He’d barely refocused on the sheet of figures still taunting him with his inability to make sense of them when the doorbell pealed once more. Jack sat back and waited. Howlett eventually appeared, closing the door behind him—a telling sign.
“A Mr. Jones, my lord. He’s an apple merchant from Bristol—he supplies the cider makers.”
Jack’s brows rose. The apple crop from the valley traditionally went to the Gloucester merchants. “Show Mr. Jones in—let’s hear what he has to say.”
The gentleman Howlett ushered in was, at first glance, short, rotund, and jovial, very like an apple himself. But as Jack lazily rose and extended his hand, he noted the hardness in Jones’s eyes and the tight, rather mean line of his mouth. “Mr. Jones. I understand you’re interested in our apples?”
Jones shook his hand. “Indeed, my lord. Just so.”
“Please be seated.” Jack waved to the chair before the desk and resumed his own. “Now, how can I help you?”
“Ah, well, my lord, I rather fancy the shoe’s on the other foot. If you’ve a moment, I’d like to explain how I believe I can help you.”
Jack inclined his head, with a gesture indicated Jones should proceed, and withheld judgment. Jones’s glib patter prodded his instincts—cert
ainly not, judging by his too-genial smile, what Jones intended.
Jones settled in the chair. “I have to say, my lord, that I’m delighted you’re back in the saddle here.”
Jack suppressed a blink. “You’ve dealt with the estate before?”
Jones grimaced. “Tried to. I’ve called for the past five years. The first two years I met with some old gentleman—a Mr. Grigg, I think it was. Then the last three years, there was this…lady.”
Jack was certain Jones had been about to say “female,” but had changed his mind.
Jones looked inquiringly at him. “Your sister, would that be?”
Jack met his eyes. “As you say, the reins are now in my hands. I take it you have a proposition to make?”
Jones looked slightly taken aback at the abrupt focus on business, but quickly rallied. “It’s quite simple, my lord. I can take your entire crop for a shilling more per bushel than you’ll get from anyone else.”
“I see.” Jack was certain he didn’t—not all, not yet. “We usually supply the merchants in Gloucester.”
Jones opened his eyes wide. “But this is business, my lord. You have a crop to sell, and I’m offering the best terms. No reason you should feel obliged to settle for a lower price because of the past. The Gloucester merchants will manage, no doubt. There are plenty of other orchards, but my clients are most fussy about the quality of the apples that go into their vats.”
A glimmer of a suspicion crossed Jack’s mind; the figures he’d been wrestling with all day…if a premium was built into the apple crop, that would balance his projections with the previous returns.
He refocused on Jones, waiting, expectant. “Your offer is tempting, Mr. Jones, but I’ll need to consider carefully.” Aside from all else, the manor negotiated for the entire valley; his decision would commit not just the manor crop but those from his tenant farmers and from the few freeholders in the area. “Have you been up Nailsworth way yet?”
“No, no—just starting in this neck of the woods. Avening ranks high on our list for quality crops, so I always start filling my quota here.”
“I see.” Jack registered the subtle pressure in the mention of a quota; his inclination was to dismiss the offer, but he didn’t yet know the full story. “In that case, I imagine, as Avening does indeed have the highest-quality crop, you would be happy to call back in two days to learn of my decision. I must consult with the other growers and determine where we stand as to expected yields.”
“Yes, of course.” Jones smiled, stood, and held out his hand. “We’re prepared to take all you have at one shilling above the best offer you’ve had from anywhere else. However much the valley can supply, we’re willing to take every last bushel.”
Jack inclined his head and showed Jones out. Closing the study door, Jack slowly returned to his desk. Jones’s poorly concealed delight on hearing he would consult with the other growers revolved in his mind; the man clearly thought avarice over that extra shilling per bushel would swing the deal his way, but there had to be a catch. A worm in Jones’s bright and shining apple.
Or, perhaps, poison?
Jack knew what his instincts were telling him, but he couldn’t yet see what Jones truly intended. Dropping into his chair, he pulled his sheet of figures to him. Ten minutes of factoring a premium into the price for the apple crop and he had numbers that at long last tallied.
But that only raised another question. If, as he’d intimated, Jones hadn’t succeeded in buying Avening’s apple crops for the last five years, where had the consistently paid premium come from?
Jack pushed back his chair, rose, and went to find Griggs. At least he now knew what questions to ask.
Chapter 5
Late that evening, Jack sat in the armchair in his library, nursing a glass of brandy along with his aching head. He’d started the day feeling reasonably well, reasonably certain. Confident he’d done the right thing and that everything would quickly sort itself out.