is Mr. Barnabas Rugby, and I am afraid he is a lawyer.”
“Does he wear a wig, like everyone used in the olden days? Hester says lawyers still wear them. Does he know any highwaymen? If I wasn’t going to be a sailor, I should like to be a highwayman.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Barney neither wears a wig nor hobnobs with gentlemen of the road.”
“Poor man, it must be very dull,” commiserated Robbie.
“It is not what I should choose,” admitted his lordship. “How fortunate that people differ in their choice of occupation, or I daresay we should have nothing but highwaymen.”
“Then they would have no one to rob. What do you do, sir?”
“Well, I—er—you might say I support a large staff, among other things. Now off you go, Rob, or I shan’t get this letter written.”
Robbie departed, perfectly satisfied with a vision in which Mr. Fairfax stood beside Atlas, one holding up the world, the other a vast piece of wood. Frightfully boring, he thought, but there was no knowing what grown-ups would take it into their heads to do, and he had said he did other things, too.
Mr. Fairfax was left mentally kicking himself. Today he seemed unable to enter into a conversation that did not lead onto treacherous ground. He resolved to take excessive care with his letter to Barney.
Chapter 5
Mr. Fairfax's clothes arrived, in a cheap and unrevealing valise, by carrier the following Saturday. An accompanying note cursed him for a secretive wretch and promised to preserve him from his anxious servants. His letter had arrived barely in time to prevent a search being organised.
Mr. Fairfax would now be able to appear below stairs decently clad. Dr. Price had set the great day for Monday and he was looking forward with all his heart to seeing something other than the four walls of Jamie’s tiny room and the cows on the hillside. After much discussion it was decided, at his earnest plea, that he was sufficiently one of the family to be carried into the back room, a comfortable, shabby apartment where the Godrics spent most of their time. The front room, furnished with the best pieces saved from the sale of Hilltop Manor, was generally reserved for visitors of rank.
Sunday dawned bright and fair, and by mid-morning a heat haze danced over the hills, as so often happens in early September. The midday roast was already in the oven, and Hester, hot and harried, decided to go to evensong with the boys. She sent Alice and Susan to the morning service, largely to get Susan out of the kitchen.
After church, Alice was detained in conversation by Mr. Pettigrew, who had recovered his normal stolid demeanour. Susan noticed a small crowd by the lych-gate and wandered over to see what was going on.
A pale young woman in a tattered dress leaned wearily against the churchyard fence, clasping a wailing infant. The vociferous group around her were arguing.
“The poor creatur’ better go on the parish,” proposed one kindly soul.
“We got no room for other folks’s beggars,” complained another.
“‘Sright. Send her on her way.”
“And no wedding band on her finger, see?”
“Tell her to move on, Mr. Smart. We don’t need the likes o’ she.”
“She don’t look well,” pointed out Mr. Smart, the beadle, a small, thin, worried man. “Would’n’ want her dying on the road now, would yer? Seems ter me we better take the pore thing to the workhouse.”
Susan waited for no more. Racing back to Alice, she plucked at her sleeve to get her attention.
“Alice, Alice, there’s a poor woman out there with a baby, and she’s ill. We must take her home with us.”
“Oh, Susan, do you really think . . .” Alice looked at the noisy crowd and blenched.
“Quite unnecessary, Miss Susan,” interjected the curate. “You need not bother your head about her. I shall see that she is taken to the workhouse.”
“Allie, you cannot let them take her there!” Susan was almost in tears. “Remember what
“Does he wear a wig, like everyone used in the olden days? Hester says lawyers still wear them. Does he know any highwaymen? If I wasn’t going to be a sailor, I should like to be a highwayman.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but Barney neither wears a wig nor hobnobs with gentlemen of the road.”
“Poor man, it must be very dull,” commiserated Robbie.
“It is not what I should choose,” admitted his lordship. “How fortunate that people differ in their choice of occupation, or I daresay we should have nothing but highwaymen.”
“Then they would have no one to rob. What do you do, sir?”
“Well, I—er—you might say I support a large staff, among other things. Now off you go, Rob, or I shan’t get this letter written.”
Robbie departed, perfectly satisfied with a vision in which Mr. Fairfax stood beside Atlas, one holding up the world, the other a vast piece of wood. Frightfully boring, he thought, but there was no knowing what grown-ups would take it into their heads to do, and he had said he did other things, too.
Mr. Fairfax was left mentally kicking himself. Today he seemed unable to enter into a conversation that did not lead onto treacherous ground. He resolved to take excessive care with his letter to Barney.
Chapter 5
Mr. Fairfax's clothes arrived, in a cheap and unrevealing valise, by carrier the following Saturday. An accompanying note cursed him for a secretive wretch and promised to preserve him from his anxious servants. His letter had arrived barely in time to prevent a search being organised.
Mr. Fairfax would now be able to appear below stairs decently clad. Dr. Price had set the great day for Monday and he was looking forward with all his heart to seeing something other than the four walls of Jamie’s tiny room and the cows on the hillside. After much discussion it was decided, at his earnest plea, that he was sufficiently one of the family to be carried into the back room, a comfortable, shabby apartment where the Godrics spent most of their time. The front room, furnished with the best pieces saved from the sale of Hilltop Manor, was generally reserved for visitors of rank.
Sunday dawned bright and fair, and by mid-morning a heat haze danced over the hills, as so often happens in early September. The midday roast was already in the oven, and Hester, hot and harried, decided to go to evensong with the boys. She sent Alice and Susan to the morning service, largely to get Susan out of the kitchen.
After church, Alice was detained in conversation by Mr. Pettigrew, who had recovered his normal stolid demeanour. Susan noticed a small crowd by the lych-gate and wandered over to see what was going on.
A pale young woman in a tattered dress leaned wearily against the churchyard fence, clasping a wailing infant. The vociferous group around her were arguing.
“The poor creatur’ better go on the parish,” proposed one kindly soul.
“We got no room for other folks’s beggars,” complained another.
“‘Sright. Send her on her way.”
“And no wedding band on her finger, see?”
“Tell her to move on, Mr. Smart. We don’t need the likes o’ she.”
“She don’t look well,” pointed out Mr. Smart, the beadle, a small, thin, worried man. “Would’n’ want her dying on the road now, would yer? Seems ter me we better take the pore thing to the workhouse.”
Susan waited for no more. Racing back to Alice, she plucked at her sleeve to get her attention.
“Alice, Alice, there’s a poor woman out there with a baby, and she’s ill. We must take her home with us.”
“Oh, Susan, do you really think . . .” Alice looked at the noisy crowd and blenched.
“Quite unnecessary, Miss Susan,” interjected the curate. “You need not bother your head about her. I shall see that she is taken to the workhouse.”
“Allie, you cannot let them take her there!” Susan was almost in tears. “Remember what
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