She laughed. “Fool. Clover comes from people who would barely consider you suitable to clean out their stables. You have reached far above yourself, Scotsman, and your fall will be hard.”
There was nothing Ballard could think to say. Her words cut too close to the bone. He gave her a curt bow and walked from the room.
Sarah’s words pounded in his head as he left her house. He struggled to banish them as he walked down her front steps. He was so deep in thought that he bumped into Mr. Grendall. As he muttered an apology, he noticed how agitated the man was and frowned.
“Is something wrong, Mr. Grendall?” he asked.
“The stallion you sold me has fallen ill. I do not believe it will survive the afternoon.” Grendall took a large white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the sweat from his round face.
“I didnae sell ye a sick horse,” Ballard protested, yet he did not believe the man was questioning his integrity.
“Of course not. I beg your forgiveness if I led you to believe that. I sought you out because I hoped you might have some knowledge of what ails the beast. You raise such fine animals, I thought you must have some skill with them.”
“A horse doctor might be better.”
“We have none. Never have, really. Can you come with me and have a look at the animal?”
“Aye.”
As Ballard followed Grendall, he briefly considered stopping to tell Clover where he was going, but the frantic man waved him along. He shrugged and climbed into Grendall’s carriage. The sale would continue for a few more hours and he would be back before Clover noticed he was missing.
By the time they reached Grendall’s large farm, Ballard had a strong suspicion about what ailed the stallion he had sold to Grendall. It had been poisoned. Yet that made no sense to Ballard. Grendall knew enough about horses not to have done it accidentally and would never have done it intentionally. Although Ballard had not been in the area long, he had not noticed any plants that might be dangerous to a grazing horse. If he was right and the horse had been poisoned, they had to find out who had done it, and why.
Once Ballard saw the horse, he stripped to his breeches and set to work trying to save the animal. He covered the animal with blankets and led it out into the paddock. It was necessary to keep the animal on its feet and moving so that it could sweat out the poisons. Ballard and Grendall also dosed the animal with diuretics and laxatives to purge its system. It took a long time and was hot, messy work. With Grendall’s help the stallion began to show signs of improvement by late afternoon. Confident the animal would continue to recover, Ballard joined Grendall in washing up and partook of a strong drink of brandy in his elegant parlor. Although Ballard felt out of place on the delicately carved settee and feared he might break the expensive brandy snifter he held, the stallion’s illness was his overriding concern.
“I have nae seen anything, but mayhap there be a disagreeable plant about that he ate. Everything growing out of the ground doesnae suit the animals,” Ballard said as he gingerly set the brandy snifter down on a small table.
“If so, I would have had trouble with my other horses, and I have had none.” Grendall stopped pacing the room to lean against the marble fireplace. “I have a sick feeling I know what happened.” He sighed, shook his head, and took a long sip of his brandy.
“What do ye suspect?” Ballard pressed when the man said no more.
“Dillingsworth was not pleased that I got the horse he wanted.”
“Ye think Dillingsworth tried to kill the animal?” Ballard exclaimed, then realized he was not really surprised. He too had wondered if Dillingsworth would stoop to such an act.
Grendall nodded and shrugged. “Someone gave the animal whatever made him ill, and Dillingsworth did threaten us.”
“True, but killing the beast doesnae make any sense.”
“No? He wanted it but could not have it. He tried to make sure I could not have it either. That has often been Dillingsworth’s way. He can be dangerously spiteful. You should keep that in mind. After all, you now have something he wanted—little Clover Sherwood.”
“But he ended their engagement.” Ballard’s agitation made him want to pace the room, but he forced himself to remain still, for he feared accidentallybreaking some of the delicate furniture cluttering Grendall’s front parlor.
“He did end their engagement, but he still planned to keep her. A lot of us figured that out when he got his greedy hands on Miller’s old cottage just outside of town.”
“Yet none of ye thought to warn Clover.”
“We had no proof, only a strong suspicion. Dillingsworth is a power to be reckoned with around here. No one dares make idle accusations. Hellfire, a lot of us owe Dillingsworth money. He could break many a family in Langleyville just by demanding payment of all debts.”
Ballard stood up. “I understand, yet sitting back and doing naught only gives the man more power. Such hesitation is why he continues to do as he pleases. The man kens that ye are all too afraid to stop him.”
“I know. Well, he failed to get me this time. Perhaps that will be the end of it.”
“I hope ye are right,” Ballard said, and shook the man’s hand. “I will be here one or two more days. Call on me if ye need to. I best get back to my wife.”
Grendall stood upright and stared at Ballard. “You did not tell her where you were going?”
“Nay. Ye were in a wee bit of a hurry if ye recall.”
