“Well, then.” Kit eased his grip. Rising, he patted Ollie’s shoulder. “Would you like to leave Mrs. Stenshaw’s employ and come and work for me at my house? I’m new to the city, and I could use a bright bootboy and messenger who I and the rest of my staff can rely on to run errands and the like. If you’d like to do that, you can tell the truth about Cedric and James and what you saw them do, then thumb your nose at Mrs. Stenshaw and leave with us.”
“And,” Sylvia put in, “in between running errands and cleaning his lordship’s boots, you can come to the school and learn your letters with the other boys.”
Ollie’s eyes had widened at the mention of Kit’s title, and his gaze had swung to Kit, but at the word “school,” his eyes grew huge, and his gaze shot back to Sylvia. He stared at her as if she’d offered him the moon. “Cor...you mean it?”
She nodded. “Indeed. Lord Cavanaugh”—with one hand, she indicated Kit—“is the sponsor and patron of the school, so yes.” She raised her gaze to Kit’s face. “Attending school is part of his offer.”
Kit hid a smile and looked inquiringly at Ollie.
The boy’s expression said he wanted to seize the offer with both hands, but fear held him back. After a moment, he swallowed and asked, “Will I have to say what I saw to her face?”
In light of the trepidation he could see in Ollie’s eyes, Kit shook his head. “No. You can leave speaking with Mrs. Stenshaw to us—and we won’t mention your name to her.”
Ollie’s fear fell away. His eyes shining like stars, he straightened to attention and looked up at Kit. “Then yes, please, your lordship! I’d like to come and work for you and go to school, too.”
Kit smiled. “Then you shall.” He glanced down the runnel. “Why don’t you go inside and get your things? Tell anyone who asks that you’ve had a better offer, and you’re leaving without notice. Then meet us back here.” He glanced at Sylvia. “We’re just going to have another word or two with Mrs. Stenshaw, then we’ll come back and fetch you, and”—Kit pointed to the hackney—“we’ll leave in that hackney.”
Ollie was transformed, his face alight. “Yes, sir, your lordship!” Then he turned and ran down the runnel.
“Well.” Beside Kit, Sylvia watched Ollie go. “That was a stroke of luck—and the act of a good heart.”
Kit nodded. “It took courage to lie in wait and tell us. If we leave him in the household, most likely the sons will work out who spoke against them and beat him as badly as he fears before throwing him out. They sound the vindictive sort.”
“Indeed. But now, thank
s to Ollie, we have the evidence to put the fear of gaol into the Stenshaw boys—at least as far as attacking the school goes.”
The look Kit sent her was keenly anticipatory. With a graceful gesture, he waved her back to Mrs. Stenshaw’s door.
After Kit informed the maid that her mistress would not appreciate what they had to say being bruited about in the street, their second interview with the old besom was conducted in her drawing room.
Courtesy of Ollie’s information, this interview went very much more satisfactorily than the one before. Sylvia listened appreciatively as Kit informed Mrs. Stenshaw that a credible eyewitness had come forward and was prepared to swear that he’d seen her sons, Cedric and James, lay the fire at the rear of the school and set it alight.
Kit went on, “The witness’s description matches what was found at the scene, verifying his information. The witness’s testimony is more than sufficient to see your sons taken up for trespass and arson.”
Seated poker straight in an armchair, Mrs. Stenshaw’s expression had shifted from belligerent resistance and recalcitrance to one of dawning horror. Weakly, she said, “No—I can’t believe it.”
“If you wish to verify our witness’s information, I suggest you ask to see your household’s lamp oil jar.” Kit’s tone held no hint of softness. “If you ask, you’ll discover it was emptied this afternoon, but not by any of your staff. Indeed, the jar might not even be back in the house.”
As if finally accepting the seriousness of what her sons now faced, Mrs. Stenshaw’s granite-like façade cracked, and she reached out a hand. “You would take my sons from me?”
Sylvia watched as Kit held Mrs. Stenshaw’s gaze, then without giving the slightest sign of weakening his stance, he stated, “In light of the school being new to the area, we are hesitant to press charges.”
Sylvia blinked, but she trusted him enough to make no protest.
He glanced swiftly at her, read her acquiescence—at least for the moment—then looked back at Mrs. Stenshaw and, his tone hardening, continued, “However, should there be any further trouble visited on the school—of any sort whatsoever—we will assume that you and your sons have failed to learn the lessons of this current incident and are, once again, to blame.” He straightened, his features as coldly forbidding as Mrs. Stenshaw’s had ever been. “In such circumstances, we will have no hesitation in laying the evidence now in our hands before the magistrates and pursuing the matter to the point of seeing both your sons behind bars.”
Sylvia pressed her palms together to refrain from applauding.
Kit capped his performance with a direct demand. “Is that clear?”
Mrs. Stenshaw looked like she’d sucked three lemons, but she swallowed and croaked, “Yes, my lord.”
“Excellent.” Kit stood and held out his hand to Sylvia. As she grasped it and rose, he nodded curtly to Mrs. Stenshaw. “Good day, madam. We’ll see ourselves out.”
He escorted Sylvia from the room, and the maid—who from her expression had been listening at the door and had found the exchange heartening—smiled and bobbed them from the house.
Sylvia paused on the porch, and Kit halted beside her. When the door shut behind them, she drew in a huge breath, then met his eyes and smiled widely. “That was...” She couldn’t find the words.