3 Harfield Priory

I an made excellent time on his way north, arriving at Corland Castle for once, well before dinner. It was to no avail, however, for the butler informed him that Izzy had left the day before.

"Where has she gone, Simpson?" he said resignedly, wondering whether it was worth removing his coat and hat at all, or whether he should jump straight back into the carriage.

"We believe to Harfield Priory, my lord," the butler said. "Lady Rennington is there at present, visiting her sister, and Lady Farramont was wishful to see her ladyship."

Ian considered. There were still several hours of daylight left… but even if he were willing to press on tonight, the postilions would not allow the horses to do so. Corland was inconveniently distant from any coaching inns large enough to supply him with four horses instantly.

"See that my carriage is ready to leave first thing tomorrow… at six. That will be early enough."

"Very good, my lord. We will put you in the south-western guest room this time."

He grunted an acknowledgement. With a footman to guide him, he strode through to the great hall, with its ridiculous collection of swords and pikes on the walls, and up the stairs to the appointed room. He smiled as he looked at the familiar bed, already made up. The room had been redecorated, for Lady Rennington could never leave a room alone for long, so the hangings were different, but the bed itself was just the same. It was where he had passed the first nights of his married life, so it had a special place in his heart. He would enjoy spending the night here. Was there a hint of perfume in the air, one he knew well? Izzy had slept here, then.

Wycliffe was busy examining the small dressing room. He emerged with a smile on his face, which meant he approved. Ian cared nothing for where he slept, but his valet was far more conscious of his master's consequence.

"Do you wish me to sleep in here, my lord, to make an early start?"

"No. We are only bound for Harfield tomorrow, not Throxfield. We will not leave before six."

Two maids rushed in with sheets. "Have the bed changed for you right away, milord."

Give him sheets smelling only of laundry soap, when he could sleep in Izzy's sweet scent?

"No need for that. I should like a bath, though, if it can be managed."

"Yes, milord. Be about half an hour, milord."

They rushed off again, and, since his boxes were arriving, Ian took himself out of the way of the puffing footmen by wandering through to the sitting room. There, too, Izzy's perfume hung faintly in the air. The room had been dusted, he suspected, but not polished, or that delicate scent would have been overpowered by beeswax or lavender.

A flash of colour behind a chair caught his eye. Izzy's silk scarf! He smiled as he lifted it from its hiding place. No doubt she had tossed it carelessly onto the back of the chair and not noticed when it slithered to the ground. So sleek and soft, and yes, as he held it to his nose, there was that scent again, stronger this time. He breathed deeply, the perfume bringing Izzy's image effortlessly to his mind.

Oh, Izzy! If only it were you here now, and not just your scarf…

Simpson knocked on the open door. "Beg pardon for intruding, my lord, but Captain Edgerton is very wishful to speak with you, if you can spare him a few minutes, and seeing as you'll be away first thing tomorrow—"

"Captain Edgerton?" He frowned over the name before he remembered. "The fellow investigating the death of Mr Nicholson, correct?"

"Yes, my lord. He is in the old nursery. This floor, south-eastern corner."

Ian folded the scarf neatly and put it carefully into a pocket. "Tell him I shall be there as soon as I have divested myself of the dust of the road."

Captain Michael Edgerton was very small for a military man, but then he had been in the East India Company Army, not the Life Guards, and Ian presumed requirements were less rigid in India. Ian was unusually tall, but even a man of average height would tower over the captain. He had a business-like and well-used sword lying on the table in front of him, however, and he looked Ian straight in the eye, respectfully but with not a hint of undue deference.

The captain was soon dealt with, however. He had some idea that Ian had been in the castle at the time of the murder, but since he was not, as his notebook proved, that question was soon settled. Ian left him to his investigations. They did not seem to be going well. An entire month since the murder, with no culprit yet identified, and the captain clearly suffering from wrong information. It was not promising. The murderer must be long gone by now.

Dinner that night was a strange affair, with Lord Rennington in an abstracted mood, Lady Rennington away and the Lady Alice, still in deep mourning for her husband, keeping to her room. Her daughter, Tess, had gone away somewhere, too. Walter, the eldest son, had gone off to London to see about a position at the Treasury, and Eustace, the middle brother, was at his own house. Only the two youngest children were present, the perpetually cheerful Kent, and the perpetually lachrymose Olivia.

However, Captain Edgerton dined with them, together with his wife, and whatever the captain's history, she, at least, was impeccably ladylike. Ian discovered she was a cousin to the Earl of Morpeth, a man Ian knew and liked very well. There was also a fashionable London lawyer by the name of Willerton-Forbes, urbane and articulate. The other member of the captain's group was a young Scotsman by the name of Alexander, the sort of charming rogue a father would question carefully before allowing him near his daughter. The earl, however, took no notice as the Scot applied himself with enthusiasm to the task of delicately flirting with Olivia.

"You need not be concerned about Sandy," Mrs Edgerton said in an undertone to him, as Olivia burst into laughter and tapped the Scotsman playfully on the arm. "The poor girl has been very down. Her come-out was put off this spring on account of her grandmother's illness, and now she finds she is not who she thought she was. Sandy likes to cheer her up, but he knows the limits."

"Who is this cousin he talks about?"

"Lord Saxby of Maeswood Hall in Shropshire. Sandy was heir presumptive at one time, but Cam — the baron — has two sons now. Sandy does not usually mention his cousin, but as we are under an earl's roof, it seemed sensible to mention that he is not some vagabond we found under a hedge somewhere."

"Nor is your husband, I presume, but he has a fanciful imagination. Tiger Blythe? Shooting an elephant?"

Her eyes twinkled. "Everything my husband says is true, my lord, and Tiger Blythe is now Lady Humphrey Marford. You may ask her if you want confirmation."

He nodded. "I confess, I did hear some tales about her, but I never take much notice of gossip. It is usually malicious."

"But generally contains at least a grain of truth, and in this case, more than a grain," she said.

Ian said nothing, listening as Edgerton's improbable story moved on to describe how Tiger Blythe had winged an escaping villain, after first shooting his hat from his head, and wondered greatly whether Edgerton could distinguish truth from falsehood at all. How on earth was the man able to investigate a murder when his head was full of such fanciful tales?

When the ladies had withdrawn, the earl turned to Ian. "You will follow Izzy to Harfield, I suppose."

"If that is where she has gone."

"She said she would go there, for her mother is there, but one never knows with Izzy."

"Wherever she is, I will find her," Ian said. He would find her — he must!

"Of course you will! And you will remarry and all will be well."

"I have a special licence."

The earl's face crumpled. "Exactly! I wish—! Farramont, if you go to Harfield and see my wife, will you… will you tell her I should be very happy to have her home again? Very happy."

"I will tell her that, sir. I shall tell her those exact words."

Poor fellow! He missed his wife just as much as Ian missed Izzy, and perhaps more, for they had been married for thirty years. Three decades of contentment, and then to be torn apart! Why would she leave him alone at such a time? And why on earth, if he missed her so much, would he not go after her?

***

I zzy arrived at Harfield Priory a little after noon. There was a sharp wind blowing, so she waited in the carriage while Samuel knocked and rang and knocked again, until eventually, the massive iron-studded doors creaked open and the elderly butler, still struggling into his coat, emerged.

Harfield Priory combined, in Izzy's mind, all the worst elements of a medieval house. From the outside, all traces of its religious origins had been obscured by later additions, and even that was now covered in ivy. Nor was it the pretty sort that turned brilliant red in autumn, but the dull, green sort that was unutterably dreary. At least it gave the fa?ade a degree of uniformity. Inside, however, all was ancient, with rambling wings, small rooms leading one into another, abrupt changes of level, so that one was constantly going up or down three steps, and depressing dark panelling. At night, when one should properly hear the distant moans of ghostly monks, one was kept awake by the mice rioting in the wainscoting. The Priory made her deeply grateful for the airy modernity and classical symmetry of Stonywell. Not only did the Priory not have an octagonal saloon with a domed roof, it could barely muster a single room with four straight walls and a level ceiling.

Izzy entered what had once been the Great Hall and was in fact the only grandly proportioned room in the house.

"Lady Rennington, Lady Tarvin and Mrs Edward Harfield are out at present, my lady," the butler wheezed. "Lady Woodridge is in the nursery with Master Gerard. She will be very glad to see you, I am sure."

Josie! Izzy had come to see her mother, but she would be excessively glad to see her older sister, too.

"And I her! I had no notion she might be here, with the baby so young."

"Just two months old, my lady, and not a scrap of trouble," the butler said with a paternal smile.

Izzy raised her eyebrows at that. In her experience, babies caused a vast deal of trouble, out of all proportion to their size. She said nothing, however, allowing herself to be led through myriad rooms and passageways, up two separate sets of stairs, and along a gallery overlooking a courtyard to a bedroom pleasantly appointed in shades of pink and green.

"This is charming," she said, in surprise, for her previous visits had been to apartments noted only for their dark, unwelcoming appearance.

"Lady Rennington will be delighted to hear you say so, my lady. The improvements were her suggestion."

Izzy laughed. "Oh yes, Mama cannot see a room without suggesting improvements. The painters are never gone from Corland."

"I shall bring some tea to the Blue Parlour, my lady. That is where the ladies like to sit on summer afternoons."

"Then I hope there are signs to direct me there, for otherwise I shall never find it."

"I shall leave a footman outside your door to guide you, my lady," the butler said, bowing himself out.

Josie was already in the Blue Parlour when Izzy reached it, the baby in a cradle at her feet. The two sisters fell into each other's arms with cries of joy and a few tears, too.

"Oh, but Josie," Izzy said when they finally disentangled themselves, "what are you doing here? I never imagined you would leave home when Gerard is so young."

"I wanted to see Mama, and a baby is very portable at this age, Izzy dear," Josie said, sitting down again and rocking the cradle with her foot.

"Yes, the baby is, but there is the question of Nurse and a wet nurse and a nursery maid and the vast quantity of clothing required. Then there is the constant stopping and starting on the road for some crisis or other. I only attempted it once, when Helena was about six months of age. Never again! I think you must be mad to leave home with Gerard."

"Oh, pooh, I have only the under nursery maid with me to watch him at night, and a few changes of clouts and wrappings, and I have never had a wet nurse. The heavy artillery of Nurse and the upper nursery maid have been left behind to look after Claud, and it takes all their efforts to manage him. Boys of three are such terrors, as you will find out when you have sons. Babies are darlings by comparison. Besides, I love having him all to myself, and nothing to do all day but cuddle him."

She sighed sentimentally. Izzy said nothing, for this was a side to her sister that she could never understand. Izzy had been thankful to hand her daughters over to a wet nurse at the earliest opportunity, so that she might resume her social engagements. She loved her girls dearly, and delighted in playing with them when she was at home, but her duty was clear — she could be of most use to them by maintaining a presence in society so that they would be able to make the most advantageous marriages when their turn came. And now — that future was gone , entirely gone.

She could feel anger boiling up inside her again, and rose to cross the room with quick steps. The window overlooked the pleasure grounds, but even here there was no beauty, no symmetry. The Priory was tucked into a narrow vale, so there was scarcely a level piece of ground beyond a small terrace. All one could see from a ground-floor window was a slope so steep it almost felt like a green wall. Izzy always felt so hemmed in here. Impatiently, she spun round. Even the ugly interior of the parlour, with its gloomy panelled walls and cracked ceiling, was preferable to the encaging garden.

"But I confess I had another motive," Josie went on, oblivious. "Aubrey's mother is paying her annual visit to Throxfield, and you know what that means. She has the place in an uproar. Everything must be done in the Hulme way, which means her way. I should be pulling caps with her if I stayed. And the worst of it is that Aubrey simply disintegrates in front of her. This is a man of three and thirty who manages two estates and any number of other investments, has a government post and is also a respected diplomat. He managed to converse with the greatest ease with the Emperor of all the Russias, in Russian, according to the reports, but his own mother reduces him instantly to a quivering schoolboy. ‘Yes, Mother. No, Mother. Anything you say, Mother.' I cannot bear it, and since Mama was here, I decided I would visit, too, at least until the countess has gone and it is safe for me to go home."

She poured their tea and reached for a cake, too. Josie possessed the sort of features described as handsome rather than beautiful. Her solid frame and greater than average height came from her father. Not for her the delicate figure of her mother and her two sisters. But she had a practical nature, and marriage and motherhood suited her, especially as she had married for love. Izzy knew all this and was glad of it, for Josie's sake. Yet the dark side of her mind still resented that Josie, so careless of her social position, had managed to marry a man who would one day be an earl. Izzy might outrank her sister now, but it would not always be so.

And sons! Josie had two sons, while Izzy had only daughters. It rankled that she had failed in her primary duty to her husband. Ian might say he was contented with his two little girls, but Izzy knew perfectly well that he had only married her to provide him with a son and heir.

"Where is Ian?" Josie said with studied casualness. "Is he to join you here?"

"I have no idea where he is," Izzy said, bridling at once. "He went haring off to town within an hour of the letter arriving from Papa, leaving me all on my own and hardly knowing where I was or what to do. I wanted Mama, Josie. Well, Papa too, but mainly Mama. She will know what to do."

"What do you think she can do?" Josie said in a tone of astonishment. "There is only one thing to be done, Izzy, and that is for you to marry Ian again as soon as you can."

"But surely—?" She could not go on. Why did everyone say that, as if it made everything right? Just remarry, and then all will be well. But it would not. It would never be well again. Izzy flopped down onto the sofa beside Josie and burst into tears.

They were still thus, some little while later, when the door opened and Lady Rennington flew in, still wearing her outdoor spencer and a bonnet.

"Izzy! Oh, Izzy, dearest… my poor girl! There now, there, there. Mama is here."

She sat down beside Izzy and swept her into her arms, making soothing noises, and the familiar voice and perfume and comforting arms brought some solace.

"Oh, Mama!" she wailed. "What are we to do?"

"Do? What we must, of course."

"Are you going to tell me I must rush away and find Ian and marry him again? That is what everyone else is saying."

"And everyone else is quite right, although you need not worry about finding Ian. He is very good at finding you. Izzy, you must marry him. You could be with child again, and you will not want to inflict illegitimacy on another child, I am sure. The sooner you marry, the sooner your life will become normal again, and no one need ever know that there was a point when you were not legally married."

"I could say the same to you, Mama. Yet here you are, far away from Papa, and not rushing to marry him at all."

Lady Rennington hesitated. "My case is different, Izzy. I am fifty years old, past the age of having any more children. It would be quite wrong for me to marry your father at this point. He must find himself a new, younger wife, one able to bear him legitimate sons to inherit the earldom."

Izzy sat bolt upright. " No! You cannot mean it, Mama, you cannot! Papa married to someone else, someone who is not you? It is unthinkable."

"Nevertheless," her mother said implacably, "I have thought of it, and so has your father. It will be best for everyone, Izzy. As things stand, your Uncle George is heir presumptive, and neither he nor your Aunt Jane want to inherit one little bit, nor does Bertram, poor fellow. Such a quiet boy, always with his head in a book. Believe me, it is much better this way. Jane has drawn up a list of suitable candidates, and your father will meet them one at a time, and pick the one he likes best. Then perhaps by this time next year, you will have a new little half-brother."

Izzy stared at her, aghast, too horrified even to cry.