“So you refuse to pay me the five thousand dollars of his value?” She inflated the young man’s price.
“I do.” Yancy knew perfectly well what she was doing, trying to wear him down.
Next would come a supposed compromise.
“Realizing that he was headstrong and did escape using your horse, four thousand.”
“Madam, he is not my responsibility. I could just as easily turn to you and declare that your slave stole my horse, and Black Knight is worth ten thousand dollars.”
“He is not worth a dime. He didn’t win the race,” she spat.
“He had no chance. It was bad enough William stole an extremely valuable animal with good English bloodlines, he also savaged Jeddie Rice.”
“How is the young man, by the way? I’ve been meaning to go over to Cloverfields but can’t seem to get away.” Jeffrey diplomatically did not inform Yancy that keeping Maureen somewhat steady, canvassing the barn men regarding William, had taken a great deal of time, too much time.
“Riding. Nothing hot but he’s back up, his arm in a sling. He knew nothing, of course. His face will bear a permanent scar. His collarbone will heal. He’s young.”
“A whip shouldn’t leave much of a scar.” Maureen hadn’t a scrap of concern over Jeddie Rice.
“You’re right.” Yancy uttered those golden words. “However, William sewed small lead weights into the end of the whip, a small square flap. I thought nothing of it. But when he would whip Black Knight it stung. Certainly stung Jeddie, who William hit far harder than my beautiful horse.”
“Ah.” Jeffrey sighed. “Yancy, let’s you and I come up with a joint poster, a joint reward? My wife is too distraught by this to carry an additional burden.”
“I can be of assistance.” Her mouth snapped shut.
He put his hand over hers. “Of course you can, but first you had one worker short in the stables and then this. Too much weight on your lovely shoulders.”
Much as she didn’t like being slid aside, she basked in the compliment.
“If you think it’s not too much for you. You have those coach commissions.”
He smiled at her. “All will be well. My first concern is ever your welfare.”
Yancy rose with difficulty, bowed slightly. “This distresses each of us and I am heartily sorry that such an event occurred.”
“Yes.” Jeffrey stood while Maureen remained seated.
The two men walked outside, where Jeffrey helped Yancy into the saddle. “Had you even a slight premonition?”
“None. He labored hard, listened to instruction.” A deep sigh followed this. “Thank you, too, for settling your wife.”
Jeffrey shrugged. “Other than the last race, how did you fare?”
“Very well. Sam Udall, a shrewd man with many connections, proved a good business partner. I hope we will work together again. I have paid off my debts. If the last race could have been run then I would have enough profit to reinvest in my holdings.” He paused. “But we have found a good vehicle for profit.”
That meant that a healthy profit was realized. Jeffrey need not have asked more, but he watched Yancy ride away as he mused that two men ready to kill each other could reach an accord. Turning, he felt warm sunshine on his face as he walked to the stable. No word reached anyone concerning the affair in Philadelphia. He wondered if those delegates could reach an accord. Then he thought to himself, If Yancy and I can do so, surely they can.
On his way out Yancy passed Charles and Rachel, Rachel driving the phaeton, on their way to Big Rawly. He told them of his recent meeting, they both expressed the hope for a good first cutting of hay, then he rode away.
Once at the exquisite main house, Rachel untied her bonnet, Charles dusted himself off, and the butler ushered them into a large, airy back room.
Maureen, up from the stable, extended her hand, a small glass of sherry at her side. “Please sit. Forgive me for imbibing spirits early but I have endured an unpleasant meeting with that man.”
“We do hope our visit will rectify that.” Charles inclined his head toward her as he took a seat in a French chair, itself worth a bundle.
Rachel waved away a tray of sweets now placed on the table where the young but not especially pretty serving girl poured tea.
“Autumn, after serving our guests, do make sure my husband is in his shop.”
A slight curtsy. “Yes, Miss Maureen.”
As the slender girl left, Rachel reached over, took a letter from her husband, handed it to Maureen. “This arrived today.”
Maureen beheld the pale blue stationery, deep black ink in a strong man’s handwriting on the envelope. She slid out the heavy laid paper, opened it to behold a baron’s crest at the top. How fetching. Just the sight of it enlivened her. She read the three pages avidly, then dropped her hand with the letter into her lap.
“Your brother will show us his estate.” She nearly cooed. “He longs to meet us. And to his great credit he is forthright about what is owed.”
Charles, voice soft, replied, “Oh, Mrs. Holloway, my brother is a good man, which you will see for yourself. Our late father’s improvidence has nearly crushed him.”
“One million pounds of debt. I don’t wonder.” Maureen, given her father’s banking profession in the Caribbean, was conversant with the true value of pounds, rubles, livres, even drachmas of old.
“May I write him that you and Mr. Holloway will be visiting?”
“Of course, and I will write to him also. Jeffrey needs to finish his big coach-in-four. Then we may be off. He works quickly, my Jeffrey. Then again, he has hired some of the best wheelwrights, coopers, and cabinetmakers, to say nothing of the harness man. The best.”
“How will he ever surpass the coach he made for you?” Rachel praised Jeffrey, always a good move.
“Oh, he is endlessly inventive. Can do anything. Solve problems with wood, iron, copper, even creating spaces for grease in the wheel hubs so they will hold more grease, and the same for the axles. He amazes me.”
“He is a lucky man. You have given him the opportunity to work, work he desires.” Charles, himself doing work he loved, meant that.
She beamed. “I will accept your brother’s offer. I have no desire to live in England, and I assume neither do you?”
“This is my country.” He breathed in slightly. “Do I harbor fond memories, pictures of verdant green pastures, of the sparkling rivers lapping at those shores? I do. And I am grateful for my education but…well, you know this from your experience, here we are not so bound by birth. It is no sign of low birth to work with one’s hands. Ah well, you know these things.”