to frank them for you?’ he said, gesturing to the window with his chin.
Across the road, Lord Longhurst was talking to the Vicar’s wife, Mrs Beckridge. ‘That will not be necessary,’ Marguerite said.
Marguerite hated asking anyone for anything. She was determined they would be completely independent. While she had not said anything at the time, she had been quite disturbed when their sister-in-law, Carrie, married so soon after they moved to Westram. Disappointed, Petra had thought, though Marguerite had hidden it well. It had certainly made their task of living independently a little more difficult, despite the fact that Carrie’s new husband did all in his power to assist.
Their mail dealt with, they went back out into the street. Mrs Beckridge waved them over. Petra would have preferred to ignore her, since she tended to pry. Also, the thought of meeting the Earl made her feel hot and cold by turns. There was something about the man that fascinated her, she had discovered at dinner the other evening, and the strength of those feelings made her uncomfortable. However, since Marguerite was already crossing the street, she could hardly put her head down and walk the other way.
‘Lady Marguerite, Lady Petra,’ Mrs Beckridge gushed. ‘How lovely to see you.’
Longhurst bowed. ‘A pleasure, Lady Marguerite, Lady Petra.’
Petra curtsied. ‘Lord Longhurst.’
‘I was right at this moment telling His Lordship about the gypsies who have taken up residence in Crabb’s Wood at the edge of his land. I am sure you ladies will agree with me when I say something really should be done about them.’ She made the pronouncement in a voice of doom as if predicting the end of the world.
‘What sort of something?’ Petra asked.
‘Why, chase them off, of course. We don’t need the likes of them around here, stealing babies and washing off the line.’
Marguerite frowned. ‘Whose baby did they steal?’
‘No one’s as yet,’ the Vicar’s wife admitted. ‘But as I mentioned to my dear husband this very morning, it would be preferable not to give them the chance.’
‘Utter rubbish,’ Marguerite said with a shake of her head.
‘The Vicar thinks I should chase them off, does he?’ Longhurst asked.
‘Well, it is your land they are sitting on. Disgraceful people. Next, they will be knocking on doors selling charms for warts or lucky heather. Most un-Christian behaviour.’
‘A gypsy band used to camp near Danesbury when we were children,’ Marguerite said.
‘Our papa always hired them to help with the harvest,’ Petra added. ‘It was why they came back year after year. We certainly never had any trouble with them. Why not offer them the job of cutting your hay, Lord Longhurst? I wouldn’t be surprised if a previous earl used their services and that’s why they set up camp on your land.’
Mrs Beckridge made a sound of disapproval. ‘Not with my husband’s approval, I assure you, Lord Longhurst.’
‘What an excellent solution, Lady Petra,’ Lord Longhurst said. ‘When I enquired at the Green Man, I was told there was not a man hereabouts in need of gainful employment. I will ride over there tomorrow and see if I can hire them on.’
Petra looked up at the sky. Mare’s tails were riding high above them. ‘I would go today if I were you. The weather is about to change. You may have only a day or so before it rains.’
He looked startled. ‘You can tell that?’
‘Really, my lord,’ Mrs Beckridge said. ‘Do not encourage them to remain in the district. Please, send them to the right about, as my husband would say. We do not need their sort around here.’
‘Your husband does not have several fields of hay in need of mowing and no men to help,’ the Earl said with a pleasant smile.
Petra could not help herself. She beamed at him.
He recoiled slightly, as if he did not welcome her approval of what was a very sensible response to the Vicar’s wife.
Mrs Beckridge shook her head. ‘Far be it from me to dictate your actions, my lord, but were my husband here he would say the same thing.’
‘I am sure he would,’ Longhurst said. He bowed. ‘If you will excuse me, ladies.’
All three ladies watched him stroll away. Petra had never seen anyone stand up so well to Mrs Beckridge’s forceful personality. Perhaps he did not yet understand the lady’s position and reputation in the village. No doubt he would when the Vicar heaped coals of fire on his head at the church service on Sunday. It would be interesting to see how he reacted to that.
‘Why are you so set against these gypsies?’ Marguerite asked Mrs Beckridge. ‘I certainly have not heard of any abductions or theft associated with them.’
‘Not yet, you haven’t,’ Mrs Beckridge said sullenly. She pressed her lips together. ‘Likely, I should not make mention of this, but I fear I must warn you.’
‘Of?’
Mrs Beckridge glanced about her and then drew closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. ‘One of them tells fortunes.’
Marguerite shook her head at the lady. ‘It is only a bit of entertainment, Mrs Beckridge. No one truly believes in it.’
Mrs Beckridge sniffed. ‘People around here believe all sorts of blasphemous nonsense. All I can say is do not let yourselves be taken in.’ She nodded her head and stalked off.
Marguerite sighed. ‘More fire and brimstone to look forward to on Sunday. I should have kept my opinions to myself.’
‘Perhaps she ought to have been a little less forceful in hers,’ Petra said.
Marguerite chuckled. ‘Every time I see the woman she rubs me the wrong way. If she said “Up”, I would likely say “Down”. I think your suggestion was the best. Give them some gainful work and leave them in peace. It is all anybody wants. Come along, I need to buy some bread.’
It would be interesting to see if the Earl actually went against the Vicar’s wife and offered the gypsies work. They were people who really understood the land and who worked hard. And if they occasionally poached a rabbit, well, why not? The rabbits didn’t belong to anyone any more than the blackberries did, even if the law said otherwise.
* * *
When Petra came in from the garden after a satisfactory hour of pulling weeds without any interference from Jeb, she found Marguerite in the hallway tying on her bonnet. ‘Where are you off to?’
‘Oxted. We are almost out of candles and the stall at the market there is cheaper than our shop in the village.’
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