Thomas jerked. His fork slid off the table and rattled onto the floor.

Silas sat forward. The front legs of his chair came down with a thump. “I thought not.”

Thomas stood so suddenly his chair crashed over. “Bennet isn’t here, is he? And not likely to be here anytime soon.”

Silas pursed his lips at that.

“I’m your oldest son. This will be my land someday. Let me try to talk to Lady Georgina.”

“Why?” Silas cocked his head.

“You can go there and take Pye by force,” Thomas said. “But it isn’t likely to endear her to us. And while she’s our neighbor, it behooves us to remain on good terms. He’s only her steward. I can’t believe she’d start a feud over the man.”

“Aye. Well, I don’t suppose you can make it any worse.” Silas drained his ale and banged down his cup. “I’ll give you a couple of days to try and talk sense into the woman.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Silas ignored his son’s gratitude. “And when you fail, I’ll break down the doors of Woldsly if I have to and drag Harry Pye out by his neck.”

HARRY SHIVERED AS HE GUIDED the bay mare up the track leading to his cottage. In his rush to question the Granville farmers this morning, he hadn’t bothered to take a cloak. Now it was well after sundown, and the fall nights were chilly. Overhead, the leaves in the trees rattled in the wind.

He should’ve waited and let Lady Georgina say whatever she was going to say this morning. But the realization that someone was actively trying to implicate him in the sheep killings had spurred him from the room. What was happening? There had been vicious rumors for weeks that he was the killer. Gossip that had started almost from the moment the first dead sheep had been found a month ago. But Harry had brushed aside talk. A man couldn’t be arrested for talk. Evidence was a different matter.

His cottage stood off the main drive to Woldsly Manor, built, God only knew why, in a little copse. Across the drive was the gatekeeper’s cottage, a much bigger building. He could have turned the gatekeeper out and taken possession of the larger house when he had first came to Woldsly. A steward, after all, was higher in status than a mere gatekeeper. But the man had a wife and family, and, the smaller cottage was farther back from the drive and hidden in the trees. It had more privacy. And he was a man who treasured his privacy.