Chapter Eight

I t was worse than he’d feared.

Far worse.

Clutching his tools, Lawrence stared at the building before him.

“What do you think?”

Lawrence glanced at Ned, with his mop of brown curls, warm amber eyes, and overly optimistic smile.

“Is that…”

“Your new home, yes.”

Saints alive!

“I doubt you’d want to know what I think,” Lawrence said.

“Indulge me.”

“It’s fucking awful.”

Ned’s smile faded.

A pang of guilt twisted Lawrence’s gut. He wasn’t in a position to turn his nose up at anything, given that he had nowhere else to go. Neither was he in a position to admonish Ned, given all the man had done for him.

“It’s not much, granted,” Ned said, “but the rent’s minimal, and there’s plenty of room in the garden for your children. Might help tire them out—if that’s possible.” There was no mistaking the exasperation in his tone.

“They been much trouble?” Lawrence asked.

“Nothing my Sophie can’t handle—though even she’s in danger of losing her patience. A lively trio, ain’t they? Especially that young Roberta. Pretty lass when she’s not rolling around in the dirt—but she’s more trouble than the boys.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nowt to worry about,” Ned replied. “A bit o’ spirit’s good in a little ’un. I can’t be done with children who sit on their arses all day. Runnin’ around’s good for them, though I doubt Mrs. Chantry will agree. She’s a stickler for obedience—her cane warmed my arse many times when I was a lad.”

“Mrs. Chantry?”

“She runs the school at the other end of the village.”

Lawrence glanced about, but no other buildings were visible. “It looks like everything’s at the other end of the village from here.”

“Don’t be down,” Ned said. “This was the only empty place in Brackens Hill, and you can’t take a room at the inn. The Oak’s no place for children, and besides, Mr. Colt always wants payment in advance.”

Payment Lawrence couldn’t afford.

“I’ve nothing bad to say about Mr. Colt,” Ned continued. “He’s a fair employer—I get a shilling a week more than the manager at the Stag Inn in the next village.” He glanced at Lawrence’s tools. “Those look the worse for wear—are they the same tools you had before?”

Lawrence shook his head. “These were a gift. I lost mine.”

“That’s careless.”

“I was careless in trusting my employer,” Lawrence said. “I should have taken a lesson from Mr. Colt and taken payment in advance.”

Ned let out a chuckle. “Your work weren’t up to scratch?”

“The lady of the house took against me and turned me out without paying.”

“And your hands?” Ned gestured to the bandages. “You got into a brawl with her?”

“Not in the way you mean.” Lawrence sighed, though his body tightened at the prospect of wrestling Lady Arabella into submission. “I burned them trying to retrieve my belongings after she’d ordered her footman to throw them on the fire.”

“Fucking hell.” Ned sighed. “There’s no understanding some folk. She ought to be whipped raw. Do your hands pain you?”

“A slight soreness, that’s all,” Lawrence said. “They gave me a salve at the King’s Head.”

“Ah, yes.” Ned grinned. “I know old Tom Barnes well—he’d have seen ye right. And Millie—did you see Millie when you were there? I’ve never seen a finer pair of teats in my life.”

Ned raised his hands, cupping them as if holding a pair of invisible oranges.

“Just right for my hands, they are—and tasty morsels for a man when he’s hungry after a day’s work. Did you take your fill?”

“The first night, yes.”

Ned licked his lips. “Lovely! Did she do that thing she does with her tongue?” He closed his eyes as if reliving the memory. “I can feel it now—the way she parts a man’s legs and licks all the way along his—”

“I should take a look inside,” Lawrence said.

Ned let out a laugh. “If you say so. I only hope if I take a wife, she’ll let me teach her some of Millie’s tricks. A wife should know how to please her husband, aye?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Lawrence said. “A widower with three children is hardly likely to find a wife.”

“Don’t be sayin’ that!” Ned slapped Lawrence on the arm good naturedly. “There’s plenty lasses hereabouts who’d jump at the chance of a man like you, though you’d need a strong woman to cope with them three.”

Ned was right. Few women could manage such unruly children, even if they’d nurtured them from birth. But to take on three children in the prime of their mischief—that was too much to ask from even the most stout-hearted woman.

When did children grow out of the phase where everything they touched shattered into shards? Or, in the case of Bobby, did they ever grow out of that?

Lawrence gestured toward the cottage. “Thank you,” he said. “All I need now is a spot of work to pay the rent.”

“You’ll not be short of work here. The vicarage garden’s needing clearing. And my Sophie heard from a lass who works in a big house in the next county—the new owners are needing some work doin’ on their estate. We’ll see you right here, Lawrence. We look after our own at Brackens Hill—even incomers like yourself. Now, come and look at your new home, then you can take a bite of supper at mine.”

“I mustn’t trouble you,” Lawrence said. “I should get the children settled here right away.”

“Best not just yet,” came the reply. “You’ll want to tidy up the place first. Come and see.”

As they entered the cottage, Lawrence heard scratching, followed by a patter of tiny feet. He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the darkness in the hallway, and caught sight of two small, furry forms scuttling along the floor, giving him a glimpse of their tails before they disappeared through a hole in the floorboards.

Lawrence shuddered. What other creatures occupied the place? And though the children preferred to be grubbing about in the dirt outside —according to Miss Tewkson, the schoolteacher who’d declared that she’d never come across such nasty little beasts in twenty years of teaching —not even Bobby, who surpassed her brothers in boldness, would wish to share a bed with a nest full of rats.

Ned gave a wry smile. “Welcome to Brackens Hill.”