Page 8 of A Meddlesome Match (The Vaughns #3)

Light surrounded him. That was what had attracted Walter to the building in the first place (and the cost, of course). Despite being indoors, it felt as bright as if he were standing outside—something he planned on encouraging with the new coat of white plaster. The staircase wasn’t what one might consider grand, though the workmanship was such that Walter had done everything in his power to maintain the original, and as Humphrey was already attempting to slide down the banister, he knew it would be a popular feature amongst many of the future residents as well.

“Careful, there, Master Humphrey,”

warned Walter, and the boy lowered the leg he was about to swing over the top.

Making his way into the parlor, he found Rolland in conference with the mason, who was showing him the various tools with which he worked, whilst Orson climbed into the fireplace, pointing his face up the chimney to hear his voice echo off the brickwork. As there was no harm in that, Walter left the lad to it and turned his attention to the work that had been done.

Leaning close to the wall, he examined the bare patch that the plasterer hadn’t yet covered and ran a finger along the dry mortar, which crumbled beneath his touch. Walter drew up to the section that had been plastered over, and he wondered how much more of the mixture suffered from too much lime and needed to be redone. But a quick knock against the finished section of wall gave him a different trouble to consider; clearly, the plaster hadn’t been properly affixed to the stone.

Walter felt the mason’s attention on him as he inspected the work, though Glenn’s lecture didn’t slow as he showed Rolland how he sealed the cracks (doing so with far more care than he had employed elsewhere). Scouring the room, Walter spied several more examples of poor craftsmanship, though he couldn’t say if they were due to ignorance or laziness.

He considered the completed work and that which needed to be done. One couldn’t expect perfection, and it could easily cause more trouble if he were to stir up a fuss about a few mistakes, yet there were far more than “a few.”

And to leave them would guarantee a costlier repair later.

With Rolland and Orson safely occupied, Walter wandered from the parlor and searched for Mr. Dix, but the foreman was nowhere to be seen. Confound it! Walter had hired the fellow to keep an eye on the restoration because he didn’t have the means to do so whilst keeping up with his work for the Sempers, yet Mr. Dix was rarely about.

“Mr. Reed?”

Speak of the devil. Or think of him, rather. Walter strode into the corridor and found the fellow in question hurrying from the front door with his hand outstretched.

“Sorry for my tardiness,”

he said, giving Walter’s hand a shake. “Time got away from me.”

Walter fought not to scowl. Of all the reasons one could give for a late arrival, that was amongst the worst. Especially when one considered that this fellow was his employee. Yet Mr. Dix strode deeper into the building, pointing out the work as though his behavior was of little consequence, and though Walter longed to bring it to his attention, there was trouble enough already. No need to add to it.

“Mr. Dix…”

Walter cleared his throat and considered what to say. “I am…concerned…I was examining the work that has been done of late…and I fear…”

The conversation in the parlor ceased, and he felt the mason’s attention on them. Walter may be no tradesman, but he knew redoing the work would be troublesome; this was no minor issue that could be easily attended to, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of paying for such shoddy work. This was the precise reason he had hired someone else to oversee the labor.

“Have you inspected the work in the parlor?”

There! That was a simple enough question to ask.

Mr. Dix puffed out his chest and nodded. “They are doing a fine job, aren’t they?”

Fine was not the word Walter would’ve chosen; some was quite good, but with too many bits falling into the poor category, the average was mediocre at best. Yet how to broach the subject when the other party was blind?

“I am concerned about the quality,”

he finally managed.

With a considering hum, Mr. Dix nodded. “I know how it might appear to you, but we’ve been having some difficulties—one of our masons left without warning, and the cost of materials has risen of late—both of which have put pressure on the men. They are doing their best.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Dix, but I would rather have it done slowly and correctly—”

“But you have been emphatic about your budget,”

interrupted Mr. Dix. “The longer the work takes, the longer you have to pay the workers.”

“True, but I mean to be frugal, not stingy. If the men need more time to do the work properly, then so be it. I can manage the costs.”

The moment he said the words, Walter knew they were a mistake. He could practically hear Glenn and the laborers setting down their tools for a much-needed rest. And why not? Their benefactor was quite happy for them to take their time.

Walter hurried to add, “Within reason, of course.”

“You are overthinking things, Mr. Reed,”

replied Mr. Dix with a jovial smile and a hearty pat on the shoulder. “The work is good, and I shall have it finished in a trice.”

“But…”

Coming around to Walter’s side, Mr. Dix nudged him toward the door. “Do not fret, sir. You have enough to manage without shouldering my position as well.”

And although he was the master and Mr. Dix was the employee, Walter found himself herded to the front door and out onto the steps before he knew what was what. Thankfully, the boys were still too preoccupied with their discoveries to notice how thoroughly their tutor had been schooled and sent on his way.

Shoulders falling, Walter considered what to do. There was wisdom in knowing a job couldn’t be completed perfectly every time, and nit-picking their efforts wasn’t helpful or realistic, yet these were not minor flaws and ought to be addressed.

But what good would it do to broach the subject again? Mr. Dix had already weighed and measured Walter and decided to ignore him at every turn, and though replacing him as foreman was the clear choice, the thought of venturing back into the world of references and interviews was exhausting enough to make him reconsider.

“Leave me alone!”

screamed Orson, and Walter shook off those thoughts to see to his other responsibilities. Hurrying around the side of the house, he found the youngest Semper red-faced and shouting at Rolland whilst Humphrey egged the pair on.

“What is the meaning of this!”

barked Walter, drawing the two older boys to a halt as they turned wide eyes to their tutor, though Orson was beyond reasoning and lunged at his elder brother. Ripping at his clothes, the lad managed to drag his brother to the ground, though Rolland was nearly double his age and size and quickly got the upper hand once more.

Wading into the thick of it, Walter grabbed the boys by the collars and yanked them apart.

“Stop it this very minute!”

Humphrey started to say something, but Walter gave him a hard look. “I do not want to hear a word from you, young man. We will deal with your part in this later.”

Walter turned his attention back to the culprits and narrowed his eyes on them. “What do you have to say for yourselves?”

“It isn’t my fault!”

cried Rolland. “He attacked me for no reason!”

Orson tried to speak, but his little body shook with too many emotions to contain, and they garbled his words into a heaving, tear-filled mess. Thankfully (or not so thankfully, depending on one’s viewpoint), Walter recognized the source of the pain.

“Breathe,”

he coaxed before turning his gaze to Rolland. “Take Master Humphrey to the carriage. And you can be certain we will discuss your behavior as well.”

The eldest boy looked mutinous, but the stern look from Walter had him rethinking his course of action. Nodding to Humphrey, Rolland led the boy down the path whilst the youngest remained where he was, sniffling and wiping at his face with his cuffs.

“I hate him!”

said Orson between shuddering breaths.

“For now,”

said Walter with a sympathetic smile as he crouched before the boy. “Siblings can be vexing, and my older brother and sisters took great delight in tormenting me as a lad, but I count them as dear friends now.”

Though the child didn’t say a word in response, he let out a groaning growl that made his body vibrate, and Walter longed for more assurances to give.

Orson’s chest heaved, quickening as though he was working himself up once more, and he scowled. “I am not a baby!”

“No, you are not,”

said Walter, immediately grasping what had been said between the pair. “And Master Rolland is wrong for mocking your lisp—just as it is wrong for you to call him a ‘mutton-headed dolt.’ You know he struggles with his learning just as you struggle to speak clearly, and it’s not kind of either of you to scratch at the other’s wound.”

“I only called him that because he called me a baby—”

“And I am certain he has called you a great many other things as well, but that isn’t the point,”

said Walter with a frown. “The mark of a gentleman isn’t winning a fight but showing kindness and composure, regardless of the situation. When the two of you go at it like that, you are only proving you are both ‘babies,’ unable to stand up for yourself except with cruel words and swinging fists.”

A thought struck Walter with the same fury as the lad had struck his brother. How could he lecture a child about the proper way to stand his ground when Walter—a grown man—was unable to do so? A gentleman may not resort to fisticuffs to prove a point, but surely, he didn’t flee from every conflict, surrendering the battle at the first provocation. One could be kindly firm, yet Walter was doing a fine impression of a blancmange.

Orson’s breath shuddered again, his expression falling and drawing Walter back to the present as he studied the little fellow.

“Do you wish to be a gentleman?”

asked Walter, knowing full well what the answer would be before Orson nodded. “Then you must act like one, and that begins with treating everyone—including your brother—with respect. Even when they make you angry.”

“I’m not angry. I’m very angry,”

muttered Orson.

Walter nodded. “Even then.”

“And he was mean!”

Raising his hand to forestall the fury building once more in that little heart, Walter sighed and nodded. “He was, but the true test of strength is doing the right thing when it is hard. It’s easy to be kind when others are kind to us, but if we keep our temper in check and treat everyone respectfully, then…?”

Orson straightened, pulling his shoulders back. “Then we are true gentlemen.”

Walter gave him a sharp nod. “Too right. And we want to be gentlemen, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

With a puffed-out chest, Orson turned around and strode down the front path, and Walter took a brief moment to scrub his face before straightening and following after the boy—only to find that his elder brothers hadn’t gotten far.

Sitting atop a pile of bricks and debris beside the front gate, Rolland and Humphrey were shifting things about to make themselves a fort, rather than doing as their tutor had bidden. Orson moved to join in, but Walter called out to them, which was met by much grumbling and gnashing of teeth. With another firm command, the trio begrudgingly obliged.

Rolland hopped down and landed next to Orson, and the latter straightened, his little chest swelling as he nodded at his elder brother.

“My apologies, Rolland.”

That was answered with an extended hand, which was shaken with all the gravity of two gentlemen settling a debt of honor. Orson turned and shouted to Humphrey, which set the other running, and the pair scurried down the front path—but when Rolland moved to join them, Walter stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

The lad turned and looked up at his tutor with wary eyes, but Walter had already spoken so much on this topic that there were no new words to share. Besides, Rolland required far less of a tongue-lashing to get the point across.

Holding the lad’s gaze, Walter simply said, “You are thirteen years old, and you know better. I am disappointed in you.”

Though he tried to hide it, Rolland’s eyes widened a fraction before they fell away from his tutor as his cheeks pinkened. The lad didn’t say a word in response, but Walter didn’t expect it; experience had taught him that Rolland was one to consider the reproof on his own and would speak when he was ready to do so.

Nodding down the path, Walter led the young man after his brothers, and though the others called for him to join, Rolland stuffed his hands in his pockets as he marched along, his gaze fixed on the ground.

In truth, Walter felt like adopting that stance as he considered all that had happened during this visit, but the first lesson one learned when working with boys was to not show weakness. One needn’t be perfect or flawless at all times, but lessons such as this were hard to instill, and it was best done from a position of strength and steadfastness.

Yet Walter felt as steady as a sandbar in a rising tide.