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of them still waiting curiously on the other side. His face fell in long-suffering exasperation. “It isn’t that interesting of a story.”
    “Nonetheless you must have it out,” Phoebe said.
    Ginevra took his pile of muddy clothing and went to deposit it with the other things to be washed.
    “There is very little to tell. Mr. Clarke’s new and poorly-matched coach and four spooked in the middle of the village and caused a tangle with Mr. Cranston’s wagon, which lost a wheel—I know not how—and had to be set to rights. That is all.”
    “But who in the world is Mr. Clarke?” Ginevra asked, not about to allow her brother to get away with his abbreviated version of events.
    Phoebe took hold of his elbow and began to steer him toward the kitchen as they spoke, putting the kettle on for tea.
    “Mr. Clarke,” Jasper said, puffed with exasperation, and had to compose himself before he could continue. “ Mr. Clarke thinks himself to be the new owner of Wealdhant!”
    “Oh, is he?” Ginevra said. “I was wondering who it would be.”
    “What the deuce do you mean, you were wondering who it would be?” Jasper exclaimed. “There oughtn’t be anyone at all! He is most certainly not the heir of Wealdhant. He claims descent from Tabitha Allesbury, with very little evidence, and it is entirely clear that the whole matter is trumped up by the railway trying to run their tracks through the Wealdhant lands.”
    The girls exchanged a look before Ginevra continued, more carefully this time. “I meant that I was only wondering, having seen the new servants and the wagons arriving with new furnishings and supplies.”
    “You can’t say that you hadn’t noticed, Jasper!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Why, I heard they even had to call a locksmith to replace the lock upon the front door.”
    Jasper scowled at her, and she made an odd coughing noise and coloured as she pressed her hand over her mouth.
    “How long did you know about this?” Jasper asked. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
    “We did say something, Jasper,” Ginevra said. “Phoebe and I have been chatting about it all week. It is your own affair if you never listen to us.” She lifted her chin, folded her arms, and sniffed indignantly.
    “Is he handsome?” Phoebe asked, measuring out tea leaves from the tin and putting them into their blue teapot with the cracked lid.
    “It is hardly any concern if he is handsome,” Jasper said, “since he is a usurper and a cat’s-paw for the railway and cannot be allowed to stay.”
    “It might not be of any concern but it is indeed a point of interest, Jasper,” Ginevra said. She laid a hand across his forehead to check for fever. He brushed her away.
    “He is rather handsome and very tall,” Jasper revealed. “And you are both strictly to stay away from him. You aren’t to go inside Wealdhant. New owner or not, that hasn’t changed. We don’t cross the threshold.”
    Ginevra put her hands upon her hips. “Jasper, why have you got that look? You should know that you’re perfectly transparent when you have a secret.”
    Jasper tensed his jaw, resistant to revealing the details of his meeting with Mr. Clarke. Phoebe mirrored her sister with her hands upon her own hips, and they glared at him in unison.
    “I crossed the threshold in order that I might speak to Mr. Clarke.” Jasper admitted, since he knew that he could not keep secrets from his sisters and he was incapable of lying. “You are still most certainly not to do so.”
    “Yes, Jasper,” Phoebe drawled, and rolled her eyes toward heaven before going to fetch the kettle as it began whistling.

    Algernon
    T he morning dawned fine and clear, and Algernon gazed out across the moors as he breakfasted. He didn’t know what the moors would look like in the summer, but in January they looked desolate and harsh, patched here and there with islands of packed snow which hadn’t fully melted from yesterday’s rain.
    Algernon wrinkled his nose. Being the