Theo shrugged in resignation. “Very well, Miss Drinkard. There you have me. I have fallen on very hard times. Still, I have hopes of bringing myself about very soon.”
She gave him a look of sympathetic understanding. “It never entirely goes away, does it?”
“Does what?”
“Hope. No matter how impossible things seem, we can’t quite let it go. Mama, with her confidence that I may yet repair our fortunes by making a brilliant match even while living in a boardinghouse, your expectations of bringing yourself about by working in a cotton mill—” Her eyes grew round as a new thought occurred to her. “But wait! Perhaps there is a chance for you, after all!”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps Sir Valerian might be persuaded to engage you as his secretary!” Her eagerness gave way to mild indignation as Theo gave a shout of laughter. “What have I said that was so funny?”
“Nothing—pay me no heed,” he said, struggling to control his mirth. “It’s just that I am the last man on earth Sir Valerian would want as his secretary.”
“Are you, indeed?” she asked, somewhat deflated by this revelation. “Are you so well acquainted with him?”
“Never met the fellow in my life,” declared Theo.
“Well, then—!”
“Let us just say that there are reasons why I am unsuited to such a position,” Theo amended. “Still, it was very wrong of me to laugh at you. You are very kind to want to help me.”
“If you’re back to telling me how kind I am, I shall go.” She tied off her neat bandage with a tug just a bit harder than was strictly necessary, then piled her various accoutrements back on the tray, picked it up, and flounced across the room, reminding Theo of nothing so much as an outraged kitten. Having reached the door, she turned back to add, albeit grudgingly, “There is some beef left over from dinner. Cook has shredded it up for a pie, but if you would like a bit of it to take to the mill tomorrow for a noon meal, you may have it, along with some bread and cheese. And now, I shall bid you goodnight, before you can tell me again how kind I am!”
And with this parting shot, she closed the door with a snap. Theo sat grinning at the uncommunicative door for a long moment before remembering his interrupted mission. Alas, the meeting had apparently concluded, for no more sounds could be heard through the flue. He supposed he should be disappointed at not being able to discover more of exactly what Sir Valerian thought he was about, but he could not entirely regret it—and if the truth were known, his lack of repentance was not wholly due to the condition of his hands, although there was no denying that these did feel rather better as a result of Miss Drinkard’s ministrations.
It occurred to him that he might learn as much of Sir Valerian’s doings from Miss Drinkard as he did through the chimney flue. After all, Mrs. Drinkard would only encourage any interaction between her daughter and the Parliamentary candidate, certain that such an exchange could only end in the banns being posted. And if Miss Drinkard wished to confide the details of these conversations to her sympathetic “friend,” well, who was he to deny her? He might even ask her to put in a good word for him with Sir Valerian; the absurdity of his taking a position as secretary to his brother-in-law’s opponent appealed to him, whether or not he was ever offered the post Miss Drinkard had proposed.
He snuffed the candle and crawled back into bed, feeling lighter at heart than he had in many a long day—since, in fact, the night his father had died.
ALAS FOR THEO, HIS more cheerful frame of mind scarcely survived the night. Waking at dawn for his second day on the job proved to be no problem; in fact, his aching muscles jolted him from sleep every time he rolled over. This circumstance did at least guarantee that he had time to shave and even eat a bowl of porridge dipped from a kettle of this concoction kept on the hob, as Mrs. Drinkard’s more elderly “guests” kept to the late mornings they had enjoyed in more prosperous times.
“Thankee,” said the cook when Theo returned his bowl to the kitchen for washing. In truth, she was a bit taken aback by this show of consideration, as the dirty dishes were usually left on the table for Miss Daphne to fetch down later in the morning. She wondered if it was to ingratiate himself with the daughter of the house that he’d performed this small task for her. Well, he’d catch cold at that, as he’d learn before he was much older. The newest resident might be a pretty-behaved young man—aye, and a good-looking one too, she’d grant him that—but it wouldn’t do for Miss Daphne to go entertaining hopes in that direction. Still, she unbent sufficiently to look up from the dough she was kneading and jerk her head in the direction of a wicker basket covered with a gingham cloth. “Miss Daphne said you was to have that.”
“Oh?” Theo lifted a corner of the cloth and found the remains of the beef Miss Drinkard had mentioned, now shredded and stuffed between thick hunks of bread along with a paper-thin slice of cheddar.
“Aye, she thought you might get hungry, working at the mill all day,” Cook said, pounding one beefy fist into the ball of dough.
Theo, correctly deducing that she would be only too happy to perform a similar operation on any man who failed to show “Miss Daphne” the proper degree of respect, thought it politic not to betray any hint of the late-night exchange that had resulted in this show of generosity.
“She was right. Will you please convey my thanks to her? Tell her I said it was kind of her to think of me,” he added with a hint of a smile. He
