George shook her head. “I don’t think she’s shy. Maybe her husband doesn’t like her talking to strangers. I wouldn’t want to get her into trouble. Let’s see what he says first.”

They didn’t have long to wait. Glover arrived about ten minutes later, a heavy, thickset man. He entered, wiping his hands. “Well, what’s this about, then?”

Hart came straight to the point. “We heard a rumor that your son Danny is missing.”

“So?” Glover said indifferently. “What business is it of yourn?”

A little taken aback, Hart explained that his ward, Phillip, was also missing.

Glover shrugged. “Nothing to do with me.”

“How can you say that?” George burst out. “Danny is your son.”

Glover’s expression showed he didn’t approve of being questioned by a woman. He said to Hart, “I’m not the boy’s father, just his stepfather by a wife who died a few years back. Danny’s not my blood, not my responsibility.”

Hart hung on to his temper. “When did you first notice Danny was missing?”

Glover shrugged. “Coupla days. Give or take.”

George said, “Do you know where he might have gone? His friends, for instance? Would he know Phillip?”

Glover gave her a sour look. “He’d better not. Danny’s got no friends. This is a working farm—he has work to do. There’s no time for gadding about with friends, especially not with the sons of the gentry. Now is that all? I got more work than ever now that he’s run off.” He rose.

“Run off?” Hart said. “Where would he go?”

Glover lifted an indifferent shoulder. “No idea, lazy little bastard.”

“Is Danny’s natural father alive?” George asked. It was a good question, Hart thought. With a stepfather like this, an unhappy boy might look for a better alternative.

Glover’s answer was a contemptuous snort.

Hart said, “Does Danny know who his natural father is? Do you?”

It was an impertinent question. Glover gave him a long, hard look. Hart met his gaze squarely, making it clear he was not moving until he had the answers he needed. Glover’s lip curled. “She were a housemaid got with child by one of the gentry, over east.” He waved a hand in that direction. “He offered this farm to any man willing to marry her. So I married her to give her bastard a name.”

“Surely it was to get yourself a farm,” George pointed out sweetly.

He scowled at her. “And then the stupid cow up and died and left me with her whelp to raise.” He hitched up his breeches and added belligerently, “I got me a proper wife now, and children of my own, so if that young cur has run off and gotten hisself into trouble, he’s no get of mine and I wash my hands of him.”