Charles Ridgeway sat pensively on his horse, surveying the landscape below him. To the far right he could just make out the chimneys and parapets of the Beldale mansion, bathed in the late evening sunshine and protected by the mass of woodland and fields that surrounded it. At the foot of the hill up which he had just ridden, on the very edge of the Beldale estate, nestled his own home, the Dower House, with its neat gardens and home farm. To his left lay the more modern structure of Westpark House, close to its own boundary with the larger estate and, still further left, the slate rooftop of Staines, the old Butler property, with only the terraced gardens remaining within its demesne. Beyond the distant village and as far as the eye could see, all Hurst owned, in one way or another. A man without property is surely an insignificant creature, he concluded, once more ruefully censuring his late and far from lamented sire for his weak and prodigal lifestyle. Then, not being a vindictive man, Ridgeway sighed and bent his mind to the more pressing problem that was troubling him as he turned his mount towards Beldale.

      It is like looking for a needle in a haystack, he thought. Over a hundred men on the list and more than half of them

      could be described as ‘tall, thin and dark'! Putting faces to the names had taken them all week, Sandford having refused to allow anyone, apart from his man Tiptree, to assist in the covert search. In addition, he had demanded that no one was actually questioned, pointing out that this would immediately put any villains on their guard, reminding his cousin that neither Billy Tatler nor his chum Nick had recognised the man at the boathouse and, therefore, this particular check was being carried out only for the purpose of eliminating the obviously innocent. Their objective, he had said, was to whittle down the total number to just a few men whom he could present to the young lads in the hope that they would be able to identify their tormentor.

      ‘We’re looking for a recent arrival or someone who doesn’t go about in the village much,’ he now said to Ridgeway, having arranged to meet his cousin in the paddock between the two estates, where he knew that their conversation would not be overheard.

      ‘Or a casual worker, who has come and gone,’ offered Ridgeway, exasperated that his hands had been so tied. ‘Or a passing tinker, tramp—oh, lord, Sandford—any number of itinerants come through the village!’

      ‘He won’t be an itinerant,’ returned Sandford firmly. ‘Billy told you he thought he was from the Big House—that indicates his manner of dress and, probably, speech as well. He would have said, if he had thought him to be a vagrant. No, Charles, I’m convinced that this ‘'cove” has to have some sort of status or position within one of the households.’

      ‘Well, I hope to God you’re wrong in that! And why should anyone have developed such animosity towards Miss Cordell in so short a time?’ asked his cousin. ‘As far as I can judge, from my discreet conversations around the village …’ He caught Sandford’s frowning expression ‘—very discreet, I promise you, old man—she is well liked, one could say almost revered in certain places. I, for one, can’t imagine anyone taking her in dislike. She appears to have no faults, as I’m sure you agree.’

      Sandford had turned away, a painful lump in his throat, the memory of the previous day’s events still haunting him.

      ‘She can be rather impetuous at times,’ he said, struggling to keep his voice level.

      Charles regarded him curiously. ‘But that is her chief virtue, wouldn’t you say, neck-or-nothing—that’s your lady, Sandford. No half-measures about her. They’re all saying she’ll make you a grand viscountess, man, she has a rare understanding of people’s feelings—not just their needs, as most of us have. You’re damned lucky that she chose you—I wish that I were as fortunate!’

      He turned his horse’s head towards the Dower House and raised his brows questioningly. ‘Coming over for a spot of grub? I’m famished, I can tell you—and Tiptree here is feeling mighty peckish, too, I’ll be bound. We’ve been at it since the early hours without a break—although I dare say you’ll be wanting to get back to your sweetheart?’

      Sandford, wincing at Ridgeway’s unintended irony, accepted his cousin’s invitation with alacrity. Having encountered Harriet entering the breakfast room just as he was about to depart, he had stiffly reminded her of their joint promise to attend Westpark that evening and, until the appointed hour, he intended to stay well clear of her frosty gaze. She had informed him that she would, of course, be ready at whatever time suited him and had stonily agreed to his request that they should endeavour to keep up their charade for what would probably be only a few days more, until her grandfather arrived.

      While the viscount was doing his utmost to flush out her assailants, Harriet was engaged in a verbal tussle with Lord

      William. She had spent part of the morning trying to calculate the extent of her financial indebtedness to the Hursts and had made the mistake of mentioning this matter to his lordship.

      ‘Little girls shouldn’t worry their pretty little heads about such things,’ he said soothingly. ‘I am happy to stand your banker.’

      ‘Yes, but …’ Harriet was not at all satisfied at this arrangement.

      The earl wagged his finger at her. ‘I refuse to discuss the matter with you, Harriet. It concerns only your grandfather and myself—at least, for the moment,’ he finished, somewhat enigmatically.

      Harriet, loath to cause him any distress, changed the subject. Aware that Lady Caroline, Chegwin, and even Sir Basil himself, had attributed much of the earl’s speedy recovery to her earlier cheerful visits and, apart from that single lapse into tears which had occurred after the incident in the woods, she had endeavoured to behave in the usual sparkling and light-hearted manner he had come to expect of her. Lately, however, she was finding it a great effort to keep up the merry repartee that so delighted him and, although she was always quickly diverted by Beldale’s own wicked sense of humour, she had occasionally experienced the odd sensation that his lordship was working equally hard to keep up her spirits.

      ‘We are to dine at Westpark this evening,’ she now told him. ‘No doubt I shall have a fund of “Butlapses” to bring you tomorrow.’

      Butlapses’ was an expression the earl had coined early in his acquaintance with Judith’s mother and he had often used it during his conversations with Harriet after he had discovered that they shared the same sense of the ridiculous.

      ‘I vow she seems to get worse as she gets older,’ he chortled. ‘Even as a young woman she was prone to making unfortunate remarks but, having apparently devoted her life to perfecting the art, now that she is practically in her dotage she seems to think that age gives her the unassailable right to be downright rude. A good many of us old ones suffer from that same delusion, of course,’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye.

      ‘Oh, not you, sir,’ protested Harriet. ‘I am certain that I have never heard you utter a truly vindictive remark and dear Lady Caroline sees only the good in everyone, so she is also exempt from your reckoning. I believe …’ She stopped and her cheeks coloured.

      Beldale, who had been contemplating his move on the chessboard between them, looked up at her hesitation.

      ‘What is it that you believe, my dear?’ he asked, his eyes suddenly alert as Harriet dropped her own in confusion at his scrutiny.

      ‘I fear I seem to be growing too opinionated, my lord,’ she stammered. ‘And, unlike—certain of our acquaintances, I cannot plead the excuse of maturity.’

      The earl looked at her in blank astonishment.

      ‘Harriet, my love,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘You are in deadly danger of becoming ‘'one of them''.’

      ‘One of whom, my lord?’ asked Harried, puzzled.

      ‘One of the great English sisterhood of niminy-piminy milksops,’ said the earl, banging down his knight with such force that the rest of the pieces