Thomas Latimer slapped his hand upon the counterpane. "Blasted rabbits! I'll shoot the lot of them."

Mr. Jones frowned at the splint as he tended his patient's cuts and grazes. "There will be no more shooting until that bone has set."

"It could have been worse, sir," John said as he held a bowl of water for the apothecary. "At least Samson suffered naught more than a slight sprain to his hock when his hoof found that burrow. If I slap a bran poultice on him he should be right as rain within a week."

Mr. Latimer groaned and passed a hand across his eyes, recalling the excruciating pain as apothecary and trusted servant had worked together to set his tibia. He shuddered and drained what was left of the brandy. "A gross injustice. The horse enjoys a week's rest, eating his head off in my stables while I, an innocent passenger, bear the brunt of his inattention." He cast a haunted glance around his bedchamber. In the dull autumn light it had taken on the guise of a prison cell, with the apothecary handing down his sentence. "How long will I have to remain trussed like a fowl?"

Mr. Jones dried his hands and began to roll down his shirt sleeves. "I recommend you refrain from using the leg for at least eight weeks to allow the bone to knit."

"Eight weeks? I would rather have the bran poultice." He heard John chuckle, but the medical man only shook his head. "What am I to do in bed for two months? Stare at the ceiling? I will go mad."

"You need not remain abed for the whole duration. After the first two or three weeks, with the help of your man here, you may be able to sit by the window for a time, as long as you do not cause weight to be placed on the knitting bones."

"The timing could not be worse. Half the harvest is still to be gathered, there are matters to be dealt with before winter, and my tenants are too often reluctant to think for themselves. John can bring my accounts and tallies upstairs to me, but who can answer the questions that arise if I am stuck in here?"

"Could Mr. Orton help?"

"Under no circumstances will I allow that man to dip his fingers into my affairs. You remember as well as I do, the last time my brother-in-law had dealings with any of my tenants we almost came to blows. Orton has a decent mind for legalities, I grant you, but where practical matters are concerned he has no more sense than my wife."

The apothecary thought for a moment as he re-packed his bag. "What about your man here?"

Mr. Latimer laughed as John rolled his eyes. "He already does the work of two. I cannot ask more."

"Could not Miss Anabelle assist you, sir? She's popular with the families and has old Jacob eating out of her hand, and you know what a crotchety codger he can be."

"Aye," Mr. Jones agreed. "She has a smart little head on her shoulders does Miss Anabelle."

Mr. Latimer turned the idea over in his head, looking at it from different angles. "Belle has a quickness about her, that is true, and her head is not as full of fripperies as her sisters'. I suppose, until the boys are old enough to prove useful, I must make the best use of whatever God has given me. 'Tis not a bad idea, John. Fetch her and let us see what she has to say."

Before the man had taken two steps from his master's side, footsteps sounded in the hallway and the door flew open, disgorging a flurry of spotted muslin.

"Belle? What—"

"Pray excuse me, Papa. Mr Jones, there is a messenger at the door from Blackwood Hall. He begs you to attend Sir George, at once."

The apothecary released a weary sigh. "Dying again, is he?" With his bag in one hand and hat in the other, Mr. Jones paused at the end of the bed. "I will return next week to check on your splint. Meanwhile, if you need me you know where I am." He sketched a brief bow to the room before John accompanied him downstairs.

Anabelle closed the door behind them and then moved a chair to the bedside, laying a sympathetic hand over his. "Does it hurt terribly?"

The sympathy of his eldest child warmed him. "Only when I consider how long I will be lying here with nothing to do. I trust you will not forsake me during my convalescence."

"Not at all. I promise to visit you every day and keep you apprised of all the latest gossip, whether you wish it or not."

"I would rather you keep me informed about the progress of the harvest and the autumn planting."

She laughed and shook her head, sending her nut-brown curls dancing. "You know I cannot. Imagine what the neighbours would say."

"I believe God furnished you with a brain, and all I ask is that you use it now to assist me."

"But surely Uncle Orton—"

"It is hardly more than you are doing already. You think I do not know how often you visit the estate farms with gifts of food or tonic for the sick?"

Her gaze fell to the counterpane. "Cook told me of the things mother used to do."

"She had an exceptional heart, your mother. It would never have occurred to her not to check on the tenant families every so often. She begrudged neither the effort nor the cost. You need not keep it from me if you choose to do likewise."

"But Mrs Latimer..." She bit her lip then sighed. "Mama said—"

"I care not what your stepmother thinks. You have my permission to continue, but I need you to be my eyes and ears while you are about the neighbourhood. Any concerns raised will require only the most common sort of sense to answer them and if you need any help I will be here."

"But mama says I should stay out of the sun. She says my complexion is too brown, and I will get freckles. No one will marry a girl with freckles, she says—"

"Calm yourself, Belle." He patted her hand in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "Mrs Latimer says many things, and very few of them are to the purpose. If there were any suitable young men of marriageable age within ten miles of here, I might pay attention to her pronouncements. As there are none, I say you may do as you wish. Or, in this case, as I ask."

His family had never complained about living in such a provincial backwater as Haltford. In truth, Belle had always been a content child, and only recently had Mrs Latimer raised the issue of how his daughters were ever to find husbands when there were no likely prospects in the locality. Alas, a season in London would fall beyond his means, but there were other ways of socialising that avoided the extravagant expense of the capital.

"When I am on my feet again we shall see what we can do about taking you to Cheltenham Spa, or even Bath. Then we shall discover whether we can find a gentleman to suit you."

~<>~<>~

Although Mrs Latimer did not openly dispute her husband's decision, Anabelle's relief lasted only until the dreadful news reached Woodside later that week.

"Dead!" her stepmother cried as the tea cup clattered in its saucer. "How can Sir George Mountford be dead?"

"I fear his heart finally gave out," Mrs Orton confided. "It was to be expected."

Selina looked up from her embroidery. "Poor Sir George. I cannot think of a time when he was well enough to leave the house."

"I do not recall having ever met him," Anabelle agreed, attending to the conversation with only half an ear.

"Indeed, Sir George has been an invalid these last fifteen years or more," said Mrs Latimer. "Certainly since I married your father. Yet I never expected him to die. Those sort of men never do."

Mrs Orton wafted her handkerchief, conveying irritation with the flick of her wrist. "You miss my point, dear. If Sir George is no more, there will soon be a new squire at Blackwood Hall."

"I suppose there must, but I have no idea who it might be for Sir George was ever a bachelor."

"That is what I came to tell you. Orton has discovered that a nephew will inherit the estate and, one would assume, the baronetcy as well."

Anabelle sat straighter in her chair and cast a glance towards her sister. Selina's hoop now rested in her lap, the intricate stitches forgotten.

Mrs Latimer clasped her hands together, her eyes glistening with a mixture of hope and curiosity. "Is the nephew married?"

"I have no idea, but if he is not then I cannot imagine anything more agreeable than for him to take a fancy to Anabelle or Selina. For they are certainly the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood, and it would be so comfortable for you to have a daughter settled close by."

Anabelle smiled, knowing that her aunt would hardly be so generous if she had any children of her own to consider.

Before Sir George had been laid to rest, the news had spread well beyond the parish. Not only was his nephew a bachelor, but he was also in possession of a respectable fortune and a smart new chaise. The brief appearance at his uncle's funeral confirmed further that he appeared to be less than thirty years old, with blond hair and a pleasing countenance. Although Mr. Mountford had shown every proper respect for his dearly departed uncle, he had returned to town that same day, leaving the local matrons wondering whether he would ever make Blackwood Hall his home.

When Anabelle conveyed this information to her father during one of her evening visits, Mr. Latimer only shook his head. "I fear he will need to be wealthy to reverse the years of neglect his newly acquired estate has suffered."

"Is the situation really that bad?"

"A sensible man might put things to rights within two seasons. If he is one of those fashionable fribbles, who desire only to shoot a few birds, or catch a dozen fish every autumn, then he will soon find himself at a stand. Assuming the current circumstances continue, Blackwood's income might buy him a year's worth of silk stockings, but precious little else.

Anabelle could only smile at her father's pronouncement, for the condition of Blackwood Hall and its holdings had done nothing to deter the local matrons from plotting ways to catch this rare matrimonial prize for their daughters. Like many of the better families, Mrs Latimer had already planned menus and ordered the silver polished in anticipation of the new squire taking up residence.

Some weeks later Anabelle found herself in a nearby field contemplating a broad band of oozing mud. The stream that ran down the edge of the field had disappeared almost overnight. "Where has the water gone?"

Mr. Sutton shrugged his bowed shoulders. "It 'as to be backed up, Miss. That storm the other night brought down an 'ole load of trees. The stream must be dammed somewhere, but it's not on my patch. I followed the course right up to the boundary and could find nary a blockage. I'd stake my best 'at the problem's somewhere on Blackwood land." He tipped his head towards the treeline, and the boundary marking her father's estate from that of their neighbour.

Sir Henry Mountford, newly succeeded to his dignity, had returned in his smart chaise and four only two days earlier. Her father's injury had left him incapable of calling upon their new neighbour and instead Mr. Latimer had sent his card in lieu of a courtesy visit. A card had been returned in kind, and as a result of this cursory exchange Mrs Latimer was now in high dudgeon; convinced, she said, that her husband had broken his leg on purpose to deny his daughters an early introduction to the only eligible bachelor the district had seen in the last five years.

Anabelle looked back at the cattle milling in the far corner of the field, their mournful lowing carrying on the wind. "And what will happen to the animals if the stream remains blocked?"

The burly farmer wiped the back of his sleeve across his forehead. "The cattle 'ave to be watered twice a day, and that's a fact. The lads are bringin' down buckets from the well, but it's damn...beg pardon, Miss...it's awful hard work for them, on top of everythin' else."

"In that case it is clear we must deal with the obstruction. I suppose I shall have to speak to Mr. Burgin about it."

"Burgin? 'E's gone, Miss. I reckon 'e scarpered before Sir 'Enry could throw 'im out, or clap 'im in irons. That old rascal's been linin' 'is pockets for years because old Sir George weren't well enough to keep 'is eye on 'im. I 'eard there's a different steward at Blackwood now."

This news did not surprise her. It was not unheard of for a man in Burgin's position to take advantage of an elderly or infirm employer. "Then his replacement comes not a moment too soon."

"Aye, 'e's a quick worker too, from what Tommy Green said. Not been there five minutes and 'e's already set men to mendin' the road that runs by twelve acre. 'E's also got 'em pleachin' the 'edge around Barrow field, and he visited Mrs Jamison 'isself to inspect 'er leaky roof. Promised 'er faithful 'e'd 'ave it fixed in a fortnight"

"Oh, that is excellent news. Poor Mrs Jamison has waited so long for that hole to be repaired."

"And she told me missus as he were right sorry to 'ear she'd suffered with it as long as she 'ad, what with 'er chest an' all."

"That all sounds very promising. I hope he will give our predicament similar consideration."

She looked up into the sky. It was not yet noon, and therefore there was plenty of time to sort out the problem with the stream. "I will visit Blackwood Hall now and see if I can speak to this new steward."