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

‘Who’s missing?’ Sandford wanted to know. Tiptree’s list of Beldale absentees consisted mainly of Davy Rothman and the young grooms and stable-boys who had gone out with him, Rothman having refused to give up his search. Smithers was in the stables, having suggested that his time would be better spent attending to any problems with the horses and Chegwin was, of course, upstairs with the earl.

Ridgeway had only a few men working at the Dower House and they were quickly accounted for. Sandford studied his own list carefully as Judith, who had been watching the procedure in silence, came forward to offer her assistance.

‘Who’s missing from your staff, Judith?’ She cast her eyes down the list and over the assembled ranks of the Westpark men.

‘Finchley and Pinter—they’re still at home, of course.’ ‘Why ‘'of course''?’ demanded Sandford suspiciously.

Judith flushed. ‘Mother said she needed them,’ she said defensively. ‘But they’re both quite old men, Robert, they wouldn’t be much use to you.’

‘What about these others—Freeman, Hinds, Purley and Beckett?’

‘Freeman—he’s Head of Stable—I imagine he’s doing exactly as Smithers is. There are a lot of very tired horses, Robert—he’ll be trying to keep them on their feet. Purley and Beckett—I believe they work in the gardens—and Hinds—I’m not sure …’ She looked towards her head gardener for guidance.

‘Jack Hinds—works in the stable, ma’am, came the answer. ‘Came from Staines—along with Matt Beckett—bit of a slow top, but no real harm in him, I’d say.’

Sandford digested this information for a moment then, turning to Tiptree, he asked, ‘Didn’t you say that Hinds and Beckett were with Mr Ridgeway before he went off to Staines?’

Tiptree nodded, a deep frown furrowing his brow. ‘They said he had gone to Staines, guv—I’m just wondering …’

‘So am I, Tip. So am I. They need to be found …’

Just then a commotion at the back of the village crowd caught their attention and, as the group parted, the wet, bedraggled figures of the two men in question came forward. Beckett hurried up the steps and removed his soaking cap, while the other, younger man stood nervously below.

‘Just got back, your lordship,’ he panted. ‘Been up North Lane again—searched all the ditches right up as far as Top Meadow—then crossed over and came down the south side. Still no word, sir?’ His expression was full of concern.

Sandford shook his head wearily, and then faced the assembly once more. ‘I want each and every one of you to know how grateful his lordship and myself are for your dedication and hard work. The search will begin again, but first you must all have something to eat and change your coats, if you can—leave your wet things with the laundry staff, they will deal with them. Food and drink will be provided here in the kitchens until further notice—extra help from your wives will be very welcome. Your horses will be fed and watered in the stables. Search parties will go off at regular intervals to comb specific areas and return—this way you will all have time to dry out and take some sustenance. And, please, don’t forget that we are looking for three people—Billy Tatler has still not been found.’

There were some caustic mutterings at his last remark, for many of those present believed that Billy Tatler was the root cause of the whole mystery. Although how he could have spirited the young lady away no one was prepared to guess, but most were in agreement that a good thrashing might have served him well.

Sandford had collected the boards with the large-scale maps of the area from the estate office and had set them up in the hall, where they could be studied by all. With Tiptree’s assistance he had divided the estates into small workable sections and he had only one stipulation to make as to the composition of the search parties. He insisted that each party must comprise of an equal number of staff from both houses, with the men from the Dower House fitting in wherever they could, along with any volunteers from the village. Only in this way could he feel confident that any possible subterfuge would be immediately exposed. With this, Tiptree was in total agreement, recognising the military precision with which his guv’nor was masterminding the vast operation.

As darkness began to descend over the woods, Sandford felt his spirits lowering in keeping with the dusk. He had been obliged to remain at Beldale, in order to co-ordinate and structure the searches and to keep his parents informed, although he desperately wanted to be the one who found Harriet.

Lady Caroline had insisted upon throwing open all the ground-floor rooms as rest areas for the volunteers and, as night approached, Mrs Gibson had willingly released so many candles from her precious store to light up the huge reception rooms that the house had become the beacon which lit the last returning searchers home.

It seemed that almost the entire village population was gathered in Beldale House and yet there was very little noise. Weary men, in old felt jackets, leaned their backs against pale damask sofas as they sipped at their tankards of ale. Some were too tired even to drink and fell asleep on the Aubusson rugs. Others conversed in hushed, whispering groups in various parts of the hallway, while a never-ending stream of maids and volunteer matrons replenished and removed plates and mugs.

It had been agreed that the search would be renewed at first light and that those who were able to do so would continue with their efforts. Very few of the volunteers had chosen to quit and those who had been obliged to go to their homes to attend to their own domestic matters had promised to return without delay.

Sandford stood watching a group of sleeping youngsters and his heart turned over as he recalled similar watches before dawn offensives in a far-off land. Who could have imagined that this lovely, sleepy Leicestershire village could ever resemble a foreign battlefield! He turned away from the poignant sight with a lump in his throat and was about to go up the stairs to report to his parents when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

‘Your lordship.’ Davy Rothman was at his elbow, his dark eyes red-rimmed from both weariness and the tears he had shed.

At the sight of the young footman Sandford had great difficulty in controlling the surge of rage that threatened to overcome him. The boy had been missing all day although every group had been on the look-out for him.

‘Where the devil have you been, Rothman?’ The viscount’s voice was curt.

‘Everywhere, sir—anywhere.’ Davy’s voice broke. ‘I’m sorry, sir—sorry I wasn’t here—I should have been with her—I know… ‘

Sandford’s eyes searched the boy’s face and Davy returned his master’s gaze without flinching. Sandford sighed and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Have you been out all day, lad?’

Davy nodded and his eyes filled with tears. ‘Yes, sir—but I’ll go out again—whenever you’re ready.’

‘Go and find something to eat, Davy and try and get some sleep,’ said the viscount wearily, ‘You’ll be no use to Miss Cordell in your present state. I’ll have you called as soon as it’s light, I promise you—you’ll be the first.’

The youngster bowed and turned to go to the kitchens, but was stopped in his tracks by Cooper, the gardener, who was staring intently at Davy’s uniform cap.

‘Where’d you get that flower, young man?’ he said fiercely, pointing to the withered blossom tucked into the boy’s maroon hatband.

Davy coloured as several interested faces turned in his direction. ‘I picked it up on the lane—what’s it to you?’

‘That’s a ‘'Beldale Sunset” that is,’ Cooper said mulishly. ‘I want to know how you came by it.’

With a heavy sigh, Sandford started back down the stairs. Surely we can do without an altercation about staff filching flowers, he thought in frustration.

‘What’s the trouble, Cooper?’ he asked, with a patience he was far from feeling.

The elderly man pointed at Davy’s cap. ‘It’s the flower I gave her, sir—the ‘'Beldale Sunset''—on account of it matching her hair. I gave it her just before she went missing—I saw her tuck it into her buttonhole. Where’d he get it from—that’s what I’d like to know!’

Sandford approached the scarlet-faced footman and all conversation ceased as everyone within earshot turned towards the little group at the foot of the stairs.

‘Well, Davy?’ the viscount spoke very softly.

‘I told him, sir,’ gabbled Davy almost hysterically, terrified at finding himself in this spotlight. ‘It was up at the fork—I picked it up because—it was …’ His voice tailed off.

‘The colour of Miss Cordell’s hair?’ Sandford could hardly bring himself to say the words, but the boy nodded eagerly.

‘I thought it was a sign, you see, and I started searching the derelicts, but somebody else was already there and hadn’t found anything, so we came away together, but I kept the flower—for luck.’ He stared defiantly at the gardener.

Sandford chewed at his lip. Another dead end, he thought, helplessly, but just then Tiptree stepped forward.

‘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.

‘You, too, Charles? Where have you been all day? And what are you all doing, creeping about the house in this manner?’ She spun angrily round to face Sandford. ‘Robert? Are you searching Westpark for Harriet? You cannot think that she is hidden here, surely?’

‘It appears that some of your men are involved, Judith,’ said Sandford uncomfortably. ‘We are looking for Beckett. I understand that he sleeps here with his uncle—Finchley.’

Ridgeway reached out to take the pistol from Judith’s shaking hand at the same time as Tiptree relieved her of the candlestick. She sank down on to a nearby settle and looked at Sandford in distress.

‘Are you certain—Beckett? But he’s only a gardener—why would he …?’

They left Charles for dead in the lake pavilion, Judith,’ replied Sandford awkwardly. ‘They are clearly dangerous men—and if they’ve got Harriet …!’ His voice trembled and Judith’s shocked eyes travelled to seek Ridgeway’s.

‘You are injured?’ she inquired anxiously, but he shook his head.

‘Bruised—tired—I’ll survive,’ he said, dismissing his pain. ‘Finchley’s room, Judith?’

She rose at once to her feet and pointed to the steep stone stairway that was situated beside the door to the kitchens.

‘The men’s rooms are on the top floor—second or third door—I’m not sure …’

‘Tip—check the rooms,’ instructed Sandford. ‘Try not to wake anyone.’

Tiptree ran lightly up the stairs and disappeared from view as Sandford and Ridgeway turned back in the direction of the kitchens but, once again, they were stayed by a voice from above. This time it was the harsh, stentorian command from Lady Butler that stopped them in their tracks.

‘Stand still, whoever you are!’

‘Mother! gasped Judith, running back into the hall just as Lady Butler, swathed in a massive purple dressing gown, began to descend the stairs.

Sandford, raising his eyebrows in despair and swearing fulsomely under his breath, reluctantly stepped forward to reveal himself. Judith’s mother blanched at the unexpected sight of the viscount coming out of the shadows.

‘Judith! What is the meaning of this?’ she hissed. ‘In your nightwear—go to your room at once, miss!’ and, turning to Sandford, ‘You, sir, how dare you come creeping …’ but Sandford had had enough.

‘Be silent, madam!’ he uttered curtly. ‘You are wasting precious time. Come down, if you must, but kindly keep your comments to yourself! Light some more candles, Judith!’

Lady Butler, silenced by the viscount’s tone, clutched at the banister as she trod heavily down the stairs, then, shakily seating herself on the settle, she watched mutely as Judith hurried to fulfil Sandford’s request. The hall was soon adequately illuminated and, upon perceiving that Sandford was not the only night visitor, her ladyship started with undisguised dismay.

‘Ridgeway …?’ she began, but Sandford gave her a quelling glance and she was once again silent, staring apprehensively at the estate manager as he assisted her daughter in the lighting of more candles.

‘Nobody up on the top floor, guv.’

Tiptree had returned from his mission and Sandford, nodding, motioned Judith to one side.

‘Look after your mother. I didn’t mean to frighten her but we don’t want the whole house woken.’ Then, to Ridgeway, ‘You stay on this side of the door in case one of them comes through—Tiptree, behind me.’

The two men sidled along the passageway and pushed open the heavy oak door that led into the kitchen. They were at once confronted with the unappealing sight of Finchley and Pinter lashed to their chairs with clothes-line, both totally unconscious, but snoring loudly. A sniff at the contents of the tankards on the table in front of the servants provided Tiptree with all the information he needed as to the reason for the old men’s condition.

‘Strong ale, sir—been doped, too, I shouldn’t wonder, if “matey” has had anything to do with it.’

Sandford tried slapping the men’s faces in an attempt to wake them, but to no avail, and Tiptree had to restrain his now furious master from delivering a more violent punishment to the old servants.

‘Leave it, guv,’ he insisted, pulling the viscount away. ‘We don’t know that they’re to blame.’

Breathing heavily, Sandford sank down on to a chair and closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

‘It’s hopeless, hopeless,’ he groaned. ‘He’s ahead of us at every turn—he’d probably left before we even arrived. What now, Tip?’

‘Back to Beldale, sir—can’t do anything until it’s light. At least we know who’s behind it all.’

‘Do we, Tip—but do we?’ His lordship’s voice was weary as he led the way back into the hall, where another distasteful sight met his eyes.

Judith was on her knees, attempting to pacify her distraught mother who was now moaning loudly and rocking herself from side to side, demanding to know what was to become of them all. Ridgeway stepped forward to meet the viscount, thankfully leaving the old woman to Judith’s administrations.

‘What is it, old man?’ he said, quickly taking note of his cousin’s dejected air. ‘You did not find them?’

‘Finchley …’ began Sandford, his tone heavy, then he staggered back in surprise as a suddenly upright Lady Butler elbowed Ridgeway aside and all but threw herself at him.

‘He lies! Whatever he has told you—it is all lies!’ she panted, clutching at his lapels.

Ridgeway gripped her roughly by the arm as Sandford wrenched himself away from her clawing hands and Judith stared at her mother in shock.

‘Wh-what are you saying, Mother?’ she gasped. ‘Do you know something about all this?’

‘Nothing—nothing!’ wailed Lady Butler, vainly trying to pull herself away from Ridgeway’s grip. ‘I tell you the man lies—he’s an incompetent old fool—you cannot believe a word …’

Her voice trailed away weakly as Sandford, eyes glittering, reached out and took hold of the neck of her night-rail.

You despicable old woman!’ he ground out. ‘It was you! My God, it was you all the time! What a fool I’ve been—where is she? If you’ve hurt her I’ll kill you—I swear I’ll kill you myself!’

‘Robert! For God’s sake!’ came Judith’s voice in protest, as both she and Ridgeway leapt to extricate Lady Butler from the viscount’s furious grasp while Tiptree struggled to hold his master back.

‘It’s your own fault!’ spluttered the woman, from the comparative safety of the settle where Ridgeway and Judith had finally managed to deposit her. ‘You should have married Judith—I didn’t mean any harm…’

Judith stepped away from her mother in dismay, her hands covering her trembling lips.

‘What are you saying?’ she whispered. ‘Are you to blame for Harriet’s disappearance?’

‘No, I am not,’ rejoined the old woman obstinately. ‘I didn’t tell him to take her away. I only wanted to put Sandford in dislike of her—make her look cheap and common—which she is!’ She stared defiantly at the grim-faced viscount who was still fighting to remove himself from Tiptree’s iron hold.