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Mr. P stirred in his chair. “That’s a tall order for just a few weeks, I’m afraid.”
“It’s what I want,” George insisted. “If you teach me to read and write, I’ll do dancing.”
“And geography.” Mr. P lifted an eyebrow, the pencil poised over the paper. “And manners, for both of you.”
“That’s three things to one. That ain’t fair.”
“I already got dancing,” Rose put in.
“Reading and writing,” Mrs. P said, “are the most time-consuming of tasks. It makes sense to count it as three things.”
“Then you have to feed us at least three times every day. Good food. And not bread and water and boiled potatoes. Plus, the meals we asked for. And that venison pasty Mrs. P said. And the ice cream.” He leaned both elbows on the table. “And you have to find us a place to live, together, that ain’t an orphanage.”
He’d nearly forgotten that part, because as soon as this agreement was ended, he and Rosie would be going their own way. But he couldn’t let the grown-ups know that, or they would be locking the doors and posting guards, and that would never do.
Mr. P inclined his head. “No orphanages. Very well. I agree. Emmeline?”
“Yes. That sounds fair.”
“Good. Because I ain’t letting nobody take Rosie without me, and I’m already getting too old. I’ll be a long-haul boy in another year or two.” George leaned over to tap his forefinger against the paper. “You write it down, then, just like we said. And read it to me.”
“To us,” Rose amended. “I made a good negotiation.”
“You certainly did.” Mrs. P sat back, making a show of fanning herself. “I need to go speak with Mrs. Brubbins. She may need to hire another cook to assist her.”
Rose put her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. “Is that because I got us ice cream?”
“The ice cream and the venison pasties, and all of the other very good meals we’re going to have to provide for you two.”
“Are we in agreement, then?” Mr. P finished making a note and then set his pencil down. “We don’t have a great deal of time. This morning’s search and our negotiation have already taken up half the day.”
“I’m in agreement.” Rosie steepled her fingers.
“I suppose so,” George said. They had some good things, especially the reading and writing, but dancing still seemed like wasted time. Still, it was better than the orphanage. “But I ain’t sure we won.”
“Ah. In an ideal agreement, I believe,” Mr. P intoned, “neither side is entirely happy. We’ve each had to give a bit of ground.”
“Damna—I mean, oh, bother.” George grimaced. “I forgot about painting. I saw a man in the middle of Hyde Park painting a man’s face on a canvas. It was very good. I could paint people, and they’d pay me for it.” And that would be useful. “What do you want for painting?”
“Well, that’s Emmeline’s area of expertise,” Mr. P said, looking over at her. “If you teach George how to paint, what do you think you should ask of him in return?”
George looked at her, too, to find her already looking back at him. “Hmm,” she mused. “Painting is tricky. I am willing to give you some instruction in drawing, if, in return, when we journey to the Lake District, you will both agree to be addressed by the names Malcolm and Flora. Malcolm and Flora Pershing, our son and daughter. And if as of now you will both start calling us Mama and Papa for practice.”
“I agree,” George said quickly, and jabbed a finger at Mr. P. “Write it down.” He watched the pencil moving for a moment. “That was a good negotiation for me. I reckoned we’d have to be Malcolm and Flora, anyway, or your whole jig would be queered.”
Mr. P tapped his pencil against the paper. “Our what would be what?” he prompted.
George sighed. “Your trick would be found out,” he amended, trying not to grind his teeth. This was going to be annoying.
Emmie stifled another smile as Will stood. “I will go write this up more neatly,” he said, picking papers off the table, “and then we will all sign it as best as we are able. Most important is that you both agree to what I’m about to say—that for as long as Emmeline and I keep up our end of the bargain, you do not run away again. Is that clear?”
Both children nodded, Rose more enthusiastically than her brother.
“And no stealing anything from our neighbors.”
George looked at Mr. P’s face and decided he shouldn’t ask for something in exchange for them not dipping into some cove’s pockets. There were more than enough valuables just here in the house to fund them for a year or more, anyway. He nodded. “We won’t nick anything from your neighbors.”
“Good.”