24 Home

I zzy seemed inclined to stay at Corland for a few days, at least, so Ian settled down to help Mr Willerton-Forbes with his investigations into the earl's finances. It was not a difficult task, and the two worked amicably together in the old schoolroom. In the attached tower room still stood the blackboard on which Captain Edgerton had listed his possible suspects, and occasionally Ian would find Mr Willerton-Forbes in silent contemplation before it.

"I am delighted to see that my name is crossed off," Ian said, coming up behind the lawyer one morning. "Most reassuring."

Mr Willerton-Forbes chuckled. "Captain Edgerton suspected everyone at first. There was some idea that you had stayed at the castle on the night of the murder, but once the captain was satisfied that you were not here… you were in Durham, I believe? So then your name was crossed off."

"There are only three names not eliminated," Ian said thoughtfully. "Tom Shapman, Miss Nicholson and… is that John Whyte? I cannot quite read it."

"It is. Nicholson's illegitimate son, part of a large, rumbustious family. He had only recently discovered the identity of his father, and shortly afterwards he disappeared with a valuable horse. Naturally we were suspicious. But then he reappeared with a plausible story, and by that time, Shapman had confessed. But it is all most unsatisfactory, Lord Farramont. It troubles me greatly, and I know it troubles the captain too, that we never found a sensible reason why anyone would want to kill Mr Nicholson. Shapman's reason is the flimsiest in the world, and although Nicholson was a rogue and should have gone to gaol for his misdeeds, they are not such as to cause a man to turn to murder, one would have thought."

"No, I can see that," Ian said thoughtfully. "Murder is such an extreme response that the cause of it must be likewise extreme. It is usually money or love or power that drives men to desperate measures, strongly felt desires or fears that cannot be met through the usual means."

"Exactly so! Which is why I feel we have missed something vital, and yet because of Shapman, we can do nothing about it, and perhaps there is another person, quite unsuspected by us, who is walking around freely, and could perhaps feel moved to kill again. And then there is Miss Peach."

"She is still missing? But it must be more than a week now."

"Above two since she was last at her lodgings. A small bag and some items of clothing have been taken, so she intended to stay away for a short time, but we are becoming seriously concerned for her safety."

"Captain Edgerton will find her, if anyone can," Ian said, feeling that some such sentiment was required of him, although he harboured the same doubts as the earl regarding the captain's abilities. Having failed so spectacularly to identify the murderer, he could hardly be relied upon to locate an elderly lady who had chosen to hide herself somewhere in the vast expanse of the North Riding.

Just at that moment, noises drifted up from somewhere below. First men shouting, then a scream. Mr Willerton-Forbes dashed out onto the landing, where there was a view down into the great hall below them. Following him, Ian peered over the rail and saw several of the servants standing in a wide circle around someone wielding a sword.

"What the devil—?" Ian muttered. Running back into the old schoolroom, he grabbed his cane from the table, then raced after Mr Willerton-Forbes, who was already making for the stairs.

Another scream, and more panicked yelling.

When he reached the great hall, Ian saw that the sword was being waved around by a boy of about twelve or so, a gleeful grin on his face. Nearby, a footman lay, moaning, bleeding copiously from one leg. The other servants stood a safe distance away.

"What do you think you are doing, boy?" Ian said sternly. "Put that sword down at once , do you hear?"

The boy laughed. "Make me!"

"As you wish. But be aware that if you choose to fight with a man's weapon, you run the risk of dying by it, too. Are you ready to die, boy?"

"What are you going to do, hit me over the head with your walking stick?"

Ian drew his sword with a flourish. "No. Lay down your sword."

"Not a chance!" the boy said, adopting a more aggressive pose.

"So be it."

They circled round each other twice, then the boy lunged at Ian. He was not much more than half Ian's height, with an arm reach to match, and he dared not come within range of Ian's blade, so Ian did not even bother to move back. Instead, he neatly pricked the boy's arm, so that he yelled, dropped his sword and grabbed at the arm, as blood oozed between his fingers. Ian kicked the fallen sword away, and grabbed the boy by his hair.

"Ow! Ow! Stop it! You're hurting me!"

"What are you doing to my boy?" a female voice screeched.

Ian saw a little group in the corner nearest to the drawing room — the earl, Izzy, Olivia, Jane Atherton and her daughters, and, the screeching woman, Mrs Wightman.

"Is this repulsive child yours, madam?" he said, as several people rushed forward to help the fallen footman.

"Put him down! You have injured him! My poor, fatherless child! I shall send for the magistrate at once. You should be locked up, sir, where you cannot hurt poor little children. There, there my poppet. Come to Mama."

"Not so fast, madam," Ian said. "By all means send for the magistrate, if you wish, and your obnoxious child can explain why he was waving a sword about, how he came to injure the footman there, and why he attacked me with it. I would have been quite within my rights to kill him, you know, so be grateful I have only pinked him."

"Grateful!" she cried, her eyes almost popping out of her head. "Grateful that you almost killed my precious boy… my only child, my poor, fatherless son…"

"Yes, yes, yes," Ian said impatiently. "How old is he?"

"Twelve, and a fine, well-grown—"

"Take my advice and enlist him as a midshipman. His Majesty's Navy will make a man of him, which you are clearly failing to do. Take him away, madam, take him away. He is not fit to be in civilised society."

"Well, really!" she huffed. "Jane, dear, we must leave at once. You there! Have Mrs Atherton's carriage brought round immediately! We will wait outside. There, there, poppet! Mama will protect you from the bad man who hurt you. Come, now."

She bustled away, her arm around the boy, neatly sidestepping the injured footman, who was now up on his feet again.

Jane Atherton's worried face emerged from the throng. "My dear Lord Farramont! I would not have had this happen for the world. Are you injured?"

"Not in the least. A trifle annoyed at the boy. A little discipline would have saved him, but I imagine he will not receive that at his mother's hands."

"No. She is a very dear friend of mine, but… no, she is far too soft-hearted with Edmund. I cannot tell you the havoc he has caused at Westwick Heights in the three days since he arrived, but taking a sword to a footman is beyond anything! Charles, you must send for the surgeon at once. Tell him to send his bill to me."

"It shall be done," the earl said. "Happily, Lord Farramont was here to save the day. Very grateful to you, Farramont. Very grateful indeed. Neat piece of work. Even Captain Edgerton could not have done better, eh, Willerton-Forbes? Come and have a brandy, Farramont. I think you have earned it."

"Thank you, sir, but I believe I shall ensure that child leaves the castle without inflicting any further damage on the inhabitants."

"Good idea. We shall all go and see them off. I confess, I shall be glad to be rid of Mrs Wightman. She may be an inoffensive woman, but she fussed me beyond all enduring, as if I were an invalid who needed to be persuaded to rest and eat nourishing soups. And that child! It is very good of Jane to look out for a new wife for me, but I am also looking for a mother to my children, and clearly Mrs Wightman is a failure in that regard. A boy must have some discipline imposed upon him. Are there no sensible women left in the North Riding, I wonder?"

The earl and his family drifted away to the entrance hall, while Ian wiped his sword and carefully sheathed it. When he looked up, only Izzy remained, smiling at him.

"My hero," she murmured, tucking her arm in his.

"Oh, not really," he murmured back, kissing her on the forehead. "I only did what anyone would have done."

"And humble, too," she said, laughing up at him. "My humble, heroic and rather wonderful husband."

He smiled back at her, a warm glow filling his heart.

***

F or several days, Izzy was quite content at Corland. She spent an hour or two every morning with her grandmother, the Dowager Countess, who dozed the time away, occasionally half-waking to talk to someone called Hermione, and enquire affectionately after Gabriel, and wonder when Malcolm and Alison were coming home.

"Who are these people?" Izzy whispered to Olivia, who was sitting with her, but Olivia merely shrugged.

Later in the morning, Izzy would sit in the drawing room with Aunt Alice, catching up on all the news, or at least all that could be talked about in front of Aunt Alice. Any mention of the murder caused her face to close up like a clam, and even the subject of Tess was contentious. She had disappeared for a while, but now she was at Harfield Priory with her aunt, Lady Tarvin, yet even that was not a subject Aunt Alice wanted to discuss.

Then there were pleasant evenings with the family and whoever had been invited to dine with them, and that too brought her contentment, for Ian was there. To see him across the room and share an intimate little smile brought her extraordinary happiness. Her steady, reliable and excitingly unpredictable husband — what a discovery that was!

But one morning she woke up wild to be at home again. To sit at her own dining table, to sleep in her own bed, to walk in her own garden — how she yearned for that! And her daughters — she must see her girls again before they entirely forgot her.

Most of all, however, was a sudden fear that assailed her — perhaps this new, passionate husband of hers would vanish again once they were at home. Perhaps it was only the oddity of the circumstances that made him act so differently, and once he was safely back at Stonywell he would sink back into predictability again. She needed to know whether this change in him was permanent or not.

Obligingly, he agreed to leave that day, and by noon, an extraordinarily early hour for her, they were on their way. The advantage of having both carriages with them was that Brandon and Wycliffe could travel in Ian's carriage with the luggage, while she had Ian to herself in her own carriage. They removed their gloves and sat, hand in hand, watching the scenery roll gently past the windows, every hill and copse and village and field of stubble bringing them closer to home.

They took three days over the journey, and since Ian sent riders ahead, there were always changes of teams waiting for them at each posting house, and the best rooms at their overnight stops. There was no doubt that travelling with Ian was a more efficient process, with every detail attended to. Eventually the sights they passed became familiar ones, and cottage women ran into their gardens to curtsy as they went past, the children waving cheerfully. When they drove by a field of workers scavenging for spilt grain, they all doffed their hats and bowed to the carriage.

The gates stood open for them, Mrs Jackson and her daughters smiling from the lodge door. Up the drive, the lake shimmering in the sunshine to one side. The trees on the avenue were already browning, she noticed. Summer was over, and autumn fast approaching.

As they neared the house, the doors opened and the familiar figures poured out — cousins Henry and Mary, of course, then Eastwood and Mrs Worthing, and John and William, the footmen. Ian descended first and helped Izzy out, as she gazed up at the familiar fa?ade. Home at last!

He stopped, looking down at her with a little smile on his face. "I was wondering if you would like it if we added wings onto the house, as they have at Harringdon. It would improve the appearance, do you not think? We should have more rooms, too."

"It is a big house already, Ian," she said, surprised. "I cannot imagine what we should do with even more saloons."

"Then how about a ballroom?" he said.

"Oh! A ballroom! Oh, Ian, what a wonderful idea! A ballroom in one wing and more bedrooms in the other, so that we can have masses of people to stay."

He laughed. "Then you would not need to go away so often to be entertained. You could do all your entertaining here."

"We could invite your political friends, too, and hold serious policy meetings here. Or we could have all my family at once, instead of a few at a time. But… can we afford it?"

"I believe we can. I shall obtain some estimates, and then we shall see."

By this time, they were surrounded by smiling faces.

"Welcome home, my lord. Welcome home, my lady," Eastwood said, the butler's face split by a huge grin.

Mary wrapped Izzy in a huge hug, weeping a little. "So glad to have you home, dear. So very glad," was all she could manage to say.

Finally, two more faces came out of the house at a run, tearing down the steps as fast as their little legs could carry them, a pair of nurses clucking anxiously behind. Izzy knelt down on the drive, heedless of the dirt, and took her daughters into her arms.

"I have missed you two scamps so much," she whispered, hugging them tight. "Presents… we have presents for you."

They squealed with delight, and with Helena holding tight to her hand, and Ian carrying Aurelia, they went into the house.

"Mrs Henry has ordered the dinner, my lady," Mrs Worthing said, "but we took care to have all your favourite dishes, and his lordship's, too. The Trahernes are invited for dinner tomorrow, and the new curate, but they can be put off if you prefer. Polly's sprained her ankle but I've got someone from the village to fill in, just for now."

"I shall just go and write a few letters to tell people that we have arrived home safely," Ian said to Izzy. "Any message for your father or mother? Just your love, as usual, I suppose."

Thus the old routine rose up to swallow Izzy in an instant. The afternoon flew by in playing with the girls, interrupted every ten minutes by Mrs Worthing with some matter needing the mistress's attention, while Ian was nowhere to be seen. Then dinner with Henry and Mary, catching up with all minutiae of domestic life until Izzy felt she could scream. All she wanted to do was to retreat somewhere with Ian and find out, once and for all, whether this magical new husband would survive the transition back to normality.

Even at the end of the evening, when she had exchanged not half a dozen words with him, he chose to sit over a brandy with Henry, talking about estate matters.

"Why not go up, Izzy?" he said. "This will not interest you."

So she had gone to her room, and let Brandon ready her for bed, and then she paced back and forth, back and forth, waiting. There was no connecting door between their rooms, for his room was at the opposite corner of the building, so she could not even hear when he came upstairs. Was he still downstairs with Henry, or was he already in bed, fast asleep? It was maddening not to know.

Just when she felt she could not bear it a moment longer, the door opened and there he was. With a cry of relief, she hurled herself across the room and into his arms, bursting into tears.

"Izzy? Whatever is the matter? Are you unwell?"

She shook her head, too distraught to speak, but he held her tight, kissed the top of her head and made soothing noises, and gradually she grew calmer.

"I was… afraid," she said eventually.

"Afraid? Of what? My dearest love, tell me what troubles you, I beg you."

"I was afraid you would not come tonight. Everything is so… as it was… and I thought… I was afraid you would be… as you were. But you are not, are you? Please, please say that you are not!"

"That Ian is gone forever, believe me. Is this because I stayed up with Henry for a while? You know what he is like, he worries so much, and he likes to unload all the problems onto my shoulders. If I had known you were anxious… my love, you must never do this again. I cannot bear you to be miserable on my account. Tell me, next time, or send Brandon down with a note."

"That would be amusing. ‘Dear husband, Come to bed at once. I need you. Your ardent wife.' Poor Brandon would be mortified."

Ian laughed. "Then perhaps we should always end the evening at the same time?"

"No," she said slowly. "I should not like to constrain you in that way. Your room is so far from mine, that is the trouble."

"That was my attempt not to be an encroaching husband, but perhaps, now that you appear not to mind my encroachment, we could rearrange things? Suppose I take the room next to this one as my dressing room? We could even have a connecting door, if you wish."

"Oh, yes! I should like that."

"I will have to keep a bed in there, naturally, for those times when we quarrel and you hurl breakable objects at my head, but I need not use it otherwise. Would that be an acceptable compromise, my dearest?"

"It would. I promise to keep the hurling of breakable objects to a minimum."

He chuckled, a low rumbling in his chest that made her whole body quiver.

"Ian," she said tentatively, looking up shyly at him. "I know I am very difficult to live with, and probably, like that poor child at the castle, I should have been thoroughly beaten as a girl to stamp out my wildness, but I mean to do my very best to be a good wife to you."

"Shh," he began, but she shook her head.

"No, let me say this now, while I feel it so strongly, for tomorrow or next week I may start screaming at you again and telling you how much I hate you, and I do not. I never have, but it has taken me an unconscionable length of time to work out what it is I do feel."

He was silent, and so still that she wondered if she had offended him.

"Ian? Do you not want to know?" He nodded, and then she saw that he was in the grip of some strong emotion, and could not speak. So she smiled up at him, and said softly, "I love you, Ian Lambert Farramont. I love you so much it hurts, and I never, ever want you to go away and leave me."

He closed his eyes for a long moment, but when he opened them again, he was smiling. "It is more usually you who goes away and leaves me," he whispered.

"Then let us agree that neither of us will leave the other."

He hugged her tight, and then said in his normal voice, "I hope you realise, Lady Farramont, that we are still on our honeymoon. What shall we do tomorrow? What would you most like to do?"

"I should like you to take me rowing on the lake," she said.

"Excellent idea. Just us, or shall we take the girls, too? They are old enough to sit still."

"A family outing! And a picnic on the island! That would be perfect!"

"Then it shall be so. And now, my lady wife…"

In one fluid movement he swept her into his arms, and carried her to the bed.