Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,81

milady, he’s gone for the magistrate. He says it’s deportation for Gerry and maybe all o’ us, too.” Mary’s words came out in a rush, her color high and her spry little body trembling.

“Deportation? For what?” Shock and concern in Elizabeth’s face gave way to incredulity. Thomas stood rooted in his spot, the reins of their horses held loosely in his hands as he listened, his eyes fairly bugging out of his narrow face.

“Poaching. He says he caught Gerry removing a rabbit from a trap in the woods, but milady, Gerry wouldn’t hurt no animal, he loves’em.”

“That’s certain true, everyone around knows that,” put in Thomas.

Mary threw Thomas a look of thanks and continued: “No one weren’t more surprised than my Gerry to find the poor creature in the trap and he were freeing it, it being caught by only one leg.”

“I see,” said Elizabeth. “When did this all occur?”

“Early this morning.”

“He often goes out early to see the animals,” Thomas said.

“And is this generally known also?”

Thomas looked uncertain. “I think so, my lady. I mean he’s done it since we were young and sometimes he’d drag one or another of the lads with him if he knew a mother with her young were bound to be out feeding.”

Mary nodded vigorously.

“Hmm,” Elizabeth mused thoughtfully. “Where is Gerry now?”

“Why, here milady. Mr. Tunning has him locked up in my pantry, he does, and is scurrying off to fetch the magistrate. I was just talkin’ to him through the door when you rode up. Can you help him?”

“Definitely. Now don’t worry. Tom Tunning will not have anyone deported while I’m here.” She squeezed Mary’s hands reassuringly. “Thomas, take the horses to the stable and see to them, then step up to the house. I know this is all very traumatic for Mrs. Geddy, but not so traumatic she can’t fix us all a nice breakfast, I’ll wager.”

“Oh, milady, you know I would if I could, but the pantry’s locked—”

Elizabeth laughed. “Don’t forget, I am mistress of this manor and have a nice size ring of keys, and besides, I’m sure that grandson of yours is hungry, too. We’ll all have a nice breakfast and await Mr. Tunning's return.”

“Yes, ma’am,” cried Thomas delightedly before he turned, leading the horses at a jog to the stables.

Tears welled up in Mary’s eyes. “Oh, thank you, milady, thank you.”

Elizabeth put her arm reassuringly around Mary Geddy’s shoulders and led her into the house.

When Mr. Tunning returned an hour later with the local magistrate, it was a jolly party he found in the kitchen for Elizabeth, shelving her own troubles, endeavored to raise the spirits of her people with tales of London sights and eccentricities. She presided over the breakfast party with grace and humor, setting at ease Mary and her grandson. At first they were all frigidly formal with her, Mary scandalized that Elizabeth should choose to eat with them. When they relaxed and accepted her company, they were a merry group and laughter rang through the kitchen.

The Atheridges vehemently protested Gerry’s release from the pantry and attempted to cow their fellow servants; however, Elizabeth summarily dismissed them from the room with warnings they’d be ill-advised to continue their rhetoric unless they wished to find themselves dismissed from Larchside entirely.

Though the kitchen party congratulated Elizabeth on routing the Atheridges, it did put her to mind of the biggest obstacle remaining to her discovering happiness at Larchside, to wit, Tom Tunning. He had been a thorn in her side since they’d met. It was clear he viewed her as a nuisance rather than a threat to his position, and it galled her to admit she did not have the power to be a threat. It was obvious he knew she was the butt for society’s entertainment and as such, a nonentity, or worse, free game, Tunning, she realized with a heavy heart, was a matter she would have to take up with Justin, particularly in light of his current activities.

It was clear to Elizabeth that Gerry was being framed for poaching. The question was by whom? Her obvious candidate was Tunning, for he had contrived the past month to rid Larchside of his family’s presence. In fairness, she knew she could not accuse without evidence. She was still puzzling her course of action when Tunning and the magistrate, followed by the smug Atheridges, stepped through the kitchen door.

“What is going on in here?” he roared. He strode over to Gerry, hauling him from his seat by the