Code of Honor (Australian Destiny Book #1) by Sandra Dengler Page A

with a mouse? “Explain further, Sam. Why variety?”
    “That I needn’t think about. Should a single crop fail, the whole plantation’s gang aglee. But ’tis nae likely that several crops would all fail together in a given year; ’tis the good crops carry ye over, so to speak.”
    “Very good.”
    “I should think, too, that a diversified district would be less likely to suffer doldrums, and would therefore attract ambitious people and thrive further; prosperity begetting prosperity, if ye will. I should think it well behooves ye as a businessman to attract our brightest and best.”
    And she froze. Brightest and best . When had she used those very words? When Edan’s shrouded body lay outside their door cooling off. Not that many months ago. Here she sat talking about attracting the brightest and best of Australia even as her Ireland, her beloved Ireland, was slaying them. She shuddered.
    “Sam?” His sharp voice sounded worried. “You all right?”
    “I’m sorry; me thoughts strayed. The late hour, no doubt.”
    “I doubt it. You’re thinking very clearly. I’m impressed. And you’re right on all counts. Butts’s tea plantation is a boon to the whole district. But —John Butts is making a muddle of it. He’s not a tea grower. Poor businessman, doesn’t know the tea trade. Do I sit back and let his farm go under, to the detriment of the whole area, or do I step in and save it? Make it pay off, to the benefit of the whole region?”
    “Sir? Why be ye addressing all this to me? Why confide our financial state? Why encourage me opinion? Why any of this?”
    He studied her a moment and rubbed his chin. “I’m not sure. You’re a good servant, probably the best I’ve ever had, and I—”
    “Kathleen Corcoran was the best ye’ve ever had, I daresay.”
    He nodded. “True. Until she went wading. And I think I see in you far more than a mere indenture. You’re good. Very good. Even better, you know your place. You’ll not betray confidences. I can trust you.”
    “Sir, ye’ve asked me, in essence, to spy on the likes of Amena O’Casey and me own sister. If ye really trust me, please dinnae ask me to betray the chance confidences of others.”
    “Carrying tales is part of the job, my dear. From the servants to me, that is; but not what I tell you in confidence.”
    “I was afraid of that. But how can the girls’ romances and such be your concern?”
    “I just said Butts is no businessman. He thinks more money will save him. If he can just buy his way out of this hole, he won’t fall into that hole. No. Competent people—a good staff—are what keep you going. If I’m to save Sugarlea, I must expand her productivity beyond just sugar. Broaden her base. And for that I need workers, even more than I need money.”
    “I see. So when ye bring in a working girl, sure’n ye don’t want her marrying and running off right away.” Samantha drained her teacup. No, fair Meg, ye need not bother asking; he’ll not buy back yer indenture no matter what the price .
    “Precisely. When I hire, I’ve bought a proprietary interest in the hiree. He—or she—is mine, and I won’t have what’s mine ripped out of my hands.”
    Samantha stared at him and couldn’t stop. “The crocodile. Ye were so visibly angry. Ye seethed fury. But ’twasn’t because a poor woman be lost. The brute took something ye considered yer own. It bruised yer pride. ’Tis its effrontery that galled ye, and nae its ghastly deed.”
    “That bloody croc deprived me of a good worker.”
    Samantha set her cup on the tray. “I see, Mr. Sloan. I see a great deal.” She gathered in dishes and crumbs and napkins quickly. “Our conversation tonight will go nae further than this room so far as I’m concerned. But I shall mourn poor Mr. Butts, for I can see what’s coming.”
    “I expect that of you.”
    She stood erect with her tray. “And I mourn yerself, Mr. Sloan. This be surely not the last time ye’ll grasp a questionable