Chapter 6 #2
One could even say Moses helped them fall in love.
Because Kit was certain now that he loved Sylvie. How could he not? She was kind and generous, not only with material items but with her time and her heart. She was practical and hard-working and lovely, and he didn’t want to imagine his life without her.
Kit dismounted when he arrived at the market, walking his horse among the stalls as he looked for his livestock.
“Ah, there you are,” he said aloud to them when he found the first group. “I’ve never been so happy to see a bunch of goats before.”
He tied the horse to the corner post and began systematically searching the stalls containing his animals. But his heart sank a little more as each stall turned up chickens, goats, cows, and pigs but no goose.
“’Scuse me, mister, can I help you with something?” a man asked as Kit was leaning over the half-door of one stall examining the chickens within.
The man was dressed in work clothes, but wore a pencil behind his ear and carried what looked like a ledger. “Are these all the Mathison animals that were brought in last night?” The man looked askance at him, but Kit clarified, “I’m Christopher Mathison.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” The man flipped open the ledger, searching for the page he wanted, then tried to reconcile the information on the page with the animals in the stalls. Twice.
“No, it appears we’re short.” He went back to the ledger a third time, then nodded. “Oh, of course. The Duke of Alston’s man was here yesterday afternoon when the first wagon came in. Apparently His Grace wants to add to his collection, and his man bought up that whole bunch.”
“What?”
“Wanted to take possession of them immediately, and paid a pretty penny for them, too. Your man who came in with the animals authorized it, but wouldn’t take the money with him when he left—we have it in the strongbox.”
Well, that might come in handy. Because now he was going to have to ride thirty miles to retrieve a wayward goose.
Fortunately, the weather was clear for once and the roads were reasonably dry. Kit reached Orchard Lake, the Duke of Alston’s home in Kent, by mid-afternoon. If all went well, there was time to find Moses, rest the horse, and still get back home to Sylvie before nightfall.
If all went well.
Kit was met by a groom who gave him directions and led his horse away to be cared for, then found himself standing before the great front door, suddenly conscious of his worn work clothes that smelled of the stables. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
A footman opened the door and left him to wait in the entryway when Kit asked for the steward.
“I must look like a beggar,” he muttered, removing his hat and sliding a hand through his bristly hair.
“Not quite,” a male voice answered crisply, “but the footman thought you were one of our tenant farmers.”
Kit looked down at his frumpy tailcoat and the frayed cuffs of his trousers. “I can see why. Mathison is my name. You are the steward of this estate?”
“Jacobs,” he said, shaking Kit’s hand. “My office is this way.”
Kit followed the steward through a series of hallways and into a darkly paneled room with little in the way of furniture, but floor to ceiling windows that let in much of the afternoon sun.
He took the chair Jacobs offered him, and waited for the man to settle in his own seat behind the stout wooden desk.
“Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Mathison?”
“I’m here about a goose.”
Jacobs gave him a quizzical look, and Kit told him about the transportation of his livestock to the market along with Moses’s probable though mistaken inclusion.
“You came all the way from the Harvest Festival market for one goose?”
“Yes.”
“Truly?”
Kit’s chair was becoming uncomfortable, and he shifted slightly. “Yes. Do you have him or not?”
“Let me check the inventory.” Jacobs stood, straightening his immaculate waistcoat and tailcoat, and walked slowly over to a table that held stacks of papers and what looked to be ledgers or account books.
He selected one of the oversized ledgers, turned to the relevant page, then laid it on the table and began shuffling through a stack of papers.
And continued to shuffle.
Then went back to the ledger, ran his finger down the page, and returned to the stack of papers.
Was he being deliberately slow? Trying to impress the grandeur of the operation on Kit? It was difficult to believe he possessed any level of incompetence and still kept his position as the steward of a ducal estate.
After several more minutes of going back and forth, Jacobs located the item he was searching for and brought it back to his desk. “My apologies—we purchased several loads of livestock at the market yesterday. But yes, there was one white goose in the group of animals we purchased from C. Mathison.”
Relief flooded his body, but his posture remained straight, his face—he hoped—expressionless. It could be the wrong goose, and even if it was the right one, Kit hadn’t secured him yet. “Excellent. I will take him off your hands, with adequate compensation of course, and be on my way.”
Jacobs smiled tightly. “Perhaps.”
They negotiated for several minutes, but in the end Kit decided that Sylvie’s happiness and Moses’s safe return were worth more to him than time spent arguing over how much said goose was worth. “Ten percent over market value. That’s far more than what you paid for him.”
Jacobs hesitated, and Kit knew the man was toying with him.
“That’s my final offer,” Kit said, rising. “If you aren’t interested, then our business is concluded.”
He turned to leave, his heart in his throat, hoping that the steward didn’t call his bluff and let him walk out the door with no bird.
“Ten percent over will do,” Jacobs replied, a note of satisfaction creeping into his voice.
“Good. I’ll see the bird first, then you’ll get your money.”
When they reached the barnyard, the steward spoke to one of the stable lads and stood to one side while work bustled on about him. “Bryant will fetch your goose.”
Bryant was apparently much more efficient at his tasks than Jacobs, and returned with a ball of gleaming white feathers tucked under one arm.
“Moses?” Kit called.
The bird’s head went up and his feet began flailing. Bryant shifted the goose against his chest and held on with both arms.
“Moses! There’s the lad I’m looking for.”
The flailing became whole-body thrashing accompanied by a series of excited honks.
“Satisfied?” Jacobs asked.
Kit grinned and reveled in the relief. “Yes. Very.”