5 Choices

" C ome inside and tell me everything," Ian said.

This was easier said than done, for Lady Tarvin and Mrs Edward Harfield met him in the hall, so that he had four ladies fluttering anxiously around him. To be fair to Josie, she was not a flutterer, but the other three tested his patience to its limits. Then they decided they had to show him to his room at once, even though all he wanted to do was to find out about Izzy. But eventually they were all seated in one of the multitude of misshapen parlours with which the Priory was endowed, someone pushed a glass of wine into his hand and he settled down to hear the story.

"There is no trace of her," Lady Tarvin said, with a worried expression.

"Quite vanished," Mrs Edward said.

"She went to see a friend—"

"—and simply vanished!"

"Her manservant has been looking for her—"

"—but not a trace!"

"Perhaps Josie might tell the story," Ian said mildly. "From the beginning, if you please."

The others subsided. Josie sipped her wine, then set the glass down with precision on a side table.

"Izzy arrived on Friday," she began. "She was very upset, naturally, and seemed… a little on edge at dinner. She broke a wine glass and cut her hand."

"Ruined her lovely gown," Lady Tarvin put in. "Blood all over it."

"That stain will never come out, not from white satin," Mrs Edward said.

"I am not interested in gowns," Ian said. "Please continue, Josie."

"Mama talked to her and she seemed… more settled. On Saturday morning, she borrowed a pair of horses and went into Durham, to visit a friend, she said."

"What friend is this?"

"She said only that we would not know her. She left her carriage at the Queen's Head, and went on foot to the house."

"With her manservant?" Ian said, suddenly alarmed. "She did not walk unaccompanied?"

"No, Samuel was with her. She stayed about an hour at the house, a most ramshackle place, according to Samuel, then she sent him back to the inn, with orders to send the carriage back to the Priory. Brandon was to pack up one box for her, as she was going to stay with her friend for a few days. Samuel was to stay at the Queen's Head to wait for the carriage to return. Izzy would send someone to collect the box. Which she did, someone Samuel described as either a manservant or he could have been a gentleman, but a down-at-heel one, his face as weathered as a farmer. He told Samuel and Brandon that they were to take the carriage back to the Priory and stay there, for they would not be needed."

Ian grunted, trying to make sense of it. Why would she not even keep her maid with her?

"They both argued about it," Josie said, with a grim smile. "Brandon could not imagine how Izzy would manage without her, and Samuel was not about to let a complete stranger run off with Izzy's things, which included some valuable jewellery, I might add. So the man went off and came back a few minutes later with Izzy herself. Well, they could not disobey a direct order from their mistress, so they came back here with the carriage, but Samuel was not at all happy about it, so the next day, he walked into Durham and kept watch over the house where Izzy's friend lived. He saw them all go off to church, and Izzy wasn't with them."

"Was Izzy's friend with them? Or the manservant? "

"Definitely not the manservant or whoever he was. As to the friend, he could not say, never having seen her. It is a large family, with several grown daughters. So then he went round to the kitchen door, where the cook still was, not having the legs to walk to church and back, as she said. Samuel asked if Izzy had settled in all right and if there might be anything she needed, and the cook said that Izzy was not there at all."

"Did he ask about the friend? Or the manservant?"

"He did, but the cook was cross at having her nap disturbed, and chased him out. He asked at all the inns and hotels he could find, and there is no Lady Farramont staying at any of them. He has gone back into Durham today, with one of the Priory manservants, to make more enquiries, but it is very puzzling, Ian. Not simply that she would disappear, because Izzy has always been a law unto herself and a restless spirit, but why in this secretive way? Why leave her carriage behind, and her own servants?"

"And who is this man who was with her?" Mrs Edward said, her lips a thin line. "That is what I should like to know."

Ian wondered, too, for a down-at-heel gentleman did not sound like the sort of person Izzy would normally take up with, but he made no comment. Perhaps the fellow was simply a manservant… an outrider or courier, perhaps. The ladies went over and over it, interspersed with many lamentations, but Ian barely listened. He was planning how he would tackle this latest start of Izzy's. What a woman she was! Always something new from her, something surprising. A little worrying, in this case, but he was not seriously alarmed.

Samuel, Izzy's manservant, returned from Durham while Ian was dressing for dinner.

"You wanted to see me straight away, my lord."

"I did. Tell me at once, have you found any sign of Lady Farramont?"

"None, sir. It's likely she's not in Durham at all."

"That does seem probable. She has either got a lift in her friend's carriage, or she will have hired a post chaise. Tomorrow I shall go into Durham myself to continue the search."

The man smiled in relief. "That's good, my lord. There's people won't talk to the likes of me, but they'll answer to you, right enough."

***

I an took Izzy's carriage into Durham. It was more comfortable than his own travelling carriage, for one thing, and its distinctive colours might jog a memory or two.

The ostlers and inn workers remembered the carriage and its occupant very well. He also heard several versions of the row over the stranger who came for the box, and how ‘the pretty lady' came herself to collect it in the end.

"Did you know this man?" Ian asked everyone who told him the tale, but nobody did.

They went next to the house of Izzy's friend, and it was indeed a ramshackle place. The garden was much neglected, the interior shabby and any chance of peaceful conversation was rendered impossible by the army of small children who rampaged from room to room, unchecked. Izzy's friend was called Sophie Hearle, he discovered from the pair of faded women of about forty who greeted him. Having married a son of the Hearle family, with his demise she had returned to his family home.

"It's most inconvenient for her to be jauntering about the country like this with your wife," one of them said crossly. "No one can manage the children like Sophie, but there, she wouldn't think nothing of our convenience, I dare say, not when a viscountess comes to call."

"So Mrs Hearle — Sophie — has definitely gone with my wife?" Ian said.

"Oh, yes, she's gone all right. Packed a bag and off she went. Never told us, mind. Just left a note on the mantel there." She gestured to the shelf above the hearth, so cluttered with letters and cards and bills and dusty ornaments that it was hard to see how a new addition might be noticed.

"What sort of bag?" Ian said.

"I've no idea. How would I know that?"

"Well, did she take all her clothes or only some? And what sort of clothes?"

That brought a shrug and a blank expression.

"Perhaps I might see her room, together with the maid who attends to her clothes?"

"Maid?" That brought a cackle of laughter.

Eventually, a daughter of the house was found who was thought to have a better idea of what clothes Sophie Hearle might own. She led Ian and the silent Samuel out of the back of the house and across the yard to a small store room. The lower level was taken up with sacks and boxes of this and that, haphazardly arranged, and with mice droppings everywhere. Narrow wooden stairs led up to a tiny room, windowless apart from a small skylight, fitted with a plain bed, a cupboard and a chest of drawers. Unlike the rest of the house, however, it was immaculately clean and tidy, the bed made and nothing but a couple of books on top of the chest of drawers.

"Should be a box here in this corner," the girl said. "With all her things. Taken the lot, hasn't she?"

Ian could hardly blame her for that. Travelling about with Izzy must seem vastly better than being an unpaid nursery maid for her husband's large family. He looked through the drawers, but they were all empty.

He noticed a pile of folded blankets in a corner on the floor, but when he asked about them, the girl merely shrugged.

"Sophie did not have a child of her own?"

"Not her. If she had, she could've stayed on at that house of hers, but—"

She stopped abruptly, her cheeks reddening, but Ian was not interested in Sophie's circumstances, only that she was with Izzy and they had both taken a box. That did not seem as if they were simply planning to stay at an hotel in Durham for a few days.

"Did Sophie have a manservant? Her own carriage?"

That elicited nothing but raucous laughter. Ian gave it up. He returned to the Queen's Head, summoned the head ostler and drew out his notebook.

"Give me the names and addresses of every posting house in the city," he said. "Anywhere one might hire a post chaise and horses."

"You think she's gone off somewhere," Samuel said, when the ostler had left, silver coins in his pocket and a smile on his face.

"I do, and I cannot believe she hired a farmer's gig. She will have found a post chaise, and that means there will be ostlers who remember her and postilions who can tell me where she went. And at the next stage, there will be more postilions." He smiled in grim satisfaction. "We shall find her, Samuel, never fear."

It took Ian the rest of the day to find the posting house that had supplied a post-chaise and pair to two ladies and a man, one of the ladies both fashionable and beautiful. It was now three days since Izzy had been there, and Ian had expected to have to use his miniature of her to jog memories, but the ostlers remembered her very clearly.

"Aye, a fine lady an' her maid an' a man."

"Which road did they take, do you know?"

The ostler conferred with his postilions to find the one who had taken Izzy, coming back with the answer, "Sunderland. Golden Lion."

"At what hour did the chaise arrive there?"

"A little afore five, I reckon," the postilion said.

"They would have stopped there for the night, I suppose?"

"I reckon. I never saw what they done."

Ian thanked them with silver, and returned to the Priory well satisfied.

"I do not like to think of her travelling all alone, and without even her own carriage," Lady Rennington said anxiously, as they gathered before dinner.

"She is not alone, Mama," Josie said. "She has this Sophie Hearle with her, who is a widow and no doubt perfectly respectable, for all the ostler mistook her for a maid. And the man."

"Whoever he is," muttered Mrs Edward.

"He must be someone known to Izzy, or she would not have taken him with her," Josie said firmly. "If she must go wandering about the countryside, it is far better to have a man with her."

"Is she wandering?" Lady Rennington said. "Or does she have a destination in mind?"

"We shall find out soon enough," Ian said. "Ma'am, I shall be following Izzy's trail as fast as I can manage, so it is unlikely I will stay long enough in any one place to receive mail. If Izzy should return here, keep her here, by force if necessary. Lock her in somewhere, I do not care where so long as it is secure, and I shall write to Corland and Stonywell with the same instructions. If I lose track of her altogether, I shall return here."

"Ian, I have no power to compel Izzy to do anything," Lady Rennington said gently. "Nor have you. She is not your wife any longer."

"That is only a temporary situation," Ian said. "I have the special licence, so as soon as I catch up with her—"

"And what if she does not wish you to catch up with her? She has intentionally made it difficult for anyone to follow her. Why not leave her to pursue whatever phantom is in her head?"

"I cannot simply abandon her," Ian cried, horrified.

"It seems to me that she has abandoned you."

"No," he said, firmly. "No. She has run away before and I have always followed. What if she finds herself in trouble? She may not be my wife, legally, but I still have a responsibility to take care of her… to protect her."

Lady Rennington smiled. "You are a stubborn man, Ian Farramont."

"I am. Unlike Lord Rennington, I am not content to sit at home and hope for the best. He gave me a message for you, ma'am — he said he would be happy… very happy to have you home again."

"I have made my choice," Lady Rennington said sharply. "Perhaps Izzy has made hers, too."

"I do not see that she has a choice to make," Ian said doggedly. "She cannot live with a man as his wife for five years and have two children, yet be legally unmarried. She must marry me again, and soon, before her reputation is irreparably damaged. When I catch up with her, I shall make sure she understands that."

***

T he business of following Izzy was not an easy one, as Ian soon discovered. Lady Rennington was right, in that Izzy had deliberately made it difficult. She had left behind her very distinctive carriage with its coat of arms on the door, and also her liveried footman. He quickly found that she had left behind her name, too, for no one had seen or heard of Lady Farramont in Sunderland. The miniature did the trick, however, and at the third hotel he tried, Izzy's face was recognised.

"Ah, Mrs Horncastle, yes. Stayed for two nights. A very gracious lady," said the manager, his gaunt face softening into a hint of a smile.

Ian took that as meaning that Izzy had left generous vails. He was glad now that he had given her an extra two hundred pounds for her journey, for at least she would be able to travel in comfort. Next there was the tedium of finding the posting inn where she had hired a post chaise for the next part of her journey, and waiting for the postilion to return from a trip to tell him which way she had gone.

In this manner, he slowly made his way south down the coast, passing through Hartlepool, Whitby, Scarborough and Bridlington, with every day falling further behind Izzy. Scarborough boosted his hopes somewhat, for she and her friends had stayed for three nights, and so he gained on them a little.

The dapper little man who ran the large hotel where they had stayed remembered Izzy well.

"Oh, yes, Mrs Horncastle! Such a charming lady, and so tragic to be widowed at such an early age. You are her… cousin, I think you said?"

"I am," Ian said without hesitation. He had long since lost his reluctance to lie, for he could hardly tell the truth about Izzy's situation to every passing ostler or hotel employee. All that mattered was to find her. So he went on, "A family crisis… her father is on his deathbed, and… Mrs Horncastle must return home immediately."

"Of course, of course. If she returns here, I'll tell her so at once. Father on his deathbed… return home."

"May I see your register? Just to check the precise dates, you understand."

"Of course, my lord. Happy to oblige, my lord."

He read the inscriptions, ‘Mrs I Horncastle' in Izzy's flamboyant hand, ‘Mrs M Hearle' in a smaller, neater hand, and ‘Mr O Bayton' in a man's hand. Bayton… he had a vague memory of someone called Bayton. He wrote the names and dates in his notebook.

The hotel manager beamed at him. "Mrs Horncastle and her friend were out and about each day, enjoying the beauties of Scarborough."

"Oh? Which beauties in particular?"

"They visited the ruined castle one day, and the public gardens on another. And walked beside the sea, naturally, for who wouldn't enjoy the healthful air here? Although Mrs Horncastle were afraid for her complexion, so she went about veiled when she were out."

Veiled? That did not sound like Izzy, but then she might well have acquaintances in Scarborough, and did not want to be recognised. He noticed that there was no mention of her visiting any public places where her own class might congregate, such as the assembly rooms, the shops or the theatre.

He dispensed the usual sum for the man's cooperation. He had brought a good amount of money with him to defray his travel costs, but if Izzy were inclined to jaunter all over England, he would eventually be brought to a standstill. But then, so would she. Sooner or later she would have to obtain more funds, and that could only be in London, Nottingham or York, to call at one of the banks where he had accounts, or else one of the family homes. He had made provision for that, if she should try it.

She could not run from him indefinitely.

From Scarborough, the trail led him to Bridlington, more than a week after Izzy, but for once the postilion for her next stage was easy to find.

"Aye, milord, I mind her well enough," he said, when shown the miniature. "She went west."

"West? Inland, then. Following the York road, I presume." That would be a promising sign!

"Aye, as far as Driffield, then south again, far as t'White Horse on t'Beverley road, milord."

Beverley! Ian no longer needed to find a postilion to discover her route, for he knew all too well where she was bound. For the first time, fear clutched at him. This was no casual excursion, an amusing interlude before settling back into marriage and motherhood.

This was a catastrophe.

When Ian retired to bed that night, he took out of his waistcoat pockets three items — his watch, his miniature of Izzy and her silk scarf, so carelessly left behind at Corland. The watch and miniature he set on the chair that served as a bedside table, then lay down, the scarf pressed to his face. Already her scent was fading, as if she were gradually drifting further away from him. In another two or three weeks all trace of her would be gone.

He closed his eyes and wept — for Izzy, for his daughters, but most of all, for himself.