“It’s the Humphries, my lord.”
“Humphries?” snapped St. Ryne in surprise.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Aren’t they at the Home farm?”
“Aye, but?—”
“That is the only well-maintained and properly running farm on the estate!”
“I know, my lord, and that’s why I didn’t say anything afore. Truth is, that appearance is deceptive and rooted in self-interest.” Tunning restively fingered his gold-filigreed watch chain.
“Self-interest!” St. Ryne laughed. “Self-interest like that brings in the rents.”
“Hold a moment, my lord, and let me say my piece,” he burst out gruffly, sweat glistening on the top of his bald pate.
Elizabeth and St. Ryne were taken by surprise by his tone, albeit for different reasons. Elizabeth found the estate agent to be officious, while St. Ryne surmised he was genuinely concerned about something.
“They’re rousing up the other tenants. They’ve got queer Republican notions and they’re inciting the others to revolt. Now I know,” he hurried on before St. Ryne could interrupt, “there have been Humphries at the Home farm for generations, but this lot’s bad blood. We’ll have trouble soon if they stay on.”
St. Ryne frowned. “Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
Elizabeth stared at him. Was he seriously thinking of turning a whole family out, simply on the word of this toad?
Tunning squirmed uncomfortably. “Well, my lord, it wasbecausethey keep up a good appearance that I hesitated to say anything, and I also didn’t want you to think I didn’t know my business.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes in disbelief.
“Truth is, I went over the books this afternoon, and though I hate to admit my own carelessness, it does appear they may be shorting you on the percentages—leastways in comparison with the other tenants. They’re not giving much more than the others, and as you so noted, my lord, the Home farm is in much better condition.” Tunning had hit his stride now and his words trotted out easily. “Now, I do take the blame for not keeping a tighter rein on things here, and of course, if your lordship thinks I should be replaced, I understand.” He spread his hands deprecatingly. “My only defense is the lack of interest exhibited by Sir Jeremy. I guess I slid into assuming that was a common attitude with the gentry. But now I have your measure, my lord, and I guarantee I’ll not be so remiss again!”
Elizabeth laughed silently and turned to St. Ryne to share the joke with him, only to find him frowning. Surely he saw through this man!
“I don’t blame you, Tunning. This estate has been mismanaged for quite some time, and I expect it is galling to a man such as yourself to lack the authority to rectify the situation. Nonetheless, the Home farm is paying more than the others, and I’d hate to lose the revenues. This is not a matter to be decided lightly.”
“I concede that, my lord,” Tunning returned grudgingly.
“I am returning to London on the morrow. When I return, we may discuss the situation further.”
“Oh, are you, my lord?”
Elizabeth thought she detected a note of eagerness in Tunning's voice.
“Yes, though the Viscountess will be staying on to oversee the restoration of the manor house. Oh, blast, I forgot to ring for Atheridge. Would you care for a glass of port, Tunning?”
“Aye, that I would.”
“Well, pull up a chair over here.”
Tunning scuttled to obey, his mind churning over the Viscount’s attitude. He was certainly a cautious young buck, more than he’d anticipated, albeit one he remained confident he could manipulate to advantage.
A soft rap on the door preceded Atheridge’s entrance.
“Bring us some port, Atheridge, and some Madeira for the Viscountess,” requested St. Ryne.
“Very good, my lord.”
“Oh, and Atheridge,” St. Ryne added, studiously avoiding trading looks with Elizabeth, “this room is a bit drafty. Please have the Viscountess’s shawl fetched.”
