Eventually, Ian said, “You have some news for me?”
The lawyer’s eyes slid to Izzy and back to Ian. “Indeed. I have discovered all that you wished to know, my lord, and a certain amount beyond that, some of it rather unexpected.”
“How very intriguing,” Izzy said, amused by the lawyer’s secrecy.
“I think it is time Lady Farramont knew about this, Willerton-Forbes,” Ian said.
“Oh, do tell,” Izzy said, leaning forward eagerly. “I love a secret.”
Ian laughed. “Do you remember young Bayton’s friend, Barty, who got him home from India? A man of some mystery, being clearly of the gentry class, despite his efforts to conceal it. You suspected him of being a baronet, and it seemed likely to me, so I asked Mr Willerton-Forbes to see what he could find out about him.”
“Whatever he once was, Barty wanted to leave his past behind,” Izzy said sharply. “I promised him I would not pry into his business.”
“But I made no such promise,” Ian said equably. “It seemed to me that it was worth a few enquiries to find out what had happened to the estate, and whether there might be some money sitting in the four percents, waiting to be claimed. So I asked Mr Willerton-Forbes to find out, very discreetly, if there might happen to be a dormant baronetcy in Bedfordshire, and whether there was anything left of the family’s fortune. Mind you, that was several months ago.”
“And I have not been dilatory, my lord, I assure you,” the lawyer said, reaching for another slice of cherry cake. “The confidential nature of the undertaking meant that I could not broadcast my enquiries publicly. A notice in theMorning Postwould have done the trick speedily, but it would have raised awkward questions, so I have had to be very discreet. Then there are many baronetcies to be examined, and the baronetage is not arranged in a helpful manner, by county.”
“Alphabetically, by name?” Izzy said.
“Not even that,” Willerton-Forbes said. “By date of creation. So we have had to be a touch inventive. I sent a couple of people — two of my brothers, in point of fact — to Bedfordshire to…erm, conduct some research into church architecture. Titus and Everard have some expertise in that area, and being the sons of the Earl of Morpeth, in every parish they were invited to dine with the best families, and there they learnt a great deal.”
“How many parishes are there in Bedfordshire?” Ian said.
“One hundred and twenty-four,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said promptly, “but I assure you, they did not visit every one. It was not necessary. Armed with the baronetage and various travel books from some years ago, which mark the residences of important persons such as baronets, it was possible to narrow the search somewhat. Even so, it took some weeks to discover the name and seat of Barty’s father. He was Sir Humphrey Rooke of Sherringford Hall, near Bedford. There was only one son listed in the baronetage, Frederick.”
“So Barty is Sir Frederick Rooke,” Izzy said excitedly. “Sir Frederick Rooke of Sherringford Hall! How grand that sounds!”
“But the house is gone, he said,” Ian put in. “Sold to pay the debts. Is that not what Barty told you?”
She was deflated at once. “So he did. What a pity!”
“A great pity,” the lawyer said, brushing crumbs from his waistcoat with a sigh of satisfaction. “It is always a sadness when a respectable family loses its place in the world. The estate is owned by a Mr Black now, a gentleman of means, who keeps it in very good order, and unless Sir Frederick can whistle up a fortune to buy it back, then Sherringford Hall is quite lost. But there is an interesting tale to be told there, if you would hear it?”
“By all means,” Ian said.
“The Rookes were a highly regarded family in the parish, as one might expect. Sir Frederick’s grandfather had been wild in his youth, but when ill-health caught up with him, he retired to Sherringford Hall, brought his heir to live there with his family, and, in time, there he died. At first, all seemed well, but gradually it became clear that Sir Humphrey had inheriteda mountain of debt. Sir Humphrey mortgaged the house and carried on for a while, but clearly that did not answer because one day he simply… disappeared, taking young Frederick, then eight years of age, with him, not to mention the contents of the bank account, such as they were. We know now that they went to India under assumed names, but to those left behind… the servants, neighbours, tradesmen… they had vanished from the earth.”
“So he ran away?” Izzy said scornfully. “How shameful!”
“Indeed. Not the act of a gentleman, one might say,” the lawyer said. “The lawyers took charge on behalf of a cousin, the heir presumptive, initially renting the estate to Mr Black to defray some smaller debts, and then, after seven years, having Sir Humphrey and his son declared dead so that the estate could be sold.”
“But the son is very much alive!” Izzy cried. “If he were to claim his inheritance—”
“He is at liberty to do so,” the lawyer said equably. “With the appropriate papers, he may have his baronetcy, and that is as it should be. His nearest relation is using the title informally, but has not felt sufficiently convinced of his right to it to claim it officially. It would be better for the title to fall to the rightful claimant, to keep the lines of inheritance in good order. There is nothing more conducive to distress than a missing heir. It sets everyone on edge, constantly wondering if the fellow might turn up at any moment, or has simply drowned in a ditch somewhere. But the estate — that is a more challenging hurdle. Matters there have been settled to the satisfaction of a great many people. Mr Black has an agreeable home, and all the debts have been settled. If Sir Frederick were to appear now, and claim his inheritance in full, why, how are all the events of the last sixteen years to be undone? Even if it could be managed, no one would be pleasedwith the outcome, least of all Sir Frederick, who would find himself in possession of a bankrupt estate and no money.”
For a while, the three sat in pensive silence. Izzy was pleased to have been proved right about Barty, but saddened that he had lost his home. Even though he had found a home now with Olly Bayton, he was still only a groom or friend or whatever he was, not his own master. The baby snuffled in his sleep, and she set the cradle rocking again.
“There is one other matter that may possibly be relevant,” Mr Willerton-Forbes said in an apologetic tone. “Or perhaps not. It is hard to tell.” He rubbed his nose thoughtfully.
“Oh, do tell, Mr Willerton-Forbes,” Izzy said. “I should like to know everything you have discovered.”
“It shall be so, Lady Farramont. Very well, then. My brothers discovered, in pursuing their enquiries regarding Sherringford Hall, that the housekeeper is called Mrs Crowe.”
“Mrs…Crowe?” Izzy said, trying not to laugh.
“Precisely. A lady of a little above forty, and not quite in the usual way of housekeepers, so everyone says. Very refined. Very well-bred, one might even say. And she has been the housekeeper there for sixteen years.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” Izzy burst out. “Crowe and Rooke arenotthe same, her age is not at all unusual for a housekeeper, and as for her arrival sixteen years ago, surely Mr Black engaged her when first he went there. It would be too fanciful to suppose… what preciselydoyou suppose?”
