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“Samuel and Betty? Why them?”
“They’re a good age for learning new things,” Mr. Pershing answered smoothly.
“But whatever they learn from you, they won’t be able to use for a good five or six years, at best. I reckon they’ll forget it all. Plus, Samuel’s a bit simple.”
“Harry Dawkins, don’t you say such a thing,” Jenny Dawkins chastised him. “He takes his time, is all.”
Baby Joe began to wail, and the woman handed him off to the older girl, Kitty. Just from watching, Emmie could tell this was something that had happened so many times before that no one even noticed it any longer. The chaos, the crying, the older children stepping in to look after the younger ones—everyone had a role, and she abruptly wondered what would happen if she and Mr. Pershing removed, even temporarily, two of the players.
“No,” Dawkins stated. “I can’t let you have two, to lord it over their brothers and sisters. Especially two of the younger ones. If you’re taking one, you’ll have to take them all.”
Emmeline blinked. All of them? The brief image of children hanging off the railings and climbing the curtains of Winnover Hall crossed her mind, making her shiver. Even if they could somehow pretend that two of the Dawkins children were Malcolm and Flora, by the end there would be no Winnover Hall left to save. She would certainly be dead of an apoplexy. “We—”
“We couldn’t possibly deprive you of all your assistance,” Mr. Pershing cut in. “Two seems a much more reasonable number for you to do without. We could compensate you for their absence, if that eases your mind.”
Oh, well said, she wanted to tell him. She’d been on the verge of running away before any of the sticky children could attach themselves to her.
Dawkins cocked his head. “You’d pay us to take two of our wee ones and teach them manners?”
“Of course. I know how useful all of them are to your farm.”
“And you’ve no idea how loud all of them are. No, Mr. Pershing. It’s to be all or none. That’s my final offer.”
A muscle in Mr. Pershing’s jaw tightened. “Give me a moment to confer with my wife, Dawkins.” He angled his head toward the coach, and with a murmured apology to Jenny that the woman would never hear over the noise, Emmie followed him over to the vehicle. “I don’t suppose we could bring them all, and claim two as our children and the rest as their friends,” he said in a low voice.
“We might manage that with a half dozen or fewer,” she returned, “but I doubt any reasonable seven-year-old boy would claim either a fourteen-year-old girl or a six-month-old babe as fast friends. Aside from that, we would need to hire six additional carriages for children and luggage.”
His mouth quirked. “We would make an impression, but not the one we require, I fear.”
“How can you continue to be amused by this?” Frowning, Emmeline looked past him at the child-filled yard. “I’ve already considered the remainder of our neighbors. There are children, but either they’re the wrong age, or I don’t know the parents well enough to attempt to borrow them.”
Nodding, her husband followed her gaze. “I’ve likewise considered my friends at the trade ministry. I can’t think of any who have children of the necessary age.” He swore under his breath. “Taking better than a baker’s dozen worth of children with us won’t suffice. And if I were Dawkins and considering a holiday from the horde, I don’t think any amount of money would persuade me to change my mind.”
“That’s that, then. We’re finished.” They’d made an attempt, just as they had to produce children in the first place. They’d failed twice now. Three times, she supposed, since she still owed Mrs. Hendersen a letter of apology.
“I’ll make our excuses. Wait here.”
She could tell the moment he gave the news to Mr. and Mrs. Dawkins. Jenny’s shoulders sagged, and Harry’s arms crossed back over his chest again, his lips thinning. She could sympathize with them wanting a holiday from their offspring, but for heaven’s sake, they were the ones who’d produced so many of them in the first place.
When her husband returned to the coach, he handed her in, had a word with Roger the coachman, and joined her inside. “Back home, then. It seems God gives some a bounty beyond their ability to appreciate, while others he passes by for reasons beyond their ability to comprehend.”
Emmie looked at his profile, leaner and more angled now, as if chiseled by some master sculptor. Yes, they’d tried to have children. But it had all been so confusing and he’d seen her in a way she… hadn’t been ready to be seen, and she’d been relieved to tell him they were wasting their time, as she was barren. The idea that he’d wanted children had never occurred to her. He’d certainly never even intimated such a thing before now.
“I’m sorry,” she said aloud.
He whipped his head around to look at her. “I was not complaining,” he stated.
The sharp tone startled her. “Very well, then.” Emmie looked down at her hands, considering whether this was a conversation she truly wished to have. “I never asked, I suppose, but am I to infer that you did wish for children?”
“I won’t say the thought of young ones never crossed my mind,” he said slowly, no doubt measuring his words. He always measured his words. Mr. Pershing tilted his head. “Did you wish for children? Other than to satisfy your grandfather’s agreement, that is?”
“It may have crossed my mind,” she admitted, deliberately echoing his words. She had thought about it. Mostly how it would have changed things. Made her less effective with her duties. Made her responsible not for a perfect party, but for an entire human or two. She stifled a shudder.
He nodded, but didn’t ask her to elaborate. “Well, at the moment, we need a couple of them. The Dawkinses aside, none of our neighbors or friends have been obliging enough to produce offspring of the proper age. Any other ideas?”
Emmie shook her head, sighing. “I’ve spent the last two days trying to conjure one. There are shops for everything. Couldn’t we find one for children?” She pointed, waving her finger. “I’ll have that boy. Yes, the towheaded one. And I do like the look of the girl in the green dress. Wrap them up, if you please.”
He snorted. “Do you have any that play the pianoforte?”