“Safe?” Daniel said with mock consternation. “You’ll no longer scold me for my excesses of virtue? No longer kick me under the tea table when I forget to insist on baskets of sweets for the Webber boys? This is not a form of safety I will enjoy.”
He was the dearest man, the dearest friend, and Kirsten wanted to be a friend to him as well. Among other hopeless, pointless things.
“You have Danny,” Kirsten said. “I want the rotten boys.” She wanted their vicar as well, which probably made her rotten too.
Lovely.
“The boys have yet to fall into my reforming clutches, my lady. What fate have you planned for them?”
“Tea with me on Thursdays,” Kirsten said, barely, barely resisting the urge to retie Daniel’s off-center cravat. “To learn deportment, the order of precedence, the royal succession, and other drawing room tricks to impress their parents while their studies come along at a more reasonable pace.”
Daniel sauntered away and propped a hip on a windowsill, almost as if he’d known Kirsten’s dignity was losing the fight with her ill-timed impulses.
“You get the parlor tricks while I break the new sod with first declension nouns and Psalms? Hardly fair, my lady. Am I to join this tea party?”
Did he want to? Kirsten would love to share—
“I think not,” she said, before her rotten nature could stop her. “You and the boys can’t be in each other’s pockets all the time. You have sermons to prepare, after all. I also suggest you appropriate Ralph as your general factotum. The family is going up to Town soon, and the staff will be in want of activity.”
Outside, the day was shifting, from overcast and rainy, to sunny and damp. The sunlight was still weak and wintry, and Daniel made a lonely, wistful figure silhouetted against it.
“Every headmaster needs a general factotum,” he said, pushing open the curtain wide enough to reveal the view of the dormant gardens. “I thought you were traveling to London with your sisters.”
“Nicholas and I are negotiating. If the staff is to take on regular meals for small children, a great deal more laundry, and a half-dozen fractious ponies—for ponies are always fractious—then somebody had best be on hand to keep matters organized.”
The household would probably enjoy the occasional stray toad, bat, squirrel, or rabbit too, and Kirsten wouldn’t miss that excitement for the world. Would that the vicar were inclined to stray.
But no. Fierceness suffused his honor as well as his kindness, and Kirsten would not for the world trespass on the kindness or compromise the honor.
“I was set on organizing the finances,” Mr. Banks said, opening the window a crack. “I hadn’t thought of the rest of it. You’re also good at dealing with minor injuries.”
Kirsten’s ability to cope with a broken heart was improving as well.
“I suggest you resume your place at the desk, Mr. Banks, and jot down a few notes. I have five brothers, the privileged sons of an earl, whereas you were raised the sole boy in a rural parsonage.”
“You’re suggesting my upbringing had its limitations, and I can’t argue that conclusion.” He took a seat behind the desk, produced a penknife, and whittled a new point on his pencil. “Madam, I await your guidance.”
They argued, they discussed, and when insisting that the vicar borrow the schoolroom’s glass terrarium posthaste, Kirsten even raised her voice.
For Daniel Banks had become her friend, and she was helpless not to protect him, even from the herd of loose toads doubtless hopping his way.
* * *
Lady Kirsten had assigned all six boys their beds, cots in an upstairs room that had a big fireplace, a worktable, and a row of windows that looked out over the stable and pastures.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad here,” Thomas Webber said, climbing under his blankets. “Her ladyship didn’t even mention baths, and the ladies are always going on about baths.”
Digby exchanged a look with Danny Banks, who’d ridden up the lane on his own pony in the company of a big, blond lord of some sort.
Papa had brought Digby over, with the new pony on a leading line. Papa was only the son of a lord.
“We’ll bathe in the laundry,” Matthias Webber said. “Cleanliness is next to godliness, and vicars are the godliest bunch. At least I’ll have my sweets to look forward to tomorrow.”
“I’m not particularly fond of sweets,” Danny said. He was wiping off his boots with a rag, probably his only pair. Vicars were poor, so a vicar’s son would be even poorer.
Poor did not, apparently, mean stupid.
“I’m not one for sweets, either,” Digby said. “I do enjoy cricket.”
“You can forget cricket,” Frank Blumenthal muttered, smacking his pillow. “This is a new pillow.”
“Won’t be for long if you beat it,” Fred Blumenthal retorted, smacking his own pillow in an identical fashion. “We need a cricket set if we’re to play cricket, and that’s assuming Vicar doesn’t chain us to our desks.”
Danny spat on the toe of one boot and went back to his polishing. “He can’t chain us to our desks. We have to look after our ponies.”
An uneasy silence fell. The boys had ponies, but like Digby, they’d only recently acquired them.
“What do you know about looking after a pony?” Matthias sneered. Without glasses slipping down his nose all the time, he looked less like a baby owl and more like a skinny, tired boy.
“Everything,” Danny said easily, setting a shiny boot beside its mate. “I’ve been helping Papa with Beelzebub since I was very small. There’s a lot to know, but the horses understand if you’re trying to learn, and are patient with us as long as we mean well.”
Pray God the vicar worked along the same plan, because Digby had no head for Latin.
“Tell us about looking after a pony,” Fred said around a yawn. “Though I expect the earl will have his grooms look after ours.”
“He won’t,” Digby ventured. “A gentleman knows how to look after his cattle, so we’ll learn about looking after our own ponies.” Papa had winked when he’d said that, though in addition to Latin, French, geography, math, history, and natural science, mucking out a pony stall loomed like one of those impossible jobs set for that big Greek fellow whose name Digby forgot.
Harold? Hairy-something?
“What’s one thing we need to know about looking after ponies?” Thomas asked. “I haven’t even given mine a name yet.”
“The name is important,” Danny said, getting into bed. “Water is more important. The first thing your pony must have is frequent rations of good, clean water.”
“What else?” Fred prompted. “Nobody lives on just water.”
“A fish might,” Frank retorted.
“Don’t think I’ll share my sweets simply because you’re telling us about ponies,” Matthias said, blowing out the last candle, for he’d appointed himself in charge of candles.
“I want Digby to share his cricket set,” Danny said. “Though I’m sure the other boys would enjoy sharing your sweets.”
A considering, perhaps even wondering silence ensued, broken by a single weak croak from under Matthias’s bed.
“I’ll share my basket,” Thomas said, “and Matthias can be a miser. A month is a long time to go between biscuits.”
“Danny will have to tell us about keeping a pony,” Digby suggested, for a vicar’s boy might not get a basket of sweets ever.
“You’ll share your cricket kit,” Danny replied. “And we’ll all have sweets.”
Another lone, perhaps consenting croak, and then all six boys drifted to sleep on dreams of ponies and biscuits.
* * *
Daniel’s week bumped along in the direction of a new routine, one that pleased and tormented him in equal measures. For reasons he could not fathom, Lady Kirsten had bid him to fill a terrarium wit
h moss, sticks, and leaves, and keep it out of sight.
On Monday, Matthias Webber’s basket of sweets arrived, crammed full of biscuits, a wedge of cheese, a large loaf of fresh bread, and even a few candied violets.
On Tuesday, Matthias had a bellyache, which meant Daniel assigned him to say grace before all three meals, a bellyache being a known guarantee of a short blessing. Tuesday was also the day set aside for Mr. George Haddonfield to assist with lessons in horsemanship, so Daniel had the later afternoon free to work on his sermon.
Wednesday after studies, because the scholars were off to a good start, Master Digby’s cricket set was pressed into service, with Ralph, the stable lads, and the under-footmen filling out the athletic ranks. Daniel used the time to call on several parishioners too ill or infirm to attend Sunday services.
Thursday afternoon, the boys were subjected to a thorough scrubbing of hands before they thundered across the garden and invaded Lady Kirsten’s formal parlor. The wonders of the tea ceremony were laid before them, also the wonders of ginger biscuits and—with the assistance of the ginger-biscuit-snitching earl himself—the art of the proper bow.
More cricket ensued at the lady’s request, though it hadn’t been on Daniel’s schedule. Her team lost but didn’t seem to mind their defeat.
Friday, the day when Daniel intended to administer the boys’ first examinations, all hell finally broke loose.
“I count six,” Ralph muttered as the croaking in the schoolroom reached a crescendo. “One toad for each boy, and these are the biggest toads I’ve ever seen, sir.”
“The loudest as well,” Daniel replied. The boys, seated each at his desk, failed to stifle smug little grins, though Danny was making an effort. “If you open the cupboard behind the desk in my study, Ralph, you will find a large glass terrarium. You will please fetch it, though take your time. I must explain something to the boys.”
A sermon of sorts organized itself in Daniel’s head.
“Gentlemen, into the corridor with me.” Where Daniel would be heard over the croaking of hapless amphibians. No wonder frogs had qualified for biblical plague status.
Six abruptly sober little fellows filed out into the corridor. Daniel shut the door, lest they be joined by their new pets.
“Can anybody hazard a guess as to how our studies have been disrupted?” he asked.
Silence, much shuffling of small feet, a glance between the twins. Matthias Webber pushed his glasses up his nose. Danny studied his boots. Digby stared straight ahead.
“As I thought, a simple unfortunate coincidence,” Daniel said. “A half-dozen ambitious gentlemen toads took it into their little toadly minds to acquire an education in Latin. We must not disappoint them. We’ll have our examination first, and then I’ll leave you to round up the misguided creatures while I have my luncheon. When the toads have been returned to their natural habitat, we’ll do an experiment regarding the benefits of captivity for our science lesson this afternoon. Does that sound agreeable?”
Thomas, a dear little soul with a good heart and a solid left cross, ventured a question.
“Does that mean we don’t get to eat, sir?”
“Of course you’ll eat,” Daniel said. “But we’re dealing with a matter of stewardship, Thomas. These misguided toads have likely been hopping their way into the house for days. Unless somebody has thought to feed them their accustomed diet, they’re near starvation to say nothing of the miseries of dehydration, while we’ve enjoyed our toast, eggs, and porridge only hours ago. We must look after those who cannot manage for themselves.”
“If they’re dying of hunger and thirst, shouldn’t we catch the poor little toads before we take our examination?” Matthias asked. The boy intended the toad catching to go on all day, of course.
Such a bright lad.
“You hear them,” Daniel said. “They’re unsettled, bouncing around, trying to find the fresh water and flies they need to survive. They’ll quiet down while you boys tend to your examinations. I’m sure of it.”
The toads, obliging fellows, did not quiet down. In the midst of Digby’s academic labors, one plopped right onto his paper, provoking a screech from the boy, which resulted in a watery brown streak across the paper, before the malefactor hopped to the boy’s boot and on about the schoolroom.
“Shall you start over, Digby?” Daniel asked, flourishing a clean sheet of foolscap.
“From the very beginning?”
“Afraid so. You’ll keep your jacket cleaner. Toads haven’t the knack of using the chamber pot.”
The look that crossed the boy’s face nearly undid Daniel’s composure, so horrified was his hungry little scholar. The other five boys took to curling their arms protectively around their work, which was not, alas, progressing very quickly.
Ralph produced the terrarium and Daniel left him to oversee the remainder of the examination, for nothing would come between Daniel and his favorite, most dreaded penance.
Lady Kirsten had taken to joining him for lunch in his study. The door remained open, of course, and the occasional boy, Ralph, or a footman with a bucket of coal often interrupted.
She sat on her side of his desk, content with a tray of soup, cold chicken, and buttered bread.
And apparently with her vicar’s company.
“My papa declared it the eleventh commandment that a sensible routine was a cure for nearly all ills,” Daniel said, passing her ladyship the saltcellar. Papa had been wrong, of course. Routine might address a boy’s ills, but not a man’s.
Papa’s journals did not go flying from the shelves at Daniel’s disrespectful thoughts. He really ought to have been spending his luncheons reading those journals.
“Are the boys settling in, then?” Lady Kirsten used her fingers, not the delicate silver spoon, to add a dash of salt to her soup.
“Ralph counted six toads in the schoolroom this morning,” Daniel said. “An encouraging sign of solidarity among the lads, though their academics are sadly wanting.” Even Danny had lost ground in the months since Daniel had last shared a roof with him.
“Toads? Frogs are slimier. My brother Adolphus had a positive fascination with the varied effects of a frog in a sister’s bed. I grew to like toads by comparison. Butter for your bread, Mr. Banks?”
Daniel had forgotten to butter his bread. Around Lady Kirsten, discussing the boys, discussing toads, discussing anything, he could forget his name. The primary difficulty lay not with sexual desire, though he was powerfully attracted to her.
Thwarted sexual urges were a trial of almost tiresome familiarity.
The primary torment her ladyship provided, and the greatest comfort, was her simple company. Daniel’s concerns interested her, the boys interested her, and ensuring he had proper directions to each parishioner’s home interested her.
Their hands bumped as she passed him the butter. Daniel sat back, wrestling a combination of loneliness, desire, frustration, and bewilderment into submission.
“Are you sure you ought not to go up to Town?” he asked.
Lady Kirsten put her spoon down and set about buttering Daniel’s bread. She had such pretty hands, and yet they were capable too.
“At meals, all my family talks about is Town. Who was engaged last year but has still not married this year. Who is on her third season, now accompanied by a prettier younger sister. What fellow has come into an inheritance or a title. I cannot abide it.”
So she sought refuge with Daniel and the boys.
And the toads, of whom she’d learned to be fond.
“I cannot imagine your sisters engaging in such talk maliciously,” Daniel said, accepting a thoroughly buttered slice of bread from her ladyship without risking so much as a brush of fingers.
“My sisters are never malicious, but then Nicholas clears his throat. Leah sends me a pitying glance, and Della remarks on Prinny’s latest
foolish wager, as if anybody cares about that.”
Lady Kirsten turned the topic back to the boys, all of whom had been kept too busy to get to scrapping, though they would soon.
Daniel had used the week to become familiar with his pupils and to assess their abilities, rather than apply any academic pressure.
“They’re smart boys, though they’ve had a poor start,” he said as he and Lady Kirsten sipped identical mugs of ale. “Thomas isn’t as quick as the rest, but he’s thorough. When he reaches his conclusions, they’re well thought-out and sensible. He’ll be a good influence if he can keep from sitting on the smaller boys.”
Danny had let that part slip, about Thomas and his unique approach to pugilistic encounters.
“Sometimes small boys need sitting on,” Lady Kirsten said. “They weren’t out catching those toads last night, Daniel.” She slipped more and more often, calling him by his Christian name, though only when they were private.
“I suspect the toads matriculated with the boys,” Daniel said. “I leave the children the privacy of their bedroom, but the chambermaid reported a curious croaking from under the beds early in the week.”
“Those poor creatures have been boxed up all week? Left without food and water? Next they’ll be trussed up in ball gowns and sent to hop around Mayfair, twirling parasols.”
Lady Kirsten was angry, and not exclusively on behalf of the toads.
“You were dreading the remove to Town very much,” Daniel said, while he dreaded the next day—no boys, no Danny, no midday meal with Lady Kirsten. His sermon was neatly prepared, his budget completed.
“I know we’re not supposed to hate,” Lady Kirsten said, rising. “But, Daniel, I hate to see Della so nervous and Nicholas so quiet. Della’s reception in Town will be difficult. Some will fawn because she’s an earl’s daughter. Others will gossip that she’s a countess’s by-blow. What does it matter? She’s dear and smart and kind, and it’s all—”
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