"What I said was eighty." Joan stared at him coldly.
"Aye, eighty, a hundred, who can recall a shilling here or there." He took a swig. "What say we make it ninety then, and have an end to the business?"
Joan eyed him. "I said eighty, though I might consider eighty-five. But not a farthing more."
"You're a hard woman to trade with, on my honor." He took another draught from the tankard. "Then eighty-five it is, but only on condition we settle it here and now. In sterling. I'll not waste another day's feed on her."
Winston glanced at Joan, then back at Briggs. "Do you know where she is?"
The planter's eyes narrowed. "Up at my compound. Where else in God's name would she be?"
Winston took a drink and looked out the doorway, into the rain. "I heard talk she was seen down around here this morning. Maybe she's run off." He turned to Joan. "I'd encourage you to pay on delivery."
"Damn you, sir, our bargain's been struck." Briggs settled his tankard with a ring. "I never proposed delivering her with a coach and four horses."
Joan sat silently, listening. Finally she spoke. "You'd best not be thinkin' to try and swindle me. I'll advance you five pounds now, on account, but you'll not see a penny of the rest till she's in my care."
"As you will then." He turned and spat toward the corner. "She'll be here, word of honor."