Page 18 of Impossible
“Tell his lordship about the roof of the cowshed,” Mrs. Spratt urged her husband.
Mr. Spratt glanced toward the viscount. “Bah. I can fix it. I won’t bother him with that.”
Ada swallowed her next-to-last bite of bread. “Please, if you don’t mind, we’d like to hear about it.” She popped the last corner into her mouth and reopened the ledger.
“Mr. Spratt is also in need of some new equipment,” Mrs. Spratt said, looking to Ada, who made a note in the ledger.
“What equipment is that?” Ada wanted to record precisely what he needed.
“I can get by,” Mr. Spratt said, sending a slight scowl toward his wife. “We don’t need to bother his lordship.”
“It isn’t a bother,” Ada said cheerfully. “In fact, it’s his responsibility, and he’d be delighted to help however he can.”
All three of them stared at her, conveying that no one present believed the viscount would be delighted by anything. It seemed his tenants were aware of his demeanor. Was that due to gossip, or had he demonstrated his lack of…delight in front of them?
“Just tell us what equipment needs to be replaced,” Lord Warfield said, sounding either weary or perturbed. Or perhaps both.
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Spratt responded. Then he itemized a handful of tools, which Ada quickly documented. He glanced toward the viscount, appearing nervous suddenly. “I can show you the items, so you can determine if they really ought to be replaced.”
“I believe you, Mr. Spratt.” Warfield’s voice was deep and firm.
The farmer nodded. “I appreciate that, sir.”
“We should be moving on,” Warfield said.
“Thank you for your kind hospitality, and especially for the bread.” Ada closed the ledger.
“It’s our honor to have you here.” Mrs. Spratt went to the door and opened it for them.
Warfield gestured for Ada to leave before him. Then he followed her to the cart where he helped her onto the seat.
Mr. Spratt came out into the yard and thanked them for visiting. “I don’t need anything right away,” he said.
With a nod, Warfield climbed onto the seat and drove away from the farm.
“Have you never visited them before?” Ada asked.
“Once. Before my steward left, I toured the estate with him.” He sent her a curious look. “How did you know their name?”
“Utter luck—I’d read the names in the ledgers, but I’d no ideatheywere the Spratts. I was quite amused by that, actually. Don’t tell me the names of the next tenants either. Perhaps I’ll get that one correct too.”
“I couldn’t tell you anyway. You know I am completely uninvolved in the management of this estate. I don’t know anyone’s names, what they farm, what they pay in rent, or when their leases are up.” He spoke matter-of-factly, without a hint of remorse.
“It doesn’t sound as if you care either.”
When he didn’t respond, she sat in silence for several minutes, enjoying the pastoral view as she wondered how this man existed. What did he do all day? What motivated him to even get out of bed in the morning?
“Did you eat your bread?” she asked rather absurdly, recalling that she hadn’t seen him actually eat it.
“No. I set it on a table. You were too busy gobbling yours down.”
“I’m so disappointed,” she said, shaking her head. “You could have given your piece tome. It was really good bread.”
He made a sound like a snort. But it might have been a grunt because he was him. She really hoped it was a snort—the kind that was akin to a laugh.
They fell quiet again, and she thought back, trying to determine when he’d abandoned that lovely, lovely slice of bread. “You didn’t say much,” she said.
“You seemed to have things well in hand. Besides, you’re the one who wanted to make these visits, not me.”
