The following morning, Sylvia set out for the school, light of heart and eager to tell the teachers and students of their good fortune.
She was especially glad to be able to lift the pall of doubt and uncertainty that had descended on both staff and pupils when she’d told them of having to quit the warehouse. Indeed, she felt like skipping at the prospect.
The meeting with the prior, with Kit Cavanaugh by her side, had gone extremely well. Not only was the Abbey happy to have the hall put to such use, but the prior had gone so far as to suggest that if the school ever needed medical assistance, they could call on the Abbey’s infirmarian.
She was worldly enough to know that she and the school had Cavanaugh—Kit—to thank for that. He’d stood like a rock—a distinctly noble rock—at her back throughout the process of leasing the hall.
She hurried across the end of Bell Lane, then cut between buildings to reach the Grove. Looking ahead, she spied a tall, greatcoated figure leaning against the bole of a tree opposite the warehouse the school presently occupied.
She blinked and looked again, confirming that the figure was indeed Kit. He saw her, pushed away from the tree, and ambled to intercept her.
Was she surprised? She wasn’t sure she was. After all, at the end of their successful foray yesterday, in return for his help in getting the prior to commence the lease on the Trinity Street hall immediately, she’d agreed that the school would move premises today, allowing Kit and his men access to the warehouse tomorrow, a day earlier than they’d hoped.
He’d said he would notify the Dock Company, and she had no doubt he had—or would. He was efficient and effective—she would give him that.
He’d halted, waiting for her, and as she neared, she discovered an entirely spontaneous smile of greeting had taken up residence on her face. “Good morning. Have you come to help me break the news?”
Kit drank in that smile—the first sincere smile she’d ever bestowed on him. He returned it with an easy smile of hi
s own, nothing to get her bristling. “Good morning to you—and no.” He glanced at the warehouse. “You can do the honors. I’ve come to lend a hand with moving the school.”
She blinked in surprise, and he couldn’t stop his smile from deepening. To hide it, he glanced vaguely around. “Do you know of any men we can hire to help?”
“Hire?”
From her tone, the notion hadn’t entered her head—probably because she wasn’t accustomed to having the wherewithal to pay for such help.
But after several seconds, she said, “The boys will help, of course. And some of them will have older brothers out of work and possibly fathers as well...”
He nodded. “We can ask.” He waved her on. “Let’s go in, and you can break the good news.”
Kit followed her through the door. He halted just inside. In his mind, he could already see the transformation of the space that he and Wayland had planned. While Wayland busied himself checking on his orders and interviewing men for the key role of foreman as well as hiring a small team of carpenters to make a start on their necessary alterations, Kit had elected to devote himself to ensuring that the school’s vacating of the warehouse went smoothly.
Ahead of him, Sylvia came to a halt before the two rows of desks that were now lined up across the warehouse floor. Two gentlemen—Kit judged them to be much of an age with himself—both neatly and conservatively dressed, had been standing before the desks, one to either side, addressing the boys before them; having heard Sylvia’s heels on the boards, they, along with their pupils, had turned their attention to her.
She tipped her head to each man. “Mr. Jellicoe. Mr. Cross. If I could have a moment of everyone’s time, I have an announcement to make.”
Her expression gave away her news—or at least, it’s nature; the looks on the boys’ faces as they stared at her could only be described as ones of rising hope.
Assured of everyone’s attention, her hands clasped before her, she stated, “Yesterday evening, courtesy of Lord Cavanaugh”—she glanced back at Kit, still standing just inside the door, gracefully waved in his direction, then turned back to her audience—“the lease on a hall in Trinity Street was secured for the school. We have new premises, and they are a great deal better than this warehouse.”
The cheer that erupted from the boys and staff matched the joy and relief that suffused their faces.
Several of the older boys thumped on their desks, and the others took up the drumbeat.
The teachers glanced at Kit, and he inclined his head to them, and they nodded politely in return. Then at a smiling word from Sylvia, both teachers turned back to their charges and waved them to silence.
Somewhat to Kit’s surprise, silence returned quite quickly.
Into it, Sylvia said, “Lord Cavanaugh is the owner of the business that has leased this warehouse, and once he learned of the school, he kindly agreed to fund the lease for our new school hall. In return, I agreed that we would move to our new hall today. I’m therefore declaring today a holiday—at least from your studies. However, I expect every one of you to assist us—me, Mr. Jellicoe, Mr. Cross, and Miss Meggs, too, once she comes in, and Lord Cavanaugh, who has come to help as well—to move all the school’s furniture, books, boards, slates, supplies, and all to our new hall.”
Wily Sylvia. Kit had already noted the curiosity that had flared in every boy’s face at the revelation that he was a lord; for such boys, nobles were a rarely encountered species. By mentioning that he would be helping with the move, Sylvia had ensured that every single boy would remain to do their part.
Eager agreement abounded, and when Sylvia asked if any of the boys had older male relatives who might be free to help for a price, five hands shot into the air.
Kit raised his voice. “You can tell anyone who agrees to help that the rate will be three shillings for the day.” That was the current rate for laborers on the docks.
The boys who’d raised their hands leapt to their feet.