(Midwinter Manor)Poacher's Fall Read Online Free PDF Page A

idiotic thing to say. Remind Costessey that he was at the mercy of the man whose grounds he’d come to plunder. Not that Philip gave a fig for that, of course, but Costessey wasn’t to know that.
    He didn’t seem particularly abashed, though. “No, that was to be for my mam. She’s always loved having a bit of mistletoe in the house come Christmas. Says it reminds her of how she met my da.”
    “Oh? That was at Christmas? At a dance, I suppose?”
    “There, sir, you’d be supposing wrong. See, she was the second chambermaid here, back when old Mr. Luccombe was alive, God rest him. Maybe you’d remember her? Right pretty she was, by all accounts. Helen Braithwaite, as was.”
    Philip shook his head absently. He’d never really paid much attention to the chambermaids.
    “Any road, she’d been sent to ask the men to cut some mistletoe for the hall, here. And it happened it was my da sent to get it for her. Now, Da being Da, he tells her she’s to come with him to get it. So he takes her out into the woodland, out to that very oak tree I came a cropper on. ’Course, I reckon it’s grown a bit since then,” he added, grinning.
    It seemed to be infectious. “So I suppose he shinned up the tree and fetched the mistletoe, whereupon she was duly impressed and agreed to let him court her?”
    Costessey’s grin had turned wicked. “Well, she never did go into detail, mind. But they were wed the following Easter, and I was born in time for harvest that year.”
    Philip was arrested by an image of what had probably occurred beneath that oak tree, eighteen—no, nineteen—years ago. Lord, hadn’t it been a bit, well, cold? He looked at the young man lying on the bed and was struck anew by how like his father he was. But softer, somehow. Kinder.
    And now he was looking at Philip with an odd expression on his face. Philip cleared his throat and hastened to change the subject. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but how do you trap rabbits?” Costessey gave him a sidelong look, and Philip smiled apologetically. “Say, for instance, you were out and about upon the common, and you happened to fancy catching a rabbit.”
    Costessey grinned. “I’d have poor pickings on the common, sir.”
    “Oh! You needn’t call me ‘sir’ all the time. Luccombe will do. Or,” here Philip felt a thrill of… something, “you could call me Philip. After all, it’s just the two of us here.”
    “Much obliged to you, sir, but I’m thinking Mrs. Standish would box my ears if she happened to hear me calling you by your Christian name. And my mam would have my hide and all.”
    “But really, there’s no need to be quite so formal,” Philip protested.
    “Well then, how about I call you Mr. Luccombe, and you can call me Danny, if you’ve a mind to?” There was a teasing light in those black eyes of his.
    Philip smiled. “Well, then, Danny, will you tell me how you’d go about catching rabbits? In, er, some hypothetical place that was well-stocked with the creatures? I mean,” he added hastily, not wishing to appear totally ignorant of country practices, “I’ve seen the men at it, of course, with nets and dogs. But that’s always struck me as rather a noisy business, and besides, you don’t have a dog, do you?”
    “No, I’ve no dog, nor did my da.” Danny hesitated a moment. “Would you have known my da, Mr. Luccombe?”
    Philip felt a little hot. “I remember him, of course, working on the estate. I don’t suppose we ever spoke, more than to wish each other good day.” Should he offer Danny his condolences? The man was three years dead, after all, and Philip had no wish to dampen the rather pleasant mood between them.
    “Well, when my da was alive, he’d use a net, as you’ve seen, and instead of a dog, I’d be the beater for him.”
    “Oh! Like shooting grouse, you mean?”
    “Aye, but Da never owned a gun. Never needed one. No, he’d lay out his long net, and I’d drive the rabbits to it for him to