Chapter 4 #2
Hugh could not stop thinking about his conversation with Georgie as he prepared for bed that night, while he stayed awake far too late, or even the next morning as he met with the Vestry Committee about possible updates to the property.
He took his new responsibilities seriously, but he missed his time serving at the orphanage.
Having been deposited in the Foundling Hospital as a baby, he commiserated with the children at the Bateman Home, which had been taken over by Sir Matthew and Lady Bateman to give boys forced onto London’s streets a place to live and grow safely.
Some parents surrendered their children.
Other children were found by a constable or minister.
Many of the children reacted to their abandonment with tears and withdrawal.
A few, like Pip, were defiant and determined.
He was such a bright child, with so much potential!
Hugh had suggested to Sir Matthew that the boy might benefit from attending the Bluecoat School, but that meant Pip would need birth and baptismal records.
Hugh had been unable to locate them before moving to Tyneham.
He could only hope that the Marquess of Kendall, whose wife was another of the trustees, would intervene.
Pip, however, had been none too pleased by the news of Hugh’s departure for Dorset.
“You’re leaving me too,” the boy had accused at their last meeting. His brown eyes had been narrowed, but Hugh had seen the tears gleaming in them. “You said you were my friend.”
“I am your friend,” Hugh said, setting a hand on the boy’s slim shoulder.
Pip shrugged away from the touch. “Friends don’t leave friends behind.”
“Would that that were true,” Hugh murmured. “Sometimes circumstances conspire against us. I’m truly sorry, Pip.”
The boy’s jaw had tightened, and he’d looked away.
The ache pressed into Hugh anew as the memory faded.
In truth, there was nothing he could do.
He could hardly show up at his first parish with a ward in tow.
And though Lady Bateman and Lady Kendall were more forgiving than most in the aristocracy, even they might have balked at releasing the boy to a man who was illegitimate himself.
Hugh could only be glad for the mercy of the church and the kindness of those who had seen past his beginnings to imagine a better future.
The other issue that plagued him now was Georgie’s statement about character and compassion being more important than standing and wealth.
Her father had certainly disagreed with that statement.
He’d implied Georgie felt the same way. Even if she hadn’t, caring for her as Hugh did, he could not have stood between her and the possibility of a more prosperous life than a clergyman could ever offer.
“What are your thoughts, Vicar?” Mr. Pritchard, the wet grocer, demanded.
Hugh blinked at him a moment. What had the Vestry Committee been discussing? Hedges? “A good trimming would seem to be in order,” Hugh mused, trying for a more solemn demeanor.
“Of the vestments?” Mr. Pierce, the haberdasher, asked with a frown.
Served Hugh right for woolgathering. “Perhaps an inch off the hem?” he suggested. “Your last vicar appears to have been a remarkably tall fellow.”
Somehow, he survived the next hour of discussion and retreated to his study.
With great determination, he forced his mind to the task of polishing his sermon for Sunday.
The topics and text were well recorded in the Book of Common Prayer and elsewhere.
Some vicars merely read the words and were done.
He preferred to add more local inspiration.
He was nearly finished when he heard a rap down the corridor at the front door. Mrs. Hallet must have answered, for he heard her exclamation.
“Your Grace! Welcome! I’ll fetch the vicar.”
Georgie? He straightened his cravat and ran a hand back through his curls to settle them, then laughed at himself. In Tyneham, the title Your Grace could refer to any of four people!
But as he went to the sitting room at his housekeeper’s request, he found his hopes realized.
Georgie and young Oliver waited on the sofa.
She was dressed in her usual black, lace at her bodice and hem, while the boy was in the same coat he’d worn to dinner the previous evening. Dressed in his best, no doubt.
“Taking me up on my offer,” Hugh said, offering his hand to Oliver after bowing to Georgie.
The boy’s face was as composed as usual as he shook hands. “I am escorting Georgie.”
And had been given leave to use her first name. Hugh shoved down the poke of jealousy. “Ah, I see.” He sat on the nearest chair. “Fulfilling your duty as a gentleman. Well done.”
Oliver inclined his head.
Georgie smiled fondly at the boy. “Oliver and I are on a mission.” She turned her smile on Hugh, and he fought the urge to straighten under it. “Sophia wisely pointed out that you might have an opinion on the curriculum for the dame school we’re planning.”
Of course she had a more important reason for coming than to call on him.
Stop it, old fellow! You’re the vicar, not a suitor!
“I understood you to say you were going to focus on reading and writing,” he said.
“And mathematics,” she clarified. “Sums, perhaps multiplication and division.”
“No art?” Oliver piped up.
Georgie blinked her lovely sky blue eyes. “Why, Oliver, do you know, that never occurred to me? Of course we must have drawing and music as well. It seems I should have consulted you first!”
Hugh wasn’t sure either drawing or music would help the Tyneham children advance in the world, but either would likely make their lives brighter. “Perhaps natural history,” he suggested, not to be outdone. “Improvements in agriculture? The history of Britain?”
Georgie dug in her bag to pull out a small notepad and pencil. “Excellent suggestions!”
“Will all the children attend school?” Oliver asked. By the way he scrunched his face, Hugh couldn’t tell whether the boy was for or against the idea.
“As many as can be spared, I imagine,” Hugh offered as Georgie hurriedly jotted down their ideas.
Her head came up. “That is also a good point. We can’t make the school day so long that their parents might be tempted to keep them home for work.”
Oliver glanced between them. “Children work here?”
“On the farms,” Hugh explained. “With their parents.”
“Like you help me with Anastasia,” Georgie added. “Everyone contributes to their household in some way.”
“But you won’t keep them away if they feel differently, think differently?” Oliver pressed.
Hugh looked to Georgie for guidance and saw her face soften.
“No, Oliver, we won’t,” she promised. “If I were the teacher, I would make sure that every child had the opportunity to learn, even if they learned things faster or slower or in a different way than others.”
And she would, if given the opportunity. Georgie might be lovely and sweet-natured, but what truly set her apart was the size of her heart. Where Georgie loved, she gave her all, and she loved widely.
Had he been a fool? Had he let pride or fear drive him from her side? The need to know was nearly overpowering.
“Might I trouble you for a moment, Mr. Warden?” he asked the boy. “I believe Mrs. Hallet has some scones in the kitchen that need to be eaten. Would you go help her with them?”
Oliver rose. “Of course. Excuse me.” He moved with more alacrity than usual toward the kitchen door, leaving Hugh alone with Georgie at last.
She smiled after Oliver. “He is such a dear! I do hope the teachers at Grace-by-the-Sea will be kind.”
“I take it he has difficulty with learning,” Hugh surmised.
“Not with the subject matter,” Georgie assured him. “He is bright and interested. But noises overset him, and sudden changes can disorient him to the point he simply withdraws. We must find ways to teach such children here.”
Hugh nodded, mindful he had only a few moments alone with her. “You said something last night,” he murmured, “about character, compassion, and a clear conscience mattering more to you than wealth or standing. Your father gave me to understand you felt differently.”
She frowned at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Hugh drew in a breath. “When we were courting, your father asked me to cease my suit. He said you were too kind-hearted to do so, but that you felt the duke’s son a better choice.”
Her eyes widened. “I never said any such thing! Oh, Hugh! Do you mean you stopped courting me because of what my father said?”
“And because I knew he was right,” Hugh confessed. “Anyone in London would have agreed that Lord Lutton, heir to the Duke of Tyneham, would make you a better husband than I ever could.”
Her blue eyes flashed. “And you think I care what anyone else has to say about my choice of husband?”
Hugh rubbed his chin. “With you looking at me that way, I’d fear to say yes. Forgive me, Georgie. But I loved you too much then to saddle you with an impoverished deacon.”
Her chest rose and fell, as if she were taking deep breaths to steady herself. “Thank you for telling me. As I believe we are shortly to have company, I think we should leave the matter alone at this time. But I promise you, sir, that this conversation is far from over.”