Page 62 of Libby's London Merchant
“Gor, I did,” said the squire as amusement flickered in his eyes. “It was rather forcefully brought home to me the other day that I had been suffering a fool gladly. If you know of anyone about in the neighborhood, Tunley, who would like to work for me, do drop a bee in his bonnet.”
Libby smiled in spite of herself, as she watched the squire. That was likely as close as the squire would ever come to an apology for his treatment of Joseph. She stepped up to him boldly. ‘‘Squire Cook, you could hire my brother. He would suit you right down to the ground.”
The squire threw back his head and laughed, and then chucked her under the chin again with the crop. ‘‘Miss Ames, you are not only a beautiful baggage; you are also a cheeky one. I’d see you in hell first before I’d hire a simpleton to tend blood stock. Tunley, loan me a halter for that animal. I’ll take her to my cousin now. Lord, Miss Ames, that was a rich one.”
He was still chuckling to himself as he mounted his own horse outside the stable and led the little mare away.
Libby let out her breath slowly.
“You can relax, miss.”
She followed the direction of Tunley’s glance and saw to her surprise that she had doubled her hands into fists. She dropped her arms to her sides. “He gets my back up. What a strange man!”
“Stranger than we know, more like, miss.” Tunley turned back to the stable and picked up the pitchfork. He stabbed it into the old straw. “If you see Joseph, tell him to hurry back with Sir William’s horse, and I’ll overlook it this time.”
She nodded and walked slowly toward the house, pausing once or twice to shade her eyes with her hand and scan the fields. Where was Joseph?
There was still no answer to her question by the time she fixed herself a light luncheon then ignored it. Libby considered all the places Joseph could have taken himself to. She was none the wiser when she gave up on her cold meal and pushed it aside.
He had never been gone this long before. She could only assume that he was even now sitting somewhere, wondering why he had ridden so far and wondering when his sister would come for him. He will be too shy to ask anyone for directions, she decided. He always went to some length to avoid strangers who might make fun of his stilted way of talking.
She admitted to herself that there was a certain relief in having to worry about Joseph. It kept her from thinking about the other man who had ridden out of her life only that morning.
“Candlow, what do I do?” she asked the butler when he let himself into the library to bully her for her neglect of luncheon. “I am afraid Joseph is lost.”
Candlow looked at her inquiringly. “None of us knows his habits as well as you, Miss Ames, else we could go searching.”
She shook her head. “I’ll have to find him myself, Candlow, if I can.”
“By yourself? What a pity, miss, that the Duke of Copley’s Confections is not here to help us,” he said, permitting himself a litte smile over his joke.
Libby smiled too, because she knew he expected it. “He doesn’t know the country any better than I do, really.”
They sat in silence for a moment, and then the butler leaned forward. “Miss Ames, I recommend the doctor.”
“Oh, I could never,” she exclaimed. “I could not be such a bother, Candlow. The man never sleeps as it is.”
They sat in silence for another moment and then Libby rose. “I’ll go for the doctor,” she said quietly. “I don’t see that I have any choice.”
“He won’t mind, Miss Ames,” said Candlow, another smile in his eyes.
“Well, he should!”
She walked across the field to the Cooks’ estate, looking about her for the squire. It was eight miles and more to Wilverham; likely he had not returned yet from his cousin’s house. She didn’t relish the thought of his crop across her back for trespassing, even as she scolded herself and knew he would not do that. “It is always easiest to expect the worst of someone,” she said out loud as she strode along, arms swinging, bonnet dangling down her back. “Wasn’t that another of your little bits of wisdom, my lord duke?”
She hurried faster the farther she went, and by the time she arrived at the door, she was breathless. She leaned against the door frame to gather herself together before ringing the bell.
Libby looked about her with interest. She had never been to the squire’s house before, although she had often admired the stone building from the road. She examined it up close with a critical eye, noting the limp curtains inside windows that wanted washing. I think this looks like a house that has been tenanted too long by men only, she thought. I would replace those old-fashioned tapestry draperies with something more modem. White lace would look so nice and airy. And that trim! What can they have been thinking to paint it that unbecoming gray? White would be so much more the thing. How well it would set off the honey color of the stones.
Libby rang the bell and straightened her bonnet back on her disheveled hair, tying the strings more firmly. She waited for the butler to appear, wondering what he would look like. She decided he would likely be an apparition, beanpole-thin and funereal, with baggy stockings and hair growing out of his ears.
The woman who opened the door was none of those things. She was round and short, with dancing black eyes and an apron covered with flour. As Libby stared in fascination, she dusted her hands off over the open doorway and onto roses that looked as though they had suffered this indignity before.
“Come in, Miss . . . Miss Ames, is it?” She grinned into Libby’s surprised face. “God love us, Doctor said that you were pretty, but he were mistaken, he were.” She searched about in her brain for the right word. “You’re a regular Adonis, Miss Ames!”
Libby coughed and turned her head to hide the merriment in her own eyes. “Well, yes, ma’am—er, no, ma’am,” she stammered. “I need to see the doctor. Is he about?”
The woman—she could only be the cook—clucked her tongue. “And hasn’t he only just got himself from bed, his eyes looking like bits of liver, so red they are?” She leaned closer in conspiratorial fashion until Libby could smell the yeast on her. “Farrell Frink tumbled down a well, he did, and wasn’t Doctor up until all hours, putting him back together like Humpty-Dumpty?”
