Wayland swung to face them. “As soon as you’re ready, we can start on the second one.”
The men mock-groaned, but they were soon wrestling the second beam into place, equally successfully.
There were six beams to be positioned, spaced in pairs down the workshop, three beams on each longer side. They’d got all six up and were discussing the logistics of hauling up and securing the crossbeams when a tap on the frame of the open doors drew their attention.
A small, round woman with gray hair pulled back in a tight bun stood peering into the workshop’s gloom. “Lord Cavanaugh?”
Kit grabbed his coat and shrugged into it as Mulligan and the carpenters turned to stare at him. “Lord?” Mulligan asked.
Kit flashed them a grin. “For my sins.” Settling his coat sleeves, he crossed to the woman. “Miss Petty—come in.”
The previous afternoon, when he’d returned to his office after seeing Sylvia home, he’d found Miss Petty waiting. She’d been sent around by the labor exchange. He’d let her into the office and, after a quick discussion of her past experience—with a recently defunct ship-building firm—and the duties he would like her to fulfill, he’d hired her and considered himself blessed.
This morning, despite his early start, she’d been into the office before him; he’d left her organizing and ordering supplies and had told her to call at the workshop in the early afternoon to meet Mulligan and the senior carpenters and to see where she would be spending some of her hours each week.
She advanced, not tentatively but rather with a certain curiosity, her eyes sharp behind a pair of brass-rimmed spectacles as she looked up, taking in what they were working on. “A gantry, is it?”
“Indeed.” Kit paused to glance back at the work in progress and noticed the struck look on Mulligan’s and the other men’s faces. Knowing Miss Petty’s background, her comment hadn’t struck Kit as odd, but meeting a woman with a lick of ship-building understanding had clearly surprised the others.
Grinning, Kit waved the men forward. “This is the company’s new secretary, Miss Petty.” Wayland smiled and came up, keen to make Miss Petty’s acquaintance; the others followed, somewhat more bashfully, in his wake.
Kit made the introductions, then announced, “Miss Petty will be spending roughly half her time here.” Kit gestured at the rough framework for the offices they’d already set in place. “She’ll be sharing the front office with Mulligan. Miss Petty will be responsible for disbursing wages and paying any bills that get presented here, rather than to our office in King Street.”
Miss Petty acknowledged Mulligan’s and the others’ bobbed heads with a serene smile and gentle nods, then said, “It will be a pleasure to work with a ship-building concern again. I was born in the city, and my father was a shipwright.” She paused, then went on, “I should perhaps add that while I will not tolerate any disrespectful language being directed toward me, I am extremely good at not hearing things that are none of my business.” She ended with a cheery smile that, together with her words, got the men relaxing again, and their chorus of “Pleased to meet you, miss” rang sincere.
“If you don’t mind, your lordship, I’ll just take some measurements in the office.” Miss Petty gestured to the area in question. “Perhaps, Mr. Mulligan, you might show me what you have planned for the space, and once I have the measurements, I’ll order whatever’s necessary.”
Mulligan looked strangely uncertain, but nodded. “Aye. We could do that.”
He and Miss Petty moved toward the office.
With Wayland and the others, Kit started walking back to where the gantry struts lay spread on the floor.
A tentative rap on the warehouse door frame had Kit and Wayland glancing that way, then pausing.
A thin boy of about thirteen or fourteen stood in the open doorway, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. He cleared his throat and said, “Sir, can you tell me who to see about a job?”
The boy’s piping tenor carried easily through the empty building. Mulligan and Miss Petty halted and turned to study the lad. The other men halted, too, and looked curiously his way.
The lad was tow-headed, and his clothes had seen better days, but he’d clearly made an effort to appear neat and as presentable as he could. Under the combined scrutiny, he stood with his chin up, but Kit noticed he was mangling a threadbare cap between his hands.
That hint of vulnerability made Kit walk across with an easy gait. “I’m one of the owners.” His first impulse had been to tell the boy he should head to the school, but as he got closer, he glimpsed desperation and a hint of despair in the lad’s face. “What sort of work were you looking for?”
The lad swallowed and, after a second, found his voice. “Anything, really. I can fetch and carry, and run messages and such.” His gaze went past Kit to the racks of new tools now standing against the rear wall. The boy’s eyes lit. “And I’m a dab hand at keeping tools in good nick. My da was a carpenter.” The last was said with aching pride.
Kit didn’t miss the past tense the boy had used.
Kit felt a tug on his sleeve and turned his head to find Mulligan beside him.
Raising his gaze from the boy, Mulligan jerked his head to the side. “If I could have a word, your lordship?”
Kit turned back to the boy to see his eyes flare wide—that lordship thing again. Kit nodded to the lad and said, “Wait here.” With that, Kit followed Mulligan deeper into the warehouse. Kit felt fairly confident that while there was an outside chance of a job, the boy would remain, and Kit was reasonably certain there would be a story behind the boy’s request and Mulligan was about to tell him of it.
Sure enough, Mulligan halted and, facing away from the door, caught Kit’s eyes as Kit stopped beside him. “His name is Jack Deaver—Jack the Lad, we all call him. His father was a master carpenter, but he died a year or so ago in a fall from a ship in dry dock. Since then, Jack’s been the only breadwinner in the family—he’s the eldest of five, and his mother is near witless trying to make ends meet. Jack gets what work he can, but he and his mother both are too proud to take charity.” Mulligan paused, then went on, “I heard that you’d funded the school that used to be here to move to a better hall. I’m guessing that means you’re all for young’uns like Jack learning his letters and such. But if you turn him away, he won’t be going to that school—he can’t. He has to do what he can to earn coin...and I’m thinking”—Mulligan looked intently at Kit—“that there’s more than one sort of learning.”
Mulligan nodded at the other men—all four of whom had ambled closer, watching and waiting. “Jack does hav
e a feeling for working with wood—got that from his da, no doubt. Me and the others would be happy to take Jack under our wing. If he turns out to be even half the carpenter his old man was, he’ll soon be worth his weight to us.”