9 Harringdon Hall

T he morning brought the first disagreement since they had left Durham. Izzy had met the outrider engaged by Olly to replace him at Harringdon Hall, who was introduced as Barty, a respectably dressed man, whose only feature of interest was a complexion as weather-beaten as Olly's, and for the same reason. Seemingly they had both spent time in India.

But as soon as they all went out to the yard, where the post chaise and Barty's horse waited, she exploded.

"Oh, no, no, no, no! That is—! This is ridiculous. I will not be made a fool of like this. That horse — I would recognise that notch in his ear anywhere. What is going on here, Olly? Engage an outrider, I said, not employ someone who has clearly followed us all the way from Scarborough. What is your game, eh?" she said, rounding on Barty. "Are you going to murder us in our beds? Or is it just a bit of thievery? Some coins, a necklace or two, or—?"

"I can vouch for him, Mrs Horncastle," Olly put in, cautiously using her false name with the ostlers and postilions looking on.

"You keep out of this. Let him speak for himself."

The outrider straightened his spine, not in the least afraid. "No, ma'am, nothing like that. I'm as honest as the next man." His accent was unfamiliar to her. Not Yorkshire or any of the northern counties. "Just wanted a job, like. Not worked for months." Now that sounded more like a groom her father had once had who had come from Newcastle. Wherever he was from, his accent was false.

"And I say you are a fraud. What is your name?"

"Barty, ma'am."

"Your real name."

"That's the only name I'm known by."

"What were you baptised — Bartholomew?"

"No, ma'am."

Sophie tugged at Izzy's sleeve. "Perhaps we could discuss this inside instead of making a spectacle of ourselves."

Izzy glanced indifferently at the faces watching them from around the inn yard, and now emerging from the inn as well. "Let them watch. Who cares? Perhaps we should just send for the constable, because if you have not worked for months, how do you pay for your horse? And where did you get him from? Steal him, did you?"

"No, ma'am."

"How much did you pay for him?"

"Won him at cards, ma'am."

"Did you cheat?"

His eyes blazed with anger, and when he spoke it was in a very different accent. "If you were a man, I should call you out for that."

"Pistols or rapiers?"

He actually laughed at that. "I used to be handy with a rapier, but nowadays I am more use with a pistol."

"I am considered an excellent shot with a pistol, and I have a steady hand, too, so perhaps it is just as well I am not a man, Barty. And I still think we should send for the constable, because you have far too many secrets for an honest man."

He gazed at her through narrowed eyes, and now the accent became rural again. "We all have secrets we don't want the world to know, don't we, Mrs Horncastle?"

"Stop this!" Olly yelled, pushing between the two of them. "That is enough! Ma'am, Barty is a friend of mine, who looked after me on that desperately awful journey back from India, and got me home. He saved my life and I will not have him abused in this manner! Leave him alone."

Izzy's anger had long since fizzled out into curiosity. She loved a game and this was a game of a high order. Whoever Barty was, he was no ruffian.

Leaning forward so that she could speak to him in a low voice, unheard by the watching crowd, she murmured, "Do you give me your word, as a gentleman, that you mean us no harm?"

His eyes widened at the words ‘as a gentlemen' , but there was no hesitation in his answer. "I do."

"I am satisfied," she said, more loudly. "What are we doing standing about here when we could be on the road? Sophie, Olly, in the carriage. On your horse, Mr Barty."

He laughed, and mounted with practised agility. Within moments, the chaise door was closed and they were rolling out of the inn yard and turning once again towards the north.

***

H arringdon Hall, the ancestral home of the Davenports, was a modern building in the sprawling, classical style, with wings curving out to either side. Izzy presumed it was meant to look imposing, but to her eyes it had nothing of the elegance of Stonywell. And so remote! It was just as bad as Corland, and although the environs were pleasant enough in summer, if one did not mind a bit of rain and a lot of wind, it would be desperately isolated in winter, cut off from all civilisation. Nottinghamshire was not exactly balmy in winter either, but at least Stonywell was surrounded by good roads, and was an easy drive from the town.

The Harringdon grounds had a grandeur of their own, however, with a long tree-lined drive, and glimpses of a lake with an elegant bridge and, on the far side, an intriguing temple of some sort. She longed to explore. So much travelling over the last month, and no time to rest or enjoy herself. But perhaps here there would be society at last, an instrument to play, cards and conversation and amusement.

A footman emerged to attend to them, and Izzy handed over their cards.

"Lady Farramont and Mrs Hearle to see Mrs Davenport," she said, through the open chaise window.

He rushed off inside, and barely two minutes later, Mrs Davenport herself came outside. She had grown so thin! Izzy herself was of slender built, but Mrs Davenport, who had been a comfortably proportioned matron five years ago, was now positively skeletal, her pale eyes huge in her face.

She greeted them with smiles, however.

"Lady Farramont! And Sophie… my dear girl! Do come inside, both of you. You will stay, of course. Rumble, see to the boxes, will you, and tell Mrs Rumble the Rose Room. Yes, yes, the Rose Room, is that clear? You will not mind sharing, I hope, for we have quite a houseful at the moment."

"Who are we displacing, ma'am?" Sophie said, as they climbed the steps at Mrs Davenport's slow pace.

"Two of the cousins, but it is of no consequence, none at all. Lady Farramont must have one of our best rooms. But this is so strange, your coming just at this time, for we have heard such odd rumours from town."

They had reached the entrance hall by this time, and she paused, quite out of breath. Footmen scurried about, and the housekeeper stood watchfully at one side, awaiting orders. The butler whispered in the housekeeper's ear, and her eyes widened, then she frowned. No doubt she was thinking of the inconvenience… the cousins, whoever they were, to be moved to less exalted quarters, beds to be made up afresh, two extra covers for dinner, a manservant to be accommodated, and all with no warning at all. It was amusing, and Izzy never asked for such privileged treatment. She would respect any hostess who took one look and told her to find rooms at the nearest inn. But somehow they never did.

"Now, shall you have a rest for a little while, or should you like to meet the company?" Mrs Davenport said.

"Oh, company, certainly," Izzy said. "Sophie? Shall we?" Company at last! And the house was full of guests. How she longed to walk into a crowded room again!

"Of course!" Mrs Davenport said brightly. "Sophie, you will find some old friends within. Leave your bonnets on the table there. Mrs Rumble will see to them. This way."

It was not far to the saloon but the butler was there before them. A promising hum of conversation could be heard as he threw open the door.

"Lady Farramont, and Mrs Martin Hearle," he announced.

Izzy had been announced many times since she had first come out, but never before had her name startled an entire room into shocked silence. Someone gave a little squeal, and two or three gasped. It was not a comfortable feeling, but Izzy was not one to be intimidated. Casting her gaze over the assembled throng, she saw the elder Mr Davenport at once, his mane of white hair distinctive, and she recognised two of Sydney's sisters, but not Sydney himself. Ah, there he was, unfolding himself from a chair on the far side of the room.

But she had excellent manners, so she allowed Mrs Davenport to lead her first towards her husband. How old he had grown in the intervening years! Illness would do that to a man… or a woman, she thought, looking at Mrs Davenport, still breathless from a short walk from the hall. Izzy sat beside him and focused all her attention on the old man, chattering away to him as if he were still the fine man she had known five years ago. He had appeared sunk into himself at first, but he brightened considerably as she talked, and even laughed once or twice. Good! She had not lost her touch, then.

Gradually the murmur of voices around them resumed, but Izzy, always sensitive to the atmosphere in a room, was aware of the tension, even as she never once looked away from Mr Davenport. It was only a familiar voice that drew her attention.

"Lady Farramont?"

She looked up at him, so well-remembered and yet… different. "Sydney! How delightful this is. How are you?"

He made the usual responses — perfectly well, could see she was in the bloom of health and how was Farramont? Sydney was still handsome, of course, but his finely chiselled features had grown a little coarse. He was not the lithe young man she remembered, and in another ten years or perhaps even five, he would be unquestionably stout. Nor was his smile as wide as before. His brow was slightly furrowed, as if bewildered.

"You are on your way to Lochmaben, I suppose?" he said.

So she was, in a way, so she answered in the affirmative.

"I thought you must be, since Lady Rennington is there."

"Mama? Is she?"

"You did not know?"

"I have been travelling, Sydney, not stopping anywhere long enough to receive mail."

His smile softened into something more genuine. "You were always a restless soul. If Father will not mind me taking you away, allow me to introduce you to everyone. There are some here you will not know."

There were two more sisters, who had married northerners and not ventured to town, so Izzy had never met them. There were hordes of cousins, including the famous Jonathan, looking none the worse for his brush with death eight years earlier. There were several neighbours, worthy squires and their wives, who rose to bow deferentially to her. Prominently situated in the centre of the room, and making laboured conversation with Sophie, were ‘Mr Hearle, and Mr and Mrs Matthew Hearle of Bayton House'. Izzy gave them the smallest of nods and passed swiftly on.

At the far side of the room, a little family that Izzy identified immediately as of the merchant class, father and mother, a son who had tried very hard to be fashionable and failed, and two daughters who had not tried very hard at all. Some rising merchants acquired a degree of style as they moved into a better class of society, but these five had neither beauty nor fashion. In fact the two girls were as plain a pair as Izzy had seen anywhere. They sat stiffly in their Sunday best, looking as out of place as if the butler and his wife were to mingle with their betters.

"Mr and Mrs Plowman, Miss Plowman and Miss Marion Plowman, Mr John Plowman," Sydney intoned expressionlessly. "Our neighbours to the east." After the slightest of pauses, he went on. "Miss Plowman has done me the very great honour to consent to be my wife, and thus we will at least partially unite the two estates, as my father has long wished. You will recall him talking about the eastern meadow that used to belong to Harringdon? Mr Plowman has graciously agreed that it will be a part of Ruth's dowry."

Izzy was so astonished that she laughed out loud. "Sydney Davenport, you are a poet, a dreamer, a man of romantic ideals! Do you truly tell me that you intend to marry for the sake of a field?"

He glared at her and would have responded angrily, had Ruth Plowman not laughed herself, and said in a strong accent that Izzy could not quite identify, "Oh no, my lady, not for a field — for two fields and a stand of woodland."

That made Izzy laugh even harder.

"That is not the only reason, naturally," Sydney muttered. "Ruth's own charms—"

"Nonsense!" that lady said robustly. "I have no charms, apart from a lot of money, and a field."

"Two fields and some trees," Izzy said, still laughing. "Really, Sydney, how worldly of you! You should be swept by passion, and willing to die if your love is denied you, not measuring a lady's worth by the size of her dowry and the number of cattle that may be pastured on it. I am ashamed of you."

"Not cattle, sheep," Ruth said, her eyes twinkling. "And pigs in the woodland. He could've had an orchard as well, for it seems to need a lot of work and Pa would've thrown it in, if anyone asked, but no one did."

"Do you know, Miss Plowman," Izzy said appreciatively, "you deserve better than a blockhead like Sydney. I think you should throw him over at once, and find someone who will value your wit more than your fields. He is handsome enough, I grant you, but fair-haired men fade with time, and I see signs of incipient stoutness in him, do not you?"

"Oh yes, but I plan to put him on a reducing diet when we're wed."

The two laughed together, while Ruth's parents gently remonstrated with her, and Sydney went red in the face.

"That is quite enough, Izzy! Stop interfering or—"

"Oh, you are Izzy!" Ruth said, her face lighting up gleefully. "He wanted to marry you, didn't he? Is it true what they're saying about your family?"

"Ruth!" Sydney snapped. "We agreed we would not mention it."

"But I like her," Ruth said. "She says what she thinks. None of this fiddle-faddling round, always being polite. You are marrying me for my fields and woods, and you are going to be fat, and just because your family's grander than ours doesn't mean you're better than us, you know. You've got finer manners than me, but you know it, don't you? I don't look forward to spending the rest of my life married to someone who always thinks he's above me. So is it true, Lady Farramont? That your parents were never properly married? That's what everyone's saying, but that'd be quite a scandal, wouldn't it?"

She gazed at Izzy with guileless eyes.

"How do you know about that?" Izzy said.

Sydney sighed. "A letter came from town today. Your brother is there and not going by the name of Viscount Birtwell, and enquiring at the Treasury about employment. You know how these things spread… the clubs, and so on."

"It is true," Izzy said quietly. "Our chaplain, it turns out, was never ordained, and so was not authorised to conduct marriages. Birtwell… Walter… all of us are illegitimate."

"But Izzy," Sydney said, "surely your chaplain married you and Farramont, too?"

"He did."

"So you are…?"

"Not married. Correct. Technically, not Lady Farramont any more, either, but everyone knows me by that name."

"Ohhh," Ruth breathed. "So that is why you have come. But that is perfect, for now you can marry Sydney, as he wanted years ago."

"What?" Sydney said. "But I am betrothed to you, Ruth."

"Then I set you free. Lady Farramont is quite right, I do deserve better than you. I'm not going to marry you, Sydney."

"But the banns have been read," he said helplessly. "We marry on Friday. It is all arranged."

"Then you'll have to unarrange it, won't you? May I wish you both very happy. I'll go to my room now and start packing."

She strode away, the rest of her family scuttling helplessly in her wake.

Sydney looked as if he had been struck over the head. "Izzy Farramont, what a meddlesome woman you are! Now look what you have done, and Father had set his heart on that land, too."

"Fields, fields, fields! Whatever has happened to you, Sydney? You have the soul of a poet, but you have turned into some sort of money-grubbing conniving miser, and I truly never thought it of you. What has brought about such a hideous alteration? Are you all in the basket?"

"No." He lowered his voice and drew her a little aside so they would not be overheard. "Father is not likely to last much longer and… he frets rather. About me, about the succession and about that wretched field. When the Plowmans bought that estate, it seemed like the ideal way to settle his mind. I have no brothers, so it is up to me to do what is necessary. I want him to die happy, Izzy, knowing that the succession is secure and our lands the best they can be. And now you have ruined everything and he will fret himself into an early grave, and Mother with him. She has consumption, did you guess that? So I shall not have either of them for much longer."

"I am very sorry for it," Izzy said, subdued.

"Well, so am I, and it is my wish to make them happy before they leave this earth. How I am to do it now I cannot imagine, and if you think I plan to fall at your feet again just because you are technically not married, you have another think coming."

"No need to worry, Sydney," she said coldly. "I have no expectation that you would wish to marry me. After all, I have no fields with which to entice you."

So saying, she swept haughtily from the room.