Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel

‘Begging your pardon, sir, he said,’ in his slow careful manner. ‘I wonder if young Davy here would be able to point out the other party he was mentioning—the man he met at the cottages?’

Davy stared helplessly around the hallway at the dozen or so men now sitting with their backs to the wall or leaning their weary frames against the great pillars which held up the ceiling.

‘It wasn’t anyone from our house, sir,’ he said, with a shaking voice, as Tiptree drew him into the largest drawing-room and led him amongst the rest of the volunteers. He gazed from left to right with meticulous attention as he made his way through the sleeping groups. Eventually he shook his head. ‘Can’t see him, sir,’ he said, with obvious reluctance.

Tiptree took Sandford to one side as Davy was motioned off to get his much-needed refreshment.

‘We kept a list of the men who left, sir—shall I get it?’

Sandford nodded bleakly and sat down on the stairs with his head in his hands. It’s hopeless, just hopeless, he thought, in misery. Where are you, my love? Are you hurt and all alone in the dark? Are you thinking what a poor sort of hero I turned out to be? He closed his eyes, willing his brain to convey a message through the darkness—I’ll find you, my darling! I promise you I’m coming to find you!

‘There’s something keeps nagging at me, guv,’ came Tiptree’s voice at his elbow.

The viscount opened his eyes and frowned questioningly at his groom.

‘Well, sir, it’s these two blokes from Westpark—Hinds and Beckett. They seem to be everywhere—and nowhere—if you get my drift?’

‘Keep talking,’ said Sandford grimly, as he rose to his feet.

‘It’s like this, sir—we know that Mr Ridgeway went down to the lake with them and they sent us on a wild goose-chase to Staines. Thing is, guv …’

‘—we haven’t searched the pavilion!’ Sandford finished, clapping him on the back. ‘Get some lanterns, Tip. We’ll do it now!’

Striding through the rear salon, over more sleeping villagers, the two men hastened out on to the terrace into the pouring rain, which was still lashing down in a relentless torrent. Sandford raised his lantern and looked down the steps at the pools that were forming on the grass below him.

‘Quicker to walk, wouldn’t you say?’

Tiptree agreed that horses would be useless in these conditions and, hats down and shoulders hunched against the drenching downpour, they had just started to make their way across the park towards the lake when the viscount’s attention was caught by a pale movement on the lawn in front of him. In the meagre glow of his lantern he beheld a sight that stopped him dead in his tracks.

A gasping Charles Ridgeway lay at his feet, his clothing soaking wet and caked with a thick, black mud!

‘Sandford?’ came his choking voice. ‘Help me up, old man—I’m done in.’

Together Tiptree and his master half-dragged and half-carried the exhausted Ridgeway back up into the house, laying him carefully down on to one of Lady Caroline’s best damask sofas—a passing thought which did cross Tiptree’s mind but knowing better than to mention it, he motioned instead to a nearby footman to bring some brandy.

Sandford himself held the glass to his cousin’s trembling lips and gently allowed some of the restorative to dribble into his mouth. Ridgeway was struggling to sit up, his panic-stricken eyes flashing from side to side as he attempted to take in his surroundings. The viscount pressed him firmly back against the cushions.

‘Wait just a moment, Charles,’ he cautioned. ‘Take your time—another sip.’

‘No—time, Robert,’ rasped out his cousin. ‘Beckett and Hinds—they’re our men—took me by surprise—knocked out—the pavilion—swam back …’ He swooned away once more as Sandford stood up.

Several of the searchers were now beginning to rouse themselves, having heard the commotion, and word quickly circulated that Charles Ridgeway had returned. A crowd began to gather around the couch.

Sandford beckoned to Tiptree. ‘Where does this Beckett live? He’s a gardener—does he reside at Westpark?’

Tiptree shook his head. ‘Dunno, guv. Hinds lives over the stables there. Some of the gardeners live out—Top Meadow, maybe …?’

‘No, he don’t, sir,’ interposed an eager voice and Cooper senior stepped forward. ‘Matt Beckett—he’s Finchley’s nevvy—shares a room with his uncle over at Westpark—got a hut out behind the shrubbery at Staines.’

‘A hut?’ said Sandford in exasperation. ‘What the devil has that got to do with anything?’

‘Grows things, your lordship,’ replied Cooper, unmoved. ‘Herbs—for horse liniment and such. Saw him put an old dog to sleep once—knows a thing or two about sleeping potions, I’d say …’ Other heads nodded and wagged in agreement behind him.

‘Has the hut been searched—for Billy—or Miss Cordell?’ Sick with apprehension, Sandford turned to Tiptree, who assured him at once that it had.

‘Couldn’t hide anyone there, sir,’ he said. ‘Full of bottles and pots. Seem to remember that Beckett showed me himself—very keen that I marked it off, now that I recall.’

‘Get the horses saddled, Tip,’ said the viscount curtly. ‘I’m going up to Westpark myself …’

It’s pretty dark, guv. Might be better to take a carriage round the lane—we’d have the lamps.’

Sandford considered this for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Take too long,’ he said briskly. ‘And they’d hear the carriage coming.’

On the couch beside them, Ridgeway stirred and his eyes flew open in shock. ‘You don’t think Judith is involved in all this, for God’s sake?’ His voice cracked with horror as he struggled to sit up. ‘I’m coming with you!’

Sandford regarded his cousin frowningly. ‘If you think you can sit a horse,’ he said without expression and turned to leave. ‘Better change out of those things, too—you’ve got five minutes. We’ll be in the stables!’

Apart from a single lamp which hung above the rear entrance, Westpark Manor was in darkness when the three men arrived. Tiptree, still carrying the poled lantern that had guided the riders along the bridleway, swung himself down from his horse and hurried to assist Ridgeway, who was near collapsing with exhaustion.

‘I told you not to attempt the journey,’ said Sandford unsympathetically, as he himself dismounted. ‘You can hardly stand!’

‘I’ll be fine,’ gasped his cousin, leaning against his mount. ‘I had to come—you must see that!’

Tiptree glowered at his master. ‘Give him another drop of that brandy, guv,’ he suggested. ‘That’ll sort him out for a while.’

Sandford complied, handing his flask to Ridgeway who, after taking a hefty swig of the restoring spirit, took a deep breath and straightened himself up.

‘I still think it would be better if you were to wait out here, Charles,’ said the viscount, preparing to open the door.

‘Not a chance, thank you, coz,’ replied Ridgeway indignantly. ‘Judith might need—somebody.’

The three men entered the silent house and made their way to the hall, which had the customary single candle burning in its holder on a side table.

‘Do you intend waking the whole house?’ asked Ridgeway, in a hushed voice. ‘The children … ?’

Sandford shook his head. ‘I expected to find Finchley here,’ he admitted. ‘If he is involved, along with his nephew, it’s unlikely that they will have gone to their beds!’

‘That’s true. His cousin nodded. ‘Shall we go back and try the kitchen?’ He turned to retrace his steps along the passageway that led to the servants’ quarters but, just as the other men were about to follow him, a voice came from above their heads.

‘Who’s there? I warn you, I have a pistol! Come out where you can be seen!’

It was Judith. Standing at the top of the stairs in her night attire, she was firmly brandishing one of her late husband’s duelling pistols in one hand and a branch of candles in the other.

Sandford immediately stepped forward into the shallow pool of light.

‘It’s me, Judith,’ he called out in a soft voice. ‘Put down your weapon.’

‘Robert!’ she gasped. ‘What are you doing here? You have found Harriet?’ She hurried down the stairs, gaping in astonishment as she beheld her other uninvited guests.