Page 51 of An Alleged Rogue

Moving closer to the mill, he eyed the pulverized fruit. When Molly had made a couple more circuits, he reached over and used the stick to knock some of the extra apples piled onto the central pier into the trough. The millstone continued to grind. Adam continued to watch.

“Water, if you please, Henry,” Adam said.

The old gardener appeared at his side with a pitcher and poured the water within onto the crushed fruit. Before long, the apple’s pale-colored flesh turned brown, and the aroma intensified. Adam stretched out his arm and took a fistful of the pulp. He squeezed and released. It retained its shape.

“It looks like we are ready to create the first cheese, gentlemen,” he said.

The sound of someone clearing his throat drew Adam’s attention to the door. Thompson stood silhouetted in the doorway.

“I beg your pardon, my lord. A message just came for you.”

Adam waited, expecting to be handed a letter. Instead, the butler cleared his throat again. “A young boy stopped at the house to inform you that Isaac and Duncan were requested in Hereford earlier than they’d thought. They left first thing this morning.”

Adam’s heart sank. He had counted on having the extra help for at least another week. Isaac and Duncan had known exactly what to do in the orchard. Young Weston may be a monkey in the trees, but the two older boys had been workhorses, hauling the apples into tumps at record speeds.

“Can we find someone else?” He turned to Henry. “Did you ask around at the village?”

“I did, m’ lord. No one else came forward.”

“No one?” Adam did not hide his skepticism. “Are there truly no young men in need of a little extra money in all of High Brodmore?”

Henry shuffled his feet awkwardly. “That I can’t tell you, m’ lord. Alls I know is that fer some no-account reason, none of ’em want to work at Dunsbourne Manor.”

Adam stared at him, a pit forming in his stomach. “How did you come to hire Duncan and Isaac?” he asked. “The truth, Henry.” He was prepared this time. At least, he told himself he was.

“I begged ’em, m’ lord. ’Cos I knew they’d need no real trainin’.”

“And Weston?”

“He’s my sister’s grandson, m’ lord. He were excited fer the opportunity t’ make a few shillin’s.”

Adam ran his sticky fingers through his hair. How had he only now discovered this blight on his name if it had spread to every layer of Society in the local community? He took a deep breath. There was nothing to be done about it now. He had apples to harvest—and that was going to be nigh impossible with so few hands.

“Then we shall simply have to make do as we are.”

“We’ll manage, m’ lord. Just you watch,” Henry said.

Adam’s expression was grim. “We must.”

After waiting over a week for her letter to reach Emily and for her friend’s eager response to arrive back at Charwell Park, Phoebe had accepted Emily’s invitation to join her for luncheon. She had taken the carriage to Dunsbourne Manor the very next day, but if Miss Glover’s dour expression upon seeing her was any indication, the older lady was not nearly as pleased by the young ladies’ reunion as Phoebe and Emily. Thankfully, Miss Glover’s stony silence had not been enough to prevent them from enjoying a lovely meal, and afterward, they had relocated to the drawing room.

Phoebe and Emily were studying a pictorial book full of sketches of wildlife indigenous to India when a plump, white-haired lady wearing a mobcap and an enormous apron knocked on the door.

“Begging your pardon, miss.” The servant, whom Phoebe assumed was the cook, bobbed a curtsy. “I was just wondering if you’d heard anything from Lord Dunsbourne about his luncheon.”

“His luncheon?” Emily said.

“Yes, miss. Thompson mentioned that they might be a bit short-handed in the orchard today. And I wondered if perhaps his Lordship would prefer to have some food taken down to him.” Concern filled her eyes. “I’d hate to see him go without nourishment all day long.”

“Has he not come in yet today?” Emily said.

“No, miss.”

“Not even for breakfast?”

“No, miss.”

Cook’s concern became Emily’s. “If you would be so good as to pack him a basket, Miss Hadford and I will gladly walk it down to him.” She turned to Phoebe. “You would not mind, would you?”