“Made sense, what Granville did to you, did to your father.”

Harry was silent.

Which must’ve made Dick uneasy. He patted the air. “But after I’d mulled on it a bit, it didn’t seem right. I knew your da, and John Pye wouldn’t never hurt another man’s bread and butter.”

“Even after Granville?”

“Your da was the salt of the earth, lad. He wouldn’t have harmed a fly.” Dick raised his mug as if in toast. “The salt of the earth.”

Harry was silent as he watched the other man make his tribute. Then he stirred. “If you’ve ruled me out, who do you think is poisoning the sheep?”

Dick frowned into the bottom of his empty mug. “Granville’s a hard man, as well you know. Some say he’s got the devil riding his back. It’s as if he takes his joy in life from causing misery to others. There’s more than your father that’ve been blasted by him over the years.”

“Who?”

“Plenty of men were thrown off land their families had farmed for decades. Granville don’t make allowances for bad years when he collects his money,” Dick said slowly. “Then there was Sally Forthright.”

“What about her?”

“She was Martha Burns’s sister, as is the Woldsly gatekeeper’s wife. Granville messed with her, it’s said, and the lass ended her life in a well.” Dick shook his head. “Wasn’t more than fifteen.”

“There are probably many like her in these parts”—Harry studied the depths of his own mug—“knowing Granville.”

“Aye.” Dick turned his face to the side and wiped it with the flannel. He sighed heavily. “Bad business. I don’t like talking about it.”

“Nor do I, but someone’s killing those sheep.”

Dick suddenly leaned across the table. His ale-soaked breath washed over Harry as he whispered, “Then maybe you should be looking a little closer to the Granville estate. They say Granville treats his firstborn son like a turd in his tea. The man must be your age, Harry. Can you imagine what that would do to your soul after thirty years?”

“Aye.” Harry nodded. “I’ll keep Thomas in mind.” He drained his mug and set it down. “Is that everyone you can think of?”

Dick grabbed all three mugs in one fist and stood up. He hesitated. “You might try Annie Pollard’s family. I don’t know what went on there, but it was bad, and Granville was in the middle of it. And, Harry?”

Harry had risen and put on his hat. “Yes?”

“Stay away from aristo ladies.” The piggy eyes were sad and old. “They won’t do you any good, lad.”