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“They’ll know you took those. Put them back, James.”
His brother winked at him, then with his knee dumped the whole table over. It crashed to the floor, water and tea and sugar and broken pots and cups and saucers going everywhere. “They won’t know anything,” he said, winking. Leaning sideways, he yanked on the bell pull.
A few seconds later Edward knocked at the door and came in. “Oh my.”
“So sorry, Edward,” James said expansively, finishing his ham. “I tripped.”
“No worries, Mr. Fletcher.” Squatting down, Edward cleaned up the mess, putting all the broken pieces onto the tray. “I’ll be back in a moment with cloths and a broom,” he said, and left the room again.
“You see? You just have to look at things the right way.”
“That was mean.”
“It’s what they pay the man to do, Georgie. I’m helping to keep him employed. Now. Hand over what you’ve got.” Standing, he walked closer and leaned down. “And don’t forget why we’re here.”
“I’m here to learn and to help the Pershings,” George stated, lifting his chin. “You’re just taking things and breaking things.”
“You’re taking things too, whelp. Don’t forget that. We got ourselves to look after. Nobody else will do it.”
George handed him the inkwell and the saucer. “That’s all I could get yesterday.”
“I can hear your pockets jingling.” Shoving George against the bedpost, James dug into his pocket and pulled out the money.
Damn it all. “That was just some coins we found lying around. I forgot I put ’em in my pocket.”
With another hard push, James released him. “Don’t you hold out on me again, Georgie.”
George wanted to remind him that the money belonged to all of them, that it was for a cottage and a life as a family, but he thought maybe James had forgotten about that. On the chance that he wouldn’t remember it again, he and Rosie needed to nick a few more things and keep them for themselves.
Once she’d dressed, Emmie went downstairs to the breakfast room. She set George’s practice pages aside and selected a light breakfast of toast, egg, and tea. Will’s place at the head of the table had been cleared and the newspaper was missing, so presumably he’d already eaten and made himself scarce.
Emmie paused, slice of toast halfway to her mouth. Before this latest calamity, this had been how the majority of their breakfasts had proceeded—him, eating and leaving the table before she arrived, and the remainder of the day spent separately. The fact that that… avoidance now seemed like a slight was something of a revelation.
“Did Mr. Pershing say where he was headed this morning?” she asked into the air.
“Into Birdlip, I believe, ma’am,” Powell answered. “He said he had something to see to, but that he wouldn’t be long.”
He’d best not miss the dancing, or Rose would never forgive him. Later, she meant to attempt to give George an overview of drawing. He would never be an expert, and it was frivolous by Will’s standards, yet there she was, permitting fun. Ha.
“Very good,” she said, even though it wasn’t. “Have you had time to shift the furniture in the east room?”
“Donald and Edward are seeing to it now.” The butler cleared his throat. “Some of the staff have requested to watch the dancing lessons, if their duties permit. If that is acceptable to you, ma’am.”
Yesterday’s riding lessons had also been well attended. Emmie didn’t know what the fascination was, but she couldn’t deny that these were unusual happenings for Winnover Hall—where most activities proceeded like clockwork. “I have no objection,” she stated, “as long as the staff is aware that they may be called upon to help keep time. Dancing without music can be difficult, especially for beginners.”
“I’ll see to it that they are aware. Thank you, Mrs. Pershing.”
“No thanks are necessary. I appreciate all that you and the rest of the staff have done to welcome the children. I know quite well what a surprise it was to all of you.”
“They’re lively, for certain,” the butler commented, drawing himself up straighter.
She chuckled. “That they are.”
“In fact, ma’am, if I may, the sil—”
“When do we dance?” Rose asked, swirling into the room.
She’d donned the dressiest of her gowns, a deep pink confection with a purple sash and a light network of pearl beads on the bodice. The gown had been intended for the evening of her grandfather’s birthday, when everyone would be expected to dress for a formal dinner after a day of presents and celebration. Seeing Rose in it now made Emmie cringe, not because she didn’t look darling, but because the odds of the five-year-old spilling orange juice or marmalade all over it were very high indeed.