Honor's Players - By Holly Newman Page 0,82
collar of his shirt. He shook him like a rag doll. “Why is this miserable poacher sitting here? He should be locked up!”
“Get your hands off of him,” Elizabeth ordered, rapping him smartly on the arm with a long-handled wooden spoon.
Startled, Tunning fell back. “What are you doing here?”
“Eating breakfast,” she snapped, “though it’s hardly any concern of yours.” She rose from the table, gracefully extending her hand toward the magistrate. “I am the Viscountess St. Ryne, and you are—?” she trailed off while smiling with just the correct degree of civility.
“William Pfoffler, my lady, the magistrate of this county.”
“I understand we have weighty issues to discuss.”
Mr. Pfoffler inhaled deeply. “So Mr. Tunning led me to believe.”
She nodded her understanding. “Let us adjourn to the library. I believe it is a much more fitting background to discuss this matter.”
“There’s nothing to discuss!” Tunning blustered. “I caught this lad red-handed. He needs to be clapped in irons.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and frowned. “Mr. Tunning,” she said warningly.
“If her ladyship wishes to discuss the ramifications of this offense, we shall, of course, do so,” placated Mr. Pfoffler.
“Thank you. Thomas, you may return to the stables for now.” He touched his forelock and scrambled out of his seat.
“Your arm?” she requested the magistrate.
Smiling benignly at her, he extended his arm and led her out of the room followed by a scowling Tunning and the rest.
In the library Elizabeth sat behind her desk, ordered Atheridge to lay a fire, and encouraged Mary to one of the seats near it. Atheridge began to object but was forestalled by the quelling look on the Viscountess’s face. He and his wife moved to stand by the door only to be summarily dismissed from the room. Though Tunning glowered, the magistrate nodded approval forcing the estate agent to hold his tongue.
“Now, what exactly is the nature of the charges?” Elizabeth asked the magistrate.
“Poaching, and it’s a serious crime, my lady. Just this year the government made it punishable by deportation to Australia.”
“Should still be a hanging offense,” muttered Tunning.
Elizabeth pointedly ignored him. “I would like to know the circumstances which prompted this charge.”
“Mr. Tunning claims he caught young Gerry Humphries here with a snare in one hand and a rabbit in the other.”
“I see. And when did this occur, Mr. Tunning?”
“At dawn.”
“You were up early. Why?”
“My actions aren’t in question; it’s this dog you should be asking.”
“You are being unaccountably difficult, Mr. Tunning. All right, maybe you’ll answer me this: did you see Gerry set the trap?”
“Well, no, I don’t know when he did that. Probably the night before when I was busy with the accounts.”
“So how can you say for certain he set the trap?”
“Makes no matter, he must a known it was there.”
“Why? Isn’t it possible he could have stumbled upon it?”
“Impossible, not in that part of the woods.”
“But you were there, too. If he hadn’t found it first, might not you have? And if you had freed the rabbit and someone saw you, should they call you poacher?”
’‘You’re forgetting one thing. There’s the matter of the poacher’s bag lying not far from the trap.”
“Poacher’s bag?” Elizabeth looked quizzically at Gerry who shrugged his bewilderment.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Tunning took me to the scene of the crime this morning before we came here, and I found it under a bush with two traps and another rabbit.”
“Found this morning, you say, after Gerry was locked in my pantry?”
“Yes, just before we came here.”
She looked at Tunning and nodded thoughtfully. “Clever. You were certainly thorough when you constructed this crime. What puzzles me is why you are afraid of the Humphries.”
“What!” roared Tunning.
“You see, Mr. Pfoffler,” said Elizabeth, ignoring Tunning, “Gerry is well known in the neighborhood as an animal lover who often goes out early to view the animals in the woods. He would be the last person to set snares to capture rabbits. Someone who knew of his habit could easily frame him for poaching. It strikes me odd that Mr. Tunning should be about so early in the morning and just so happen to be in the proper location to view Gerry with snare and rabbit in hand, particularly when one knows Mr. Tunning has been encouraging the Viscount to turn the Humphries out of the Home farm. He claims they are a bad lot yet, inexplicably, the Home farm is in the best condition. I contend our estate agent has manufactured this incident as a means to destroy the Humphries.”
“My lady, that’s a serious accusation.”
“You