Royce was momentarily taken aback.
“I know it is much to ask,” Ned continued. “I can tell you where I found him the last time I hunted for him. I know I am asking a big favor. However, we need him here and I can’t go this time.”
“Of course I will go, sir. Do I just bully him into returning?”
“If he was like he was the time before he’ll be docile enough to return with you.”
“I shall ride right away.”
“Good, thank you. Ride along with me and I’ll give you a list of places that I have searched for him before.” They both set off for Crisp’s cottage while Ned gave Royce the particulars.
They parted company on Simon Crisp’s step. “I’ll find him, sir,” Royce vowed.
“I pray you do.”
Ned meant those words. In fact, he meant them even more the next day when he called on the Widow Smethers, who met him at the door practically dancing on her injured ankle.
He’d been able to save Crisp’s finger with a few stitches, or so he hoped. One had to be careful of infection. However, he had not been able to call on the widow. He’d sent one of Crisp’s sons to her with the message that he would see her on the morrow.
And here she was, looking better than she had for a week. She glowed with good health.
“Mrs. Smethers, I’m impressed,” Ned said. “Rest has greatly improved your ankle.” And her spirits.
“Yes, Doctor, rest and—” She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “A miraculous cure.”
Ned’s gut gave a sharp twist. “Cure?”
“Yes,” she answered, her eyes alive with pleasure. “I met Gemma. She came with Mrs. Nelson when the squire’s lady brought a plate of dinner for me. Lovely woman she is. She said she had a soak that would make me better, and so it has. Just look at me.” She spun slowly to show the truth of her words. “She wasn’t even going to take payment. Just as kind as you are. But then she told me she had a mouse problem at The Garland and I gave her one of my barn cats. That gray mouser will have those mice gone in a blink.” And Ned knew that it had begun.
He could tell the widow that rest had healed her. That the ankle hadn’t been broken, just merely sprained. Her recovery under the circumstances was as expected.
But what did common sense have over miracles?
By the end of the day, the parish would be buzzing like a beehive over miracle cures and his troubles were just beginning.
Chapter Nine
Ned’s most dire predictions came true—and quickly.
Mrs. Estep divided their once-happy community with the majority welcoming her and her “cures” and on the other side were the disgruntled members of the Society.
In truth, the Society had never been popular with the women. It hadn’t meant to be. Mars had once explained to Ned and Balfour that his great-grandfather had started it in reaction to the insistence on the local social order to see every male shackled in marriage. It had been tongue-in-cheek but had grown into a club that afforded a strong male bond and good comradery, even though the membership had waned significantly over the past few years. Still, women rarely saw the sense of humor in such things.
Ned’s recent regrets over increasing the membership numbers with the local lads turned double-fold as the Duke of Winderton challenged his leadership. The lads hung on to Winderton’s every word and even aped his lordly slouch and effortless dismissal of the world at large. It was quite a thing to see yeomen like the Dawsons give ducal “sniffs” in answer to questions. Furthermore, all new gatherings of the Society were held at the duke’s lodgings. Ned was apparently the only member to not attend. Well, save Mars, who had still not returned or been found.
Ned didn’t have time for nightly drinking, and this sort of male pecking order conjured bad memories from his school days when he’d always felt outside any group. He’d refused to play the games then and he wasn’t going to start now at seven and twenty.
He also noticed that the last several times he’d ridden past The Garland, one of the lads, usually Fitz or Michaels, the ones who didn’t have any meaningful work to occupy them during the day, stood watch over the tavern, huge scowls on their faces as if they were watching to report to the others. Their appearance was too consistent to not be planned. Ned didn’t know what they were up to, but he was certain it was no good.
He wasn’t the only one to feel that way. Mrs. Summerall and Mrs. Warbler cornered him one morning in the stables while he was preparing to ride out.
“You need to talk to your members. They should not be loitering,” Mrs. Warbler said.
Mrs. Summerall nodded. “Their behavior is disconcerting. If they believe they will discourage us from calling on Gemma, they are wrong. We support her.”
“Yes, they are obviously trying to intimidate all of us, and we won’t have it,” Mrs. Warbler declared. “The next time I see one of them standing in front of my window, I’m going for my broom.”
“Standing on the road is not a broomable offense,” Ned said with a patience he wasn’t feeling. “They are allowed to stand wherever they wish.”
“Mr. Thurlowe,” Mrs. Warbler said loftily, “I will use my broom however I see fit.” On those words, she and Mrs. Summerall went marching away.
Ned leaned his shoulder against Hippocrates. “Do horses have these problems?”
He swore the animal looked at him with commiserating pity.
Or perhaps he wanted a carrot.
After mounting, Ned headed out on his rounds. This time, when he saw Michaels standing watch over The Garland, he stopped.
“The matrons are concerned that you mean ill will toward Mrs. Estep.”
“I’m just standing here,” Michaels said. The smirk belied his innocence.
“The magistrate will be back and we will take care of the matter.”
“The duke says we might not be able to wait that long. She’s hung curtains in the windows, sir. Curtains. Wait until I report back to the others about this.”
Curtains? Slowly, Ned turned his head and, yes, there were curtains. In The Garland. “We will take them down,” he answered.
“I’d like to take them down now,” Michaels answered.
“Not until we have the magistrate’s ruling.”
“It’s been days. When is he returning?”
“Soon,” Ned promised, praying he was telling the truth. He hadn’t even heard a word from Royce. Ned didn’t know if he could keep everyone in line without Mars.
“Until then,” he said to Michaels, “don’t cause trouble.”
“You don’t understand—”
“I do. And I said stop it. We need the village to look kindly on us.”
The mutinous look on the young man’s face wasn’t reassuring but Ned expected to be obeyed—
At that moment Mrs. Estep came out of The Garland. She had a basket on her arm and wore a wide-brimmed hat. Her hair was down today in a long thick braid over one shoulder. Her black gave her a trim, womanly silhouette. The morning light seemed to shine all around her.
Her head turned as if she felt his gaze. Her step slowed and then she came to a stop.