‘There’s no privacy to be had around here,’ the doctor said, turning with a grin, then saw Cris. ‘Mr Defoe. How the blazes did you get up here?’
‘Good day to you, Dr Tregarth. I walked.’
‘Sore?’
‘Some,’ Cris returned, equally laconic. ‘Exercise eases it, I find, once I get going.’
‘First mile’s the worst, eh?’ Tregarth made for the door. ‘I’ll be back for that slice of pie, Jim. Make sure these rogues don’t eat it all.’
‘I’ll walk with you, if you’ve no objection.’ Cris laid a coin on the bar. ‘Thank you, landlord. Good day, all.’
Outside, they walked in silence for a few yards. ‘That will have provided more excitement than the last pedlar in the village a month ago,’ the doctor remarked as he turned downhill. ‘You’ll be a major source of gossip and speculation for many a day.’
‘More interesting than wondering how a strange dog got into Mrs Perowne’s flock on top of a chapter of other incidents?’
‘You’ve heard about that, then?’ The other man’s voice was carefully neutral.
‘I have. Do you have any theories?’ Cris ducked under a washing line slung across the street.
‘As you say, a chapter of accidents.’
‘I said incidents, not accidents.’
‘At the risk of sounding rude, Mr Defoe, what concern is it of yours?’ The doctor reached out the hand not encumbered with his medical bag, seized a runaway toddler by the collar and passed him back to his pursuing, breathless, mother. ‘He’s in fine form, Mrs Pentyre.’
Cris tipped his hat to the mother, sidestepped the struggling child. ‘The ladies at Barbary Combe House may well have saved my life. It is clear something is wrong and, as a gentleman, I owe them my help.’
‘And you know about agricultural matters?’ Tregarth enquired. There was more than a hint of warning in his tone.
‘Some. I know more about plots and sabotage, scheming and secrets.’
‘And no doubt I wouldn’t get a straight answer if I asked how you came by that knowledge. Mrs Perowne is an attractive lady.’
They had cleared the last cottage and the street bent into a rough track. Cris sidestepped sharply, forcing the doctor into the angle of the wall and a gate. ‘Are you suggesting that I have dishonourable intentions towards the lady, Tregarth? Because if so, I am quite willing to take offence.’
Chapter Seven
Cris watched the other man’s eyes darken, narrow, and wondered if he was about to be asked to name his seconds. He knew he was being hypocritical because his thoughts, if not his intentions, were downright disgraceful as far as Tamsyn Perowne was concerned, but if he did not react he risked damaging her reputation with one of the pillars of the local community.
‘Naturally, if you give me your word, sir.’
‘That I do not wish Mrs Perowne harm? You certainly have my word on that, although as you do not know me from Adam, I am not sure how you judge the worth of the assurance.’ What the devil was wrong with him? If he was observing this encounter, he would assume he was trying to force a fight on Tregarth, as though they were rivals for Tamsyn.
Oddly, the doctor relaxed. ‘I trust you. Judging character is one of the tricks we medics must acquire, just as a horseman learns how to judge an unreliable animal. You, sir, have an odd kick to your gait, but I judge you are not vicious.’
‘Thank you, for that,’ Cris said drily, stepping back. He thought he had found an ally. Tregarth straightened his coat and they fell into step, as far as the surface of the track would allow. ‘Miss Holt has a nephew.’
‘The charming Lord Chelford. An acquaintance of yours?’
‘I have encountered him in London. I would trust him as far as I could throw him. Possibly rather less if he had a deck of cards in his hand.’
Tregarth laughed. ‘I suspect Tamsyn would say the same.’ There was an awkward silence as the doctor realised he had used her first name. Cris did not comment, but noted it. ‘He pressed her to marry him, quite persistently, and did not like getting no for an answer.’
‘Before she married Perowne?’
‘Then—and again after she was widowed. The first time she took refuge in marrying Jory, the second she had the iron in her soul and she sent him packing with no help from anyone.’
‘Where did the iron come from?’