He shook his head. “My mother is dead, and I have no brothers or sisters. My cousin believes me dead, so he is using the title himself, but his income is small, and he would hardly welcome my return. Without any income or trade to support me, what is the point? I could not bear to be the poor relation, leeching off those who have trouble managing as it is. No, this way I am still independent, and Olly is going to employ me as soon as he is master of Bayton House.”
“As a groom?”
“As whatever he wants me to be. You will not betray me, I trust?”
“You have told me so little about yourself that there is nothing to betray,” she said. “So long as you do not harm me or my friends, your secret is quite safe with me.”
“I have already given my word,” he said with all the hauteur of a baronet. “If you want further reassurance, know that I would lay down my life for Olly Bayton… or his sister.” He threw her a sideways glance. “Not necessarily for you, however.”
Izzy laughed. “Well, I asked you for honesty, did I not? Do you think this slug of a creature, laughingly called a horse, could be prevailed upon to canter?”
12: A Ride On The Moors
The village nearest to Bayton House was the usual cluster of labourers’ cottages, strung like beads along a road that stretched from the church and parsonage at one end to a modest inn at the other. Here Izzy engaged the only private parlour, and ordered some food.
“We’ve nobbut a bit o’ ham and cheese and such,” the innkeeper said apologetically. “Not at this hour.”
“That will do very well,” Izzy said. “And some wine if you have it, and a jug of ale.”
“O’ course, milady,” he said, bowing and bowing again. “I trust t’parlour’s to yer ladyship’s likin’?”
“Very pleasant, thank you. Where is the necessary?”
“Across t’yard, but missus’ll bring thee sommat…”
“No need.”
Izzy had thought it might be difficult to find Olly, but in the event, he was already at the door of the inn when she emerged in the yard again. She diplomatically ignored him, and crossed to where Barty was helping unsaddle the horses.
“When you have done that, come through to the parlour. I’ve ordered food.”
“Aye, milady, I’ll do that.”
He was getting to grips with the accent at last, for that was perfect Northumberland.
It was some time before the two men arrived, squabbling good-naturedly over which of them should enter the parlour first, so they were laughing and pushing each other as they squeezed in almost side by side. The innkeeper had managed a good array of dishes for them, considerably more than the promised ham and cheese, and Olly sat down and cut a slice from a raised pie at once.
Barty held back but Izzy could see the desire in his eyes. He had not eaten well for some time, to judge by his lean frame, but something made him hesitate.
“Barty?” Izzy said. “There is more than enough for three.”
He rubbed his hands on his breeches. “I am only the groom,” he said, the accent pure gentry again. “I should eat in the common room.”
“Nonsense! We can talk in private here, and you want to hear what Olly has found, I am sure.”
“This pigeon pie is very good, and that one looks like rabbit,” Olly said.
“I have eaten enough rabbit lately,” Barty said with a quick laugh. “And so have you, Olly, although you probably cannot remember it.”
“The journey to Durham, I suppose,” Olly said. “No, I remember very little of it, except sleeping under hedges and falling off the horse. Twice I fell off that wretched horse, Izzy, and Barty caught me both times.”
“He has been a good friend to you,” Izzy said.
“Yes!” Olly said with fierce pride. “The very best friend a man could ever have.”
“So what have you found out about Bayton House?” she said.
“Oh… Bayton House… yes,” Olly said. “The Hearles are claiming it as their own, for one thing.”
