“Put yourself at ease. I have not come to threaten you, coerce you, or otherwise pummel you.”
The constable’s brow descended in a display of overt suspicion. “No?”
“No. I come in an official capacity on behalf of Bow Street to request two warrants of arrest.”
“Warrants? Of arrest?”
“As I said.” Morgan’s advice regarding the handling of the constable circled his thoughts. He placed his palms casually on the counter and smiled, wishing to communicate safety and geniality. “Our investigation has shown that several local farmers have been extorted to sell their wheat at criminally low prices. I have a writ of affidavit from Three-FingerJack identifying the culprits behind the scheme. Mister Cecil Dunwoody and Lord Atwood.”
Jarvis’s brow rose again, and he began shaking his head while pressing deeper into the embrace of the wall. “No, no, no. I can’t… you can’t simply… we cannot…”
Steadman chuckled. “Oh, but we can.”
“But Mr. Drew, I am a lowly shopkeeper. I cannot serve a warrant to a lord. Such things are simply not done by the likes of me.”
He leaned toward the man and beckoned with a finger. To Jarvis’s credit, the shopkeeper mustered what little courage he possessed to leave the safety of the wall and lean within punching distance of the Beau Monde Highwayman. Steadman steepled his fingers and extended the smile.
“I know you fear Lord Atwood. However, you are the constable of Broad Chalke, and it is your solemn duty to uphold the law. You are as the barons of old who forced King John’s signature on the Magna Carta.”
“Me? Like a baron of old?”
“Absolutely. You uphold a great tradition of English democracy this day.”
“I do?”
“Of course. May I count on you for those warrants?”
Jarvis stared at him like a rabbit before the fox. However, he nodded his head slowly. “Yes, Mr. Drew. I will uphold my duty.”
“Good man.” He laid a hand on the constable’s shoulder. “Meet me at Prescombe Manor on the morrow at two in the afternoon, sharp, with warrants in hand. Do not be late and bring two pairs of irons. We’ve justice to serve.”
A tiny smile tugged at Jarvis’s lips. “I’ll be there, sir.”
Steadman bid him farewell and rode toward the estate of Lord Radnor. Upon arriving, he went straight to the barn. One of the blacksmith’s apprentices was there, taking a turn guarding the grain. Steadman had paid the smith and his friends well to keep watch for as long as it took to ruin Lord Atwood.
“Good day, young Turner.”
The teen bowed. “And to you, Sir Steadman.”
He remained astride his horse. “Any sign of trouble?”
“No, sir. Nary a peep.”
“Excellent. But make me a promise.”
“Sir?”
“If you encounter trouble, do not put up a fight. Ride hard for Longford Castle. Lord Radnor will provide you the aid of his men.”
The young man smiled with apparent relief. “I will. Thank you.”
Steadman pulled a loaf of bread from his pouch and tossed it to the apprentice. “Feed your belly.”
He waved farewell and turned for Broad Chalke. However, he soon found his path veering toward Great Yews. He wasn’t sure why he’d coaxed his horse in that direction. Within minutes, he rode into the grove of ancient giants. Memories gathered around him, pressing close with nostalgia and the comfort of simpler times. He dismounted to walk the grove, thinking. It should have come as no surprise, then, when his thoughts returned to Morgan. Bittersweet recollection dogged him. Of the days on the road before he really knew who she was. How she had befriended him as no one had before. His shocking discovery of her gender, and his even more bewildering fall fromhis lonely pedestal into the wonder of her affection. His dismay that she was slipping away from him.
As he strolled the shadowed ground, the need to see her again grew within him. He was soon astride his horse, intent on making the hour-long journey back to Broad Chalke in record time. When he arrived at the inn, his mount was breathing hard and blowing flecks of saliva at the stable boy. Steadman tossed a shilling to the young man.
“Treat him well. He has done a yeoman’s work today.”
