Barty was rendered speechless momentarily, then he began cautiously in a strong accent, “Thank you, milord, but it’s best I talk to Mrs Hearle about it.”
Ian winced. “Talk in your real voice, if you please. It is too late to try to pretend you are nothing but a humble groom.”
“Very well,” he said, straightening his back. “I should still prefer to convey my information to Mrs Hearle.”
“If anyone is in need of rescuing, it is men you need, not a lady. You may tell me in private, if you wish, for Mrs Hearle has told me a great deal that is not general knowledge, but it is my opinion that the time for secrecy is past. Besides, if there is to be a rescue party, then the more men you can call upon the better. You can trust these gentlemen.”
Barty nodded. “This concerns Mr Oliver Bayton. He it is who needs to be rescued.” He told then in brief terms the story of Bayton House, how the Hearles had taken charge of it, and had control not just of the estate, but also guardianship of Olly himself until he came of age. “Olly just wanted to know how things stood, but without the Hearles knowing about it, in case… well, in case they had him declared insane and got him locked up in an asylum. But it seems they got wind of his presence nearby, and now he has vanished. I am as sure as I can be that he is locked up somewhere in Bayton House, until they can getphysicians out here to declare him insane. We have to get him out of there, my lord! We must!”
“And we will,” Ian said at once. “But I think we must also get the Hearles out of there. Bayton House legally belongs to Oliver Bayton, is it not so? Even though he is not of age, his trustees are obliged to maintain it for his use, not to live in it themselves and keep him out. And I do not quite understand why they are both guardians and trustees in this case. That is extremely bad practice.”
“It is only because the appointed guardians and trustees are all dead,” Barty said.
“Ha!” said Sir Hannibal. “Then they have no right to Bayton himself, none at all. Guardianship cannot be transferred. Whoever is specified in the father’s will, if that person dies, then a new guardian can only be appointed by the Court of Chancery, and I would wager these people have not attempted that. I am with you in this, Farramont. There is underhand dealing here which must be rectified. Who is the nearest magistrate, Davenport?”
“I will send word to him first thing tomorrow,” Davenport said, “but he will not act on a Sunday.”
“No matter,” Ian said. “Monday will do well enough for the law, but the rescue party must act a little more quickly, I believe. Possession is nine points of the law, so we must have Bayton in our hands before we bring the law to bear. Or before the Hearles have time to spirit him away somewhere else. Davenport, can you gather a party of men by eight o’clock?”
Barty gave a groan of disappointment.
“Yes, yes, you would like to go at once, but I cannot think that anything worse will happen to him between now and then,” Ian said. “If he is locked up in Bayton House, then he is safe, for the moment. We will find him, never fear.”
***
The party that gathered on the drive on Sunday morning was surprisingly large. Apart from the gentlemen, there were grooms and gardeners, footmen and even a few of the valets, making up a party of more than two dozen. Two wagons had been found to convey the men, while the gentlemen rode.
Sir Hannibal, who was a magistrate in his own parish, had assumed command of the operation. “There is to be no violence,” he said sternly. “We are searching for a man being held a prisoner. The outdoor servants will search all the outbuildings, taking care to look particularly for locked doors or barred windows. You are not to be breaking down doors or smashing windows, mind! If you find somewhere that looks like it might contain a prisoner, fetch one of the gentlemen. The indoor servants will join us in searching the interior, including the basements and attics. Mrs Hearle has told us where the keys used to be kept when she was last there, so we will hope that has not changed. She has also told us where all the external doors are, so we will leave guards posted there to ensure no one escapes undetected. Very well. Onward!”
Ian had taken the precaution of loading his pistols and wearing a coat with deep enough pockets to hide them. He was not used to going about armed, so he was unusually nervous as the little cavalcade set off. Sophie Hearle and several of the ladies had gathered to see them depart, and he waved cheerfully enough, but inside he quailed rather. He had never been one for violence, having eschewed any form of fisticuffs when he was a boy. He had learnt to shoot and to fence as he grew up, but boxing had never interested him in the slightest. It was not, he felt, a gentlemanly pursuit. He had an uneasy feeling that today he was going to have to fight.
Bayton House was an undistinguished property of a dull grey stone, suitable for a respectable gentleman, but without any great architectural merit, but then few houses, to Ian’s mind, could compare with the splendour of Stonywell. The house seemed in good condition, however. The short carriage drive was well swept and the pleasure grounds, what could be seen of them, were tidy.
It was Sir Hannibal who rapped on the front door with the head of his cane, while Barty led a group round to the stables to begin the search there. As soon as the door was opened by a very young maid, Sir Hannibal marched in, the others following him past the squawking girl. Ian brought up the rear. While the others vanished into the recesses of the house, he stayed behind, for he had been delegated to guard the front door.
The maid had vanished too, and soon protesting voices drifted up from below stairs. Ian looked into several rooms leading directly off the hall, but finding them empty, he resumed his post by the front door. He had to admit that, despite the unpromising exterior, the inside appearance was much more pleasing. The furnishings were of good quality, and surprisingly tasteful.
He was not alone for long.
“What thedevilis going on? Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” A man of perhaps forty appeared from a passageway off the hall. He was well-dressed but quite stout, his waistcoat buttons straining with the effort of containment, and he was so red in the face that Ian feared the buttons might not retain their hold for much longer.
“I am Viscount Farramont. To whom am I speaking?”
“I don’t care if you’re a viscount or the King of England, I want you out of my house this minute!”
“Yourhouse?” Ian said, in his best aristocratic manner, drawing himself up to his considerable full height.
“Yes,myhouse and—” He paused as sounds of confrontation rose from the service stairs. “What thedevilis going on down there?”
“There is a search of this property under way, instituted by Sir Hannibal Shrubb, a magistrate.” No need to mention that his authority only extended across a part of Hertfordshire. “We are looking for a missing person.”
The man blanched. “Amagistrate?Missing person? No, no, some mistake, I think. You had better tell your friend— No, Mildred, go back to bed, dear. I can deal with this.”
A woman’s face, swathed in a voluminous lacy nightcap, appeared at the top of the stairs and peered down at them anxiously. “But Thomas—”
“Go back to your room! At once!”
She scuttled away, but more faces appeared, watching wide-eyed over the balustrade or through it. A whole row of children of differing heights, and behind them a pair of maids, and a severe-faced woman who was probably a governess.
