He was a normal man. He’d felt lust for a woman before. But at those times he’d either bedded the woman, if she was free, or made do with his hand. Over and done with. He’d never had this aching, restless feeling, a longing for something he knew damn well he couldn’t have. Harry scowled into his mug. Maybe it was time for another ale.

“Hope that look isn’t for me, lad.” Two mugs were slammed down in front of him, foam sloshing over their tops. “Have one on the house.”

Dick Crumb slid his belly, covered in a stained apron, under the table and took a swig from his mug. Small, piggy eyes closed in ecstasy as the beer slid down his throat. He took out a flannel cloth and mopped his mouth, his face, and his bald pate. Dick was a large man, and he sweated all the time, the bare dome of his head shining greasy red. He sported a tiny gray pigtail, scraped together from the oily strands of hair still clinging to the sides and back of his head.

“Janie told me you were out here,” Dick said. “Been a while since you stopped by.”

“I was set on by four men today. On Granville land. Do you know anything about it?” Harry raised his mug and watched Dick over the rim. Something flickered in the piggy eyes. Relief?

“Four men, you say?” Dick traced a wet spot on the table. “Lucky you’re alive.”

“Lady Georgina had a pair of pistols.”

Dick’s eyebrows flew up to where his hairline should have been. “That so? You were with the lady, then.”

“Aye.”

“Well.” Dick sat back and tipped his face to the ceiling. He took out the flannel and began wiping his head.

Harry was silent. Dick was thinking, and there was no point in hurrying him. He sipped his ale.

“See here.” Dick sat forward. “The Timmons brothers usually stop in at night, Ben and Hubert. But tonight only Ben’s been by, and he was limping a bit. Said he was kicked by a horse, but that don’t seem likely, do it, seeing as how the Timmons haven’t got a horse.” He nodded triumphantly and upended his mug again.

“Who do the Timmons work for, d’you know?”

“We-ell.” Dick stretched the word out as he scratched his head. “They’re jacks-of-all-trades, see. But they mostly help out Hitchcock, who tenants for Granville.”

Harry nodded, unsurprised. “Granville was behind it.”

“Now I didn’t say that.”

“No, but you didn’t have to.”

Dick shrugged and raised his mug.

“So,” Harry said softly, “who do you think killed Granville’s sheep?”

Dick, caught as he swallowed, choked. Out came the flannel again. “As to that,” he gasped when he could speak again, “I figured like everyone else in these parts that it was you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Did you?”