Read Online Cherished Enemy by Patricia Veryan - Free Book Online Page B

and—” She paused in the struggle to secure Trifle’s leash, and frowned slightly.
    â€œWhat is it, dearest?” asked Rosamond.
    Mrs. Estelle appeared not to have heard. When her niece repeated the question, she blinked at her and then said, “Oh, ’tis nothing of import. Only … I would have sworn the doctor asked me if Charles had been ordained. If he had been ordained. ”
    â€œI do not see why that would trouble you. Dr. Victor likely did not hear of the ordination. He said he had been studying in France.”
    â€œYes, so he did.” Estelle proceeded to connect Trifle to his leash only to find her hand twisted in the collar as a result of his contortions. Attempting to quiet his enthusiasm for the imminent “walk” by means of a sharp application of her gloves, she thought, as they were snatched away, ‘But if the doctor did not know Charles had been ordained, how could he have known he had been acting vicar at the Church of St. Francis of Assisi in Little Snoring…?’
    *   *   *
    Dover was chaos, the harbour teeming with ships that had been delayed by the storm, the docks crowded with vehicles jostling for position. Relations, friends, and servants of passengers hurried about, scanning the incoming vessels while striving to avoid the many puddles deposited by the downpours. Stevedores shouted to be let through the throng, and laden porters rushed up and down gangplanks. Barrows giving off the aromas of roasted chestnuts, pies, fried bread, and toffeed apples, always so much more delectable on a cold day, were doing a roaring trade. Voices were raised in endless varieties of regional dialect and international language, and all was good-natured bustle and confusion.
    Rosamond, who had been ushered to the deck by an unexpectedly solicitous Dr. Victor, was feeling much more herself, and the fresh air and colourful scene that was just then lit by a fugitive sunlight did much to lift her spirits. She refused Victor’s attempt to seat her, and he left her at the rail while he hurried back to the cabin to collect Mrs. Estelle and discover what was delaying the porter.
    â€œMiss Albritton?”
    She turned enquiringly in response to the rather querulous voice. A soberly clad gentleman of late middle age watched her in a way she could only classify as resentful. He was small and wizened, his scratch-wig untidy and his clothes rumpled. His thin face seemed settled into permanently disgruntled lines, and he peered at her over a pair of very scratched spectacles. Curious, she admitted her identity and he offered a jerky bow. “Interduce m’self. Butterworth, ma’am. Samuel. You are the lady suffered an accident, I believe.”
    â€œThank you for your concern, sir. Fortunately, my injuries were minor, and—”
    â€œMinor, is it! Demme, madam, I’d fancied ’em fatal!”
    She stared at him, beginning uneasily to wonder if she conversed with a lunatic, of which, Papa assured her, there were more about than rational persons.
    â€œI am seeking a Dr. Victor,” Butterworth continued irascibly. “Have you seen him of late, ma’am?”
    Perhaps this peculiar little creature was a bailiff, or someone from Bow Street. It would not surprise her in the least to discover that Victor was in debt. She found herself oddly unwilling to inform against him, but as she hesitated, he came into view, burdened with three bandboxes and a pile of coats and cloaks. “Here he comes now,” she said.
    â€œYour aunt is attempting to secure the services of a porter she believes stolen by another lady,” Victor announced rather breathlessly. “In this crush, ’tis quite hopeless to—”
    â€œAnd so are you, sir!” shouted Butterworth, not mincing words.
    Victor halted, staring at him, and several nearby passengers turned to watch.
    â€œYour pardon?” said Victor haughtily.
    â€œWell,