Page 67 of The Gentlewoman Farmer

“Just this way.” Mrs. Worthington and Philip walked around to the back of the farmhouse.

They knocked but walked in before Gregory could respond.

“Mr. Gregory?” Philip said as he entered a small but tidy room.

The steward looked up from a desk, eyes wide. “Mr. Eliot. This is a surprise.”

“Yes. Miss Worthington needs you.”

Mr. Gregory stood as if ready to take up arms. “Oh?”

“She is trying to get her uncle to leave off his interfering. She asked if you would come speak on her behalf to Mr. Cunningham, who is with the squire now in the library.” Philip paused. He was getting an idea. “What would you think about gathering a few of the tenants? I’ve seen how they love her. We could storm the castle, so to speak. Show that Sophia has support.”

“Excellent idea,” said Gregory. Addressing Mrs. Worthington, he asked, “Do you mind coming out with us to the tenant houses? They’ve done their work for the day and should be at home. Or you may rest here.”

“Oh-hoo, I wouldn’t miss it!”

The farm cart was pulled out, and horses were saddled for Philip and Mrs. Worthington. “When we get back, be ready to come with us into the house,” Philip said as he finished explaining the plan to the groom.

“I’ll be waiting. You can count on me.”

It was not a long ride to the tenant’s houses, but Philip worried about Sophia as they went. She could certainly handle herself against her uncle, but she wasn’t expecting Philip to be gone long.

Once they’d arrived, Philip, Mrs. Worthington, and Mr. Gregory gathered everyone outside.

Philip nodded at Mr. Gregory, encouraging him to speak. “The old squire has meddled enough,” Mr. Gregory shouted so all could hear him. “He is, even now, in her house, telling her what she can and can’t do with her farm.”

“Here, here!” Philip called.

“Look at this woman.” Gregory gestured toward Mrs. Worthington. “She was taken from her home and from her daughter and replaced with who? Charles Thorpe, the laziest being to ever cross the threshold of Worthington Farmhouse.”

“Here, here!” shouted the crowd.

“We desire to remove this wickedness from Worthington Farm,” continued Mr. Gregory. “Come, raise your voice against the injustice of the old squire!”

“Here, here!” shouted the crowd.

Philip held a hand over his mouth to hide his grin, imagining Sophia’s reaction to this uprising. He stored away the memory of each raised fist and voice to share with her later.

Gregory explained the scheme. “We will take as many as we can in the farm cart. Those who don’t fit can run or walk alongside.”

Loyal mob in tow, Philip hoped he made the right choice as they ambled slowly to the house. He trusted Sophia was keeping the squire in his chair until he returned.

Alone in the room with her uncle and Mr. Cunningham, Sophia began asking questions about the farm—questions she knew her uncle couldn’t answer.

“Tell me, Uncle, what is this year’s expected profit, including the sale of grain?”

Uncle Thorpe blew air out his lips and said, “Not as much as it should be.”

“That was not the question. I would like to know, since you’ve been supervising my farm, what you expect the profit to be. Those profits, as you know, belong to me. I’m certainly within my rights to ask.” Sophia addressed Mr. Cunningham. “Isn’t that right?”

“Why, yes, I should think so.” He reddened at Uncle Thorpe’s withering look.

“Uncle, won’t you tell me?”

“I would need to look at the ledgers. Mr. Gregory is the one who knows.”

“He should be here shortly. For now, I have more questions.” Sophia cleared her throat and resumed her pacing. “How many sheep does the farm have, and what is their collective worth?” Again, Uncle Thorpe blustered a non-answer. She persisted with more questions. “How many acres belong to this farm?” Then, “How many tenants and tenant houses?” and “How much does Charles understand about farming?”