Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

The man across the room snorted, napping with his feet perched on the table edge, head lolling to the side. The sound covered the ominous creak of the floorboards beneath Oscar’s feet as he moved farther into the room. The shabby, untidy sprawl of the orphanage’s office conflicted with the neatness of the slumbering factor. There were papers strewn everywhere, books lying in untidy piles on the floor. Such disarray was simply unacceptable, and tidying this room was the first task Oscar would insist upon.

Mr. Dickson of the Grafton Street Orphanage was supposed to be waiting for him, not sleeping on the job. But Oscar was not so tardy that the factor should have wearied of the wait and fallen asleep. Perhaps it was foolish that he’d let the other trustees run the place up till now. He’d thought they knew what they were doing. He doubted they knew of Mr. Dickson’s habit of sleeping his day away though, or approved of said habit.

Oscar cleared his throat, and the man before him bounced to his feet.

“Lord Carrington, I presume.”

Oscar bobbed his head sharply rather than voice his displeasure.

“Please, won’t you take a seat?”

He settled into a chair, wincing when it creaked as ominously as the floor. “I understood that you would have everything ready for me. Do you require more time?”

The factor blinked rapidly. “Everything about the running of the orphanage is within this room. What else do you require?”

How about a system of neatness? Of order for the accounts? Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’ve been asked to review the accounts. I was assured everything was in order for my examination. This,” he swept his hand in an arc over the untidy heaps, “is not what I expected to see. I shall be here for weeks.”

Dickson straightened a letter on his desk. “The board never quibbled about how I ran the place before.”

“Well perhaps it’s time they did.”

Dickson rocked back in his chair as if Oscar had struck him, but Oscar had no time to settle the man’s feathers. The quicker he could get this done and return home, the better. He did not want to bump into Agatha here. He’d promised her that he would keep a distance between them, both publicly and privately. The chances of running into her were very great indeed, given his mother’s hints on how much time she spent at the orphanage these days.

“I’d like the ledger for this month’s accounts, if you please. And if you could arrange a cup of tea, I would be most appreciative. I fear I shall be here for some time.”

The factor blinked, then shoved his hand into the upper draw, retrieved a battered ledger, and thrust it in his direction. “I would be more than happy to arrange the tea, my lord.”

The man hurried out.

When Oscar opened the ledger, he was pleasantly surprised to see the disorder only extended so far. The ledger was neat. Meticulous, in fact. A welcome relief, indeed, after the shock of his initial impression.

Pleased with this new development, Oscar stood, circled the desk, and sat himself in Dickson’s place as he began his calculations. The quicker he started, the quicker he could be done and gone.

Sometime later, a giggle sounded at the door but when he glanced up, he couldn’t see anyone about. Oscar drew out his pocket watch to check the time. He’d been here two hours and had yet to receive that requested cup of tea, or glimpse Mr. Dickson again. Annoyed and thirsty, he marked his place in the ledger with a scrap of parchment then stood, intent on finding the factor.

As he stretched his back, someone giggled nearby within the room he occupied. Curious, he looked about. But wherever the sound came from was a mystery. Perhaps the sound came from the floor above, not in the room with him.

Shrugging off the distraction, he took a step toward the door, but the sight of gray fabric disappearing under the desk caught his attention. Oscar crouched low.

A pair of solemn eyes peered at him from beneath the desk. The child was tiny. A drab little girl, whose eyes widened with surprise at being discovered.

Not wishing to frighten her, Oscar smiled before he held out his hand. “How do you do there, miss? Do you like it very much there beneath the table?”

“No one would think to find me here, would they?” she whispered so low that Oscar strained forward to hear.

“I’m afraid they could if they listened very hard. You seem to be in the habit of giggling. The others will hear that if they are searching.”

Her hands clapped over her mouth. “So that’s how they always find me so quickly,” she mumbled. “Not one of them said a word.”

Amused, Oscar chuckled and lifted his hand again. “I suspect they don’t mention it so they might be assured of the win. Here, you must consider yourself found. Come out now. Let me take a look at you.”

Obediently, the child crawled out, and then to his utter surprise, she threw herself into his arms. “Are you my new papa? Have you come to take me home?”

Startled, Oscar set the girl from him and held up one hand. “No, child, I am not your new papa. I am Lord Carrington.”

The girl’s face fell at the news. “You don’t look like a lord.”

“What does a lord look like?”

The little girl scrunched up her face as she considered her answer. “A stuffy, overdressed turnip.”

Oscar stood to his full height, displeased by her words. The little girl scurried back under the desk. After everything the charitable society had done to improve their lives, the expense and effort to take in orphans who’d been deserted by their parents, he was appalled that one so young could speak ill of the trustees. He dragged her out again and held her in place before him.

The little girl shook like a leaf, and Oscar instantly calmed. Perhaps the child knew no better than to speak to him in that way, but she needed to be corrected. And now, before she blurted out those words to someone without his patience.

He sat in the rickety chair so he did not tower above her. “You must not say such things.” The little girl bobbed her head quickly in agreement, eyes glassy-bright as tears threatened to spill. “What is your name?”

“It’s Mabel.”

“Well then, Mabel, I think you should not utter those words again. You should not say such mean things to another soul.”

“But I heard someone else say them. Someone of the quality. I do want to be a lady when I grow up.” Mabel bit her lip as a single tear flowed down her cheek.

Oscar felt like an utter monster. “I’m sure you will, but those are not the words a lady would speak.”

“Is Lady Carrington not a lady? Everyone said she was. She said those things about Lord Carter.” Mabel leaned close to his ear. “He pinches.”

His mother! Heaven help him. “Then stay far away from Lord Carter, but what my mother said was wrong, and I shall have a few words to her about it, too. Now, off you go before you are missed. And don’t let me hear you talk like that again about your betters.”

“Yes, sir.” Mabel skipped toward the door, but stopped at the threshold and scowled at him. “You won’t beat her too badly, will you, my lord? I couldn’t sleep a wink if I got Lady Carrington into too much trouble. She’s too nice to be unhappy.”

“No! No, of course I won’t beat her.” Oscar rubbed his brow. Since he rarely spoke to children, he found the way this particular one spoke rather disconcerting. What kind of rough living had she been exposed to before coming here? “Run along now, Mabel.”

The little girl hurried back to him, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then scurried from the room. Oscar shook his head. What a peculiar little creature.

With the girl gone from sight, Oscar rang the bell. After a lengthy delay, a maid eventually joined him. “Can I help you, my lord?”

“Yes, I’d like a tea tray brought up and Mr. Dickson reminded that I am impatient for his return. Whatever else he is doing can wait.”

The maid bobbed a curtsey and then hurried away. While Oscar waited, he inspected the room. From what he’d seen so far, the property was in dire need of maintenance. The paper on the walls of this room needed repair or replacement, and the entrance hall had been decidedly shabby, too.

Drawing out a little journal from his pocket, he scratched down the details of the repairs required for this room. These matters should be noted to the trustees in his report. He would have to have Mr. Dickson give him a full tour of the place so he did a thorough job of it.

The maid returned with the tray. China rattled as she set it down awkwardly over the messy table surface. “Excuse me, my lord, but I’ve not been able to locate Mr. Dickson.”

“Then look again. I’m not inclined to wait around all day for an employee.”

The maid bobbed another curtsey before hurrying off.

Really, how hard could it be to locate one man in a building housing small children? He grimaced as he poured a cup of pale tea, obviously reused many times, and then settled in to wait.

He’d just finished his second cup when the butler hurried into the room. “Forgive me, my lord. I’ve only just heard that you were looking for Mr. Dickson. I am afraid he went out not long after your arrival.”

“Went out? But the man knew I was waiting for him.”

“I’m sorry, my lord. But he did not say when he would return.” The butler stood rigidly in place, obviously unable to explain more about Dickson’s sudden leave-taking.

“I will have to make do without. Do let me know immediately when he returns. ”

“Of course.”

The butler disappeared, leaving Oscar alone with the disaster. Where in God’s name to start? He had the ledger, but those papers really needed to be filed away properly. He grabbed a pile to shuffle them into date order, but one order stood out.

Three barrels of rum.

What in the world did an orphanage need that much rum for? Or any at all?

Come to think of it, where had the entry for that purchase gone to? It wasn’t in the ledger that he could recall.

Oscar skirted the desk and flipped the pages in the ledger. March fifth—nothing.

He set the bill of sale down and glanced at the next. May twenty-first—fifteen yards of muslin. But no corresponding ledger entry. What madness was this?

When the ledger didn’t match the purchases of five more items, Oscar grew angry. The place had been swindled of more than a few pennies. No wonder the trustees wanted the place held to account for its spending. Was that the reason for Mr. Dickson’s unexplained departure?

The only way to be certain of what had transpired here was to find every scrap of paper Oscar could and reconstruct the whole damned ledger. It would take him an age. Much longer than he could hope to hide his activities from Agatha Birkenstock. What would she say if she found out her precious orphanage was under threat of closure?

So this was the tall lord who’d made little Mabel cry, was it? Agatha gritted her teeth and moved into the small, cluttered office. “Just what do you think you’re doing with those papers, Lord Carrington?”

Oscar heaved a dramatic sigh and dropped the papers to the desk. When he raked his fingers through his hair too, Agatha grew impatient. Damn him for his floundering. She wanted an honest answer, not a carefully worded lie. “I am waiting, my lord. ”

“I am sorting through the mess.”

“That is Mr. Dickson’s chore, if he should ever lower himself to straighten the place. What I don’t understand is why you are here frightening the children.”

“Do you mean the little girl, Mabel?”

Agatha set her reticule on the table. “Yes, I mean Mabel. She’s just spent the last ten minutes confessing that you frightened her witless.”

“Little girls are known to exaggerate. I caught her fair and square, hiding beneath the desk here.” Oscar flashed his charming smile at her, but she was having none of his sly manipulations today, or any day from now on.

Agatha skirted the desk. “Then what are you doing snooping through the orphanage’s papers?”

Standing this close to Oscar was perhaps a mistake. She could see how tired he was. The dark smudges beneath his eyes that usually held laughter distracted her for a moment. She doubted their parting had affected him this much, and she wanted to know what was wrong with him. What had taken away his sparkle, his merriment in life? His appearance tugged at her heart in a way that couldn’t be allowed.

“I have been asked by my fellow trustees to assess the orphanage. To see whether the place has a viable future.”

His response took her breath away. She sagged, dropping her hand to the stacked desk to hold herself upright. This could not be. Why had she not heard a whisper about this before? Or from her grandfather, for that matter? He was a trustee, too.

When Oscar settled a hand to her shoulder, she pulled away. She could not let him get close. Her heart couldn’t take much more anguish. “And what are your findings?”

“Give me time, Agatha. I have only just begun, and given the state of this room, I shall be here for some duration. I am very sorry, Agatha. You may have to see me every day for a little while.”

“Every day.” No, that was not to be borne. To see him so often would be a painful, unending torment. When he cast her an apologetic smile, Agatha snatched up her reticule and hurried for the door. She’d been on the point of leaving for the day when she’d spied Oscar, so she gave him no chance to speak again. The door slammed closed behind her and she rushed for home.

At home, she could scream her frustration where no one could hear. At home, she could throw something to rid herself of her need to throttle Oscar.

How could he invade her world? Her orphanage? Damn him—must he take every dream away from her?

In the square, she barely missed colliding with a gleaming curricle. At the last possible moment, a stranger caught her arm and prevented her from barreling straight into the side of the passing conveyance. She thanked whoever it was then glanced at the occupants who had not stopped.

Lord Prewitt tipped his hat as they turned the next corner. Of course. Oscar’s future bride barely glanced her way as she concentrated on the reins as they disappeared from sight. Agatha rocked back on her heels and dragged in a deep breath.

She’d not let her discomposure over Oscar take her life from her, too. Damn him. Damn him to hell and back.

With more care for her surroundings, Agatha crossed the roads and park without further incident. She reached her house and the upper corridor with a semblance of decorum, secure in the knowledge that her grandfather was from home for the rest of the day. But the minute her bedchamber door closed and she was assured of privacy, she screamed. Loudly.

“Really, that was hardly ladylike,” Oscar told her.