Not by Sight by Kate Breslin

we can’t have them showing us up, now, can we?”
    “No, ma’am,” said Becky, and the others smiled.
    Only Clare sat with arms crossed, wearing a sour expression. “We can thank Duchess here for the extra duty, since she leaves shovels lying about for farmers to trip over.” She stared at Grace. “It must be difficult learning to take responsibility for yourself and your belongings for a change.”
    “Enough, Danner,” Mrs. Vance said sharply. “And once you’ve helped to load the pigs, you can go into the village and begin repairing those sacks.”
    That drew a huff from Clare. “You’re certain you can dothis, Mabry?” Mrs. Vance said, her brow furrowing at Grace. “It’s your last chance.”
    Grace raised her chin. Driving horses was second nature to her. She couldn’t possibly fail. “I won’t disappoint you, Mrs. Vance.”

    “Watch and learn, Duchess.” Clare held up a long wooden stick for Grace’s inspection. Then she wheeled away to join Becky inside the pen. Together the two girls used their sticks to tap at the sides of a large snorting pig, driving the animal up a gangway and into a cage already hoisted onto the back of the cart.
    Relieved to simply watch the operation, Grace marveled at their ability. Agnes made her proud as well, working with Lucy to herd and capture five more of the ugly beasts.
    Once a dozen pigs were penned, Mr. Tillman hobbled toward Grace on a makeshift crutch. He gave her instructions on how to reach the stockyard of the butcher, Mr. Owen. “He’ll unload the pigs, so don’t do anything. Just return my cart in one piece after he’s finished, understood?”
    Grace bristled. “I can do that, Mr. Tillman.”
    She heard him harrumph as she clambered up onto the cart’s bench seat. Mrs. Vance approached as she took up the reins. “Are you comfortable doing this alone, Mabry? I’d send another with you, but the ditch needs to be finished and we’ve another fence—”
    “I’m fine, really,” Grace said, adding in a low voice, “and since Clare must take the time to fix my mistake with the sacks, it’s the least I can do.”
    She urged the pair of horses forward, and soon the cart lumbered along the dirt track parallel with the estate. Behind her, the pigs grunted and squealed noisily in their cage. She gripped the reins and focused on the task before her. Occasionally shesucked in a breath as the animals shifted their heavy weight, causing the cart to list to one side.
    Roxwood Manor came into view. Grace looked toward the balcony, hoping for another glimpse of the reclusive man who lived there. It stood empty. Her gaze wandered to the lush green lawns sloping gently upward toward the house, and the rose garden filled with clusters of white, red, and orange blooms. Such beauty . . .
    As the team rounded the corner beyond a large hawthorn bush, she saw the gatehouse. At the same moment, the pigs jostled the cart and Grace lost her balance. Grabbing at the edge of the wooden bench seat to steady herself, she caught a splinter through her fabric gloves.
    “Ow,” she muttered and reproached herself for having left her heavier gloves in her haversack upstairs. Pulling to a halt at the gatehouse, she set the brake and climbed from the cart. She turned to the noisy pigs squirming in their cage. “I’ll be just a minute.”
    Her search for the gloves proved fruitless. After she’d rummaged through her own bag, she wondered if Agnes kept an extra pair in hers. Passing by the window, Grace made a quick check on the pigs below—and thought she glimpsed a beige uniform, along with the glint of metal. Was it the brass FC badge they wore on their shoulder strap?
    She leaned out to get a better look, but saw nothing except the cartload of noisy animals. Her pulse thrummed. Mrs. Vance would sack her on the spot to find her dawdling upstairs when she should be on her way to the butcher.
    Grace hurried to Agnes’s bed and grabbed up her maid’s haversack. She began