A Country Affair Read Free Page A

place, unused to the carriage trade by the look of it—where he found he had to stable his own horse. Unable to locate a blanket, he tossed his redingote over the beast. Emerging from the stable, minutes later, he had to dodge a pair of boys and their dog who had started a footrace in the yard.
    The innkeeper soon had Richard ensconced in his taproom by the fire, since no private parlours were to be had in such a small establishment. The inn was poor, but the owner, Mr. Croft, seemed a respectable sort of fellow. And Richard could be satisfied not only with his dinner, but also with the rum punch the man concocted, at an hour when most of his customers would normally be tending their livestock.
    Richard waited until the rum had seeped into his bones and warmed him from the inside out before inquiring where he might find Mr. Augustus Payley, Esq.
    "Ye want the Squire?" the good-natured Mr. Croft asked, obviously surprised.
    "If that is how Mr. Payley is known hereabouts," Richard replied in a voice that said he was not used to having his wishes questioned. Then, relaxing, he reasoned that in all fairness he had not given Mr. Croft his name or his rank.
    The innkeeper laughed on an apologetic note. "Sorry, sir. It's just that ye fair took me aback, askin' about our Squire in that sort o' way."
    Something about the manner in which Mr. Croft had said "our Squire" struck Richard as odd.
    But before he could ask why the manner of his query had astonished his host, Mr. Croft continued.
    "I can direct ye to him all right. If ye want to follow me this way." The burly man set down the cloth he had been using to polish his tables and led Richard to a small window at the front of the inn.
    "There be the Squire," he said, pointing out into his yard.
    Richard had to bend nearly in half to see through the low glass, and when he did, he saw nothing but the two boys and dog, who by this time had finished their race. Now they were engaged in a spirited game of tag, instead, with the spaniel an energetic third player.
    Richard looked about for a gentleman. Then, the earlier note in the innkeeper's voice recurred to him, and he thought he knew why the man had used it.
    "Would Mr. Augustus Payley be one of those two young scamps?" he asked.
    Mr. Croft laughed. "Aye, sir. Now, ye see why ye confounded me for a moment. Ye sounded so formal like. Ay”—he gestured towards the boys with a nod, which, though fond, contained a measure of pride as well—“that be our Squire. He be ten years old, or thereabouts."
    "Which of the boys is he?"
    Mr. Croft's honest face displayed shock at Richard's failure to recognize Quality when he saw it. "Oh, that be plain as day, sir! That littler boy, now, the one with the red muffler, that be my son, Johnny. T'is the other be the Squire."
    It was clear that the very idea of confusing the two boys had greatly discomfited Mr. Croft, but indeed, there was little to choose between the two. Both were dressed in baggy, woolen breeches and knitted waistcoats, beneath which rough linen shirts could be seen. The only distinguishing marks between them were the color of the mufflers wound about their necks and, perhaps, the degree of blondness exhibited by each. Mr. Croft's Johnny was a tow-head, where Augustus already showed a tendency for his hair to turn brown.
    For a moment, Richard watched the two cavorting outside, wondering on what sort of a fool's errand he had come. If the "Squire" was ten years old, then who had written the application?
    Mr. Croft had gone back to polishing his tables in preparation for his evening customers. Richard thought of asking for more particulars about the Payleys, then decided against this course. Where family matters were concerned, the fewer outsiders involved the better, and until he knew who had been using a boy to cover his own nefarious dealings, Richard would rather keep the news to himself. Something fairly havey-cavey seemed to be going on.
    Meaning to question the boy, he bent