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She was a stubborn girl. “Matter of information,” said Jack. “Lay of the land, so to speak.”
Miss Finch frowned over this, as well she might, for the story was thin, but she gave him the magistrate’s location. “What are you going to do? I can see you are planning something.”
“I’m not certain just yet.”
“There is nothing you can do!” she declared, pulling her hands away.
She looked distressed, and Jack dared to hope it was because he was to be run off. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“You are here without permission.” She gestured to include the whole camp.
“Permission?” The word implied a possibility.
“Gypsies, and Travelers, I suppose, can camp if they have permission from a landowner,” she added. “He has the say on his own property.”
“Ah.” Jack seized on this. “And in this case, that would be the Earl of Ferrington?”
“Who is missing. So you can’t ask him for permission. Not that he would agree.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I’m sure he is as snobbish and closed-minded as my grandfather. More so, probably. He won’t give a snap of his fingers for anyone else.”
“Are you so sure then?”
The lovely Miss Finch glared at him. “That’s how they are. You don’t seem to be taking this matter seriously. The magistrate will bring a gang of men, and they willforcethe Travelers to move.”
“Clubs and horsewhips instead of polite requests,” Jack replied. He knew such things happened.
She grimaced. “I hope they would ask first. I don’t know this Sir Hal Wraxton at all. I don’t think my grandfather does either, which is one good thing.”
“I understand,” said Jack.
“Good.” She let out a sigh and seemed to deflate with the expelled air. “So you will go then.”
“That’s what you suggest? That I just give up?”
“There’s nothing you can do.”
“There’s always something.”
“No, people who have power delight in using it against those who don’t.” Harriet had seen egregious examples of this during the season in London.
Jack decided that her grandfather must be quite a piece of work. “We shall see,” he replied. “Will this scouring of the neighborhood be today, do you think?”
She frowned. “My grandfather is writing to Sir Hal this morning. He will address the complaint in a day or two.”
“Right.”
She looked around the camp as if bidding the place and its people farewell. “So I won’t see you again. This is goodbye.”
“I think perhaps you will, Miss Finch.”
She didn’t seem to hear. “It’s not fair,” she murmured.
“I would have thought you more of a fighter,” said Jack.
Her green eyes flashed up at him, suddenly fierce. “Do you fence, Mr. Whoever You Are?”
