Lysander glanced up and nodded at Bing respectfully, but continued with his task. He had cobbled together a fairly decent rake using a the lid of the crate and a splintery shepherd's crook, banded together with a strap of cracked leather, all contents of the lean-to toolshed.

The earthen floor within the building had been strewn with filthy straw, which Lysander realized was nothing but grass hewn from the hillside, tossed down to protect the shorn wool from being soiled. Lysander had been raking it out and heaping it onto an empty sack that was longer than he was tall, and then dragging the old smelly straw a good distance away.

Bing was waiting for him when he strode back into the now well raked shed.

Bing shook his head. "This is right kind of you, lad, but I've a few more compellin' tasks for you in the stable. If you're done here, that is."

Lysander looked at Bing. "I've just begun." He looked around and this time his gaze went to the stone walls on three sides. Clearly this shearing shed had been in use for a very long time, for there was a wainscoting of mud and felted wool running hip high around all the walls. Lysander contemplated it for a long moment. He should ask Bing. Bing would no doubt have some excellent advice on how to clean those stones.

Questions came hard. Then Lysander remembered Gemma's oblique method of questioning him. Lysander folded his arms and kept his gaze on the problem walls. "Mrs. Philpot cleans with vinegar. She says vinegar will cut through anything."

Then he glanced at Bing. Bing's face, always craggy and weathered, now wrinkled into an expression of appalled confusion. "You don't scrub the shearing' shed, lad. It'll just get manky again next shearin'. Is no point to it, is what I'm saying."

Lysander leaned his shoulder against the comfortable solidity of the central post. "I have to. Otherwise their dresses will get dirty."

"Dresses? Sheep dresses?" Bing looked as if he was seriously beginning to doubt Lysander's sanity. Doubt even more, that is. "Sheep don't mind a bit of dirt."

Lysander just nodded. "Ladies do. They'll wear their best. Manky walls simply won't do."

Bing opened his mouth, no doubt to say something scornful, and then slowly closed it again. His eyes began to twinkle. "Oh my lad. You're a smart one." But he began to look doubtful again almost immediately. "It's a massive job, lad. I'll help you as I can but —"

"It must be nice to stand about all day, whilst real men get to workin'."

Lysander and Bing turned. The comment had come from a burly man who leaned across the stone wall abutting the nearest pasture. Shepherd Orren nodded easily at Lysander. “London man.” Then he looked to Bing. "Now then, Bing. How's tha been?"

Bing nodded sourly. "Orren. Nobbut middlin', to me vast regret."