For answer, the old man picked up a bell that had been sitting on a table before the fracas had overturned it. Ringing the bell violently, he smirked at them all. Ian was coming to dislike that smirk rather a lot.
“While you await reinforcements, shall we introduce ourselves?” Sir Hannibal said with unimpaired good humour. “I am Sir Hannibal Shrubb, this is Lord Foskett, and I see you have already met Lord Farramont. This gentlemen, who is regrettably not enjoying his customary good health, is Mr Oliver Bayton, who I am sure you are aware is the legal owner of this property.Oh, and here aremyreinforcements. You know Mr Davenport, of course, and his cousins, Mr Jack Davenport, Mr Claude Davenport, Mr Malcolm Davenport and Mr Edward Davenport.” He paused. “This is the point where you introduce yourself, sir.”
Silence.
“His manners are not all they might be,” Ian said, “but I feel tolerably certain this is Mr Lionel Hearle, father-in-law to Mrs Martin Hearle, who is presently staying at Harringdon. Ah, and here is Mr Thomas Hearle, brother-in-law to Mrs Hearle. And… the house maid? And a kitchen boy, perhaps? Not the cook? I am disappointed, Hearle. I quite expected to be assaulted with a rolling pin.”
“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” the elder Mr Hearle growled. “I don’t know what nonsense Sophie’s told you, but I can tell you here and now that that boy there may own this place, but we ownhim.I’m his guardian so it’s for me to say what happens to himandthe house.”
“Excellent,” Sir Hannibal said. “Then you have a copy of the late Mr Bayton’s will, wherein he appointed you guardian to his son by name? Because I have to tell you that if you are not named explicitly in the will, you have no rights over Mr Oliver Bayton.”
“My son was named,” Hearle said. “He’s dead, so I took over from him.”
“Unfortunately, or fortunately in this case, that is not how the law works,” Sir Hannibal said. “Only the father has the right to appoint a guardian. Or the Court of Chancery, but since Oliver will be of age very shortly, there is no need for that. And since he is the owner of Bayton House, I think he should have the right to determine who lives in it, would you not agree, Mr Hearle?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Oliver. “What do you say, Bayton? Do you want the Hearles living in your house?”
“No!”
“None of them?”
“Not one. They are all scum who treated my sister abominably. I want them out of here, every last one of them, and I never want to see them again.”
“Well, that seems clear enough, does it not, Mr Hearle? In that case, we shall remove Mr Bayton to Harringdon Hall, where he will be safe from further harm. We shall return tomorrow with the bailiffs to assist you to leave. A few of our people will stay here overnight, just to ensure that nothing untoward occurs. One would not wish any valuable items to mysteriously disappear, for instance, or for any accident to arise from a dropped candle. Good day to you, Mr Hearle. Mr Thomas Hearle.”
And so saying, Sir Hannibal swept out of the house, still supporting Oliver Bayton, with the rest of his retinue in his wake. He sent the cousins off to find Barty and the rest of the Harringdon people, and give the orders for watching the property until the bailiffs arrived.
“You are enjoying this,” Ian murmured to Sir Hannibal.
“Enormously,” he said, smiling broadly. “In fact, I have not had so much amusement since the time I was obliged to investigate a brothel in— Well, never mind where. Best you do not know. But within its portals I found the mayor, three aldermen, a banker, two clergymen, and no fewer than seven scions of the nobility.”
Ian burst out laughing. “A distinguished enterprise indeed! And did you… erm, pursue these people with the full majesty of your powers as a magistrate?”
“Oh, no. One would not wish to be disagreeably pedantic in matters of the law, would one? Oddly enough, I found myself rather popular thereafter, and received many gratifying invitations. Gifts, too… a whole pipe of port from one gentleman. People can be so generous, can they not? Shall we wend our wayhomewards? I find myself quite ready for my breakfast, after such an invigorating morning.”
16: Lochmaben Castle
Izzy held tight to the straps in the carriage as it wallowed sluggishly along the road. How many hours had she spent being tossed about on bad roads over the past weeks? And heavens, how she missed her own elegant carriage, with its well-upholstered seats and excellent suspension. Sometimes even she grew tired of travelling. This time she had no familiar faces around her at all. Usually there was Brandon’s impassive expression opposite her and Samuel sitting on the box, but they had been left behind in Durham. Latterly, she had had Sophie for company, but she had stayed at Harringdon Hall. Olly was still in Northumberland, and at least Sophie would have a chance to improve her acquaintance with Sydney. Perhaps nothing would come of it, but it was worth a try. They would suit so well, and Sophie deserved another chance for happiness.
Meanwhile, Izzy had the less than stimulating company of the Plowman sisters. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time to help them to run away from an unwanted marriage, and it had worked perfectly. The Davenports’ carriage had beenprepared, Izzy’s box loaded and Izzy herself entered it, and away they went down the drive. Just before the gates, the two girls were waiting, each carrying a small bag. And thus they escaped, as easily as winking.
Now they were excited, Ruth chattering constantly about anything and nothing, one minute pointing out of the window at some landmark or other, the next trying to imagine her papa’s face when he received the note that James Coachman would take back with him when he returned. But that was a problem, for they had left so late that the horses could not be baited and rested in time to make the return journey that day, so Mr Plowman would not know his daughters were safe until tomorrow. Some fathers were lackadaisical about their unmarried daughters vanishing into thin air, but she suspected that Mr Plowman was not one of them. Yet if she sent word before they were safe at Lochmaben Castle, they could be overtaken and the girls forced to return to Harringdon Hall.
When had she assumed responsibility for all these people? It was herself she should be worrying about. That was what this journey was all about, was it not, to attempt to discover what she truly wanted? To find out if she would have been better off marrying one of her other suitors. And perhaps at the back of her mind was the thought that she could recreate in some small way the glory days of her first season, when four men had vied for her hand.
Instead, all she had found was disappointment. Godfrey Marsden and Sydney Davenport had brought her crashing to earth. Even though both of them still loved her, in their way, they had changed from those heady days when they threw themselves at her feet and she was the centre of their world. Now there was only Robert Osborn left, and she had an unpleasant feeling that he too would have changed.
And if Robert failed her, there was only Ian. Here her spirits sank even lower, for she had abandoned him… had given him every reason to turn his back on her once and for all. And if Ian no longer wanted her, what on earth was she to do? She had to be married to someone… to have her place in society again. What if all that were lost for ever? What if she had thrown away her whole life by running away from Ian? Her blood ran cold at the thought.
Izzy was not much given to reflection on her own behaviour, for it was often too lowering to the spirits. How much more satisfying to shout and scream and break things! That always made her feel better. But sometimes she was forced to face up to her own mistakes. So it was when she broke Helena’s doll, or at least she had allowed it to be broken. She was playing with the girls, rolling balls about the floor through little tunnels made of books, in an imitation of pall mall. The doll had been lying on the floor and spoilt her shot, so in a fit of temper she had picked it up and thrown it at Helena, with a curt command to‘Put that thing away!’.Helena had dropped her and the china head had shattered. Then Izzy had been consumed by guilt, and spent all morning in the attics looking for a replacement, and not finding one. Helena had been sweet about it, but Izzy wished with all her heart that she was a better mother to her daughters.
Now she wondered if perhaps she ought to have been a better wife, too. Ian was the most patient of men, but even his forbearance must have a limit.
So her thoughts ran as the carriage wended its way with painful slowness through the bleak Northumberland countryside and across the border into the equally bleak Scottish border country. They were surrounded by gently rolling hills, almost devoid of habitations. Only an occasional inn, built low to the ground, or a rough track leading off to one side or the other, smoke rising from chimneys tucked away behind shelteringtrees, suggested that people lived in this desolate place. Or perhaps it was only Izzy’s mood that brought the desolation, for the Plowman sisters exclaimed over the vistas and were ecstatic with the view from a low line of hills that marked the boundary with Scotland.
As they began their slow descent, and then turned off the main road into an even more badly rutted one towards Lochmaben, Izzy had cajoled herself into a better frame of mind. Robert was now her last hope, but she would not rush her fences as she had with Godfrey and Sydney. With them, she had dived in and said whatever came into her head. She would approach Robert with greater caution, staying at Lochmaben with her cousins, and merely calling at Strathinver, as any friendly neighbour would do. She would take things slowly. After all, she had all the time in the world. There was nowhere else for her to run to, was there? This was the end of her journey.
When she had first visited Lochmaben Castle, many years ago, it had seemed overwhelmingly vast to her small self. Yet even later visits had not dispelled that first impression. As the carriage plodded wearily up the drive and the massive frontage gradually loomed up before them, she remembered anew that it truly was built on a grandiose ducal scale. Even the garrulous Ruth Plowman was reduced to awed silence.
“Are we… are we going to stayhere?”
