Silk and Shadows (22 page)

"Not until you've talked to me." Peregrine's tone was unperturbed, but he watched the farmer alertly and was prepared when the man swung the harness at him, the leather straps cracking like a whip.

Smoothly he stepped aside, then grabbed Crawley's wrist in an iron grip. As the farmer tried unsuccessfully to free himself, Peregrine said softly, "It was Weldon, wasn't it?"

The farmer's resistance collapsed. He licked his lips, then asked hoarsely, "How do you know so much?"

"I made it my business to know." Releasing Crawley's wrist, Peregrine stepped back, though he did not relax his watchfulness. "Weldon is my enemy as well as yours. If you will tell me what happened, perhaps I can help you get some of your own back."

The other man sat down on the staddle stone again, his shoulders bowed and his hands restlessly kneading the leather straps. "I had taken out a mortgage, and used the money to buy my oldest son land in Canada. Then the L & S decided to take a big chunk o' my farm. With less cropland, it would be harder to pay off the mortgage, so I filed a suit askin' for fair compensation. Without it, there was a chance I might lose every thin'."

Crawley swallowed hard. "Then that fellow Weldon and his secretary Kane came and suggested that it might be better if I accepted the money offered. I refused, o' course, I needed the money and all I wanted was a fair price. Weldon said that was a pity. I'll never forget his eyes—like a snake's. He never came back here, but after that things began to happen. My sheep were poisoned, and I lost almost the whole flock. I had a small herd o' milk cows, and one night some bastard shot half o' them. And then…" His voice choked, and he stopped talking.

"That was when the barn burned?" Peregrine prompted.

The farmer nodded. "The barn and the granary both. It was arson, no question, but there was no sign of who'd done it. Most o' the corn harvest had just been stored, which meant we didn't make any money at all last year, but that wasn't the worst."

A spasm of pain crossed his weathered face. "My second boy, Jimmy. There was something wrong with him. He was simple, and his face was sort o' squashed, not natural. But a sweeter-tempered lad you never met, and he was wonderful with the animals. It hurt him somethin' terrible when the livestock were killed. My wife and I had always known he'd never be able to take care of the farm on his own, so we figured we'd leave the property to my third son, Will, who'd look after Jimmy when we were gone. But now…"He stopped speaking, his face stark.

"Jimmy was the one who died in the fire?"

The farmer nodded. "It has been real dry, and the thatch on the barn went up like tinder. Jimmy heard the plow horses screamin', and he went to get them out. I didn't see him in time to stop him. The roof beam caved in on him." Fiercely he shook his head, trying to deny the tears that showed in his eyes. "A few days later I got an unsigned letter suggestin' that since I have a wife and two more children at home, it would be wiser to drop the lawsuit. So I did."

The callous threat confirmed that Weldon was behind it. Peregrine felt murderous rage sweep through him, but he kept his fury tightly controlled. "Have you officially accepted the railroad's money and signed the rights over to them?''

"Not yet." Crawley spat onto the ground."That should happen in a couple o' weeks. Then I'll get the money, though it's no more than half what the land's worth."

"Did you consider going to the law about what was done, perhaps the local magistrate or your member of Parliament?"

The other man gave him a look of intense disgust. "Sure as apples fall from a tree, Weldon's the one who had my stock killed and my barn fired, but I haven't a single damn' shred o' proof. How far do you think I'd get, accusin' a rich man like him?"

"Probably not very," Peregrine admitted. "What about selling the farm and going somewhere else?"

"I thought o' everythin'." Crawley spoke compulsively, as if needing to release what had been bottled up inside him. "But with the mortgage, I'd not get enough out of this place to start up again. Besides, this land's been in my family since good Queen Bess was on the throne—how could I run away? So I'll take the money and hope it's enough to keep goin'. It'll take years to rebuild the barns and the livestock, and pay off the mortgage. With a couple o' bad years in a row, we could still lose everythin', but I don't see any choice."

He took off his shapeless hat and ran one hand wearily through his grizzled hair. "I dunno, maybe there's somethin' else I can do, but I dunno know what. Seems like the heart went out o' the place when Jimmy died."

"Nothing will bring your son back," Peregrine said quietly, "but if you want it, I'll give you the chance to rebuild this farm to what it was, and to hurt Weldon at the same time."

The farmer raised his head, startled, then gave his visitor a long, hard scrutiny. His features firmed up as his native shrewdness displaced the despair that had weighed him down. At length, he said just one word: "Why?"

"Because I am going to break Charles Weldon." Peregrine's voice was soft and implacable. "And you can help me do it."

Their gazes locked and held, until Crawley said, "What do you want me to do?"

"Sell the right-of-way to me, and I will reinstate the lawsuit against the railway. I will pay off your mortgage and give you two thousand pounds besides. Then I want you and your family to vanish, perhaps visit your son in Canada. When Weldon is no longer a threat, you can come back and start rebuilding, probably in time for next spring's planting."

The farmer's brows went up. "What's the catch?"

"There is a chance, slight but real, that Weldon will defeat me. In that case I'll be dead," Peregrine said dispassionately. "If that happens and you dare not bring your family back here, at least you'll be able to sell the farm more easily and profitably than you can now, and can start again somewhere else."

For the space of three heartbeats, Crawley was still. Then he laid the ox harness on the ground and stood, offering his hand. "Mister, you've just bought yourself a right-of-way."

As he shook the farmer's work-hardened hand, Peregrine permitted himself a smile of satisfaction. Another thread had been added to the web. Soon, very soon, it would be time to catch his prey. But first, he must remove Lady Sara St. James from Weldon's grasp.

Peregrine lifted a decanter and glanced at Lord Ross Carlisle, who sat on the other side of the gleaming mahogany table. "I know that port is what gentlemen are supposed to drink after dinner, but I avoid it whenever possible. I'm having brandy. What is your preference? My new butler seems to have provided every known form of spirits."

Ross smiled. "Brandy will do nicely. I've never been that fond of port myself."

Peregrine had moved into his rented town house the day before, and having Ross to dine was a quiet celebration of being out of the hotel. As he poured brandy into two stemmed glasses, he reflected on the irony of the fact that in the last few weeks, he had seen almost nothing of Ross and Sara, whom he liked, but had spent large quantities of time with the man he loathed.

It was time well spent, for Sir Charles Weldon was coming to look on Peregrine as a friend and trusted business associate. Under cover of "friendship," the Kafir had stalked the Englishman, learning details of Weldon's business and personal life, and what his enemy valued.

Peregrine found perverse, decadent pleasure in the fact that he could laugh at Weldon's jokes, while under the surface hatred simmered and hissed like hell's own fires. While making light, witty comments, he visualized Weldon writhing under slow, infinitely painful oriental tortures. He bought Weldon dinner at the hotel, and poured wine as he prayed that his enemy would know the ultimate bitterness of betrayal. It was all profoundly satisfying, and perhaps a little mad, but Peregrine found dark satisfaction in every moment.

Oblivious to his host's thoughts, Ross accepted his glass of brandy. "Except for not liking port, you have adjusted to English society very thoroughly." He gestured at the ornate dining room. "You seem to have been born to this."

Peregrine's mouth quirked up. "You know better than that."

"It certainly is different from your house in Kafiristan," his friend agreed. "All those people and animals coming and going as they pleased. I never did understand exactly who most of them were, or how they were related to you."

"I didn't always understand, either. Kafir households are both hospitable and complicated, and most of those people were in no way related to me." The prince took a sip of his brandy. "Is your book going well? I haven't seen much of you lately."

Ross made a wry face. "I doubt if writing a book ever goes
well
, but progress is being made. Sorry I've neglected you, but after the first fortnight, you didn't seem to need assistance."

"No need to apologize, you're not my nursemaid And you're correct, I have had no problems. Many hostesses enjoy having a tame barbarian in their drawing rooms," Peregrine said with sardonic humor. "Besides, I would not want to separate you from your work when the Muse is cooperating."

"It would be more accurate to say that the Muse and I are engaged in a tavern brawl, with the Muse striking mostly illegal blows. If my publisher wasn't demanding the manuscript weekly, I'd have given up by now," Ross said feelingly. "And there are distractions ahead because my mother persuaded me that it's my duty to give a ball in honor of Sara and Sir Charles. It will be held at my country place, three weeks before their marriage. The invitations haven't been sent yet, but I hope you will be able to come and stay a few days. The house will be full for the first time in…" He paused to consider. Then his eyes went opaque. "For the first time in a number of years."

With difficulty, Peregrine masked the elation that raced through his blood. Fate had just given him the last thread for the web. "Will the guests of honor be staying with you?"

"Yes, along with my parents and some others." Ross chuckled. "My mother is doing most of the work, so I really have no right to complain of the nuisance."

"I'll be delighted to come and meet your parents. They live mostly in the country, don't they?"

His friend nodded. "Yes, my father is near eighty now. His health is good for a man of his years, but he prefers to avoid traveling. However, he's prepared to make the effort for Sara's sake. She's a great favorite of his."

"Lady Sara is a remarkable young woman." Peregrine's tone was carefully neutral. "I understand why she is so dear to you."

Ross's expression became serious. "Obviously you have had no success in persuading my cousin to end her betrothal."

"I have not yet given up hope of changing her mind." Idly Peregrine swirled the brandy in his glass. He had seen Sara several times at social affairs, had danced with her twice. It had been surprisingly hard to treat her as a mere acquaintance when there had been so much more between them. He had wanted to make her laugh, he had wanted to kiss her, and he wanted to finish what they had begun at Sulgrave.

If Sara wanted the same, she had shown no sign of it. She had been perfectly, sweetly polite, and as remote as if he were a complete stranger. Every inch a lady, to his regret. With irritation, he swallowed the rest of his brandy, then poured more. She was a distraction and a means to an end, no more, and he should not waste time thinking about bedding her. "I doubt that Lady Sara is deeply attached to Weldon, but I think she feels honor bound to marry him."

"That's Sara," Ross said ruefully. "Honorable to a fault. She would bend over backward to give the devil a fair hearing. If you have good reasons why she shouldn't marry him, it would be better to tell her directly so she can decide for herself."

It had never occurred to Peregrine to tell the simple truth, but after his initial surprise, he considered the possibility before discarding it. "I don't think that would work. Weldon's crimes are too appalling, too vicious—there is an English word. Heinous, I think?— too heinous for an honorable person to believe. I have been gathering proof, but so far, most of what I have is abstract, a matter of complex financial records rather than a true picture of the suffering he has caused. Not enough, I fear, to persuade your cousin to break her betrothal."

"You're probably right." His friend frowned. "Is Weldon really so dreadful? I find him disturbing, but it's hard to believe he is quite the monster you describe."

"He is worse than you can imagine, and you have seen much more of the world than Lady Sara," Peregrine said bluntly. "Even you, who have some cause to trust my word, have trouble accepting that Weldon is evil. Since that is so, how can I convince an honest innocent like your cousin?"

"I take your point, though it would be easier to believe if you were more specific about what Weldon has done," Ross observed. "However, you obviously don't want to say more, and I assume you have your reasons. But about Sara—you said you have not given up hope."

Peregrine looked into his friend's eyes and began to lie. "I may soon have an incontrovertible piece of evidence. If so, I would like to present it to Lady Sara in the presence of you, her father, and Weldon. That way, Weldon can speak in his own behalf, and you and Haddonfield will be there to ensure that he does not try to coerce her. Will you help me?''

The other man gave a long, measuring look. "That seems fair. If it comes to that, I'll do whatever I can to help."