"

  "Nonsense! I wear a wig, Miss Grainger, because I prefer to set fashion rather than follow it. Uxbridge is a very ancient town, and although it is not mentioned in the Domesday Book, there is sure to be a milliner there. Not of the first stare, naturally, but one most not expect the impossible."

  Far from being overset by such a violence of temper, she was all but purring. Incredulous, Zoe thought, 'Why, I do believe she enjoyed herself!'

  "Now," said Lady Buttershaw, "you may tell me the name of that young villain. I mean to lay an information 'gainst him at Bow Street."

  She was displeased when Zoe confessed that she did not know the name of the miscreant, and demanded to hear what Miss Grainger did know of him. The tale was interrupted before it had properly begun however, because they came into Uxbridge and my lady forgot the matter during the search for a suitable milliner. The search was doomed to failure. Astounded when her footman returned from the tiny shop to report there was not a wig to be had, Lady Buttershaw's mood suffered an immediate reversal. It deteriorated even more drastically when it was discovered that the second coach with the servants and luggage had evidently failed to make the detour to Uxbridge. My lady's resonance had already attracted a small hut growing crowd, and the poor footman looked ready to faint. Zoe took pity on him, and leaving the carriage accompanied him into the little shop.

  The proprietor was a large and amiable woman. She sent her daughter running to the church for the sexton, who was also the local hairdresser. With much bowing and scraping Lady Buttershaw was ushered from the coach. Her appearance was greeted by a sudden and complete silence. Never had Zoe seen so many jaws sag at the same instant. She had taken the precaution of warning the proprietor that they had suffered a small accident and that her companion, a great lady of rather uncertain temperament, had lost her wig. Wigless or not, Lady Buttershaw's haughty demeanour silenced any comments. She was safely inside the shop before the stunned onlookers recovered. The butcher snorted something having to do with being turned to stone, and Zoe closed the door on gales of laughter.

  It was fortunate that the elderly hairdresser was a man of God, for his patience was sorely tried during the next hour, but at last my lady's locks had been arranged, pomaded, and powdered into what she termed "a faint semblance of style." Whatever her failings, she was not mean. Her generosity restored the good nature of her victims. She returned to the carriage, and as they drove off, favoured the crowd with a thin smile and a series of regal bows and waves. "Poor simple folk," she said condescendingly. " ''Tis rare for them to come into contact with the nobility. They will now have something to tell their children and grandchildren. Likely, 'twill become a legend."

  She was to an extent correct. The locals had been vastly entertained. The story of the visit of the Medusa from London would be told and embellished for weeks to come, and was always good for a hearty laugh.

  Chapter III

  Luncheon was taken at a fine posting house on a hilltop from which could be seen the distant spires of the City. Their departure was delayed while Lady Buttershaw instructed the host on the more efficient placement of the tables in his dining room, and it
was late afternoon before their coach reached the outskirts of the Metropolis. The drizzle had by this time turned to rain, and the air was misty and chill, but, undaunted, Zoe was agog with excitement.

  At the age of five, during a visit to the Richmond home of her favourite aunt, Lady Minerva Peckingham, she had been taken to London. Lady Minerva had not judged it sensible to show a young child the sites of history. Zoe was left with hazy recollections of endless narrow streets along which the houses were as if strung together; of countless people, an enormous noise and confusion, and grown-up luncheons and tea parties it which her aunt was very kind and talked to her gaily. That is to say, she was kind and chatty until, inevitably, one or more gentlemen would join them. Aunt Minerva thereupon appeared to forget her niece, and whispered and laughed with the gentleman despite the fact that they were evidently all "wicked" or "rogues."

  Now, therefore, London was viewed as if for the first time, and Zoe's eyes were wide indeed by the time the carriage was jolting through Hyde Park. Lady Buttershaw informed her that anything lying west of the park was "wilderness." She also observed that although King Henry VIII had been wise to appropriate the land, he should have had the foresightedness to ensure the proper upkeep of its roads. He would probably not have objected to the fact that today the park was much used as a duelling place, she added thoughtfully, for, whatever the century, honour must be upheld.

  The coachman was instructed to detour so that Zoe might be shown the elegance of Kensington Palace, where her ladyship was "a frequent visitor." The history of the palace and its occupants was dwelt upon while the coach bumped and lurched off the atrocious park road, and after a smoother drive turned into a quiet square some half mile to the east.