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“Mrs. P didn’t ask him to find us a home, though. That’s the important part. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He squinted his eyes, wondering if he was about to discover what a megrim was. “Tell me what she said. Exactly.”
“Fine. She asked where poor children without parents would go, and where rich children would go, and whether people could pay a family to take in children. But she never said our names, and she never said the word ‘orphan,’ and she never asked Father John for his help—except for her and Mr. P, because she said something about marital relations and he told her to pray.”
This would have been easier if he’d been there when Father John had come calling. “Did she ask about orphanages?”
“I told you. She asked where children with no one to take them in would go, and he said orphanages. That’s when she asked about children with money.” His sister shifted from one foot to the other. “Wait. Do you think that means the Pershings want to pay someone to take us?”
“It could be.” And that could be trouble, both because people who earned money by keeping children didn’t sound at all good, and because if James could find a way to get money for them, he would take it.
“What do we do, then? Because I think I’m worth a great deal of money, and they might not be able to give anyone that much.”
George rubbed one eye. “We’re not waiting for that, remember? And it doesn’t matter, except to see if they’re keeping their word.” And from what he could decipher, they seemed to be doing that, and if they were, they still didn’t know they were being robbed. He could convince James to let them stay a little longer. The more time he had to learn reading, the better.
“I still don’t understand,” Rose said, flapping her hands against her skirt. “They gave money to the stone jug to take us, and now they’re giving more money to get rid of us. I don’t think they know what they’re doing.”
“It won’t be up to them, so don’t worry about it. But be careful; Mr. P asked me what I wanted to do when I was bigger, but I didn’t want to give them any hints where we might be going.”
“I wish we could stay here. I don’t know why they don’t want us.”
With a sigh, ignoring the sudden pinch in his chest, George sat on one of the chairs in his bedchamber. “Because everybody here knows they don’t have children, and everybody in London thinks they do. They only want to be able to keep living here. They don’t want us.”
Rose flopped into the chair opposite him. “But I like it here. Everyone’s nice and wants to be friends, and they call me Miss Rose.” She sighed. “We’ve been good, and I’ve only taken a few bigger things because James is making us. Don’t they like us?”
Sometimes it seemed like they did, but that didn’t matter. And it didn’t matter that he liked going fishing with Mr. P, who didn’t ever try to cuff his ears or shove him. Just because someone asked every morning if he’d slept well and what he wanted to eat, and just because Mrs. P said nice things and kissed his forehead or his cheek when he learned to read a new word, didn’t mean anything. Even if once in a while, he wanted it to. Even if sometimes it made him want to curl up his fist and punch James right in the face.
“I don’t know, Rosie. But family are the only ones we can rely on. You know that.”
“Yes, I know. Not even our whole family. Just you and me.” Lowering her shoulders, she sank back in the too-large chair. “Sometimes I wish we didn’t know so much. Then we wouldn’t have to worry all the time.”
“Don’t wish for things that can’t happen.”
Somebody knocked at his door. “George? It’s time for our reading lesson,” Mrs. P said in her silky voice. “And do you know where Rose is? Will is out in the garden for her fencing lesson.”
Rose pushed to her feet. “Today is wooden swords!” She jumped up, pulled open the door, and galloped out of sight.
The missus leaned in. “Ready, George?”
“I suppose,” he said with another sigh, standing.
“Is something wrong?” Mrs. P asked, gliding into the room. “I hope Will didn’t keep you out in the sun too long.” Before he could protest, she’d put her hand on his forehead, then on both of his cheeks. “You don’t feel warm.” Bending down, she took a close look at his face. “And you don’t look flushed, or sunburned.” She touched the tip of his nose. “Does that hurt?”
“I ain’t sunburned,” he said, backing out of her reach. “We sat in the shade to fish.” He didn’t need some woman fawning over him like he was a baby; he couldn’t even remember the last time anybody had asked him if something hurt.
Slowly she straightened again. “Is something else troubling you, then? You’ve said you enjoy the reading and writing lessons. Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“No. I just wish I was learning it faster.” He was learning it all as fast as he could because James was going to get them caught, but the more he discovered about reading and writing, the more he realized that a few weeks wouldn’t be enough time for him to master anything. Maybe he could nick a few of the books they’d been using so he could keep practicing after they escaped and James made them go to York or back to London. He’d have to hide them from his brother, but he could manage that.
“George,” Mrs. P said, gesturing him toward the doorway and falling in beside him, “you are giving yourself an advantage that many your age could never hope to equal. And we still have time for a great many more lessons.” She walked with him down the stairs, which didn’t seem quite as far apart as they had been a week ago. Was he getting taller? “In fact,” she went on, “I would like to give you the books we’ve been using. The end of this holiday doesn’t have to equal the end of your learning.”
George stopped on the landing and looked at her. “You’re giving them to me? Why?” No one gave him things. The only reason the Pershings had been giving him meals and lessons was so they could keep their house. To give him the books after they were back from the party—that didn’t make any sense.
“Because you like them, and because I can,” she replied, her smile lighting her eyes.
It only lasted a few seconds, but George caught himself smiling back at her, and not because she expected him to, but because what she’d said felt… nice. Warm. Shaking himself, he whipped back around and trotted down to the foyer and up the hallway to the library.