The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh

CHAPTER 4

“Careful.” Kit gripped Sylvia’s elbow to steer her safely across the cobbles of King Street.

His touch sent thrills lancing up her arm; her breath caught, but he gave no sign of noticing, and once they’d reached the wider expanse of Broad Quay, he released her and resumed his steady pacing alongside her.

She decided she was not going to look his way; instead, she surveyed the pedestrians before them. “I haven’t yet caught sight of the boys—they must have rushed ahead.”

It was close to noon, and the crowds on the quay limited how far she could see.

Head raised, Kit was scanning the throng. “A couple of the boys are approaching the bridge.”

As she and Kit neared the drawbridge over the Frome, she got a clear view of the two oldest lads; more heavily burdened, the pair were trudging doggedly along. The other boys with their lighter loads must have gone ahead; there was no sign of them. As by Kit’s side, she wove through the crowd, making for the steps leading up to the drawbridge, she saw the two lads struggle up the stone steps, heave their loads higher in their arms, and tramp out onto the wooden span.

She and Kit were almost at the steps when she heard a loud hail.

Looking up at the bridge, she saw the two school lads being bailed up by a gang of older youths. The four youths pushed and taunted the two schoolboys; it was blatantly apparent that the gang thought to enliven their day by making the younger lads drop their precious packages over the bridge’s railing into the churning waters below.

“Oh, no!” Sylvia tensed to run forward, but Kit thrust the packages he’d been carrying at her feet, all but tripping her.

“Wait here and watch those.”

She had little choice as he strode to the rescue, taking the steps up to the bridge in two strides, then descending on the pack of louts like an avenging angel.

The gang saw him coming and paused, instantly recognizing a predator of much higher status than they. But they didn’t back away from the schoolboys. Instead, the youths waited, assuming Kit—who, whatever he wore or wherever he was, carried his status like a mantle—would stride disinterestedly past and leave their victims to them.

Kit assessed the situation with a keen eye, then veered to halt behind the two schoolboys. He dropped a hand on each lad’s shoulder. “Is there some problem here?”

He directed the question to the lout he judged to be the leader of the gang, a gangling youth of perhaps seventeen years.

Kit allowed his gaze to dwell, coldly, on the youth’s pasty face and waited with icy calm.

Beneath his hands, he felt the two school lads straighten, confidence returning. One of them said, “Don’t rightly know what this lot want with us.”

“Indeed?” Kit arched a brow at the gang leader. “Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us.”

The other members of the gang started to edge away. The leader glanced around, then swung back to face Kit and swallowed. “Ah...no. No problem.” The youth licked his lips and added, “We was just asking if they perhaps needed a hand with them packages, is all, sir.”

Kit allowed a shark-like smile to curve his lips. “It’s not ‘sir’—it’s ‘my lord.’ And how kind of you to volunteer to help.”

The youth’s eyes flew wide. “Wot?”

But Kit was already speaking to the schoolboys. “We have six packages and, all together, I see six lads before me.” He patted the schoolboys’ shoulders encouragingly. “Let’s pass the packages around to these helpful lads, and we’ll be at the school that much faster. Here—let me help.”

Kit plucked a package out of the arms of one of the schoolboys and pushed it into the chest of the gang leader.

Instinctively, the youth grabbed the package.

Before his mates could flee, Kit pointed at them and beckoned. “Come along—don’t be shy.”

In less than a minute, each of the gang members was clutching one of the packages.

“Let’s get moving, then.” Kit waved the six toward the other end of the bridge. “Boys”—he caught the eyes of the two school lads—“why don’t you lead the way?”

Leaving him to pace behind the gang members.

Now carrying only one package each, the schoolboys happily took off, and reluctantly, with an almost disbelieving air, the gang fell in behind them.

Kit watched for an instant, then turned to fetch Sylvia and the packages he’d been carrying—only to discover her a yard away with the packages at her feet.

She met his eyes, and the amused smile on her face was something to see—a sight he hadn’t seen before but wanted to see more often. He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. “You shouldn’t have struggled with those.”

“They weren’t that heavy, just unwieldy.” Sylvia nodded to where the four youths were lagging and casting glances over their shoulders. “And you’ll need to keep up with that lot if we want those books to reach the school.”

He grunted. Settling the two packages under his arm again, he fixed his gaze on the gang members, who immediately faced forward and picked up their pace. “Come on.”

Sylvia fell in beside him.

As they descended the steps at the other end of the bridge, she glanced at his face. “They’ll never forget that, you know.” She meant not just the gang members but also the two lads from the school—the dockyard brats who’d had a lord stand up for them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He sounded as if he wasn’t entirely sure, then added, “I hope they’ll also remember that bullying others can have unforeseen consequences.”

“Indeed.” She looked at the now-subdued youths walking ahead of them.

Her mind scrolled through several vignettes from the morning—of Kit helping some of the younger boys load up, of him answering questions from the avidly curious lads. After a moment, she ventured, “You deal well with children.”

He lightly shrugged. “I was a boy once, too.”

“Be that as it may, you seem to have retained the ability to interact with them, which not all adults do.”

“Ah—that’s the influence of Ryder and Mary’s brood. I spent the last weeks with them, playing at being Uncle Kit.” Briefly, he met her eyes, an amused smile in his. “Trust me when I say that my brother’s children are a very much more difficult proposition to manage than your school lads and their ilk. Aside from all else, my niece and nephews aren’t impressed by, much less cowed by, my rank.”

She chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that—as the children of a marquess, they share the same rank as you.”

“And they already have the confidence that goes with that.”

They’d reached Trinity Street, and she looked ahead to see the four youths milling uncertainly on the pavement in front of the hall, the packages they’d carried still in their arms.

Kit had seen them, too. He touched a light hand to Sylvia’s back. “Go inside and let me handle this.”

The lads he’d rescued must have already been inside, and judging from the many boys who, their faces alight with smiles and wonder, came to the door to peek out at the gang, the tale of the school lads’ rescue and the gang members’ resulting discomfiture was already doing the rounds.

“Perhaps just have them stack the packages on the porch,” Sylvia murmured.

Kit nodded and halted, facing the now-surly gang. Sylvia walked on and went up the steps and into the hall, gathering the younger boys who had been hanging about the door and shooing them deeper into the hall.

As soon as she’d passed inside, Kit tipped his head toward the porch. “Stack the packages there, and then I’d like a word.”

Warily, the youths complied, then re-formed in a close knot on the pavement before Kit, who had set his packages at his feet.

“Right, then.” He studied the four, who shifted and shuffled. He waited until they were completely still, then said, “The moral of this story is don’t pick on others smaller or younger than yourselves. It’s an easy rule to remember, and I trust you will, indeed, remember it from now on. I’ve taken up residence in the city, and should I hear of any of you being involved in a similar incident or anything worse, I’ll make a point of taking it up with the local authorities. In a nutshell, whenever you’re tempted to do something wrong, remember that there’s always a chance that someone—like me—will be watching. Do you understand?”

They shuffled some more, but managed to mumble, “Yes, m’lord.”

Kit wasn’t entirely satisfied, but there was only so much he could do. “Very well. I believe you have somewhere else to be.”

It took them a second to comprehend that they were being dismissed, then—still wary—they bobbed their heads and skirted around him, giving him a wide berth before, increasingly rapidly, walking back toward the river.

Kit watched them go, then inwardly shook his head. He’d been tempted to see if any of the four needed a job, but the likelihood was that all of them did, and he couldn’t saddle Wayland and whoever he hired as foreman with all four.

Bending, Kit scooped up the packages he’d carried and carted them into the hall.

The scene inside was one of furious activity, with the hired men shifting desks into position and boys running this way and that, ferrying stools, unpacked books, slates, chalks, and all manner of educational impedimenta hither and yon. Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs were directing the scurrying ant-like flow.

Sylvia stood to one side, watching it all with a smile on her face.

Kit set down the last two packages on a desk. Miss Meggs sent him a distracted smile, then directed two boys to untie the strings.

Kit sauntered over to Sylvia. She glanced at him, and he was again struck by the immense difference between the woman now before him and the chilly, reserved lady he’d encountered at his brother’s wedding. “I take it all is going well?” he asked.

“Astonishingly well.” After a further moment of surveying the action, she said, “Once they get everything tidied away, I believe they’ll have earned the rest of the day off.”

“They have worked diligently.”

A shadow darkened the door, and he and Sylvia turned to see the tavern keeper’s wife bearing a huge tray laden with sandwiches.

Miss Meggs hurried forward. She waved the woman to a long trestle table set up along the front wall of the hall. “If you’ll set everything down there...?”

With a grin at the boys and the men—who had all stopped to watch—the tavern wife came in and set down her burden. She was followed by three younger women carting pottery jars of cider and a basket of tin mugs. At the rear of the procession came a burly youth bearing another huge platter of sandwiches.

“There you go, your lordship.” The tavern wife, having set down her burden, turned to Kit with a huge smile. “Been a pleasure doing business, and if you need anything else, just send, and we’ll deliver.”

Kit smiled. “Thank you. This should be sufficient, but”—he tipped his head toward the boys, now gathering in an expectant pack and eyeing the sandwiches as if they were gold—“with a lot like this, one never knows.”

“Aye, you have that right.” The tavern wife beamed at the children, then looked shrewdly around. “A good idea, this—keeps them off the streets and teaches them their letters and hopefully”—she mock-glared at the boys—“some manners as well.”

The entire platoon of boys adopted angelic expressions.

“Huh.” The tavern wife turned from the boys and looked at Sylvia. “If you’d like, miss, me and Bertha can stay and take the platters and things away later. And we’ll make sure there’s no ruckus over the serving.”

“Thank you. That would be a help.” Sylvia motioned to Miss Meggs. “We’ll get the boys in order and send them to you.”

Kit found a stool against the wall, perched on it, and watched Sylvia and Miss Meggs, assisted by Jellicoe and Cross, marshal the boys into a queue in order of youngest to oldest.

Next came the men he’d hired, all good-naturedly grinning and chatting with each other and, occasionally, with the two teachers.

Once the boys and men had helped themselves, Sylvia waved Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs to the table, then looked at Kit.

He rose and ambled across to join her as she trailed at the end of the queue.

The platters of sandwiches had held up under the onslaught; there were still more than enough left to satisfy even Kit. Not that he was all that hungry; he’d enjoyed a substantial breakfast courtesy of Dalgetty, the male cook Gordon had hired, who had proved to have an excellent grasp of what men like Kit preferred to eat.

After helping himself to one of the substantial sandwiches and a mug of the sharp cider, he perched on a stool beside Sylvia and the teachers and Miss Meggs and ate.

Cross gestured at Kit with his sandwich. “Thank you, my lord. This sets the icing on our day.”

“Indeed.” Jellicoe tipped his head Kit’s way. “I have to own to being amazed. I would never have imagined we could shift the entire school in less than a day. And with no fuss, much less major dramas.” Jellicoe gestured widely with his mug. “This took teamwork—and is an excellent lesson for the boys in what can be accomplished when we all pull together.”

The others, Kit included, nodded.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Sylvia nibble delicately on a sandwich...

He shifted on the stool and told himself to focus on something else.

Such as Cavanaugh Yachts and what more he could do to move things along.

The answer was: not a great deal at this moment in time.

Strangely, he felt comfortably resigned to that.

He’d been facing a day of frustrating inactivity as far as getting the workshop under way, but thanks to Sylvia and the school and all who had crossed his path that day, he was feeling content in the sense of having achieved something worthwhile.

He glanced around the hall—at the boys happily sitting cross-legged on the floor, at the men...

An earlier idea resurfaced in his mind.

He turned to Sylvia and the others. When they looked at him inquiringly, he tipped his head toward the men, gathered in a circle beyond the boys. “Do any of you know if any of those who’ve assisted us today are carpenters? Or for that matter, whether any of the boys’ fathers or relatives are shipwrights or carpenters?”

Jellicoe replied, “I would say almost certainly, but we tend not to make a point of their fathers’ occupations.”

“That said,” Miss Meggs put in, “I do know that several of the boys are only at the school because it’s free, and their fathers aren’t here now because they’re out looking for work, as they are every day. Other men, sadly, have simply given up. What with the new iron ships and what I understand are changes in construction, a lot of the older shipwrights and carpenters have been out of work for years.”