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Mr. Pfoffler laughed heartily and clapped St. Ryne on the back.

“In that case, I’m happy to oblige. It’s nice to see we have people who care to see justice properly executed.

Under the circumstances, a little time will be all right.

” He leaned closer to the Viscount. “I tell you, my lord, it’s not a pretty coil, and I’m obliged in your interest. In truth, I don’t know who to believe.

” He crossed to Gerry standing by his grandmother. “Come along, Humphries.”

Mary grabbed Gerry’s hand to hold him to her. “Oh, no, please,” she pleaded, looking from the magistrate to the Viscount.

Embarrassed, the magistrate gruffly cleared his throat. “Here, here, now. None of that.”

Mary dropped her grandson’s hand and fled to the Viscount’s side, dropping down on her knees before him. “Please, milord, please don’t let him take my Gerry.”

St. Ryne pulled her to her feet. “It’s all right, Mrs. Geddy.

The magistrate will take good care of Gerry.

I do not mean to seem unfeeling; we just need time to sort everything out.

Now run along to the kitchen and see if you can get me some coffee.

I would like to begin to sort through the situation. ”

Mary looked anxiously at Elizabeth who, after casting a speculative glance at her husband, nodded her reassurance.

Mary murmured acquiescence and thanks, then bobbed a little curtsy before dejectedly leaving for the kitchen. The magistrate and Gerry followed behind her.

When the door closed on them, Tunning harrumphed and turned to St. Ryne.

“You had me worried there for a while, my lord. I thought you might be too soft, listening to those women. Now I see the right of it, though. Clever to get the magistrate to take Humphries away as he did—got that Geddy witch out of here right enough. Don’t worry about her in the future, I’ll see she doesn’t bother you again. ”

“Mr. Tunning—” began St. Ryne.

“How dare you,” seethed Elizabeth interrupting him. Her fingers curled around the inkstand on the desk, her knuckles white. “Before you harm anyone in that family, I’ll see you in Hell!”

She picked up the inkstand to hurl at him.

“No, Bess!” St. Ryne yelled, rushing to wrest it from her grasp.

He turned to the estate agent. “I have had enough of you. For too long I’ve put up with your sly behavior and your unwarranted maligning of people thinking to uncover the problem. No longer will I do so. You’re fired! Clear your things out of the estate manager’s cottage and get off our property.”

Tunning’s face became mottled with rage. “You’ll regret this!” he stormed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “It’s all your fault, you hell-spawned Jade!” he snarled, lunging for Elizabeth.

She screamed. St. Ryne grabbed Tunning by his coat, swung him around, and slammed his fist squarely into his jaw.

Tunning fell heavily. St. Ryne stood over him, his feet planted firmly apart, his hands still balled into fists.

His breathing was ragged, the only sign of the violence he held in check.

“Consider yourself lucky to get away with your life. Now get out, and I don’t ever want to see your worthless carcass again.”

Tunning scrambled out of his reach and got up, glaring daggers at Elizabeth. He yanked open the library door, revealing Atheridge standing there, his right hand raised to knock, his other holding a tray with coffee and rolls.

“Oh, Mr. Tunning—” began the startled Atheridge.

“Get out of my way,” snarled Tunning, shouldering him aside and almost upsetting the tray.

“What?—” Atheridge uttered, glancing from the raging Tunning to St. Ryne’s implacable visage.

“Mr. Tunning is just leaving. He will not be back,” informed St. Ryne coldly.

Atheridge’s eyes became as big as saucers in his pinched face. He nodded once in deference to the Viscount, then scurried to lay out the coffee. The Viscount and Viscountess stood immobile until he had completed his task and fled the room.

St. Ryne’s shoulders slumped and he ran a tired hand around to the back of his neck to ease tight muscles.

“Thank you, Justin,” Elizabeth said softly.

“For what? Did you think I could possibly stand there and let that idiot harm you? Oh, Bess, Bess,” he sighed, “what a low opinion you must truly have of me.”

“I believe I have just cause.”

“Yes, I know you believe that, and I don’t know what to do to convince you otherwise.”

He was not up to dealing with justifications and recriminations.

When he had found she’d left London, he’d been like a madman, and like as not more shrewish than Elizabeth had ever been in her life.

His only peace of mind came from the knowledge that Thomas had accompanied her despite her protests.

He must remember to reward the young man for his diligence.

For now, he would deal with the tumult he discovered on arriving at Larchside; time later to broach their estrangement.

“What is your summation of this poaching charge?” he asked tiredly, easing down into one of the wing chairs, his legs splayed out casually before him.

She came around the desk to pour coffee for the two of them. “I believe Tunning framed Gerry.”

“Why would he have cause to do that? For that matter, what is it Tunning's been up to anyway?”

She compressed her lips, shaking her head in bewilderment. “I don’t really know, at least with any certainty; however, I believe he was collecting some type of blood money from the tenants around here, and collecting fees from the merchants and tradespeople who had business with the estate.”

“I can understand the payoffs from those who buy from or sell to the estate, but could he have gotten such control over the tenants?”

“I don’t know, but what I do think is that Humphries was not one of those from whom he was able to collect.”

St. Ryne shifted straighter in his chair, shaking his head dolefully. “It’s a bad business, Bess.”

“Yes, and nearly impossible to prove unless one of his victims comes forward, and then it’s his word against theirs.”

St. Ryne was silent a moment, then: “Do you think the Atheridges were in on it with him?”

“I’ve wondered, but they could just as easily have been among his victims or merely sycophantic for their own protection.”

He grunted in agreement.

“But what about Gerry, Justin?”

He stretched. “I think it would be best if he were left in Mr. Pfoffler’s care until tomorrow. I know Mrs. Geddy won’t like it, but I don’t trust Tunning not to plan some sort of revenge action, and Gerry would be a likely target, since indirectly he caused Tunning's downfall.”

“You may be right.”

“And what about us?” he asked, then cursed his wretched tongue. It was too soon. He saw her stiffen, the liquid light in her eyes hardening to gold metal. Inwardly he moaned her name as she visibly retreated into herself.

“There is no us, just the shell of a comic play that’s over.”

“Please, Bess, don’t do this.’’

She blinked at him. “It’s done.”

“No!” he implored, but she turned her head away from him to take another cup of coffee. He could see that she intended to ignore his presence.

A slow anger flared within him, feeding upon itself as it grew. He surged out of his chair to stand over her. She studiously kept her eyes averted.

“You are a hypocrite, my love, you who claim to hate plays, for you are playing now and with your willful play are throwing away our chance for happiness. Go on, punish me, I admit I deserve it, but as you do so, admit you are also punishing yourself. Please forgive me if I quit your presence and return to London. I see no gain in remaining to be continually flogged by your wretched pride!” He turned on his heel, his face a study of anger and misery, and rapidly quitted the room.

Elizabeth looked up as he left, part of her not really believing he would.

She rose from her chair and started for the door, her hand outstretched.

Then she heard him open the front door and shout for Thomas to saddle his horse, and her hand fell to her side.

With heavy steps she walked to the window and watched him mount, then gallop down the drive as if all the dogs of Hell were nipping at his heels.

Her mouth silently formed the words “I’m sorry,” but there was no one to hear.