He turned to his parents and his face softened momentarily. ‘We’ll find her—try not to worry. I’ll keep you posted and—forgive me, Father!’ This last was uttered on a low, choking breath just as he turned and left the room.
Chegwin closed the door behind the last of the visitors.
‘He’ll do it, my lord,’ he said. ‘He’ll find her—you mark my words.’
Lady Caroline clasped her hands together tightly. ‘Please God, may you be right, Chegwin—but where can she be? Oh, where can the poor child be?’
Downstairs, the same question was occupying the minds of the now increasing throng, which had gathered, not only in the hallway, but also on the steps and at the front of the building.
Sandford was issuing orders in a sharp staccato manner. ‘All Beldale men to my left and Westpark to my right. Mr Ridgeway’s men on the steps here in front of me. I intend to have a roll call. When you hear your name, step forward and identify yourself and form into lines of six—Tiptree will call the Beldale staff, I shall deal with Westpark and …
Who could he trust? he wondered, and felt a hand on his arm.
‘You can depend on me, your lordship,’ came March’s steady voice. ‘May I take the Dower House roll-call? I am acquainted with most of the staff there.’
Sandford, without hesitation, handed the shortest list of names to the young footman.
‘Quick as you can, March,’ he said gruffly and turned to deal with his own group.
Much moved by everyone’s eagerness to assist in the search, the viscount was impressed at the speed with which the lines of men were formed. Some of them had been with the military, of course, which helped a great deal, but even the very young and quite old men found their places with alacrity, and in less than ten minutes the division was complete.
‘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