young woman, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. Flaxen curls were inclined to escape from beneath an immaculate frilled cap, the apron that encompassed her plump self fairly glowed with cleanliness, and there was about her an air of vibrant youth and health. Her fondness for her grandfather was well known, and she said with faint scolding, “Ye knows surely I hasn’t deserted ye, but has begged ye to move in with me and Tom; only you said you’d be more comfortable with Auntie Peg.”
“And so I would. Who wants to move in with a pair o’ lovebirds, billin’ and cooin’ night an day? Bad enough yer Auntie Peg’s comin’ to chit and chat and plague me mornin’ to night! Enough to turn the stomach of a sensible man. And likely she’ll do nought but grouse about the new cottage Mr. Piers
says
he means to build me. Not as a humble workin’ man can trust anything as ’ristocrats promises. So—”
“So that’ll be enough o’ that sort of talk,” chided Bessie, winking at Cranford, but sounding very stern. “’Tis past timefor the cordial the Widder Macaveety wants ye to be taking, so stop yer grousing and come home now, do.”
She took the old fellow’s frail arm and with a ruefully apologetic smile at Cranford led him off, nodding patiently through a snorted tirade about midwives “what don’t know peas from beans,” and gypsies who “only knows houses what a horse pulls!”
Reprieved, Cranford decided to discover what was delaying Florian. He rode south, across-country, his mind wrestling with the various problems that faced him and the need to resolve them before his twin sensed that all was not well at Muse Manor.
There was no sign of his young steward and he was approaching the stand of poplars that marked the southern boundary of his lands when he heard sounds of conflict: Major Finchley’s nasal bellow, and a younger voice, ringing with indignation, that told him he had found Florian.
Emerging from the trees, he saw the horse and cart nearby and his new steward struggling in the grip of Sidney Grover and a sturdy stable-hand, while their employer laughingly egged them on.
Cranford thought an irritated, ‘Not again!’ and sent Tassels cantering across the meadows to his neighbour’s drivepath.
Catching sight of him, Finchley howled, “Off with you, Cranford! I warned this little rat what I’d do if he dared set foot on my property!”
Florian’s face was bloodied and he looked white and spent. He panted, “There was a sign on—on the lane for a detour, sir. I followed, and—”
“Cor, what shockin’ lies!” Grover, the Major’s head groom, threw a saintly glance at the heavens. “You knows as there weren’t no sign, Major, sir. Fact is this worthless gyppo was creepin’ ’round to annoy Miss Laura again.”
“Not true,” gasped Florian. “The sign said—” He broke off, flinching as Grover twisted his arm savagely.
Cranford said curtly, “I’ve no slightest doubt as to the truth of the matter, and if I discover you’ve tampered with a public right-of-way, I’ll have you in Court, Finchley.” He turned to Grover. “As for you—let him go!”
“Ho, yus, I won’t” But despite the snarled defiance, the big groom hesitated, looking from Cranford’s stern face to his scowling employer.
Cranford sent Tassels dancing forward. “I’ve no wish to trample you,” he warned, “but my mare is fond of Mr. Consett, and if she thinks you’re harming him I may not be able to control her.”
A light tap of his spur and Tassels’ ears went back. She reared, then plunged forward, teeth bared.
Grover and the stable-hand swore, but released Florian and retreated hastily.
“I could have your gypsy shot for trespassing!” brayed Finchley. “And if you’ve trained that filly to be a man-killer, she’d best not threaten my people again, or I’ll not wait for the law to take action. I know how to deal with rogues—men or beasts.”
“You certainly surround yourself
“And so I would. Who wants to move in with a pair o’ lovebirds, billin’ and cooin’ night an day? Bad enough yer Auntie Peg’s comin’ to chit and chat and plague me mornin’ to night! Enough to turn the stomach of a sensible man. And likely she’ll do nought but grouse about the new cottage Mr. Piers
says
he means to build me. Not as a humble workin’ man can trust anything as ’ristocrats promises. So—”
“So that’ll be enough o’ that sort of talk,” chided Bessie, winking at Cranford, but sounding very stern. “’Tis past timefor the cordial the Widder Macaveety wants ye to be taking, so stop yer grousing and come home now, do.”
She took the old fellow’s frail arm and with a ruefully apologetic smile at Cranford led him off, nodding patiently through a snorted tirade about midwives “what don’t know peas from beans,” and gypsies who “only knows houses what a horse pulls!”
Reprieved, Cranford decided to discover what was delaying Florian. He rode south, across-country, his mind wrestling with the various problems that faced him and the need to resolve them before his twin sensed that all was not well at Muse Manor.
There was no sign of his young steward and he was approaching the stand of poplars that marked the southern boundary of his lands when he heard sounds of conflict: Major Finchley’s nasal bellow, and a younger voice, ringing with indignation, that told him he had found Florian.
Emerging from the trees, he saw the horse and cart nearby and his new steward struggling in the grip of Sidney Grover and a sturdy stable-hand, while their employer laughingly egged them on.
Cranford thought an irritated, ‘Not again!’ and sent Tassels cantering across the meadows to his neighbour’s drivepath.
Catching sight of him, Finchley howled, “Off with you, Cranford! I warned this little rat what I’d do if he dared set foot on my property!”
Florian’s face was bloodied and he looked white and spent. He panted, “There was a sign on—on the lane for a detour, sir. I followed, and—”
“Cor, what shockin’ lies!” Grover, the Major’s head groom, threw a saintly glance at the heavens. “You knows as there weren’t no sign, Major, sir. Fact is this worthless gyppo was creepin’ ’round to annoy Miss Laura again.”
“Not true,” gasped Florian. “The sign said—” He broke off, flinching as Grover twisted his arm savagely.
Cranford said curtly, “I’ve no slightest doubt as to the truth of the matter, and if I discover you’ve tampered with a public right-of-way, I’ll have you in Court, Finchley.” He turned to Grover. “As for you—let him go!”
“Ho, yus, I won’t” But despite the snarled defiance, the big groom hesitated, looking from Cranford’s stern face to his scowling employer.
Cranford sent Tassels dancing forward. “I’ve no wish to trample you,” he warned, “but my mare is fond of Mr. Consett, and if she thinks you’re harming him I may not be able to control her.”
A light tap of his spur and Tassels’ ears went back. She reared, then plunged forward, teeth bared.
Grover and the stable-hand swore, but released Florian and retreated hastily.
“I could have your gypsy shot for trespassing!” brayed Finchley. “And if you’ve trained that filly to be a man-killer, she’d best not threaten my people again, or I’ll not wait for the law to take action. I know how to deal with rogues—men or beasts.”
“You certainly surround yourself
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