and the others. When they looked at him inquiringly, he tipped his head toward the men, gathered in a circle beyond the boys. “Do any of you know if any of those who’ve assisted us today are carpenters? Or for that matter, whether any of the boys’ fathers or relatives are shipwrights or carpenters?”
Jellicoe replied, “I would say almost certainly, but we tend not to make a point of their fathers’ occupations.”
“That said,” Miss Meggs put in, “I do know that several of the boys are only at the school because it’s free, and their fathers aren’t here now because they’re out looking for work, as they are every day. Other men, sadly, have simply given up. What with the new iron ships and what I understand are changes in construction, a lot of the older shipwrights and carpenters have been out of work for years.”
Kit nodded. “Those are the sort of experienced craftsmen my partner and I are seeking to hire.” He transferred his gaze to Sylvia. “Would it be all right if I asked the boys to take home word of Cavanaugh Yachts and that we’re hiring shipwrights and carpenters?”
“I can’t see why not.” Sylvia looked at Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs, who all looked as unperturbed by Kit’s suggestion as she. She turned back to him. “By all means. The more boys with fathers employed, the better.”
Kit grinned and polished off his sandwich. He drained his mug, then returned it to the trestle and continued deeper into the hall. After passing the boys with a general smile, he stopped by the men, seated on the floor; when they started to gather themselves to rise, he waved them back.
“First, to your wages.” He drew the pouch of shillings from his pocket, crouched, counted out the coins, and paid each man.
All grinned and thanked him, genial and relaxed.
“Now, to further business.” Kit returned the depleted pouch to his pocket. “My partner and I are starting up a yacht-building business in the old warehouse—that’s why we had to move the school here. We’re looking to hire shipwrights and carpenters—those skilled in assembling wooden hulls.” He now had the men’s avid attention—and that of the boys, their ears wagging as well; he included the latter group with a glance. “If you know of any craftsmen with experience in those fields, then my partner—Mr. Wayland Cobworth—would be happy to see them at the warehouse from tomorrow. We’ll be starting work then, fitting out the warehouse as our workshop.”
The men exchanged glances, then one of them said, “We’ll pass the word around. Some may be interested.”
Kit nodded and rose. “Thank you.” He looked at the tavern wife and her nearly empty table. “By all means take any food left over—we wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”
The men grinned and scrambled to their feet. “Aye, m’lord.” One saluted him. “We’ll head off now, if all’s done?”
Kit consulted Sylvia, then they stood together on the porch and waved the men away.
At a call for a moment’s assistance from Miss Meggs, Kit ducked back inside.
The tavern wife and her daughter, carrying the empty platters and jugs and the basket of mugs, appeared in the doorway.
Sylvia stepped aside to allow them to pass. “Thank you for that feast.”
“Our pleasure, miss,” the tavern wife replied. “If you’ve ever the need for the like again, just stop in—we’re only around the corner on the Butts.”
Sylvia assured the woman that she would remember, then stood and watched the pair walk off up the street. She was about to turn inside when her attention snagged on an older lady, garbed head to toe in black bombazine, who was standing poker straight behind the gate of a house farther up the street. The woman was staring fixedly at the school. There was something in the concerted focus of the woman’s stare that left Sylvia with the impression it was more of a glare.
After a moment, she mentally shrugged, turned, and went into the hall.
“I can’t believe we’re almost done!” Miss Meggs appeared and showed Sylvia the long list of activities the assistant had compiled, each now struck through. Miss Meggs looked to where Kit was assisting Cross and Jellicoe in placing the big blackboards, which, given that the hall was properly leased, they could now leave in situ. Miss Meggs lowered her voice. “I have to say I was surprised to see his lordship...well, get his hands dirty, as it were. One would have thought he would hold himself above carting books and slates and fiddling with blackboards.”
One would. Sylvia studied Kit. “He enjoys it, I think.” He’d certainly seemed to, and the readiness with which he’d helped had earned him an acceptance among all at the school—and with the hired men, too—he wouldn’t otherwise have had.
Finally, the blackboards were positioned and every last book, slate, and piece of chalk had been put in its proper place. Jellicoe and Cross declared themselves satisfied that all was in readiness to commence lessons the next day.
The boys cheered.
Then Sylvia called them to attention and announced that, in light of their sterling efforts, given all was as it needed to be for the school to carry on, she believed the boys could be excused for the day.
The cheer her words elicited rattled the rafters.
“Very well, boys,” Jellicoe said. “You’ve heard Miss Buckleberry. Off you go, and make sure you’re here on time tomorrow morning.”
With whoops and more cheers, the boys headed for the door and streamed out and away.
Kit waited while Sylvia consulted with Jellicoe and Cross, then farewelled Miss Meggs. He followed the teachers and Sylvia out of the door.
She locked up and held out the key to Jellicoe. “I’ll call sometime tomorrow to see if anything has cropped up.”
“I can’t see what will.” Jellicoe accepted the key, then glanced at Kit and smiled. “We now have a stable place to call home, and Cross and I, and Meggs, too, are determined to make the most of it.”
Kit returned the smile and lightly touched Sylvia’s back, urging her down the steps before him. He’d had other motives—ulterior motives—beyond helping the school, yet that ambition had grown during the day to be significantly more important than it had been that morning.
Miss Meggs had already hurried up the street toward the Abbey. After noting her dwindling figure, the rest of them turned toward the river.
They ambled along in the westering light, a sense of contentment—of achievement—wrapping about the four of them. They turned left into the street that followed the river—the Butts, as it was called. A little farther on, they passed the churchyard of St. Augustine’s Church and continued into the section of street known as St. Augustine’s Back. Kit and Sylvia parted from Jellicoe and Cross just before the drawbridge. The teachers entered a tall lodging house, while Kit and Sylvia continued to the steps and climbed onto the bridge.
They paused by the railing to watch a ship steaming down the Frome, then walked on.
“When you were talking to the men,” Sylvia said, “you mentioned a partner—a Mr. Cobworth.”
Kit nodded. “Wayland Cobworth. He’s an old school friend from Eton days and has become a designer of yachts. He and I share
