'He's comatose, my lord, but I don't reckon it's from his injuries as they ain't as bad as they look. He's half-frozen and like to die from cold if we don't get him back.'

  'Toss him in the sledge with the others. Jed, Tom, you go with them. The rest of us will walk. Put them in the estate manager's office, no fires or blankets, and stand guard. Have Jones sew up Foster's cuts and give him a couple of blankets.'

  It was fortuitous that there was a clearing just ahead of the snow wasn't dangerously deep stop the driver turned the sledge was soon heading back to the house.

  He stooped to fuss the dogs and was surprised they came to him rather than Watson.

  'I'll clean them up, my lord, before they go back inside. The state they're in they'll give the ladies a fit of the vapours,' Sydney said. 'I'll cut through the woods, my lord, they might rub some of it off that way.'

  'Do that and don't let them inside until they're respectable and dry.'

  He and Watson were making good progress by keeping to the same path that had been used twice before. 'Damned if I know what I'm going to do with the four of them. Being without my butler and three senior footmen is already making life difficult for the staff with so many guests in residence.' He lost his footing and tumbled sideways into a six-foot drift. Watson heaved him out.

  He continued the previous conversation as if nothing had interrupted them. 'You need to find out what motivated them whilst they're still cold and demoralised. They might clam up once they've recovered and are warm again.'

  'Absolutely. Devil take it! We need to go back and search for the stolen silver – if we leave it out here someone will find it.'

  By the time they'd collected the sack they were both suffering from the cold – the temperature appeared to have dropped several degrees whilst they were out, making the snow hard to walk on.

  Benedict was relieved to reach the side door. 'I'm going to change into something dry, get a hot drink, then I'll interrogate the men. I'll fully understand if you don't care to be involved any further.'

  'I wouldn't miss it for the world, my boy, I've not had so much fun since I was shipwrecked fifteen years ago.'

  He decided that he rather liked Watson – and he already had more than an interest in his daughter – had fate decided his choice? Belatedly he remembered that he'd told his brother to remain in his apartment until given leave to come out.

  Therefore, he walked past his own apartment and that of his mother's, and then knocked on the sitting room door belonging to Ben. He waited a few minutes, knocked again, and still receiving no reply he opened the door and strode in.

  The fire was out. He'd a nasty feeling about this and on entering the bedchamber it was confirmed. Ben's personal possessions had gone, his closet was empty, his brother had for some reason decided to run away. This day was turning into one of madness. It couldn't be a coincidence that Foster and the other three had tried to do the same.

  He took the stairs two at a time and thundered down the passageway to his office. The door was closed. He'd told them to leave it open, hadn't he? With his loaded pistol in one hand, he flung back the door to the office so violently Jed dropped his musket and Tom fired his.

  The noise in such a confined space was deafening, the smell of cordite overwhelming, but, thank the good Lord, the bullet went harmlessly into the wall.

  'I beg your pardon, sir, I was so startled that my finger tightened on the trigger.'

  The prisoners – as that indeed was what they were – were cowering in an abject heap against the wall into which the bullet had embedded itself. Foster wasn't with them.

  Watson and two other footmen burst into the room expecting murder to have been committed. Benedict was trying not to laugh – the situation was rapidly turning into a pantomime.

  'Where's Foster?'

  'Mrs Jones took him to her parlour and is stitching him up. Sydney and the dogs are standing guard,' Dick said as he recovered his gun with a shamefaced grin.

  'Good, you can stand down now, men, Mr Watson and I can take it from here. Get yourselves into dry clothes and have a hot drink before you even consider going back on duty.'

  The men took their muskets with them and he removed both his pistols and dropped them with a deliberate clatter on the desk.

  'Stealing even a handkerchief can be a hanging offence. Taking a hundred pounds worth of silver will see all four of you dancing on the gibbet.'

  He had their full attention and knew it wouldn't take long to glean the information he required.

  'Who orchestrated this? Why was the Watson family singled out? Answer me quickly, and I might be lenient with you.'

  They all began to speak at once so eager were they to ingratiate themselves. He banged the table and they fell silent. 'You, Digby, speak.'

  'Mr Jones fell in with some bad people in the village. They told him he had to bring the silver or they'd inform the authorities of his pilfering. He's been stealing from the family for years and has a solid nest egg put by – that's to say he had a nest egg, but he gambled it all away.'

  'That doesn't explain your involvement.'

  'Lord Benjamin didn't want all but one of these families here and paid us handsomely to make things difficult for them. We were to move on to the others once Mr Watson and his family had gone.'

  'Which family did my brother wish to remain?'

  'He didn't let on, he said he'd tell us which ones to target. We were to start on the Hoskins family next.'

  'That doesn't explain why you ran off with Foster.'

  'It do, my lord, he knew all about our goings-on and said you were on to us.'

  Benedict had heard enough. 'Watson, a word outside if you please.'

  Once they were private he explained about his brother having run away. 'I have to go after him. This is my fault. I've been a delinquent brother, I should have paid more attention to his bad behaviour and stepped in sooner. I've a nasty feeling he too is involved with these villains in the village. Can I ask you to take care of these three?'

  'Happy to, my boy. I take it you don't intend to hand them to the magistrate to be strung up.'

  'I am the magistrate. They'll be dismissed without reference – I don't wish to end their lives.'

  *

  Thea made it clear to everyone she spoke to that as soon as the weather cleared she and her parents would be leaving Harcourt House. A girl, she found difficulty distinguishing one for the other as they were all so similar, but she thought it was a Miss Lucy Carstairs, was the most vocal and certainly the most annoying of the group.

  'La, Miss Watson, I'm sure we're all sad to hear that you'll be departing so soon but relieved that you leave the field open to us. My father tells me that one of us will be wed to him by the end of January.'

  'I believe that to be the case, but I can assure you, yet again, that it won't be to me. However much my parents wish to leave, I doubt that we'll be going anywhere for a week at least. Indeed, I fear we might be obliged to remain until after Christmas itself.'

  She smiled at the gathered group. 'It seems a pity to waste the intervening days arguing with each other about who will be the next countess. Would you like me to arrange some entertainment for us? We could write a pantomime and perform it for the others, play charades, have a musical evening – in fact, as there are sixteen of us, and this is more than enough to have an enjoyable time.'

  From being the least popular member of the group, she became the reverse. They made their way to the end of the drawing room where they had ample room to do whatever they wished without annoying the older guests. Suggestions were made to have a treasure hunt as well as the other ideas she'd proposed.

  They decided on charades first and in order to make it fair she numbered them from one to sixteen, wrote these numbers on slips of paper and put them in a small wooden box. Then each person in turn selected one and the first four withdrawn were a team.

  'We shall have ten minutes to devise our charade and then we'll perform it in turns and those not acting will try and guess,' she instructed them. Not even the more senior of the young ladies and gentlemen objected to her being in charge.

  A tall young man with a mop of dark brown curls, a handsome face and charming smile, suggested that they make it a competition between each team.

  'I'll draw up a chart upon which we can enter the results. Perhaps his lordship would be prepared to provide a prize for the winners when it ends?'

  'Thank you, Mr Sullivan, that makes it even more exciting. It's too cold to be outside at present but if the temperature rises shall we make snowmen and get the older members of the party to award them points?'

  This was greeted with enthusiasm by some, with horror by others, but it certainly got everybody talking. Her team performed first and nobody guessed correctly so it was decided that they should get the four points which put them in the lead.

  As they rejoined the audience – the young men had moved a variety of seating to form a semicircle around the makeshift stage – she spoke to the other members of her team. There was herself, Miss Hoskins, Mr Sullivan and Miss Frobisher.

  She'd been relieved they'd only had one gentleman in their group. The second team had three gentlemen and one young lady, the third two of each and the last was of a similar construction as her own.

  'I'm going to see if I can arrange for luncheon to be served on trays here. We're having far too much fun to go to the dining room in an hour or so, don't you think?'

  There was a chorus of agreement from everybody so Thea hurried off to find a footman and convey her instructions to the kitchens. There were no servants, as there had been before, standing on either side of the drawing room door waiting to run errands if needed for the occupants of the room.

  Would it be so bad if she went to the kitchen herself to convey the message? She was about to do so when Lord Harcourt hurtled down the stairs, tore across the hall and vanished down the passageway that she was almost certain led to the door to the servants' domain.

  She followed him, still uncertain if she was going in the correct direction. She was dithering in the corridor when a door slammed and a gun fired. Papa came down the stairs as rapidly as his lordship had and, hotly pursued by two footmen, raced down the passageway completely ignoring her.

  She'd had the common sense to flatten herself against the panelling and thus avoided being trampled underfoot. She'd been brought here with the sole objective of being sold to Lord Harcourt, it was supposed to be a genteel and delightful occasion full of festive fun and jollity – the sort of occasion she abhorred.

  Yet, so far it had been the most exciting day and a half of her life. She'd never seen her father move so speedily and rather thought he might also be enjoying himself. Did this mean they might be remaining after all?

  Pa re-emerged with Lord Harcourt and she thought it might be wise to slip away before she was noticed. Whatever was going on at the far end of the corridor was none of her business. The noise of the gunshot hadn't been heard on the other side of the house, fortunately, and she'd no intention of mentioning it.

  There must be a bell-strap in the drawing room she could pull. This would have been the more sensible option in the first place but being privy to so these clandestine activities when nobody else was gave her a thrill of pleasure.

  Those who'd been late down to breakfast were now gathering in the drawing room. It was unlikely that any of them would require a midday meal as it was already after eleven.

  Several of the older gentlemen strolled by her but she appeared to be invisible despite her unusual colouring and height. From the conversation she overheard they were on their way to the billiard room.

  'There you are, my dear, I was becoming concerned when I saw you weren't with the other young people at the other end of the room.'

  'Mama, I came out here looking for a footman to take a message to the kitchen to have refreshments sent to the drawing room later but couldn't find one.'

  'That's decidedly odd, another thing that's strange is that I've not seen Lady Harcourt this morning. Your father is also absent – do you have any idea where he might be?'

  'I saw him earlier with his lordship. They would appear to be firm friends now so I'm wondering if he might be reconsidering his determination to depart as soon as possible.'

  'Do you want to go?'

  'Actually, now I don't have to worry about receiving an offer from a man I don't know and don't wish to marry I've begun to enjoy myself. Would you object if we stayed until the day after Twelfth Night as planned?'

  Before Mama could reply there was a hideous splintering sound and then several loud thumps outside the front door. Were they being attacked from both inside and out?

  Chapter Eight

  Benedict left Watson to deal with the terrified footmen as, after all, it was his family that had experienced the brunt of their malice. His task was to recover his brother and then decide what action he should take.

  The boy could hardly be locked in his apartment until after the festive period but equally to have him roaming about creating havoc was untenable. First, he had to find him and he wasn't relishing the prospect of tramping through the snow for a second time.

  He was about to exit through the side door when he thought of the dogs – they'd be perfect for recovering his brother. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled – a trick he'd learnt many years ago but rarely used. Seconds later Smoke and Shadow were at his side.

  'We have to find my brother, he's somewhere in the woods trying to make his way to the village.' He smiled wryly thinking he was becoming unhinged to speak to dogs as if they were able to understand his every word.

  Sydney skidded to a halt beside him. 'My lord, be careful, a thaw has set in and the icicles are falling like daggers. Miss Watson thought we were being attacked. She heard the gunshot and thought there were others outside trying to get in.'

  'Tarnation take it! Lord Benjamin has absconded and I need to find him first. Please convey my apologies to Miss Watson and say that I'll seek her out as soon as I return.'

  He opened the door warily, peered out and just withdrew his head in time to avoid it being impaled by a twelve-inch dagger of ice. 'Right, lads, we'll make a run for it. Find my brother – I'll follow with the sledge.'

  Benjamin had taken his own gelding, a spirited chestnut who wouldn't take kindly to being asked to ride through hock-deep snow. It was therefore unlikely, despite having at least an hour's start, they would have progressed very far without disaster. He was hoping to find his brother unhorsed, but unharmed, somewhere in the woods.

  Apparently the hounds knew they were to look for somebody as they tore off in the same direction they'd travelled previously. He'd sent word to the stables that he wanted the sledge and horses. Waiting for him was a different vehicle altogether – this was lighter, pulled by one horse and could perhaps be called a sleigh, rather than a sledge.

  He dismissed the driver and took the reins himself. It was a fresh horse between the shafts, a handsome bay cob, ears pricked and happy to head off down the track regardless of the weather.

  The temperature was definitely rising but the snow under foot remained crisp and, as it had already been flattened from the larger vehicle, this horse would be able to trot for the first mile. The track was eerily silent, no birdsong, just the occasional cough of a pheasant or bark of a fox in the distance.

  It was impossible to see the hoofprints from a single horse and he was relying entirely on the dogs picking up a trail. As he'd hoped, the dogs started to bay, he flicked the reins and the willing cob lumbered into a slow canter.

  Why wasn't his brother calling out? Surely the appearance of the dogs should cause a vocal reaction of some sort? The sleigh rounded the corner and it was as if a fist had struck him in the chest.

  The dogs were standing guard over his brother who was lying worryingly still in the snow. Of the horse there was no sign – he just had to hope it would find its way home. He dropped to the ground and rolled his brother over.

  'Ben, Benjamin, can you hear me? Are you hurt?' This was a stupid thing to say as the boy was unconscious, and couldn't hear him and certainly not answer him. Quickly he ran his hands down Ben's limbs checking there were no breaks. Satisfied there were no obvious injuries that needed his attention before he lifted the boy, he scooped him up and placed him in the cocoon of blankets ready in the rear of the sleigh.

  This time the dogs jumped in as well and positioned themselves on either side of the boy as if trying to protect him, warm him somehow. He cursed under his breath that he had to travel in the wrong direction for some distance before he came to the same clearing where the sledge had turned earlier.

  As soon as they were heading for home there was no need for him to urge the cob to increase his pace, he cantered willingly and they sped across the snow and were back in half the time it had taken to reach his brother. This time he guided the sleigh to the front of the house pleased that the outside men had already cleared away most of the snow.

  He'd looked anxiously over his shoulder several times, but the boy had remained with his eyes closed and he was deeply concerned. If Ben had a head injury serious enough to keep him unconscious the outcome could be fatal. There'd been no blood, not even a discernible bump on the skull, but he wasn't a physician so couldn't be sure his brother hadn't sustained a fatal injury.

  Two grooms rushed from the stable yard on his arrival and were ready to take the vehicle and look after the gallant steed that had pulled it. He jumped from the box and was about to reach in for his brother.

  The dogs were already beside the sleigh wagging their tails as if expecting somebody to play with them. As he picked Ben up something occurred to him that he should have thought of before. There was no sign of visible hurt, the boy's pulse was strong and his flesh warm to the touch.