Page 6 of Foes, Friends and Lovers
When Alice glanced inquiringly at Caitlin, she nodded encouragingly, and nothing loath when it came to her business, Alice rolled on, “Of course, I focus first on treating all those on the estate. Not just at the Hall itself but on the farms and at the other businesses.”
Cromwell had sidled closer. “Best thing for my chest, sir—Miss Alice’s poultice. I swear by it.”
“I see.” Cynster returned his gaze to Alice.
“Beyond that”—Alice surprised Caitlin by gripping Cynster’s sleeve and drawing him farther down the room to where Alice’s distillation equipment was set up—“we make up the usual tinctures, potions, creams, and powders for all those living around about.”
“All the way up to Kettering,” Cromwell helpfully added.
“Alice’s products also sell well in Northampton,” Caitlin put in. “Over the years, her reputation has spread far and wide.”
Alice looked suitably modest.
Cynster, meanwhile, appeared faintly confused, although his frown didn’t show so much in his features as in his lovely eyes…
He caught her staring and met her gaze.
Immediately, she waved at the door. “Thank you, Alice. I believe some of the others will have come in by now.”
“Yes, of course.” Alice smiled at Cynster; oddly, it seemed the man didn’t trigger any of her usual trepidation. “If you need anything of a medicinal nature, sir, do feel free to consult me.”
Gracefully, Cynster inclined his head. “Thank you, Miss Penrose.” He nodded equably to Millie, who had remained at the table. “Miss Carter.”
Then he turned to Caitlin and, his expression hardening, waved her before him.
He followed her into the corridor and fell to pacing alongside her as she walked briskly around the two short turns that would take them into the rear wing. Before he could ask any of the questions she could all but hear forming in his mind, she stated, “Normally at this time of day, several of our residents are likely to be either consulting with our cook, Nessie, on what supplies are available from our gardens and paddocks or, if they’ve already spoken with her, delivering the same.”
His frown came into being. “Aren’t meat and fish procured either from the Home Farm or from local vendors? And surely the kitchen garden produces most vegetables, and the rest comes from local markets.”
That would be the norm at most gentlemen’s estates. “Well,” she temporized, “yes and no. Matters are handled rather differently here.”
“I believe I’m coming to realize that.” The muttered words were low and barely audible.
Resisting the urge to prim her lips, she waved down the corridor. “What we call the preparation room is just along here, adjacent to the kitchen.” And with any luck, Julia Witherspoon would be there. Caitlin was counting on Julia, a strong woman able to hold her own in any company, to explain how vegetables were procured at the Hall.
They were ten yards from the archway that led into the large preparation room when a high-pitched bleat assaulted their ears and a young goat streaked out of the room and pelted toward them.
Shouts, oaths, and the thunder of boots followed, and Joshua Bracks and his assistant, Hendricks, raced out of the room in pursuit.
Caitlin gasped. Behind her, Cromwell squeaked.
Gregory could barely believe his eyes as the goat barreled down the narrow corridor straight toward him—and his unexpected chatelaine and Cromwell. Without thinking, he gripped her arm and yanked her behind him. He released her just in time to step sideways, the move executed perfectly to startle the goat into deflecting toward the wall, forcing it to halt.
Before the beast could back up, the pursuers fell on it and wrestled it to the ground and, ultimately, into submission.
Once the beast’s legs were tied, the larger man hoisted the animal into his arms. He nodded in thanks to Gregory, then turned and carted the animal away, ominously informing the beast, “Off to Nessie with you.”
The other man, somewhat slighter and dressed in rather better clothes, got to his feet and brushed himself off.
“Sorry about that. We were just bringing the animal to Nessie for approval.” The man eyed Gregory. “We never slaughter any beast unless we’re sure it’s what Nessie, our cook, wants and needs.” He took in Caitlin and Cromwell, and his blue eyes narrowed fractionally. “You must be Cynster.” He held out a hand. “Joshua Bracks. For my sins, I’m master of livestock here, as well as the head gardener, but with Julia handling the vegetable garden, Alice taking over the rose garden, and most of the rest parkland, there’s precious little for me and my boys to do on the latter front.”
“I’ve just arrived.” Gregory grasped the proffered hand and shook it. “Miss Fergusson is showing me around.”
“That was quite an accomplished move there.” Bracks dipped his head toward the wall. “Used to goats, are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am. My sister-in-law’s uncle—who lives next door to my family home—has bred them for decades. As children, we were often conscripted to help him with his herd.”
Bracks nodded. “That would do it. Nothing like learning tricks as a child—they stick with you for life.” Brightly, he asked, “What type of goat were they?”
