When the last extra person had left the room, the Duchess turned to Evelyn. “Tell the Constable what you just told me.”
Evelyn gave one little hiccupping sob, and recounted her story again, this time in more detail.
“So,” the Constable said slowly, “Mr. Rudge proposed to you. Then when you accepted, he revealed that his name is more correctly Mr. Rutley, or Lord Hillsworth. He showed you a crescent moon birthmark which indicates that he is rightfully the Earl of Hillsworth. Is that what I am hearing?”
Evelyn nodded. “Yes, Constable Morris.”
The constable stood up, looked as if he would like to pace the floor, but since there was no room, he walked around his chair and sat back down. “Is there anyone besides his uncle who could vouch for his true identity?”
“Why, if he really does have the birthmark, I suppose I could,” the Duchess said. “I have not seen him since he was a tiny child. Not knowingly, anyway, and I had no reason to inspect my favorite cook’s wrist to look for markings.”
“How would you know about it?” Constable Morris asked.
“George and I were visiting—George was the late Duke—when the Rutley baby was about two years of age. He fell down and skinned the palm of his hand. I used my handkerchief to bind up his wound until we could take him inside and deliver him to his nurse. I suspect she would know him, too, if we could find her.”
“Was she an older woman?”
“Dear, no. She was a village lass whose babe was stillborn. Lady Hillsworth died in childbed, so while it was tragic for the young mother, it was fortuitous for the baby. I do not think she was a day over eight-and-ten summers when the accident occurred.”
Constable Morris made some notes in a leather-bound book that he tucked back into his pocket.
“This certainly explains motive, especially with the handbills that are being circulated offering a reward. But it really gets us no closer to finding him. Is there any place he might have gone to hide? Any favorite place he might run to?”
Evelyn shook her head, indicating that she did not know. Then she added, “We used to picnic on the dock that juts out into the mill stream down by the huge willow. But I do not think that would be a good hiding place.”
“That at least gives us another place to look,” Constable Morris said.
“Can I help look?” Evelyn asked. “If he is frightened, if I call for him, I think he would come to me.”
The Duchess looked horrified. Constable Morris shook his head.
“It is kindly thought on, Mrs. Swinton. But we could easily lose you as well. No, I will have one of the footmen take Mr. Smith or Mr. Martin to check around the willow. Meanwhile, I will call upon the men from the village, and send them out in teams to cover the grounds.”
“But what if the teams are part of the problem? Oh, please, Constable Morris. I cannot just sit here and wait. I think I should go mad.”
Constable Morris’s face softened. “I understand. I will send you out with one of the teams. But you are on no account to go alone.”
“Thank you, Constable Morris. Just let me quickly change into a walking suit. I will not be but a moment.”
As Evelyn hurried to her room, she heard the Duchess ask, “Will she be safe? She has grown dear to me.”
And Constable Morris’s reply, “I will add her to my search team. That way I think she will be safe enough. Meanwhile, I will station one of my men at your door lest you be in danger.”
Evelyn did not hear the Duchess’ reply. She was too busy trying to change into sensible outdoor clothing in great haste.
Chapter 44
While Mr. Wilson and Mrs. Henshaw supervised teams of housemaids and footmen to comb through the manor house from attic to cellar, Constable Morris organized men and dogs to search the gardens, stables, and woods about the manor. In addition, he sent teams of fleet-footed village boys to the outlying farms and hamlets in case Mayson had been taken by wagon or on horseback to some other area.
Evelyn trailed after him, uncertain what role she could play, but determined to be part of the search. The Duke’s hound master met them near the picnic area. The day had dawned misty and cold, with a stiff little breeze that made Evelyn shiver.
“We’ll get the hounds right on it, Constable Morris,” the hound master assured him. “Indeed, we need to hurry, because once the rain sets in the scent will not be good.”
“I understand.” Constable Morris handed over what looked like a nightshirt. “This is out of his soiled linens.”
“That seems right,” the hound master said, then showed the shirt to the hounds.
The tan and white beasts sniffed at the shirt, then began sniffing around in ever widening circles. One of them began baying by the kitchen door, then broke off, and began snuffling in circles again a few feet out.