with them.” Cranford dismounted and threw an arm about Florian, who swayed unsteadily. “And I’ve seen how you ‘deal with’ horses, which is the reason I’ll never sell you my mare.”
All but gnashing his teeth, Finchley howled, “She was mine before she was yours! I wish to God I’d never given her to you!”
“I’ll remember that the next time you get yourself trapped in a landslide.” Guiding the youth to the cart, Cranford called, “Now I come to think of it, you were on
my
land that day, and you never did say what you were about.”
Aware that his men knew Cranford had saved his life on that occasion, Finchley waved them away and answered tauntingly, “If you want to know, I was looking over the Quail Hill property you’d just sold. Decided then that I meant to have it.”
So the belligerent Major was indeed after the river parcel. ‘Damn!’ thought Cranford, boosting Florian onto the seat ofthe cart. “You seem to make a habit of coveting my property,” he drawled. “Another disappointment for you.”
As always, the younger man’s cool self-control was fuel to Finchley’s temper and the hue of his cheeks deepened. “It ain’t your property now, confound you! I’ve made the Westermans a generous offer, and they’ve as good as accepted.”
Cranford gave him a scornful glance but did not comment as he climbed to the seat, whistled to Tassels, and took up the reins.
Watching with burning resentment as the mare trotted daintily to the cart, Finchley shouted, “No point in pretending you don’t believe me. The river parcel’s as good as mine! What d’ye say to that?”
“Giddap, Sport.” Cranford slapped the reins on the broad back of the ageing but still reliable bay gelding.
Finchley heard a distant hoot of laughter. So his men were laughing at him behind his back! A pox on the lot of ’em! His temper soaring, he shouted, “Tour day is done, Mister High-and-Mighty Cranford! We all know you’re properly in the basket. You’ll be wise to sell Muse Manor and get out. We want no traitor-lovers in this neighbourhood!”
Driving off, Cranford stiffened. Finchley was referring to Glendenning, of course, but as yet no one had been able to prove that the viscount had actually taken up arms under the banner of Charles Stuart. Tio’s remark about the pedlar reechoed in his ears: “I’ve seen him before somewhere… he gives me an uncomfortable feeling…” If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with his own concerns he would have stayed in the village and spoken to the pedlar. It would be just like Gresford Finchley to resent Tio’s rank and his assured manner and inform Bow Street or even the Horse Guards of his suspicions.
Watching his grim face anxiously, Florian said, “I’m sorry, sir. I know you told me to avoid Finchley Park, and I swear I wasn’t trying to see Miss Laura! What it is…”
“What it is, a trap was set for you, and you drove right intoit. The Major’s a man who enjoys violence, and Grover’s cut from the same cloth, He marked your face, I see. Are you much hurt otherwise?”
“They caught me a few good ones across my back when they dragged me from the cart. No worse than I used to get in the tribe.”
“Well have Miss Jane look at you when we get home. Tell me, were you able to hire another waggon?”
“Yes, sir. And two brawny ex-soldiers who are eager for work. They’ll bring the waggon out first thing in the—” He broke off, looking intently to the east. “Isn’t that Mr. Valerian?”
Cranford followed his gaze. Some half-mile distant, a tall black horse was galloping up the rise. The rider was unmistakable: Gervaise Valerian, and going like the wind for once. What in Hades was the fellow doing here?
Florian muttered, “Jove, but he can ride!”
Cranford made a mental note that the next time he met his alleged “cousin,” he’d demand an explanation for the man’s presence on his land. His land… Muse Manor belonged to all of them.
All but gnashing his teeth, Finchley howled, “She was mine before she was yours! I wish to God I’d never given her to you!”
“I’ll remember that the next time you get yourself trapped in a landslide.” Guiding the youth to the cart, Cranford called, “Now I come to think of it, you were on
my
land that day, and you never did say what you were about.”
Aware that his men knew Cranford had saved his life on that occasion, Finchley waved them away and answered tauntingly, “If you want to know, I was looking over the Quail Hill property you’d just sold. Decided then that I meant to have it.”
So the belligerent Major was indeed after the river parcel. ‘Damn!’ thought Cranford, boosting Florian onto the seat ofthe cart. “You seem to make a habit of coveting my property,” he drawled. “Another disappointment for you.”
As always, the younger man’s cool self-control was fuel to Finchley’s temper and the hue of his cheeks deepened. “It ain’t your property now, confound you! I’ve made the Westermans a generous offer, and they’ve as good as accepted.”
Cranford gave him a scornful glance but did not comment as he climbed to the seat, whistled to Tassels, and took up the reins.
Watching with burning resentment as the mare trotted daintily to the cart, Finchley shouted, “No point in pretending you don’t believe me. The river parcel’s as good as mine! What d’ye say to that?”
“Giddap, Sport.” Cranford slapped the reins on the broad back of the ageing but still reliable bay gelding.
Finchley heard a distant hoot of laughter. So his men were laughing at him behind his back! A pox on the lot of ’em! His temper soaring, he shouted, “Tour day is done, Mister High-and-Mighty Cranford! We all know you’re properly in the basket. You’ll be wise to sell Muse Manor and get out. We want no traitor-lovers in this neighbourhood!”
Driving off, Cranford stiffened. Finchley was referring to Glendenning, of course, but as yet no one had been able to prove that the viscount had actually taken up arms under the banner of Charles Stuart. Tio’s remark about the pedlar reechoed in his ears: “I’ve seen him before somewhere… he gives me an uncomfortable feeling…” If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with his own concerns he would have stayed in the village and spoken to the pedlar. It would be just like Gresford Finchley to resent Tio’s rank and his assured manner and inform Bow Street or even the Horse Guards of his suspicions.
Watching his grim face anxiously, Florian said, “I’m sorry, sir. I know you told me to avoid Finchley Park, and I swear I wasn’t trying to see Miss Laura! What it is…”
“What it is, a trap was set for you, and you drove right intoit. The Major’s a man who enjoys violence, and Grover’s cut from the same cloth, He marked your face, I see. Are you much hurt otherwise?”
“They caught me a few good ones across my back when they dragged me from the cart. No worse than I used to get in the tribe.”
“Well have Miss Jane look at you when we get home. Tell me, were you able to hire another waggon?”
“Yes, sir. And two brawny ex-soldiers who are eager for work. They’ll bring the waggon out first thing in the—” He broke off, looking intently to the east. “Isn’t that Mr. Valerian?”
Cranford followed his gaze. Some half-mile distant, a tall black horse was galloping up the rise. The rider was unmistakable: Gervaise Valerian, and going like the wind for once. What in Hades was the fellow doing here?
Florian muttered, “Jove, but he can ride!”
Cranford made a mental note that the next time he met his alleged “cousin,” he’d demand an explanation for the man’s presence on his land. His land… Muse Manor belonged to all of them.
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