Chapter 6

A week later, they came for the animals. Grandpère and Kit had made joint arrangements to have their livestock transported to the temporary market set up for the Harvest Festival near the village. There was a rumor among the local farmers that the Duke of Alston was looking to add to his herds and flocks, and some of his wealthy friends might be, too. If it was true, Grandpère and Kit both had a chance of making the money they required.

As Sylvie had been the one to care for the Devereaux animals, she was tasked with supervising their removal and making sure a select few—a few chickens for eggs, a goat for milk, and Moses for himself—remained on the farm. She segregated the keepers into one corner of the barn and made sure all persons involved in the transaction knew which animals were to go and which were to remain on the farm.

The whole process took longer than she expected, but it seemed to go smoothly enough. The animals were loaded onto wagons with the appropriate tags, then the transporters headed down the road to repeat the whole procedure a second time. Sylvie resettled the chickens, goat, and Moses in their regular homes, then headed back to the house to help Grandmère with the extra baking.

"How are you holding up?" Grandmère asked when Sylvie entered the kitchen.

"It was sad to see them go," Sylvie replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she tied on her apron. "I always knew they'd be sold or butchered at some point, but…"

"But you took care of them every day of their lives," Grandmère said, putting a hand on Sylvie's shoulder. "It's not surprising you'd grow fond of them."

Sylvie covered her grandmother's hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. "I suppose not."

She kept herself busy for the rest of the day in an attempt to keep her mind from simultaneously missing her livestock and worrying about how much money they would bring in. After the pies were baked, she set about cleaning every inch of the house, then sat down to work on the dress she planned to wear to the Harvest Festival. It was in need of new cuffs, and she wanted to add some embroidery to the hem to hide the worn spots and give the garment a bit more adornment overall.

It wasn't until Grandmère interrupted her later that she realized she'd been working on her dress for hours.

"Has Christopher returned?" her grandmother asked.

Sylvie shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of, no."

"He's always come back to us in time for supper or sent word that he would be late," Grandmère replied, squeezing her hands together. "I wonder what has happened."

Sylvie put her needle down and flexed her fingers, wondering too. It wasn't like him to simply disappear. "Perhaps loading the livestock took longer than anticipated—ours certainly did. I'll walk over and see."

"Thank you, my dear."

Sylvie put away her sewing things and went first to the barn. The noise and heightened activity of the repairs at Kit's home had caused Moses a fair amount of distress, and the bird had elected to remain closer to home for the past week or so. But perhaps if he had an escort he'd feel more comfortable amid the hustle and bustle.

"Moses, would you like to go for a walk?" she called, entering the barn.

He normally would come running at the word "walk," but there was no sign of him. The chickens and goat were where she had left them earlier in the day, but Moses was not.

"Not so unusual," Sylvie said to the goat. "He's never been shy about going off on his own."

She searched the rest of the barn and the surrounding area, discovering several frogs socializing around a newly formed pond filled with rainwater and a hedgehog family passing by, but no Moses.

"Maybe he went to Kit's after all."

The doubt was evident in her voice, even to her own ears, but she couldn't think of a better explanation. Well, then she would go to Kit's to look for her friend and her pet.

She covered the distance between the two homes in record time, stopping partway up the drive to catch her breath.

"Sylvie?"

Kit's large frame came down the drive and stopped before her. "Is everything alright?"

"I've solved one mystery," she said with a half-smile. "It's nearly time for supper, and Grandmère was worried that you hadn't returned."

Kit grinned, offering his arm to her. "Your grandmother was worried? But not you?"

She hesitated for half of a second, then took his arm and walked with him up the drive. It was the first time since their late night kiss that they had touched each other, were alone together. They'd continued to live in the same house, of course, but between the added work of selling the livestock and the presence of her grandparents, there had been no time for a private discussion.

She glanced up the drive at the horde of people either loading up the last of Kit's animals or working on the house. They weren't alone now either.

"I was curious," Sylvie answered, trying to push the feeling of Kit's lips on her skin out of her mind, "and now I've found you."

"Excellent. What's the other mystery? You said I was one."

She held his arm just a bit tighter. "Moses is missing. He hasn't come here, has he?"

"I don't think so. At least, I haven't seen him. But let's have a look." The last wagon of livestock trundled down the drive, and Kit steered Sylvie to one side, using the movement to disguise his light kiss on her temple. "We'll find him."

They searched the grounds, questioning each member of the builder's crew and Kit's laborers they came across.

"He should be pretty memorable," Sylvie pointed out after a half dozen men didn't remember seeing the bird, "you don't keep geese, so it's not as if there were a flock he could have disappeared into."

"You don't keep geese, Mr. Mathison?" one of the nearby farm hands asked. "Not even one?"

"Have you seen one?" Kit countered quickly. "Miss Devereaux is correct—the Mathisons have never kept geese, but we are currently looking for one who was all on his own."

The farm hand's eyes widened. "One all by himself? I put him on one of the early wagons."

Sylvie gasped, but Kit remained calm. "Do you remember which wagon? What else was on it?"

The farm hand gave Kit as much information as he could recall before Kit sent him to saddle a horse. He turned to Sylvie, taking both her hands in his. "Don't you worry. Go back to your grandmother and tell her I'll be home late tonight. I'll go fetch Moses."

She hesitated for the briefest of moments, glancing at the assembled workers, then put her arms around him. "Be careful," she murmured. "I need both my lads back with me."

He grinned again and kissed her cheek. "We'll both come home safely. I promise."

Sylvie remained long enough to see Kit off, then practically ran home to let her grandparents know what had happened.

Supper was a quiet affair, though Sylvie noted the significant looks Grandmère was giving Grandpère. The looks continued into the evening as Sylvie took up her accustomed place on the sofa with her sewing, but couldn't seem to focus on the task.

"If Moses is on one of those wagons, he's not in danger," Grandpère said in a soothing tone. "Those animals will be treated like lords so they're in the best condition possible for sale."

"I know," Sylvie replied, putting her needle down. "But what if he's in with some of the larger animals? He could be trampled. Or sold before anyone can find him, and end up on someone's dinner table." She shuddered at the thought, then had another that was equally horrifying. "What if he isn't in any of the wagons at all?"

"Christopher will find your pet," Grandmère said with a sure smile. "He always comes through for you."

Kit did always come through for her. Every time she needed him, he was there to help, to comfort, to do everything he could to make the situation right.

"I hope I'm half as good a friend to him as he has been to me," Sylvie said, more to herself than anyone else.

Another hour passed and the sun began to set, raising Sylvie's anxiety level even further. Dark country roads were no place for a single rider with no lantern. It would be easy for his horse to misstep and injure itself or Kit.

"Ah, there he is, coming up the drive," Grandpère finally said after entirely too much time had passed.

Sylvie should have waited for Kit to take care of his horse, but she couldn't. Rushing out into the damp air, she picked up her skirts and ran into the barn. He was dismounting as she arrived, muddy and defeated.

She knew before he said the words that there would be no happy ending tonight.

"He wasn't in any of the wagons I checked," Kit said, wrapping his arms around her, "but there were two I couldn't get to before the light faded. They'll be at the market by now, and I can ride out tomorrow to see if he's there."

She kissed him then, heedless of who might see or know. He'd gone to great lengths to find a mere bird, for no other reason than said bird was important to her. "Thank you, Kit," she said softly, resting her cheek against his. "Thank you for trying."

~*~

Kit couldn't sleep that night thinking of how Sylvie's heart would break if Moses were lost to her. Every indication was that the goose was safely ensconced in a market stall with Kit's livestock, warm and comfortable for the night.

But what if something happened to him before Kit could get there?

As soon as the sky began to lighten, Kit washed and dressed, then headed to the barn to saddle his horse.

The ride to the Harvest Festival market was uneventful, even peaceful so early in the morning. But Kit urged his horse on, anxious to return the smile to Sylvie's beautiful face and, if he was totally honest, to see Moses himself unharmed. The bird had been something of a companion during the past two years, and had brought Kit and Sylvie together on many occasions.

One could even say Moses helped them fall in love.

Because Kit was certain now that he loved Sylvie. How could he not? She was kind and generous, not only with material items but with her time and her heart. She was practical and hard-working and lovely, and he didn't want to imagine his life without her.

Kit dismounted when he arrived at the market, walking his horse among the stalls as he looked for his livestock.

"Ah, there you are," he said aloud to them when he found the first group. "I've never been so happy to see a bunch of goats before."

He tied the horse to the corner post and began systematically searching the stalls containing his animals. But his heart sank a little more as each stall turned up chickens, goats, cows, and pigs but no goose.

"'Scuse me, mister, can I help you with something?" a man asked as Kit was leaning over the half-door of one stall examining the chickens within.

The man was dressed in work clothes, but wore a pencil behind his ear and carried what looked like a ledger. "Are these all the Mathison animals that were brought in last night?" The man looked askance at him, but Kit clarified, "I'm Christopher Mathison."

"Oh, yes, of course." The man flipped open the ledger, searching for the page he wanted, then tried to reconcile the information on the page with the animals in the stalls. Twice.

"No, it appears we're short." He went back to the ledger a third time, then nodded. "Oh, of course. The Duke of Alston's man was here yesterday afternoon when the first wagon came in. Apparently His Grace wants to add to his collection, and his man bought up that whole bunch."

"What?"

"Wanted to take possession of them immediately, and paid a pretty penny for them, too. Your man who came in with the animals authorized it, but wouldn't take the money with him when he left—we have it in the strongbox."

Well, that might come in handy. Because now he was going to have to ride thirty miles to retrieve a wayward goose.

Fortunately, the weather was clear for once and the roads were reasonably dry. Kit reached Orchard Lake, the Duke of Alston's home in Kent, by mid-afternoon. If all went well, there was time to find Moses, rest the horse, and still get back home to Sylvie before nightfall.

If all went well.

Kit was met by a groom who gave him directions and led his horse away to be cared for, then found himself standing before the great front door, suddenly conscious of his worn work clothes that smelled of the stables. But there was nothing he could do about it now.

A footman opened the door and left him to wait in the entryway when Kit asked for the steward.

"I must look like a beggar," he muttered, removing his hat and sliding a hand through his bristly hair.

"Not quite," a male voice answered crisply, "but the footman thought you were one of our tenant farmers."

Kit looked down at his frumpy tailcoat and the frayed cuffs of his trousers. "I can see why. Mathison is my name. You are the steward of this estate?"

"Jacobs," he said, shaking Kit's hand. "My office is this way."

Kit followed the steward through a series of hallways and into a darkly paneled room with little in the way of furniture, but floor to ceiling windows that let in much of the afternoon sun. He took the chair Jacobs offered him, and waited for the man to settle in his own seat behind the stout wooden desk.

"Now, what can I do for you, Mr. Mathison?"

"I'm here about a goose."

Jacobs gave him a quizzical look, and Kit told him about the transportation of his livestock to the market along with Moses's probable though mistaken inclusion.

"You came all the way from the Harvest Festival market for one goose?"

"Yes."

"Truly?"

Kit's chair was becoming uncomfortable, and he shifted slightly. "Yes. Do you have him or not?"

"Let me check the inventory." Jacobs stood, straightening his immaculate waistcoat and tailcoat, and walked slowly over to a table that held stacks of papers and what looked to be ledgers or account books. He selected one of the oversized ledgers, turned to the relevant page, then laid it on the table and began shuffling through a stack of papers.

And continued to shuffle.

Then went back to the ledger, ran his finger down the page, and returned to the stack of papers.

Was he being deliberately slow? Trying to impress the grandeur of the operation on Kit? It was difficult to believe he possessed any level of incompetence and still kept his position as the steward of a ducal estate.

After several more minutes of going back and forth, Jacobs located the item he was searching for and brought it back to his desk. "My apologies—we purchased several loads of livestock at the market yesterday. But yes, there was one white goose in the group of animals we purchased from C. Mathison."

Relief flooded his body, but his posture remained straight, his face—he hoped—expressionless. It could be the wrong goose, and even if it was the right one, Kit hadn't secured him yet. "Excellent. I will take him off your hands, with adequate compensation of course, and be on my way."

Jacobs smiled tightly. "Perhaps."

They negotiated for several minutes, but in the end Kit decided that Sylvie's happiness and Moses's safe return were worth more to him than time spent arguing over how much said goose was worth. "Ten percent over market value. That's far more than what you paid for him."

Jacobs hesitated, and Kit knew the man was toying with him.

"That's my final offer," Kit said, rising. "If you aren't interested, then our business is concluded."

He turned to leave, his heart in his throat, hoping that the steward didn't call his bluff and let him walk out the door with no bird.

"Ten percent over will do," Jacobs replied, a note of satisfaction creeping into his voice.

"Good. I'll see the bird first, then you'll get your money."

When they reached the barnyard, the steward spoke to one of the stable lads and stood to one side while work bustled on about him. "Bryant will fetch your goose."

Bryant was apparently much more efficient at his tasks than Jacobs, and returned with a ball of gleaming white feathers tucked under one arm.

"Moses?" Kit called.

The bird's head went up and his feet began flailing. Bryant shifted the goose against his chest and held on with both arms.

"Moses! There's the lad I'm looking for."

The flailing became whole-body thrashing accompanied by a series of excited honks.

"Satisfied?" Jacobs asked.

Kit grinned and reveled in the relief. "Yes. Very."