Page 20

“Are you quite certain he wanted to meet us, Mrs. Sebastian?” asked Mr. Langworthy mildly.

“Quite.”

She suspected Harry’s disinclination stemmed from the gathered crowd.

He certainly had not asked her to make a public event of it all, and this slinking approach was the result.

When the circle parted to admit him, it reminded Sarah of the Gospel of John, where the woman taken in adultery was “put…in front of the crowd,” and a good stoning anticipated.

“Harry, may I present you to our new curate Dr. Rearden and his houseguest Mr. Langworthy?”

“How do you do, my lad?” Rearden accosted him with hearty warmth.

Harry dragged a toe in the dirt, eyes lowered and nothing more than a grunt emerging.

“Look up and speak up when you’re spoken to, child,” commanded Mrs. Dere.

(Sarah could have pinched him herself—and Mrs. Dere, for good measure—for shyness had never been one of Harry’s traits, and this was an unfortunate time for it to appear.

Moreover, one feature she was certain he possessed in abundance was contrariness, and who knew what he would say or do when thus chided?)

“Oh, yes,” she struck in hurriedly, addressing the adults with forced gaiety. “When Jane and Miss Egerton taught Harry and the Cramthorpes, they insisted on clear enunciation, but I suppose when school ends, a holiday mood prevails.”

Still Harry said nothing and still he rolled a pebble beneath the sole of his worn boot, but the sympathetic baron touched his niece on the arm. “There is the carriage, Alice, Peter. Good day to you all.”

It was the signal for the gathering to disperse, and Sarah too wanted to wash her hands of the matter, but something in Harry’s discomfiture kept her beside him. With a grimace, she leaned down and whispered, “Well? After all that fuss, have you nothing to say to anyone?”

“I didn’t want all of them. I didn’t ask for any of them. ”

“Fair enough,” she conceded. Straightening, she would have tried to catch Mr. Langworthy’s eye, only it was already upon her, one brow arched in maddening fashion.

I will not let him get the better of me .

Taking a deep breath, she let the others drift farther away before saying, “It so happens, Mr. Langworthy, that it was you Harry was most interested in meeting.”

At her words, Harry’s head bobbed up as if they had planned it this way, and he gave Langworthy a straight look. “I can do figures,” he announced. “Sums. As good as—better ’n—others. Faster.”

Langworthy regarded him with unfeigned surprise. “Is that so?” He took in the boy’s shabby clothing and challenging expression. “What an…interesting fact.”

“It’s more ’n interesting,” insisted Harry. “It’s God’s truth!”

A twitch of the man’s lips. “But why are you telling me this?”

Harry glanced at Sarah, but she said nothing.

“I want—I want to learn to navigate too,” he confessed, scarlet burning his cheeks. He was more used to telling people what he didn’t want or wouldn’t do. “But I know that woman—” (pointing toward Mrs. Dere at the churchyard entrance, being assisted into the carriage) “—won’t want me near.”

Langworthy’s grin broke out. “It looks like it’s not only numbers you’re clever with.”

“But I could sit outside and—and listen through the winder, if you’d leave it cracked,” Harry suggested. “Jimmy and Anna and me used to learn in the rectory schoolroom, and it had an old casement that opened.”

“Ah. But I won’t be teaching the other boys in the rectory, but rather at Perryfield, and I believe the schoolroom might be on the first floor, out of reach.”

“Worse,” murmured Sarah. “It’s on the second.”

“Worse indeed, then,” Langworthy said. “On the second floor I could throw the window wide and speak at the top of my voice, but I daresay you wouldn’t see or hear a thing, Harry.”

The boy’s narrow face contracted in perplexity. “But—but—” And then suddenly his features cleared, and he threw out an impulsive hand to pluck at Langworthy’s sleeve. “But supposing I work for you, and—and—and you give me my own lessons some other time, instead o’ brass for it?”

“Harry!” exclaimed Sarah.

“Work for me?” Langworthy repeated. “Doing what, may I ask? How old are you?”

“I don’t know,” answered Harry. “Can’t you think of nothing for me to do?

I’m seven or eight, I s’pose, and strong and quick.

For Mrs. Lamb I take messages and deliver things and clean and carry and what all.

I—I could be a footboy. At the rectory there ain’t but Winching and Polly to do all the work, not now that Mrs. Terry and Miss Egerton are gone.

Just Winching and Polly, with all you fellers to look after.

They’re crying in their aprons about it, like as not. ”

Mr. Langworthy was amused and therefore wavering. Sarah could see it. But ought she to say something? Heaven knew Mrs. Lamb considered Harry Barbary her cross to bear, but might he be a better worker when he wanted something very badly from his employer?

Horace Langworthy is a grown man, she decided. If he chooses to take on Harry Barbary, that’s his lookout, as Gordy would say.

This figurative washing of her hands would not serve long, however, for the next minute Mr. Langworthy said, “Well, Harry, your point is a persuasive one. Winching and Polly might indeed consider themselves overworked at the rectory with four of us to see to and no womenfolk to help them. And if Mrs. Sebastian vouches for you, that’s good enough for me. ”

“Oh! But I never said—” began Sarah, startled. Then she found her own sleeve plucked and Harry Barbary staring up at her with pleading blue eyes which she had never once seen before. For heaven’s sake!

“—I never said I would countenance stealing you away from Mrs. Lamb,” she finished lamely. “And—and—certainly Dr. Rearden had better consult Winching and Polly before you hire them an assistant, Mr. Langworthy.”

He shrugged. “That sounds sensible. Allow me a few days to give you an answer, Harry. And now run along, so I may speak with Mrs. Sebastian.”

“About me?” asked Harry.

“Ah.” The navy man held up an instructive forefinger.

“Setting aside the secrets of celestial navigation for now, here we would at least have Lesson Number One in becoming a footboy: you must hide all curiosity about your employers and learn what you want to know of them by other means. No bald questions.”

With difficulty, Harry Barbary nodded, stuffing down his curiosity and backing away with nods and bows which would have been comical if they didn’t make Sarah feel guilty. Dear, dear—the boy’s heart really was set on it!

“Should I have accepted him straightaway?” asked Langworthy. “I wanted to, you know, Mrs. Sebastian, for any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

The mocking note had returned, but she was prepared for it.

“Mr. Langworthy, I will be honest with you. By introducing Harry to your notice, I have fulfilled my promise to him in its entirety. What you choose to do with your new acquaintance is up to you. I can only say that Mrs. Lamb will surely tell you that he is as exasperating as he is clever, and not only you, but also Winching and Polly might find his mischief burdensome.”

Instead of appearing disturbed by her revelations, Mr. Langworthy only contemplated her impassively, measuringly, and it was all Sarah could do to bear it without flinching. Then he clicked his tongue softly. “It is the mischievous who always row against the stream in life, do you not think?”

She returned him nothing but a wary gaze.

“Unlike the majority,” he pursued, “who are content to be carried by the current wherever it tends, be the surrounding banks ever so high and narrow. The mischievous find the thought of such a journey confining, however. Less like floating, and more like drowning.”

She did not miss his meaning, and her own reply held a touch of asperity.

“You make it sound as if rowing against the stream of life—and I assume by ‘life’ you mean something more like ‘convention’—were always a noble thing, sir. But is it not the case that sometimes mischief is no more than mere perversity? That is, sometimes mischief is done not because the perpetrator might find convention stifling, but rather simply for the fun of the thing .”

If she thought this near-reproof would silence him, she was disappointed, for he laughed. Not in a sneering way, but with sincere enjoyment.

“You have me there, Mrs. Sebastian. There is no defense against your charge for I recognize myself in it, if not Harry Barbary. But come—if I choose to do the boy a good turn—to thrust my hand in the fire, as it were, and see how long I can hold it there before it burns—you will not try to oppose me, will you?”

“Oppose you? How would I do that, sir?”

“Why, I am sure you could think of something,” he replied amiably.

“I could, if I were you. I would drop a word in Mrs. Markham Dere’s ear, or tell Winching and Polly how much additional work Harry’s presence will cause, or convince Mrs. Lamb that she cannot spare the boy, unsatisfactory though she thinks him.

There are a thousand ways you might thwart me, if you chose. ”

He hid a smile to see her bosom swell.

“I shan’t do any of those—mean things,” Sarah retorted. “I have said my piece, and whatever you do now is your own business.”

“Ooh!” With a wince, he pressed a hand to his heart.

“How you do tend to bear upon a sore spot, Mrs. Sebastian, with these constant reminders that my business is my business and only my business, and your business is your business and not at all my business, world without end. When you know how I longed for your business to be my business and my business your business, but you sent me about my business, did you not?”

To this nonsense Sarah made no reply, however, for she had already walked away.