Free The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster by Patricia Veryan Page B

to be done, Oliver.”
    Dixon looked even more distressed. “If ye could possibly come today, sir,” he pleaded. “The fields are gettin’ flooded, and me cows be already hock-deep in water, and the feed’s gettin’ soaked and turnin’ mouldy, and I cannot haul feed in wi’out Hound’s Tooth Bridge!”
    Cranford nodded worriedly. “I wish I could come today, but I’ve two fellows waiting to see me, and there’s no point in my riding out to the farm after dark. Have you been able to discover what caused the river to back up? We’ve come through more severe winters than this with no trouble.”
    “By what I can tell, sir, the side of Hounds Tooth Hill just give way and slid down. Blocked the whole channel and sent the water rushin’ into my fields!”
    “Did it, by Jove! Then until we can clear the river-bed, there’s nothing for it but you must haul your supplies over the east bridge. It’s the long way round, but—” Cranford paused. “What now?”
    The farmer shook his head and said glumly, “Can’t be done, sir. We’d have to cross the Westermans’ property. I rid over,but there’s big signs bin put up, and it’s more’n I dare do to go past ’em and open the gate.”
    “Gate?” Cranford stood and came around the desk to ask frowningly, “What gate?”
    “The gate in the fence round that there great house they call a cottage. Fence went up whilst you was away, it did, and they’ve stuck up a sign saying as trespassers will be shot!
Shot!
But I ’spect—if
you
was to go, sir?…”
    Taken aback by this news, Cranford concealed his vexation and said lightly, “Are you trying to be rid of me, you rascal?” He swung the door open, and calmed Mr. Dixon’s protests, assuring him he spoke in jest, that there must be some misunderstanding on the part of the Westermans, and that he would ride over first thing in the morning, inspect the damage and then call at the Westerman cottage.
    His tenant departed, looking somewhat gratified, but Cranford’s reassuring smile faded. Why the deuce would anyone put up so grim a sign in this peaceful countryside? The sooner he came at the root of it, the better. Despite what he had told Dixon, he was of a mind to ride out as soon as he finished here, if the light held. Glancing up, his heart sank. Aunt Jane was talking with the curate, who had joined the two villagers waiting to see him. They all looked anxious. So much for riding out soon. It would be, he thought stifling a sigh, a long afternoon.

    “I would not trouble you with it, dear,” murmured Jane Guild, watching her nephew carve the roast pork, “but it drips right onto my bed, which I cannot like, you know.”
    “Well, of course not, love,” answered Cranford, wondering where he could find sufficient funds to repair the bridge and the damage to the Home Farm, and rebuild Ezra Sweet’s cottage, which had unaccountably caught fire three nights ago—thank God the poor old fellow had not been hurt! And now thebells of St. Mark’s Church must be replaced, to say nothing of dealing with the havoc they’d wrought on the choir loft when they’d come crashing down.
    “Piers! Thank you, but that’s quite enough!” said Miss Guild, taken aback by the increasing mound of sliced pork on her plate.
    “It’s so old, you know,” muttered Cranford, adding yet another slice.
    “The pork?” asked his aunt, eyeing it uneasily.
    He looked up at her. “Pork? No! St. Mark’s, of course. Didn’t I—” He broke off, flushing as he saw the massive serving he had prepared for his aunt, who was not a large lady. With an embarrassed grin, he said, “What on earth am I about? Your pardon, m’dear.” Removing some slices, he handed the plate to footman Peddars, who smiled indulgently as he delivered it to Miss Guild.
    “You will think me properly wits to let,” said Cranford ruefully.
    She was thinking that the poor boy had a great deal too much on his shoulders, but she smiled and evaded, “How did