The door shut behind Euphie, and George looked at Violet. “Well? Your letter was incredibly histrionic, dear. I believe you used the word diabolical twice, which seems improbable considering you summoned me to Yorkshire, usually a most undiabolical place. I do hope it’s important. I had to refuse five invitations, including the Oswalt autumn masquerade, which had promised to be full of scandal this year.”

“It is important.” Violet leaned forward and whispered, “Someone is poisoning the sheep on Lord Granville’s land!”

“Yes?” George raised her brows and took a bite from a tart.

Violet blew out an exasperated breath. “Yes! And the poisoner is from your estate. Maybe from Woldsly Manor itself.”

“We did see some dead sheep by the road this morning.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” Violet jumped to her feet and paced in front of her sister. “The servants talk of nothing else. The local farmers are whispering about a witch, and Lord Granville has said you’ll be liable if the poisoner is from this estate.”

“Really?” George popped the rest of the tart into her mouth. “How does he know the sheep have been deliberately poisoned? Couldn’t they just have eaten something bad for them? Or more likely died from disease?”

“The sheep died suddenly, all at once—” “Disease, then.”

“And cut poisonous plants were found by the bodies!”

George sat forward to pour herself a cup of tea. She looked a little amused. “But if no one knows who the poisoner is—they don’t, do they?”

Violet shook her head.

“Then how do they know he is from the Woldsly estate?”

“Footprints!” Violet stopped, arms akimbo in front of her sister.

George quirked an eyebrow.

Violet leaned forward impatiently. “Before I wrote you, they found ten dead sheep on a Granville tenant farmer’s field just over the stream dividing the estates. There were muddy footprints leading from the corpses to the bank of the stream—footprints that continued on the far side of the stream on your land.”

“Hmm.” George selected another tart. “That doesn’t sound too damning. I mean, what’s to keep someone from Lord Granville’s land tramping into the stream and back again to make it look like he’s coming from Woldsly?”

“Geor-rge.” Violet sat down next to her sister. “No one on the Granville estate has a reason to poison the sheep. But someone from Woldsly does.”

“Oh? Who?” George lifted the tart to her mouth.

“Harry Pye.”

George froze with the tart still hovering near her lips. Violet smiled triumphantly. At last she’d gotten her sister’s full attention.

George carefully set the tart back on her plate. “What possible motive could my steward have for killing Lord Granville’s sheep?”

“Revenge.” Violet nodded at George’s incredulous look. “Mr. Pye bears a grudge for something that Lord Granville did in the past.”

“What?”

Violet slumped on the settee. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “No one will tell me.”