Silk and Shadows(52)

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."