The gentlemen had all joined Lord Barton in an extended ride out onto the estate to examine the fields and crops. Mrs. Carstairs had accompanied her two charges, in addition to Angela Lacey and Lady Thelma, into the village to see if the milliner there was worthy of their patronage. Lady Lacey and Lady Toucher were exchanging gossip as they sewed in the latter’s sitting room. Lady Emma was writing letters in the morning room. Kate had the afternoon to herself again.
She had resumed her work in the library. She was still perched on the top of the moving stairs, but she was almost at the center of one of the long walls now. In another day or so she would be finished with the top shelf, she thought with mingled satisfaction and despair. She found that she was not even expecting to make any startling discovery. Half an hour before, she had come across another single sheet of paper on which someone had doodled an apparently meaningless pattern. She had placed it dutifully on the desk. But the job was satisfactory in itself. She could look back along the top shelf and know that all the books were clean and that she knew the topic of each in the event that Lord Barton should approve her idea for reorganization.
Another thought was what kept her energy flowing, however. An exciting thought, though she tried not to set too much store by it. And she believed she had been patient long enough. Everyone must be safely away from the house by now or settled to some other activity. Kate climbed down the staircase, walked deliberately to the fireplace, and tugged on the bell to summon the butler. She had puzzled over whom to ask, but he seemed to be the one most likely to have the answer she needed.
“Oh, Russell,” she said with a warm smile when the butler entered the library, “are you very busy at the moment?”
“I am at your service, ma’am,” he replied, bowing stiffly. Kate had been somewhat surprised and relieved on her arrival at Barton Abbey to discover that the servants did not treat her as one of themselves.
“The longer I am here, the more I am fascinated by the Abbey and its history,” Kate said brightly. “I was looking at the family portraits in the salon again this morning and I have been rummaging among these books this afternoon. There are so many details I would love to know. I imagine you must be very knowledgeable, Russell. You have been here for many years, have you not?”
“Nine-and-twenty years, ma’am,” he said, clearly gratified by her not-too-subtle flattery.
“Some of the most recent history, for example,” Kate said. “I was looking at the portrait of the viscount who was the son of the last earl. His must have been such a tragic death. He would still have been a relatively young man now, would he not?”
“He was the senior of his present lordship by only two or three years, ma’am,” the butler confirmed.
“He had just returned from the Grand Tour, had he not?” Kate said. “How sad it must have been. It must have seemed to him and to everyone that life was just beginning to open up for him.”
“Aye, ma’am, it was a sad blow to his lordship,” the butler said, his stiffness of manner relaxing somewhat. “To his father, that is. And to his present lordship too, ma’am. Like brothers they were.”
“Yes, so I have heard,” Kate said with a sigh. “Did the present Lord Barton accompany his cousin on the Grand Tour?”
“No, ma’am,” Russell said. “He made his own tour a few years later.”
“I see,” said Kate. “Then Lord Stoughton traveled alone?”
“He returned alone, ma’am,” the butler said. “He traveled with a friend at first, but I understand that young man went somewhere else when our young lord decided to come home. It would have been better for Master Jonathan if he had extended his tour as well.”
“Yes,” Kate agreed. “If we could only see into the future. It must have been a dreadful shock for his friend when he returned, to find Lord Stoughton dead.”
“I daresay, ma’am,” the butler agreed with a sad shake of the head.
“And is he still alive?” Kate asked.
“His friend?” the butler asked. “I couldn’t tell you, ma’am. I have never heard tell of him since.”
“Oh,” said Kate. “Who was he?”
“Some university friend,” the butler said. “Let me see now.” He pulled at his lower lip and stared at the Turkish carpet, a crease between his brows. “Short, fair-haired young man. A baron. He had inherited from his father only the year before. He was still wearing mourning when he was here with Master Jonathan. Left it off when they set off on their travels. Lindburg. No. Lind . . . Lund . . . Lindstrom. That’s it. Lord Lindstrom. I haven’t given him a thought for years. Queer fellow, if you’ll excuse me for saying so, ma’am. Always stuttering and apologizing. Always afraid of offending.”
“I really must not take any more of your time, Russell,” Kate said, “or you will never get your work done. I just find all those portraits so fascinating that I want to know everything there is to know about each of the people involved. Will you mind very much if I ply you with questions sometimes when you are not too busy?” She smiled disarmingly.
“I am only too pleased to find someone who is interested, ma’am,” Russell said, his stiffness completely vanished. “Now, the chapel is the place for you. Some fascinating stories connected with that. You wouldn’t believe the half of what went on in the days when this was supposed to be a holy place. I could tell you . . . ”
“Oh, yes, I would love to hear,” Kate said with quite genuine enthusiasm, though she was far too excited to prolong the conversation at that moment. “Perhaps you will accompany me there one day, Russell, and tell me all you know.”
The butler bowed. “At your service, ma ’am,” he said, and left Kate to herself again.
She sat down carefully in the large wood-and-leather chair behind the desk and waited for her heart to stop thumping. Lord Lindstrom. She had never heard of him, but that was hardly surprising. She had never been into society. Was he still alive? Assuming that he too had been a very young man when he accompanied Nicholas’ father on his Grand Tour, he was probably not even fifty years old now. The chances were that he was still alive. But where? Was there any chance that she could find him?
She must not allow herself to become too excited. At the moment she had no idea how she, a lady’s companion in the remote county of Dorset, was to locate a baron who had last been heard of more than five-and-twenty years before. And even if she could accomplish that formidable task, there was a strong possibility that the man would not be able to help her. He had been with Jonathan Seyton for only part of his tour. Had he ever known of Annette? Would he know where she had lived?
She must not get her hopes up too high. It was very probable that Jonathan Seyton had married his Annette only just before returning to England, if at all. By that time he was probably no longer with Lord Lindstrom. But of course Nicholas had been born shortly after the marriage. He must have been conceived early in Lord Stoughton’s tour. There was a chance that Lord Lindstrom would have known Annette or that at least his traveling companion would have talked of her.
How could she find Lord Lindstrom? Ask one of the members of the house party, perhaps? Lord and Lady Toucher spent most of their time in London. All the younger gentlemen were men of fashion who probably knew almost everyone of any social significance. If Lord Lindstrom moved around at all, it was possible that one of the gentlemen would know him. But how could she broach the subject with any of them? What explanation could she give for her interest? She did not think the explanation she had used with Russell would convince anyone else. Besides, news of her questions might reach Lord Barton, and he might realize the danger the answers would pose for him.
Aunt Priscilla, of course! Her aunt and uncle did not move in the very highest social circles, but they had connections and they did reside in London. And there would seem nothing strange in her writing a letter to her aunt. Of course, the business would be dreadfully slow. Kate felt impatient enough to rush to the stables that moment, demand that the fastest horse be saddled, and gallop without stopping in the direction of London. She could not expect a reply to her letter within a week and a half at the soonest. And then, if the answer were positive, she would have to write to Lord Lindstrom himself and await his reply. And how was she to keep from Lord Barton the fact that she was both sending and receiving letters from that particular man?
