usually looked, and the lawyer appeared indifferent to it all.
The lawyer was rifling through papers in a briefcase or portfolio of some sort. “And this, Mr. Sloan, is the cease and desist order over Judge Bothner’s signature. You are herewith forbidden to make any overture regarding ownership of the property in question until such time as the courts have completed a judicial review.”
Those eyes that had once reminded Samantha of melted chocolate were crackling anthracite now. “Butts signed of his free will. Miss Connolly, you were present. Was there any duress, any misrepresentation?”
“Nae, sir. He seemed quite comfortable with the arrangement, even eager to take part in it.”
“A simple Irish peasant in your employ is hardly corroboration, Mr. Sloan. I shall be by in a few days with the writ of tort. Be advised that legally, in essence, your hands are tied. Good evening, Mr. Sloan, Mr. Vinson.”
And the lean and hungry gentleman left. Meg disappeared with him, showing him out.
Mr. Sloan took a deep breath. “Vinson, I warned you before about your interferences.”
“I can’t stand by and watch you ruin Butts, and that’s exactly what it will be. If legal recourse is the quickest way to stop you, that’s the way we go. The man’s a fine Christian who sees only the good in everybody. I won’t let you take advantage of him.”
“Out.”
The Reverend nodded. “Good evening, Mr. Sloan, Miss Connolly.” He turned on his heel and strode out, not the least cowed.
Mr. Sloan sank into his chair. “Seen Amena?”
“I hear rumors she may have eloped with the cane cutter.”
He rubbed his face. “Your sister’s privy to Vinson’s coming and going. Pump her. I want to know everything she can come up with. Plans, people he’s meeting, women he’s been cozy with, everything.”
“Ye run a risk in that, ye know, sir. If Meg be encouraged to associate with him, she might become so entangled she’ll go the way Amena O’Casey may well have gone. I cannae control her; never could.” Samantha hacked a thick slice of raisin bread. “Here ye go, sir, to tide ye ’til dinner. Jam or marmalade?”
“I’m not hungry.” As he cast more than a few aspersions on the Reverend’s cleanliness and ancestry, Samantha spread the bread with marmalade and poured tea. “ … That he has the nerve to bring a lawyer in on this.”
“Did ye see credentials, sir?”
“What?”
“I steeped the Fortnum and Mason, sir; thought ye might could use it.” She passed him his cup. “The lawyer’s credentials? Did they seem sound?”
“Why would you question him?”
“I be nae certain, but I believe an injured party must bring his own suit, and the Reverend is not injured. Mr. Butts must be the plaintiff. Since he is not, perhaps he is still amenable to yer agreement more so than the Reverend would like. Also, I don’t believe that torts come in writs, nor would they apply here.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“Me brother clerked for Gleason’s law offices in Cork. The vernacular rubbed off a bit, ye might say.”
Whatever could Samantha be thinking of? Heart and soul she had been on poor Mr. Butts’s side. And now here she was trying to help out Mr. Sloan. Why couldn’t she keep her overactive mouth in check? She was painting a minister of God in black and whitewashing this callous and greedy schemer.
The broadest, wickedest grin spread across the man’s face. “Good on you! Sam, my dear, you’re a beaut!” He scooped up his raisin bread with marmalade and took a giant bite. “Delicious. You’re a good cook. And a good woman.”
Good. She was good and she was helping him oppose Rev. Vinson, which made the minister bad and the ideals of justice and fair play she shared with him not good.
No, Mr. Sloan, she was not good. Not inside. Fortunate, that the existence of God was in question. She’d never pass muster if He could really see inside her as some claimed.
“When’s
The lawyer was rifling through papers in a briefcase or portfolio of some sort. “And this, Mr. Sloan, is the cease and desist order over Judge Bothner’s signature. You are herewith forbidden to make any overture regarding ownership of the property in question until such time as the courts have completed a judicial review.”
Those eyes that had once reminded Samantha of melted chocolate were crackling anthracite now. “Butts signed of his free will. Miss Connolly, you were present. Was there any duress, any misrepresentation?”
“Nae, sir. He seemed quite comfortable with the arrangement, even eager to take part in it.”
“A simple Irish peasant in your employ is hardly corroboration, Mr. Sloan. I shall be by in a few days with the writ of tort. Be advised that legally, in essence, your hands are tied. Good evening, Mr. Sloan, Mr. Vinson.”
And the lean and hungry gentleman left. Meg disappeared with him, showing him out.
Mr. Sloan took a deep breath. “Vinson, I warned you before about your interferences.”
“I can’t stand by and watch you ruin Butts, and that’s exactly what it will be. If legal recourse is the quickest way to stop you, that’s the way we go. The man’s a fine Christian who sees only the good in everybody. I won’t let you take advantage of him.”
“Out.”
The Reverend nodded. “Good evening, Mr. Sloan, Miss Connolly.” He turned on his heel and strode out, not the least cowed.
Mr. Sloan sank into his chair. “Seen Amena?”
“I hear rumors she may have eloped with the cane cutter.”
He rubbed his face. “Your sister’s privy to Vinson’s coming and going. Pump her. I want to know everything she can come up with. Plans, people he’s meeting, women he’s been cozy with, everything.”
“Ye run a risk in that, ye know, sir. If Meg be encouraged to associate with him, she might become so entangled she’ll go the way Amena O’Casey may well have gone. I cannae control her; never could.” Samantha hacked a thick slice of raisin bread. “Here ye go, sir, to tide ye ’til dinner. Jam or marmalade?”
“I’m not hungry.” As he cast more than a few aspersions on the Reverend’s cleanliness and ancestry, Samantha spread the bread with marmalade and poured tea. “ … That he has the nerve to bring a lawyer in on this.”
“Did ye see credentials, sir?”
“What?”
“I steeped the Fortnum and Mason, sir; thought ye might could use it.” She passed him his cup. “The lawyer’s credentials? Did they seem sound?”
“Why would you question him?”
“I be nae certain, but I believe an injured party must bring his own suit, and the Reverend is not injured. Mr. Butts must be the plaintiff. Since he is not, perhaps he is still amenable to yer agreement more so than the Reverend would like. Also, I don’t believe that torts come in writs, nor would they apply here.”
“Where’d you get this?”
“Me brother clerked for Gleason’s law offices in Cork. The vernacular rubbed off a bit, ye might say.”
Whatever could Samantha be thinking of? Heart and soul she had been on poor Mr. Butts’s side. And now here she was trying to help out Mr. Sloan. Why couldn’t she keep her overactive mouth in check? She was painting a minister of God in black and whitewashing this callous and greedy schemer.
The broadest, wickedest grin spread across the man’s face. “Good on you! Sam, my dear, you’re a beaut!” He scooped up his raisin bread with marmalade and took a giant bite. “Delicious. You’re a good cook. And a good woman.”
Good. She was good and she was helping him oppose Rev. Vinson, which made the minister bad and the ideals of justice and fair play she shared with him not good.
No, Mr. Sloan, she was not good. Not inside. Fortunate, that the existence of God was in question. She’d never pass muster if He could really see inside her as some claimed.
“When’s
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