The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(75)

Harry’s mouth twitched. The old woman’s eyes might be fading, but her mind surely wasn’t. “Lord Granville and his enemies.”

Mistress Humboldt smiled sweetly. “Have you got all day, then, young man? For if I was to list everyone who ever had a grudge against that lord, I’d still be talking tomorrow morning.”

Bennet laughed.

“You’re quite right, ma’am,” Harry said. “But what I’m after is the person poisoning the sheep. Who has such -hatred of Granville that they’d want to do these crimes?”

The old woman cocked her head and stared at the fire for a moment, the only sound in the room the purring of the cat and Will eating his scone.

“As it happens,” she said slowly, “I’ve been thinking on these sheep killings myself.” She pursed her lips. “Bad things they are and evil because while it hurts the farmer, it merely bothers Lord Granville. Seems to me that what you really should be asking, young man, is who has the heart to do this.” Mistress Humboldt took a sip of tea.

Bennet started to speak. Harry shook his head.

“It takes a hard heart to not care that others are hurt along the way to getting at the lord.” Mistress Humboldt tapped a shaking finger on her knee to punctuate her point. “A hard heart and a brave one as well. Lord Granville is the law and the fist in this county, and whoever goes against him is gambling their very life.”

“Who fits your description, Nanny?” Bennet leaned forward impatiently.

“I can think of two men that answer, at least in parts.” She wrinkled her brow. “But neither are quite right.” She raised her teacup to her lips with a wavering hand.

Bennet shifted in his chair, jiggled one leg up and down, and sighed.

Harry leaned forward in his own chair and selected a scone.

Bennet shot him an incredulous glare.

Harry raised his eyebrows as he bit into the scone.

“Dick Crumb,” the old woman said, and Harry lowered the scone. “A while back, his sister, Janie, the one who’s weak in the head, was seduced by the lord. A terrible thing, preying on that child-woman.” The corners of Mistress Humboldt’s mouth crumpled in a frown. “And Dick, when he found out, why, he nearly lost his head. Said he’d have killed him had it been any man but the lord. Would have, too.”

Harry frowned. Dick hadn’t said he’d threatened Granville’s life, but then what man would? Surely that by itself…

Mistress Humboldt held out her cup, and Bennet silently poured tea for her and placed the cup back in her hand.

“But,” she continued, “Dick isn’t a mean man. Hard, yes, but not hard-hearted. As for the other man—Mistress Humboldt looked in Bennet’s direction—“perhaps it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

Bennet seemed bewildered. “What sleeping dogs?”

Will stopped eating. He looked between Bennet and the old woman. Damn. Harry had a feeling he knew what Mistress Humboldt was getting at. Perhaps it would be better to leave it alone.

Bennet caught some of Harry’s unease. He leaned forward tensely, his elbows on his knees, both heels tapping now. “Tell us.”

“Thomas.”

Shit. Harry looked away.

“Thomas who?” It seemed to hit Bennet all at once. He stopped moving for a second, then exploded out of the chair, pacing in the tiny space before the fire. “Thomas, my brother?” He laughed. “You can’t be serious. He’s a… a milksop. He wouldn’t say nay to Father if he told him the sun rose in the west and he shat pearls.”

The old woman compressed her lips at the profanity.

“I’m sorry, Nanny,” Bennet said. “But Thomas! He’s lived under my father’s thumb so long he has calluses on his buttocks.”

“Yes, I know.” In contrast to the young man, Mistress Humboldt was calm. She must have expected his reaction. Or maybe she was simply used to his constant movement. “That’s exactly why I name him.”

Bennet stared.

“A man so long under his father’s power isn’t natural. Your father took a dislike to Thomas when he was very young. I’ve never understood it.” She shook her head. “Lord Granville hating his own son so thoroughly.”

“But even so, he’d never…” Bennet’s words trailed off, and he abruptly turned away.

Mistress Humboldt looked sad. “He might. You know it yourself, Master Bennet. The way your father has treated him shows. He’s like a tree trying to grow through a crack in a rock. Twisted. Not quite right.”

“But—”

“Do you remember the mice he’d catch sometimes when he was a boy? I found him once with one he’d caught. He’d cut off it’s feet. He was watching it try to crawl.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bennet muttered.

“I had to kill it. But then I couldn’t punish him, poor lad. His father beat him enough already. I never saw him again with a mouse, but I don’t think he stopped. He just got better at hiding it from me.”

“We don’t have to pursue this,” Harry said.

Bennet swung around, his eyes desperate. “And what if he is the sheep poisoner? What if he kills someone else?”

His question hung in the air. No one could answer it but Bennet.