Theo heard the click of the latch and saw that Pitkin had made his escape.
‘Am I interrupting something? Do introduce me, Theo.’
‘Jared. Sir Alfred Potter, chief magistrate of the district. Perry’s neighbour Sir Walter Swinburn and his son Giles. You know Manners, of course. Gentlemen, the Viscount Ravenlaw. My step-uncle by marriage.’
His friend looked pained, which was reasonable, considering that he was only a few years older than Theo. ‘I married Theo’s late uncle’s second wife,’ he said by way of explanation.
‘You have arrived at an interesting moment, Jared. Sir Walter is labouring under the delusion that we are hiding his niece in the house disguised as Mrs Albright the housekeeper.’
‘Mrs Albright?’ Jared frowned.
Playing for time while he works out what’s going on, Theo thought.
‘Precisely, my lord,’ Flynn interjected. ‘I too was surprised, but I can vouch for the fact that the person you asked me to recommend to his lordship’s service is in the kitchen now.’
‘Excellent, I was going to enquire whether they proved satisfactory.’
‘Is that true?’ Giles Swinburn demanded. ‘Are you vouching for this housekeeper?’
Jared turned on his heel so that he was facing Giles. ‘Yes, Mr Swinburn. Why, do you doubt my word?’ His right hand was resting lightly on the hilt of his rapier and Theo saw Giles’s eyes widen at the sight. It was exceedingly rare to see a blade worn in daytime by a man out of uniform.
‘You are wearing a sword,’ Giles blurted, suddenly seeming years younger than the sophisticated man of the world he tried to portray.
‘Yes.’ Jared smiled. ‘And I use it too. But you were about to throw doubt on my statement that I recommended a senior servant to his lordship?’
‘I… No, of course not.’ Somehow he was controlling himself, although the fact that he was faced by a group of noblemen, all giving their word that they did not know where his cousin was and that they vouched for the housekeeper, was clearly straining his sense of self-preservation to the limit. But Theo thought Giles Swinburn was a bully and facing three large, irritated gentlemen, one of them armed with a lethal weapon, was enough to stop his blustering, even though he clearly did not believe a word they said.
Jared’s intervention had clearly given Perry time to collect himself. ‘But enough of this – how long has Miss Darke been missing? What searches have you put in hand?’
‘She has been gone from home since just before he – before Northam arrived,’ Sir Walter said between gritted teeth. ‘We had no clue what might have happened until that confounded Riding Officer was gossiping.’
Theo doubted very much that Morefleet was ever given to gossiping. The man had probably remarked, on receiving some resistance to his search at the Manor, that the housekeeper at the Grange had co-operated fully. The Swinburns had put two and two together and had, very correctly, made four.
‘Most distressing for you,’ Theo remarked. ‘Some young man involved, no doubt.’
‘No doubt.’ The fulminating glance that Swinburn sent Perry left no doubt which young man he suspected.
Perry kept an admirable hold on his temper. ‘And we should offer our condolences on the sad news confirming your uncle’s fate, Swinburn. Although perhaps it is a relief, after so many years, to know what happened to him.’
The baronet made a dismissive gesture. ‘That’s another thing – what in blazes were you doing in the churchyard, breaking into tombs?’
‘Did the Archdeacon not explain? As we told the Bishop, it was complete chance.’ Theo shook his head gravely, then wondered if he had overdone it when Giles Swinburn made a sound verging on a snarl.
‘I think, gentlemen, that we have tried the patience of Lord Manners long enough,’ Sir Alfred said into the dangerous silence.
The Swinburns pushed past him without a word and were spurring their horses down the drive before Sir Alfred had wound himself to the end of his complex apology, explanation and self-justification.
‘No need to apologise.’ Perry took his arm and walked with him to the carriage. The sound of his voice assuring the older man that he quite understood the difficult position he was in floated back to the three left in the hallway.
‘What the devil is going on?’ Jared demanded. ‘I come here on Cal’s behalf because you write to him urgently about gold Napoléons, smuggling and murder and find you accused of abducting maidens and tomb robbing – and what, exactly, is Pitkin doing en travestie?’
‘Not that it doesn’t suit him,’ Flynn remarked, coming out of the shadows and joining the others. ‘But I didn’t think it was quite that kind of household. Cal’s going to be mad as fire missing this.’
They had travelled the world together – Cal, the Duke of Calderbrook who had gone abroad under threat of his life; Viscount Ravenlaw, then simply Jared Hunt, swordmaster and bodyguard and Michael Flynn, the valet they had rescued from a beating in the alleyways of New York. Between themselves they remained on first name terms, as close as brothers. Even the marriages of Cal and Jared had not broken the bond. Flynn’s romantic interests lay elsewhere and, the last time Theo had heard, he had been involved in a tempestuous relationship with Cal’s French chef.
‘I’ll tell you later about Pitkin. I’ve got to find Laura Darke.’
‘I thought I heard you give your word you didn’t know where she was,’ Flynn remarked, his tone curious rather than accusing.