behavior.”
She’d given him the lead to ask one of his questions.
“Yes, their behavior. May I ask how Ben Taylor is doing?”
“Very well,” she replied. “He has taken a particular interest in gardening. Every day he helps Furzeley, my head gardener, and he has come along very well.”
“Excellent. Many of the Hospital’s boys become gardeners.”
He turned his head, hearing a rustling outside the French doors. Ah. It was a potted shrub, its branches moving slightly in the breeze. He returned his gaze to Lady Dearing, to find her turning back from looking the same way.
“What I should really like to know is if there has been a recurrence of the fire-starting.”
“Not at all,” she said reassuringly. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Hill about it?”
“A little. She confided to me that he’d set it in a tin pail in a spot where there was little likelihood of its spreading. She seemed inclined to be lenient to the boy, but it is not a matter to be taken lightly.”
“Not at all. Did Mrs. Hill mention that Ben suffers from a rather severe stutter?”
“Yes, she did, and that the teachers at the Hospital quite failed to cure him of it. Are you telling me there is a connection between the stuttering and the fire?”
“One of the other boys liked to tease him. He would try to goad Ben into fighting and then lay the blame on Ben. Even though Ben is big for his age, he hates fighting. I think that since he had trouble explaining what was happening to anyone, frustration led him to set the fire.”
He frowned. “I trust the matter was dealt with properly.”
“It was. And since Ben has come here, his behavior has improved markedly, along with his stuttering.”
“You have found a way to cure him of it?” Despite himself he was impressed.
“Not entirely. We have found it helps to not try to correct the stuttering, but to just encourage him to speak regardless. But I am afraid you may not see the improvement. Ben still stutters when with strangers, or if he is upset.”
“I must hope then that he trusts me enough to demonstrate an improvement.”
“Perhaps he will,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap.
“Is there something else you wished to speak of?”
She nodded. “Are you still hoping to take Mary away today?”
“Yes, I am.”
She paused. For a moment all that could be heard was the finches’ song and the sound of the shrubs on the terrace rustling in the breeze. He looked away, striving vainly to ignore the appeal in her eyes.
“I hope you will not persist in that plan,” she said at length. “I do not think she is ready. When she first came here, she was so . . . subdued. She seemed shy of accepting a simple embrace, and cringed at the mildest rebuke. But she has become more comfortable, more affectionate. She likes to work in the kitchen with Cook, and she likes to mother Robbie, my littlest one, and help him with things like tying his shoestrings.”
“I was told she used to enjoy singing.”
“She will sit and do needlework while I practice on the harp or pianoforte, but when we sing in the evenings she will not join us. I think she could if she wished but fears we will think she was lying when she said she could not sing in the choir. For some reason, she dreads being sent back to the Hospital.”
He frowned. “I should hate to think she was mistreated there.”
“It perplexes me, too,” she replied. “Mrs. Hill and the rest of the staff have always impressed me with their kindness. But I truly believe Mary will in time give me her confidence.”
“I am grateful for your efforts on her behalf.”
She paused, removing her spectacles and holding them in her lap. “Sir Jeremy, if you take Mary, who is to care for her? You are not planning to take on her education yourself, are you?”
Now she met his gaze squarely. Her questions were fair.
“I shall engage a governess, but for now my plan is to take Mary to my aunt, who lives in Russell Square with my
She’d given him the lead to ask one of his questions.
“Yes, their behavior. May I ask how Ben Taylor is doing?”
“Very well,” she replied. “He has taken a particular interest in gardening. Every day he helps Furzeley, my head gardener, and he has come along very well.”
“Excellent. Many of the Hospital’s boys become gardeners.”
He turned his head, hearing a rustling outside the French doors. Ah. It was a potted shrub, its branches moving slightly in the breeze. He returned his gaze to Lady Dearing, to find her turning back from looking the same way.
“What I should really like to know is if there has been a recurrence of the fire-starting.”
“Not at all,” she said reassuringly. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Hill about it?”
“A little. She confided to me that he’d set it in a tin pail in a spot where there was little likelihood of its spreading. She seemed inclined to be lenient to the boy, but it is not a matter to be taken lightly.”
“Not at all. Did Mrs. Hill mention that Ben suffers from a rather severe stutter?”
“Yes, she did, and that the teachers at the Hospital quite failed to cure him of it. Are you telling me there is a connection between the stuttering and the fire?”
“One of the other boys liked to tease him. He would try to goad Ben into fighting and then lay the blame on Ben. Even though Ben is big for his age, he hates fighting. I think that since he had trouble explaining what was happening to anyone, frustration led him to set the fire.”
He frowned. “I trust the matter was dealt with properly.”
“It was. And since Ben has come here, his behavior has improved markedly, along with his stuttering.”
“You have found a way to cure him of it?” Despite himself he was impressed.
“Not entirely. We have found it helps to not try to correct the stuttering, but to just encourage him to speak regardless. But I am afraid you may not see the improvement. Ben still stutters when with strangers, or if he is upset.”
“I must hope then that he trusts me enough to demonstrate an improvement.”
“Perhaps he will,” she said, her hands twisting in her lap.
“Is there something else you wished to speak of?”
She nodded. “Are you still hoping to take Mary away today?”
“Yes, I am.”
She paused. For a moment all that could be heard was the finches’ song and the sound of the shrubs on the terrace rustling in the breeze. He looked away, striving vainly to ignore the appeal in her eyes.
“I hope you will not persist in that plan,” she said at length. “I do not think she is ready. When she first came here, she was so . . . subdued. She seemed shy of accepting a simple embrace, and cringed at the mildest rebuke. But she has become more comfortable, more affectionate. She likes to work in the kitchen with Cook, and she likes to mother Robbie, my littlest one, and help him with things like tying his shoestrings.”
“I was told she used to enjoy singing.”
“She will sit and do needlework while I practice on the harp or pianoforte, but when we sing in the evenings she will not join us. I think she could if she wished but fears we will think she was lying when she said she could not sing in the choir. For some reason, she dreads being sent back to the Hospital.”
He frowned. “I should hate to think she was mistreated there.”
“It perplexes me, too,” she replied. “Mrs. Hill and the rest of the staff have always impressed me with their kindness. But I truly believe Mary will in time give me her confidence.”
“I am grateful for your efforts on her behalf.”
She paused, removing her spectacles and holding them in her lap. “Sir Jeremy, if you take Mary, who is to care for her? You are not planning to take on her education yourself, are you?”
Now she met his gaze squarely. Her questions were fair.
“I shall engage a governess, but for now my plan is to take Mary to my aunt, who lives in Russell Square with my
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