Hannah Howell (12 page)

Clover breathed a sigh of relief as she watched Ballard leave Sarah. She admitted she had been both worried and frightened by what had appeared to be happening between the pair. The way Ballard had marched away, a deep scowl on his face, eased her concern.

She decided she would puzzle over her feelings later and turned all her attention back to the sale. By the time the last customer had left in the late afternoon, Clover heartily wished she had made some attempt to keep an eye on Ballard and Sarah. Both were gone. As she asked the others if they had seen her husband, it became painfully clear that the last anyone had seen of him, he had been helping Sarah Marsten’s groom carry the sideboard outside, with Sarah following close behind.

With a muttered curse, Ballard helped set the sideboard down and watched Sarah’s groom nearly run out of her dining room. Sarah then ordered her timid aunt to leave and Ballard wondered how Sarah’s parents could have thought the old woman a proper chaperone while they jaunted all around Europe. He then looked at Sarah, who smiled sweetly and urged him to come into the parlor for a cool drink before he returned home. It was on the tip of his tongue to refuse, but he nodded curtly. It was about time he set Miss Sarah Marsten straight about a few things. There was only a little time remaining before he left for Kentucky and he did not want the woman stirring up trouble.

Once Sarah had served tall glasses of chilled lemonade, she insisted on sitting as close to him as possible on her ornate settee.

“There, is this not just like before?” Sarah asked, pressing her side against his.

“Nay, it isnae, Miss Sarah. I am a wedded mon now,” Ballard replied.

“Oh, Ballard dearest, whyever did you do it? Surely you did not take that insignificant little episode with Thomas to heart? ‘Twas just a little flirtation.”

“I have never been partial to games. I am not partial to the one ye are playing now either. I am not a free mon.” He set his empty glass aside and turned toward her to say good-bye.

All at once Sarah flung herself into his arms. “How can you prefer that scrawny child to me? I can give you all a man needs.”

Ballard suddenly realized that Sarah was probably not boasting, that this fine lady he had seriously considered marrying was well-versed in the bedroom
arts. The way she moved her hands over his body was proof of that. Sarah’s parents had obviously left the woman alone far too often. To his shame, when she rubbed her hand over the front of his breeches, desire hardened him. Ballard shoved her away and stood up.

“I am not interested, lass,” he snapped.

“Not interested? You prefer that fleshless Sherwood girl to me?”

“I do, for all my fool body perks up in interest at a skilled touch. Ye cannae be giving me anything I cannae get at home. I dinnae lie in a bed so cold I have to look elsewhere for some loving.” He gave her a brief smile. “I willnae deny that ye could probably give me one fine roll in the heather, but it isnae worth losing what I have now. Ye just are nae worth that much.”

“You bastard!” screeched Sarah as she leaped to her feet and swung at him.

Ballard easily caught her wrist. “I wouldnae do that, miss. I am not one of your fine gents who will just stand here and take it. Ye hit me and I just might hit ye back.” He tossed her hand aside. “Now, I believe I will amble back to my wife.”

“Go ahead. Enjoy what little time you will have with her.”

“We are wed. We have a lifetime ahead of us,” Ballard said as he paused in the doorway to look back at her.

“You are from two different worlds. Clover is desperate now and will grasp at any chance she can to save herself and her pathetic little family from utter destitution. But you cannot give her the life she is accustomed to. One day she will wake up, look at
you, and wonder why, in God’s sweet name, she is with you.”

Sarah’s words aroused all the fears Ballard thought he had subdued, and he glared at her. “Nay. Clover Sherwood isnae like that.”

She laughed. “Fool. Clover comes from people who would barely consider you suitable to clean out their stables. You have reached far above yourself, Scotsman, and your fall will be hard.”

There was nothing Ballard could think to say. Her words cut too close to the bone. He gave her a curt bow and walked from the room.

Sarah’s words pounded in his head as he left her house. He struggled to banish them as he walked down her front steps. He was so deep in thought that he bumped into Mr. Grendall. As he muttered an apology, he noticed how agitated the man was and frowned.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Grendall?” he asked.

“The stallion you sold me has fallen ill. I do not believe it will survive the afternoon.” Grendall took a large white handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped the sweat from his round face.

“I didnae sell ye a sick horse,” Ballard protested, yet he did not believe the man was questioning his integrity.

“Of course not. I beg your forgiveness if I led you to believe that. I sought you out because I hoped you might have some knowledge of what ails the beast. You raise such fine animals, I thought you must have some skill with them.”

“A horse doctor might be better.”

“We have none. Never have, really. Can you come with me and have a look at the animal?”

“Aye.”

As Ballard followed Grendall, he briefly considered stopping to tell Clover where he was going, but the frantic man waved him along. He shrugged and climbed into Grendall’s carriage. The sale would continue for a few more hours and he would be back before Clover noticed he was missing.

By the time they reached Grendall’s large farm, Ballard had a strong suspicion about what ailed the stallion he had sold to Grendall. It had been poisoned. Yet that made no sense to Ballard. Grendall knew enough about horses not to have done it accidentally and would never have done it intentionally. Although Ballard had not been in the area long, he had not noticed any plants that might be dangerous to a grazing horse. If he was right and the horse had been poisoned, they had to find out who had done it, and why.

Once Ballard saw the horse, he stripped to his breeches and set to work trying to save the animal. He covered the animal with blankets and led it out into the paddock. It was necessary to keep the animal on its feet and moving so that it could sweat out the poisons. Ballard and Grendall also dosed the animal with diuretics and laxatives to purge its system. It took a long time and was hot, messy work. With Grendall’s help the stallion began to show signs of improvement by late afternoon. Confident the animal would continue to recover, Ballard joined Grendall in washing up and partook of a strong drink of brandy in his elegant parlor. Although Ballard felt out of place on the delicately carved settee and feared he might break the expensive brandy snifter he held, the stallion’s illness was his overriding concern.

“I have nae seen anything, but mayhap there be a disagreeable plant about that he ate. Everything growing out of the ground doesnae suit the animals,” Ballard said as he gingerly set the brandy snifter down on a small table.

“If so, I would have had trouble with my other horses, and I have had none.” Grendall stopped pacing the room to lean against the marble fireplace. “I have a sick feeling I know what happened.” He sighed, shook his head, and took a long sip of his brandy.

“What do ye suspect?” Ballard pressed when the man said no more.

“Dillingsworth was not pleased that I got the horse he wanted.”

“Ye think Dillingsworth tried to kill the animal?” Ballard exclaimed, then realized he was not really surprised. He too had wondered if Dillingsworth would stoop to such an act.

Grendall nodded and shrugged. “Someone gave the animal whatever made him ill, and Dillingsworth did threaten us.”

“True, but killing the beast doesnae make any sense.”

“No? He wanted it but could not have it. He tried to make sure I could not have it either. That has often been Dillingsworth’s way. He can be dangerously spiteful. You should keep that in mind. After all, you now have something he wanted—little Clover Sherwood.”

“But he ended their engagement.” Ballard’s agitation made him want to pace the room, but he forced himself to remain still, for he feared accidentally
breaking some of the delicate furniture cluttering Grendall’s front parlor.

“He did end their engagement, but he still planned to keep her. A lot of us figured that out when he got his greedy hands on Miller’s old cottage just outside of town.”

“Yet none of ye thought to warn Clover.”

“We had no proof, only a strong suspicion. Dillings-worth is a power to be reckoned with around here. No one dares make idle accusations. Hellfire, a lot of us owe Dillingsworth money. He could break many a family in Langleyville just by demanding payment of all debts.”

Ballard stood up. “I understand, yet sitting back and doing naught only gives the man more power. Such hesitation is why he continues to do as he pleases. The man kens that ye are all too afraid to stop him.”

“I know. Well, he failed to get me this time. Perhaps that will be the end of it.”

“I hope ye are right,” Ballard said, and shook the man’s hand. “I will be here one or two more days. Call on me if ye need to. I best get back to my wife.”

Grendall stood upright and stared at Ballard. “You did not tell her where you were going?”

“Nay. Ye were in a wee bit of a hurry if ye recall.”

“Of course. I am sorry. Let us hope Clover is understanding. If you need to smooth some troubled waters, call on me.”

“Clover will understand.”

“Ah, the bliss of the newlywed.”

Grendall chuckled as he led Ballard to the door and ordered the carriage brought around for him. Ballard was tempted to ask what the man found so
amusing, but hesitated. He did not want to appear ignorant about married life. Still resisting the urge to question Grendall, Ballard said good-bye and got into the carriage.

He forgot all about Grendall’s remarks when he spotted Aaron Spaulding outside the Sly Dog. The man had indicated a strong interest in horse dealing after seeing the stallion Grendall had bought. Ballard stopped the carriage, tipped the driver, and hurried after Spaulding, hoping to get some stronger commitment from the man.

It was dark before Ballard left the Sly Dog with several ales under his belt and a promise from Spaulding to buy another stallion and three mares if Ballard could provide them within a year. He paused near a shadowed alley to try and put some order to his clothes. A grunt of surprise escaped him when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and dragged into the alley.

Caught completely off-guard, his head a little clouded by drink, Ballard was unable to recover from his surprise in time to win the fight. He got in a few good blows to his two attackers, however, before he was brought down. As he lay in the filthy alley, one man kicked him in the ribs and the head. Ballard clung desperately to consciousness. He knew that without it, he would be ready prey for any ruffian who happened along. When the other man found only a few coins in his pocket and kicked him again, Ballard tried fruitlessly to grab the man by the boot and trip him.

“He ain’t dead, Jake,” grumbled the heavier of the two men. “Dillingsworth said he wanted him dead.”

“I ain’t risking my neck for that fop,” grumbled Jake as he pocketed Ballard’s money.

“Maybe you oughta worry about what Dillings-worth’ll do if’n he finds out we didn’t kill this feller.”

“Ain’t worried about that neither, ‘cause we ain’t gonna be here.”

“We ain’t?”

“No, Tim, me boy, we ain’t. Dillingsworth was fool enough to pay us after we done as he wanted. He was just so mad that horse didn’t die, I reckon he weren’t thinking too straight. Fine by me. I’m taking my share of the money and getting outta here. Maybe to one of them big cities. Oughta be lots of work there. You’d be smart to come with me.”

“Yeh, think I will at that. What about this feller?”

“Leave him. I will sorely miss seeing Dillingsworth’s face when this rogue comes back from the dead. The fool’s in for a powerful surprise when he trots over to comfort the grieving widow on the morrow.”

Both men laughed, delivered one more kick to Ballard’s ribs, and hurried away. Ballard cursed as he fought the waves of pain washing over him and waited to be sure both men were gone. Then he tried to stagger to his feet. It took several tries before he had the strength to make his way home.

As he stumbled along the street to Clover’s house, he wondered what to do about Dillingsworth—if there was anything he
could
do. He knew from Gren-dall that no one stood against Dillingsworth. There was little chance a rough backwoodsman would be heeded if he accused the man. All Ballard knew was that he had to get back to Clover, had to get himself patched up and ready to face Thomas Dillingsworth in the morning. It was going to be a pleasure to
thwart the man once again. He also planned to get Clover out of Langleyville before Dillingsworth could try anything else. A man who would poison a horse and pay to have him murdered was capable of anything.

Ballard realized he was deeply afraid for Clover.

Clover sprawled on her bed and stared up at the ceiling. The last thing she felt like doing was sleeping. She had come to her room to escape all the sympathetic looks of her kin, old and new, and their weak excuses for Ballard’s continued absence. Now only her own thoughts and feelings tormented her. She decided that was enough for anyone.

She was a little surprised to discover that Ballard’s defection hurt far more than being jilted by Thomas had. The explanation she gave herself, that she had been intimate with Ballard, did not really satisfy her. She did not really want to look much deeper for an answer, however, especially not since he had chosen Sarah Marsten over her. There could be no other explanation for Ballard’s long disappearance with Sarah.

As Clover clenched her hands into fists where they lay on top of the coverlet, she fought the urge to cry. She refused to let this betrayal break her. If this chance for security for her family was gone, she would find another one. She would have to be strong to do that. It would be a great folly to allow self-pity and hurt pride to rule her.