lads’ rescue and the gang members’ resulting discomfiture was already doing the rounds.
“Perhaps just have them stack the packages on the porch,” Sylvia murmured.
Kit nodded and halted, facing the now-surly gang. Sylvia walked on and went up the steps and into the hall, gathering the younger boys who had been hanging about the door and shooing them deeper into the hall.
As soon as she’d passed inside, Kit tipped his head toward the porch. “Stack the packages there, and then I’d like a word.”
Warily, the youths complied, then re-formed in a close knot on the pavement before Kit, who had set his packages at his feet.
“Right, then.” He studied the four, who shifted and shuffled. He waited until they were completely still, then said, “The moral of this story is don’t pick on others smaller or younger than yourselves. It’s an easy rule to remember, and I trust you will, indeed, remember it from now on. I’ve taken up residence in the city, and should I hear of any of you being involved in a similar incident or anything worse, I’ll make a point of taking it up with the local authorities. In a nutshell, whenever you’re tempted to do something wrong, remember that there’s always a chance that someone—like me—will be watching. Do you understand?”
They shuffled some more, but managed to mumble, “Yes, m’lord.”
Kit wasn’t entirely satisfied, but there was only so much he could do. “Very well. I believe you have somewhere else to be.”
It took them a second to comprehend that they were being dismissed, then—still wary—they bobbed their heads and skirted around him, giving him a wide berth before, increasingly rapidly, walking back toward the river.
Kit watched them go, then inwardly shook his head. He’d been tempted to see if any of the four needed a job, but the likelihood was that all of them did, and he couldn’t saddle Wayland and whoever he hired as foreman with all four.
Bending, Kit scooped up the packages he’d carried and carted them into the hall.
The scene inside was one of furious activity, with the hired men shifting desks into position and boys running this way and that, ferrying stools, unpacked books, slates, chalks, and all manner of educational impedimenta hither and yon. Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs were directing the scurrying ant-like flow.
Sylvia stood to one side, watching it all with a smile on her face.
Kit set down the last two packages on a desk. Miss Meggs sent him a distracted smile, then directed two boys to untie the strings.
Kit sauntered over to Sylvia. She glanced at him, and he was again struck by the immense difference between the woman now before him and the chilly, reserved lady he’d encountered at his brother’s wedding. “I take it all is going well?” he asked.
“Astonishingly well.” After a further moment of surveying the action, she said, “Once they get everything tidied away, I believe they’ll have earned the rest of the day off.”
“They have worked diligently.”
A shadow darkened the door, and he and Sylvia turned to see the tavern keeper’s wife bearing a huge tray laden with sandwiches.
Miss Meggs hurried forward. She waved the woman to a long trestle table set up along the front wall of the hall. “If you’ll set everything down there...?”
With a grin at the boys and the men—who had all stopped to watch—the tavern wife came in and set down her burden. She was followed by three younger women carting pottery jars of cider and a basket of tin mugs. At the rear of the procession came a burly youth bearing another huge platter of sandwiches.
“There you go, your lordship.” The tavern wife, having set down her burden, turned to Kit with a huge smile. “Been a pleasure doing business, and if you need anything else, just send, and we’ll deliver.”
Kit smiled. “Thank you. This should be sufficient, but”—he tipped his head toward the boys, now gathering in an expectant pack and eyeing the sandwiches as if they were gold—“with a lot like this, one never knows.”
“Aye, you have that right.” The tavern wife beamed at the children, then looked shrewdly around. “A good idea, this—keeps them off the streets and teaches them their letters and hopefully”—she mock-glared at the boys—“some manners as well.”
The entire platoon of boys adopted angelic expressions.
“Huh.” The tavern wife turned from the boys and looked at Sylvia. “If you’d like, miss, me and Bertha can stay and take the platters and things away later. And we’ll make sure there’s no ruckus over the serving.”
“Thank you. That would be a help.” Sylvia motioned to Miss Meggs. “We’ll get the boys in order and send them to you.”
Kit found a stool against the wall, perched on it, and watched Sylvia and Miss Meggs, assisted by Jellicoe and Cross, marshal the boys into a queue in order of youngest to oldest.
Next came the men he’d hired, all good-naturedly grinning and chatting with each other and, occasionally, with the two teachers.
Once the boys and men had helped themselves, Sylvia waved Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs to the table, then looked at Kit.
He rose and ambled across to join her as she trailed at the end of the queue.
The platters of sandwiches had held up under the onslaught; there were still more than enough left to satisfy even Kit. Not that he was all that hungry; he’d enjoyed a substantial breakfast courtesy of Dalgetty, the male cook Gordon had hired, who had proved to have an excellent grasp of what men like Kit preferred to eat.
After helping himself to one of the substantial sandwiches and a mug of the sharp cider, he perched on a stool beside Sylvia and the teachers and Miss Meggs and ate.
Cross gestured at Kit with his sandwich. “Thank you, my lord. This sets the icing on our day.”
“Indeed.” Jellicoe tipped his head Kit’s way. “I have to own to being amazed. I would never have imagined we could shift the entire school in less than a day. And with no fuss, much less major dramas.” Jellicoe gestured widely with his mug. “This took teamwork—and is an excellent lesson for the boys in what can be accomplished when we all pull together.”
The others, Kit included, nodded.
From the corner of his eye, he watched Sylvia nibble delicately on a sandwich...
He shifted on the stool and told himself to focus on something else.
Such as Cavanaugh Yachts and what more he could do to move things along.
The answer was: not a great deal at this moment in time.
Strangely, he felt comfortably resigned to that.
He’d been facing a day of frustrating inactivity as far as getting the workshop under way, but thanks to Sylvia and the school and all who had crossed his path that day, he was feeling content in the sense of having achieved something worthwhile.
He glanced around the hall—at the boys happily sitting cross-legged on
