The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster by Patricia Veryan

than a swamp, and besides, he’d die of loneliness away from everyone he ever knew! And I ‘tolerate’ him, as you put it, because after we lost our parents, Dimity nigh went into a decline. It was Sweet who took her with him about the gardens and—”
    “And told her stories by the hour. Yes. I remember her speaking of it, but that was long ago, and he hadn’t turned into an argumentative old gaffer.”
    “Who put the joy back into the girl you wanted to make your wife at one time, as I recall.”
    “Well, and why not? Your sister is a very special lady.” Glendenning smiled nostalgically. “Fate has her own schedule, eh, Piers? Who’d ever have dreamt back then that Mitten would wed Tony Farrar?”
    “Or that you’d have found your beautiful Amy.”
    “To whom I must make haste!” Jerking his reins free, Glendenning said laughingly, “Go on, then. Listen to his moanings. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
    “Fair-weather friend!” Cranford watched as the viscount rode off towards Windsor and Glendenning Abbey, but checked his speed after a minute to turn and wave a farewell. Returning the wave, Cranford guided Tassels to the north end of the village to inspect the charred ruins of his elderly tenant’s home. It was all too clear that the cottage was past restoring, and would have to be razed and rebuilt.
    “I ‘spect as you be a-sittin’ there and blaming poor old Ezry. And thinkin’ as old Ezry went to lie down on his bed and left the fire burnin’ and no screen up,” wailed a scratchy voice beside him.
    Cranford smiled down at the lined and sunken features of the frail, bowed old man who had once delighted his mother with his expert care of her beloved roses. “Now why would I think such carelessness of you?” he asked. “I know how conscientious you are, Ezra.”
    “So you
says
, Mr. Piers,” argued Sweet, feebly brandishing a gnarled cane. “But I sees that there frown in yer eye, and I knows what ye was a-thinking. Old Ezry be too doddlish t’be trusted any more, ye was thinking to yerself. Don’t mean to build me another house, I shouldn’t wonder. Not as it wouldn’t be shame on ye to kick a poor old soul out in all weathers, wi’ nowhere to rest his poor weary bones, nor no one to give a button whether he lives nor dies! Arter all the years he served ye, and yer father afore ye!”
    Dismounting hurriedly, Cranford promised, “Of course we’ll build you another cottage. And as for putting you out in the weather, I had understood you were staying with that pretty granddaughter of yours.”
    “Bessie don’t want her old granfer taking up space in her fine new house what were give to her by her new father ‘law. A real house
that
be, with a fine deep hearth and no draughts comin’ in the winders or round the door like my poor old place. Fair froze I were in the winter-time the way they draughts come whistlin’ in, nigh deafenin’ me ears! But did I complain? Never!And who cared? Not one single soul! Lone and lorn I be. Lone and lorn and outlived me usefulness.”
    He turned away, only to stagger a little, so that Cranford threw an arm about his shoulders. A tear gleamed on the weathered cheek and Cranford said bracingly, “Come now, Ezra. Cheer up. Mr. Consett is already having plans drawn for your new cottage. FU send him down to talk to you and find out how we can make things more to your liking.”
    “Aye, well, that young gypsy sprig had best come quick-like, fer poor old Ezry’s days be numbered, an’ chances are he’ll be called to his reward long ‘afore that there new cottage is built. Though even if it’s got better winders an’ more cupboards an’ a fine deep hearth it’ll be a lonely place fer a solitary soul, now that Bessie’s gone orf an’ turned hersel’ into a wife, an’ deserted her old granfer.”
    “Now, Granfer,” said a gentle voice. “What be ye a-saying to Mr. Piers?” Bessie Sweet, now Mrs. Tom Kayne, was a comely, soft-voiced