muck clinging to them.”
“Do they find treasures?”
“I presume so, else why would they bother sifting through the filth?” Lilith replied. “Now then, as I haven’t time to take you home, you’d best tell me your names and make yourselves useful.”
“I’m Charlie Rossiter,” the taller boy answered. “And this here’s my brother, Henry. We seen you yesterday when you arrived at Uncle’s house.”
“When you arrived,” Henry repeated.
“You saw a bit more of me this morning, if I’m not mistaken.”
Both boys blushed and shuffled about, hiding smiles behind dirty hands.
“I am Miss Aberdeen, but you may call me Lilith.”
“Mama says as how you’ll be our cousin when Uncle Jasper marries Lady Priscilla,” Charlie said.
“Mama says,” Henry parroted, an odd habit that struck Lilith as rather sweet. Still he ought to discard the tendency lest he appear an idiot to strangers.
“I’ll be no such thing,” she argued without much heat. “Tell me, Charlie, and you can reiterate if it suits you, Henry, where does one drop off the post in this little village?”
“Mr. Poole collects the post at the inn,” Charlie answered readily. “Unless it’s Sunday morning, then you’ll find him across the river at the smithy.”
Lilith waited for Henry to add his two pence, never mind they would be borrowed from his brother.
“Sundays he’s at the smithy,” the boy said with a lopsided smile.
“On account of he does a brisk business with folks bringing in their horses for shoeing while they’re in church,” Charlie added.
“Brisk business.”
Lilith was tempted to send the boys back to Breckenridge House in her carriage, but they might prove useful for gathering information and introductions. And if she were honest, she found them rather entertaining as they launched into a discussion, one-sided as it was, on the merits of larking along the banks of the narrow river.
“You’d best ride back to Breckenridge House and tell their nanny, or whoever it was who allowed them to escape the nursery, that the little men are with me,” Lilith said to Reggie who only laughed before hopping up on the bench and giving the reins a flick to set the horses moving.
“There’ll be no mudlarking today,” Lilith told the boys as she started for the stone bridge traversing the river. “We’d best make for the blacksmith’s shop post haste lest we get caught in the crowd looking to have their horses reshod while they sing hymns.”
The boys fell into place on either side of her, Henry skipping along with his arms swinging at his sides while Charlie wrapped one hand in her skirts and clung as if afraid she’d leave him alone in the street.
When they reached the bridge, Henry scrambled up onto the stone balustrade and, arms held out for balance, nimbly walked the entire width of the river to the other side.
Charlie stayed pressed to Lilith’s side and looked up at her from huge, unblinking blue eyes. “What about the person who lost the treasure? Shouldn’t a mudlark return it to its rightful owner?”
“I don’t see how he, or she, would earn a living returning goods, for not everyone would offer a reward.”
“And who is to say who the rightful owner is?” Charlie mused, his brow wrinkling when he frowned. “The person careless enough to lose the treasure in the first place, or the person careful enough to find it?”
As they reached the opposite side of the river and started up the dusty road to the smithy, Lilith came to the surprising realization the boys had separate and quite distinct personalities. While Charlie was a chatterbox and Henry little more than a mimic, the older boy was something of a philosopher while the younger boy was an adventurous little devil.
Who knew children were such interesting little people? Certainly, Lilith had never before known it, or even suspected or contemplated it one way or another.
Odd, the things one learned in the wilds of Cornwall.
Odder
“Do they find treasures?”
“I presume so, else why would they bother sifting through the filth?” Lilith replied. “Now then, as I haven’t time to take you home, you’d best tell me your names and make yourselves useful.”
“I’m Charlie Rossiter,” the taller boy answered. “And this here’s my brother, Henry. We seen you yesterday when you arrived at Uncle’s house.”
“When you arrived,” Henry repeated.
“You saw a bit more of me this morning, if I’m not mistaken.”
Both boys blushed and shuffled about, hiding smiles behind dirty hands.
“I am Miss Aberdeen, but you may call me Lilith.”
“Mama says as how you’ll be our cousin when Uncle Jasper marries Lady Priscilla,” Charlie said.
“Mama says,” Henry parroted, an odd habit that struck Lilith as rather sweet. Still he ought to discard the tendency lest he appear an idiot to strangers.
“I’ll be no such thing,” she argued without much heat. “Tell me, Charlie, and you can reiterate if it suits you, Henry, where does one drop off the post in this little village?”
“Mr. Poole collects the post at the inn,” Charlie answered readily. “Unless it’s Sunday morning, then you’ll find him across the river at the smithy.”
Lilith waited for Henry to add his two pence, never mind they would be borrowed from his brother.
“Sundays he’s at the smithy,” the boy said with a lopsided smile.
“On account of he does a brisk business with folks bringing in their horses for shoeing while they’re in church,” Charlie added.
“Brisk business.”
Lilith was tempted to send the boys back to Breckenridge House in her carriage, but they might prove useful for gathering information and introductions. And if she were honest, she found them rather entertaining as they launched into a discussion, one-sided as it was, on the merits of larking along the banks of the narrow river.
“You’d best ride back to Breckenridge House and tell their nanny, or whoever it was who allowed them to escape the nursery, that the little men are with me,” Lilith said to Reggie who only laughed before hopping up on the bench and giving the reins a flick to set the horses moving.
“There’ll be no mudlarking today,” Lilith told the boys as she started for the stone bridge traversing the river. “We’d best make for the blacksmith’s shop post haste lest we get caught in the crowd looking to have their horses reshod while they sing hymns.”
The boys fell into place on either side of her, Henry skipping along with his arms swinging at his sides while Charlie wrapped one hand in her skirts and clung as if afraid she’d leave him alone in the street.
When they reached the bridge, Henry scrambled up onto the stone balustrade and, arms held out for balance, nimbly walked the entire width of the river to the other side.
Charlie stayed pressed to Lilith’s side and looked up at her from huge, unblinking blue eyes. “What about the person who lost the treasure? Shouldn’t a mudlark return it to its rightful owner?”
“I don’t see how he, or she, would earn a living returning goods, for not everyone would offer a reward.”
“And who is to say who the rightful owner is?” Charlie mused, his brow wrinkling when he frowned. “The person careless enough to lose the treasure in the first place, or the person careful enough to find it?”
As they reached the opposite side of the river and started up the dusty road to the smithy, Lilith came to the surprising realization the boys had separate and quite distinct personalities. While Charlie was a chatterbox and Henry little more than a mimic, the older boy was something of a philosopher while the younger boy was an adventurous little devil.
Who knew children were such interesting little people? Certainly, Lilith had never before known it, or even suspected or contemplated it one way or another.
Odd, the things one learned in the wilds of Cornwall.
Odder
Similar Books
