‘He’s bin a soldier, though, ain’t he?’ the man said as if that excused Yelverton’s sins as one of the ruling elite.
Alaric decided he had heard quite enough about Saint Darius and his heroic past for today. ‘Respect for his army service does not seem to have stopped you drinking in the middle of the day when you were supposed to be hard at work for him, though, does it?’ he replied to let the fellow know he was not fooled by his act and taking advantage during a crisis was reprehensible.
‘No, sir, but Mrs Turner ripped up at us so there’s no need to join in. Said she was going to open the taps on the cider barrels until they was empty if we didn’t get back to work, so she did,’ the man said with a hint of male appreciation for a fine and spirited woman in his bleary eyes Alaric did not like one bit.
‘Serve you all right if she did it anyway,’ Alaric informed the man coolly. ‘And kindly see that my horse is tended while I speak to the lady.’
The man gave a mocking salute that hit his ear instead of his forehead and Alaric decided Mrs Turner’s wrath must have been mighty indeed to work its way past all that alcohol. He supposed he should be grateful she had managed to put the fear of God into her brother’s workmen, since this one took the horse’s bridle and led it towards the stables without another word. At least the nag would be inside and might get watered and maybe even fed to put it in a better temper for the return journey.
Alaric stopped frowning after the rebellious farmhand and frowned at the back of Owlet Manor instead. At least the narrow garden separating the house from the farmyards and the road was neat and newly planted with herbs and even one or two cottage-garden flowers to brighten it up. There was an old orchard to the side of the place that looked as if it had received some attention as well and a row of raspberry canes still glowed with the occasional red fruit the birds had not gobbled up. Mrs Turner’s concerns were obviously more about food than decoration. Understandable if her brother did not have funds for more than the basics despite his grand house. Miss Donne had told him the manor and estate had fallen into the man’s lap when he came home from the war.
Alaric eyed the narrow and mellowed Tudor brick on this side of the house and wondered how he would have felt if his grand heritage came with no money attached and years of neglect to make up for. Lucky that most Deffords had been careful landlords, then, and they never spent more than they could afford. It was no credit to him that he was a rich man and a lord, he decided as he noted the bricks needed pointing and the ancient oak porch was listing to one side like the farmhand who had done his best not to welcome Alaric to his master’s new home. Ah well, none of it was any of his business, he decided and stepped through the porch to rap on the door.
‘Yes, whatever is it this time?’ Mrs Turner opened the door and demanded impatiently before she took the trouble to see who was out here.
Alaric supposed she had an excuse with all those fools half-drunk and maybe a little bit dangerous and her brother occupied elsewhere. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said with a silly echo of the awe and wonder that shot through him the first time he laid eyes on her troubling him again. He had hoped she would be less lovely and desirable than he recalled, but if anything he had undershot the mark.
‘Oh, it is you,’ she said as if he was the last person she wanted to see on her brother’s doorstep even with a pack of half-cut rogues to be impatient with. ‘I am sorry. Good day to you, Lord Stratford,’ she said, sounding a lot more polite, but still not enthusiastic about their second doorstep of the day.
‘I have come to see my niece,’ he told her. She stood in the doorway as if trying to hide even the kitchen from his view and he was tempted to lift her aside and march in again, but could not bring himself to be so rude twice in a day.
‘She is very tired,’ she said and would not meet his eyes.
‘I dare say, but I need to see for myself Juno is safe and well,’ he insisted.
‘You do not trust my word, Lord Stratford?’
‘I do not know you, ma’am, and you seem to be determined to prevent me seeing my ward.’
‘It is not that,’ she said uneasily.
‘What is it, then?’ he barked, nearly at the end of his tether. He would invade her brother’s house to make sure Juno was whole and safe if he had to.
‘I am sorry, my lord,’ she said as if she really meant it, ‘but Miss Defford does not wish to see you.’
He put out a shaking hand to steady himself against the door jamb and wished he could lean on this noble old house, let exhaustion wash over him so he could sleep standing up and forget about those hurtful words. If he slept long enough, maybe this nightmare would end and he would wake to a world of sanity and order. ‘What do you expect me to do, then?’ he asked lamely at last.
‘Go back to Broadley and wait until you have both had a proper night’s sleep and are feeling less exhausted and more rational,’ Mrs Turner said as if she thought he could meekly ride back to that wretched little town without seeing for himself Juno was safe at last.
‘I cannot leave here without knowing she is unharmed,’ he allowed himself to plead.
Mrs Turner looked uneasy about keeping him standing out here
