“And is this generally known also?”
Thomas looked uncertain. “I think so, my lady. I mean, he’s done it since we were young, and sometimes he’d drag one or another of the lads with him if he knew a mother with her young were bound to be out feeding.”
Mary nodded vigorously.
“Hmm,” Elizabeth mused thoughtfully. “Where is Gerry now?”
“Why, here, milady. Mr. Tunning has him locked up in my pantry, he does, and is scurrying off to fetch the magistrate. I was just talkin’ to him through the door when you rode up. Can you help him?”
“Definitely. Now don’t worry. Tom Tunning will not have anyone deported while I’m here.” She squeezed Mary’s hands reassuringly. “Thomas, take the horses to the stable and see to them, then step up to the house. I know this is all very traumatic for Mrs. Geddy, but not so traumatic she can’t fix us all a nice breakfast, I’ll wager.”
“Oh, milady, you know I would if I could, but the pantry’s locked?—”
Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t forget, I am mistress of this manor and have a nice size ring of keys—and besides, I’m sure that grandson of yours is hungry, too. We’ll all have a nice breakfast and await Mr. Tunning's return.”
“Yes, ma’am,” cried Thomas delightedly, before he turned, leading the horses at a jog to the stables.
Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes. “Oh, thank you, milady, thank you.”
Elizabeth put her arm reassuringly around Mary Geddy’s shoulders and led her into the house.
When Mr. Tunning returned an hour later with the local magistrate, it was a jolly party he found in the kitchen for Elizabeth, shelving her own troubles, endeavored to raise the spirits of her people with tales of London sights and eccentricities. She presided over the breakfast party with grace and humor, setting at ease Mary and her grandson. At first they were all frigidly formal with her, Mary scandalized that Elizabeth should choose to eat with them. When they relaxed and accepted her company, they were a merry group, and laughter rang through the kitchen.
The Atheridges vehemently protested Gerry’s release from the pantry, and attempted to cow their fellow servants; however, Elizabeth summarily dismissed them from the room, with warnings they’d be ill-advised to continue their rhetoric unless they wished to find themselves dismissed from Larchside entirely.
Though the kitchen party congratulated Elizabeth on routing the Atheridges, it did put her to mind of the biggest obstacle remaining to her discovering happiness at Larchside—to wit, Tom Tunning. He had been a thorn in her side since they’d met. It was clear he viewed her as a nuisance rather than a threat to his position, and it galled her to admit she did not have the power to be a threat. It was obvious he knew she was the butt for society’s entertainment, and as such, a nonentity—or worse, free game. Tunning, she realized with a heavy heart, was a matter she would have to take up with Justin, particularly in light of his current activities.
It was clear to Elizabeth that Gerry was being framed for poaching. The question was, by whom? Her obvious candidate was Tunning, for he had contrived the past month to rid Larchside of the Humphries family’s presence. In fairness, she knew she could not accuse without evidence. She was still puzzling her course of action when Tunning and the magistrate,followed by the smug Atheridges, stepped through the kitchen door.
“What is going on in here?” he roared. He strode over to Gerry, hauling him from his seat by the collar of his shirt. He shook him like a rag doll. “Why is this miserable poacher sitting here? He should be locked up!”
“Get your hands off of him,” Elizabeth ordered, rapping him smartly on the arm with a long-handled wooden spoon.
Startled, Tunning fell back. “What are you doing here?”
“Eating breakfast,” she snapped, “though it’s hardly any concern of yours.” She rose from the table, gracefully extending her hand toward the magistrate. “I am the Viscountess St. Ryne, and you are—?” she trailed off while smiling with just the correct degree of civility.
“William Pfoffler, my lady, the magistrate of this county.”
“I understand we have weighty issues to discuss.”
Mr. Pfoffler inhaled deeply. “So Mr. Tunning led me to believe.”
She nodded her understanding. “Let us adjourn to the library. I believe it is a much more fitting background to discuss this matter.”
“There’s nothing to discuss!” Tunning blustered. “I caught this lad red-handed. He needs to be clapped in irons.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and frowned. “Mr. Tunning,” she said warningly.
“If her ladyship wishes to discuss the ramifications of this offense, we shall, of course, do so,” placated Mr. Pfoffler.
“Thank you. Thomas, you may return to the stables for now.” He touched his forelock and scrambled out of his seat.
“Your arm?” she requested the magistrate.
Smiling benignly at her, he extended his arm and led. her out of the room followed by a scowling Tunning and the rest.
In the library, Elizabeth sat behind her desk, ordered Atheridge to lay a fire, and encouraged Mary to one of the seats near it. Atheridge began to object but was forestalled by the quelling look on the Viscountess’s face. He and his wife moved to stand by the door, only to be summarily dismissed from the room. Though Tunning glowered, the magistrate nodded approval, forcing the estate agent to hold his tongue.
