As they stopped in front of shabby farmhouse, Robby frowned.
“Wonder where Knaggs is.”
Georgie looked around. “Does he live here alone?”
“Mostly. Has a girl who comes in to clean.”
It was the longest conversation Georgie had held with Robby all day, and she smiled at him encouragingly. “I suppose he needs our help, then.”
Robby shrugged and leapt to the ground as Georgie brought the gig to a halt. He held the horse’s head as she climbed down, rummaging through the remaining items at the back of the gig as the door to the farmhouse opened and Mr. Knaggs appeared, propped up on crutches.
He was an elderly man, but still vigorous despite the sprained ankle that had necessitated this visit. Mrs. Clarke had told her he was a childless widower who was normally able to tend his small herd of milk cows and keep a small garden for himself without much outside assistance.
Mr. Knaggs eyed Georgie suspiciously as she strode up the walkway. “Tha’s the parson’s wife?”
“That’s right.”
“I’ve no time for tha. I’ve got animals need tending.”
"I am country-bred and quite comfortable around animals," Georgie declared. "Show me where I may help."
The farmer gave her a skeptical look, but shrugged and said, "All right, then, milady." He stumped along on his crutches as she followed behind.
Feeding the chickens was quite simple, even if they insisted on trying to get caught under her skirts until she tucked them up. She did not venture into the pigpen and simply poured their mash into the trough from over the fence. She preferred not to become too personal with them since they would likely end up on her plate as bacon and sausage over the winter.
She turned from the pigsty to find Knaggs regarding her with surprised respect. She handed the smelly bucket over to him and said, "Is there anything else?"
He shook his head in wonderment. "Naught comes to mind, Lady Peter?—"
They were interrupted by a loud bawl, and the farmer turned. "Looks like Old Bess is having her calf. Not for a lady's eyes."
"Pish tosh," Georgie said, not feeling quite as brave as her words. "I must help Lord Peter with his—our—home farm once we establish it, so I may as well see it all."
Knaggs balanced one crutch under his arm, removed his hat, and scratched his bald spot before replacing the hat. "Well... I guess it's all right. But I don't want the parson lecturing me from the pulpit."
"I shall explain anything to him that needs explaining." Georgie followed him down into the small valley where the cow was penned, carefully picking her way through the grass. The cow lay on her side, panting, and Georgie moved to the animal’s head. She carefully lowered herself to the ground and held the cow by the bridle as she stroked its ears and head. She was a pretty little thing, white and brown with curly hair around her short horns, and Georgie murmured to her to keep her calm as Knaggs went to the far end and lowered himself to the ground with his crutches to check the progress of the birth.
“Looks like she might need some help. Avert tha’s eyes, if you please, your ladyship.”
“Of course,” Georgie said, but peeked from the corner of her eye anyway. After all, her interest in natural philosophy meant she was not squeamish when it came to the realities of farm life. And she was a married lady now.
“You’re such a brave girl,” she whispered to the cow. “So strong and brave. Another push, then?”
From the other end, the farmer grunted and cursed. Georgie politely pretended as though she did not understand his words as he squeezed his hands inside the cow and pulled until the messy, unpleasant, beautiful process was done.
“There you are, your ladyship.” The tiny calf wobbled until its dam staggered to her feet and began to lick it clean in long strokes. He briefly lifted the calf’s tail and peered under. “A fine heifer, I’ll judge.”
“Georgie!”
She turned to see Peter winding his way across the meadow. The farmer chortled at the expression on her husband’s face.
“Can’t shake hands right now, vicar. But your lady is a game one.”
Georgie’s heart sank at Peter’s frown. “Is something the matter?”
Her husband removed his hat and ran a gloved hand through his hair. “I was worried about you. Mrs. Barwick said you ought to have returned hours ago.”
“I was helping, as I ought to.”
