Rain was dripping off the brim of Harry’s tricorn. “We played and I sat in on his lessons if the tutor was in a good mood that day—and if Granville wasn’t around.”

She frowned. “If Lord Granville wasn’t around?”

He nodded grimly. “The man hated me, even then. Said I had too much pride for a gamekeeper’s son. But the tutor disliked his employer as well. I think he got some small revenge in teaching me.”

“That’s where you learned to read and write.”

Harry nodded. “Bennet was better at letters than I, even though he was younger, but I best him at numbers. So, yes, I spent quite a bit of time with him.”

“What happened?”

He looked at her. “His father whipped my father when I was twelve and he ten.”

George thought about what it would be like if she’d lost someone close to her when she was twelve. Someone she saw every day. Someone she fought and played with. Someone she took it for granted would always be there. It would be like having a limb cut off.

How far would one go to correct such a wrong?

She shivered and looked up. They were at the river that divided the Granville land from her own. Harry slowed the horse to a walk as it splashed into the ford. The rain was coming down hard now, making the muddy water jump. George looked downstream where the water deepened and swirled in a whirlpool. A shape floated there.

“Harry.” She touched his arm and pointed.

He swore.

The horse waded from the stream, and he pulled the gig over, tying the reins off quickly. He helped her down from the gig before walking to the bank ahead of her. George’s shoes sank into the mud as she followed. When she reached him, Harry was very still. Then she saw why. The body of a sheep twisted slowly in the water; the rain pelting the fleece gave it a strange, lifelike movement.

She shuddered. “Why doesn’t it float away?”

“It’s tethered.” Harry nodded grimly to a branch hanging over the water.

She saw that a rope was tied around the branch and disappeared into the water. Presumably, the other end attached to some part of the sheep. “But why would anyone do such a thing?” She felt a frisson run down her spine. “It’s mad.”

“Maybe to foul the stream.” He sat and began to pull off his boots.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to cut it loose.” He unbuttoned his coat. “It’ll fetch up on a bank farther downstream and a farmer will pull it out. At least it won’t spoil the whole stream.”