Page 14 of The Pursuit of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

Kit listened as Sylvia outlined a plan to move the heavier items first—the desks and the two blackboards; Kit assumed the latter had been brought in by the teachers—they hadn’t been there when he and Wayland had viewed the space.

“Once we have those arranged in the new hall,” Sylvia went on, “we can return here and ferry everything else across.” She paused, then added, “I don’t want the boys struggling with anything they might drop while they’re crossing the Frome.”

“No, indeed.” Jellicoe looked at the boys who had remained in the warehouse; they were busily emptying the desks and stacking books, slates, chalks, and papers on the tops. “We’ll need at least two trips for the smaller stuff, and depending on how many men turn up, at least two for the desks and boards. Even emptied, those desks are too unwieldy for any one man to manage on his own—even a dockyard navvy.”

Just then, a thin, faded older lady, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, walked into the warehouse.

“Miss Meggs.” Sylvia went forward to greet her. “I’m relieved to say that we’ve had some excellent news.”

While Sylvia explained about the new school hall, bringing a relieved expression to Miss Meggs’s face, Jellicoe murmured, “Our assistant. She’s a good soul and handles the boys surprisingly well.”

Cross softly huffed. “I think the boys see her as a vague but doting aunt they need to take care of—which is not a bad thing.”

Jellicoe laughed softly. “I think she plays up to that—when it comes to organizing our lessons, she’s as sharp as a tack.”

Kit watched Sylvia animatedly explaining the school’s change in circumstances to the older woman. Their meeting with the prior the previous evening had gone much as he’d anticipated, with one major difference; the prior, Sylvia, and Kit had discussed various payment options, and, in the end, in order to avoid any future onus falling on Sylvia regarding the rent, they had agreed—Kit reluctantly—to put the lease in his name, with him making payments directly to the Abbey, rather than having Sylvia’s name on the lease, with him standing as formal guarantor, and the payments routed through her. While she’d been perfectly content with the arrangement, Kit had to wonder if she realized just how much at his mercy that left the school. Of course, he would never do anything untoward, like renege on payments or cancel the lease, but she didn’t know that. He’d ended with the distinct impression that Miss Sylvia Buckleberry, clergyman’s daughter, trusted too easily for her own good.

Except, of course, when it came to him, but he was working on that.

One of the boys who’d gone to fetch family members returned, towing his older brother by the sleeve. The pair were quickly followed by the other four boys with their willing elders in tow. Most weren’t fathers but older brothers and cousins, hale and strong from working on the docks. When all were assembled, they had twelve men, in addition to Jellicoe, Cross, and Kit himself.

Kit glanced at Sylvia, and she stepped forward. In a clear voice, she thanked the men for coming and outlined the proposed sequence of ferrying items to Trinity Street. “I’ll go ahead and open up the hall there. Please, before you leave the warehouse with anything, notify Miss Meggs”—Sylvia waved to the school assistant, who now stood by the warehouse door, board and pencil in hand—“so she can ensure that we successfully get everything to its new home.”

The men nodded readily.

One said, “We’re pleased to help, miss. But about our money…?”

Kit stepped forward. “Come to me at the end of the day for payment—at that time, I’ll be at the Trinity Street hall.” Kit ran his gaze over the boys and men alike. “And the end of our day is as soon as we clear this building and ferry everything to the new hall.”

The boys cheered, and the men looked eager to start lifting and carrying.

Kit waved them forward with the stipulation “Two to a desk. We don’t want any dropped and broken.”

The move got under way, with everyone in high good spirits. The men could easily handle a desk between two, and the boys loaded their arms with books and slates.

As Kit had suspected, Jellicoe and Cross folded the stands of the two big blackboards, then carefully set the boards into strap-like slings and set off, each carrying one of the boards slung on his back and the folded stand in his hands.

There was no spare man with whom Kit could partner. He looked around, amid the chaos of boys arguing over who should take what, trying to assess what item would be most useful for him to cart.

Sylvia had paused to speak with Miss Meggs and ensure that everyone was having their loads noted. Kit lifted a pile of slates, which was surprisingly heavy; wrapping his arms about the stack, he hoisted it and joined Sylvia as—apparently realizing how many men and desks had already passed out of the warehouse on their way to Trinity Street—she somewhat distractedly farewelled Miss Meggs. Seeing Kit with the slates, she waved him on and bent to lift a smaller box of chalks. Miss Meggs made a note and smiled and nodded to them both to proceed. Kit stepped out, pleased to find Sylvia falling in beside him.

“We’ll have to hurry.” She was, indeed, bustling along purposefully. “There’s no sense in the men reaching the hall before us. They won’t know where to leave the desks.”

Smiling, Kit inclined his head and, lengthening his stride, easily kept pace.

They strode quickly up Princes Street, electing to avoid the busy quay for as long as they could. She glanced sidelong at him several times, then said, “I didn’t expect you to carry things yourself. Your coat is likely to get chalk dust on it.”

He bent a faintly teasing smile on her. “My man will tut, but I really don’t care. A coat is a coat, after all.”

When she continued to look as if him carting things was something of a social solecism, he sighed. “Think of this as me ensuring that the warehouse is completely cleared by day’s end.”

At that, she looked openly disbelieving. “You didn’t have to help carry things to ensure that—you’ve already done more than I expected.”

He held her gaze for an instant, then quietly said, “Is it so hard to believe that I honestly like helping people?”

The way she blinked at him before she faced forward suggested it had been, despite her “Of course not. I just…hadn’t expected it.”

He hoped she was readjusting her image of him—one of his less-obvious motives.