Chapter 36- Callum
“Your Grace, you have a visitor.” His butler gave a short bow in the doorway of Callum’s study.
Callum raised his weary eyes from his ledger. The butler hesitated for half a second, which was shocking. Callum had never seen him less than completely composed—no matter his cousin’s outlandish outbursts, or how many times Callum shucked his boots and left them under a table somewhere.
“It’s a young boy, Your Grace. A street urchin by the looks of him. He’s at the servants’ entrance. I would have sent him away already, but he has Your Grace’s card.”
Callum leaned back in his chair and threaded his fingers together over his stomach. “Let me guess…this boy has red hair?”
“A shocking quantity of it, Your Grace.”
“I believe his name is Stephen. You may escort him in.”
“Would you like me to send Blanchard as well, Your Grace?”
Blanchard was one of the footmen, the only one who might be able to give Callum a run for his money in fisticuffs. It was so rare for Callum to meet someone similar in size and stature, that he’d been tempted to invite the fellow to a sparring match.
Callum wouldn’t, of course. As one of his servants, the man would be obliged to say yes and then wouldn’t feel comfortable trying his hardest. He’d let Callum win. It was one of the most disappointing things about having a title: no one would take a proper swing at Callum anymore.
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you, I believe I can handle the boy just fine. Besides, I think I know why he’s come. Tell me, does it look like he’s combed his hair?”
“Indeed, sir, though there’s still a great too much of it for my liking.” He frowned as if for emphasis.
Callum nodded solemnly at the butler’s dour expression, only breaking into a smile after the man had shut the door behind him. He’d been curious whether Stephen—the young boy who took his sovereign all those weeks ago near St. Alban’s—would ever muster the courage to knock on his door.
The other three boys had. They were now quite happily employed in various pursuits.
Two of them were apprenticed to stonemasons, and one of them had been handed over to the care of a carpenter.
Part of the agreement Callum had made when hiring those tradesmen was that they would take the boys on as apprentices.
Callum thought that the arrangements would last longer than the building of the orphanage. But if not, he hoped that the four months of employment would put the boys in the habit of rising early, showing up on time, and working hard until supper.
Callum had lived his own early days under such a cadence.
He believed it was that particular rhythm that helped instill in him an excellent work ethic.
Even now, with his mind full of Miss Margaret Preston and their painful last meeting, Callum was dedicated to the success of his estate, to the ledgers, and he attended to every missive from his stewards the same day it was received.
Truthfully, Callum would have preferred to set off immediately for Scotland, but Ellis had caught a late taste for the amusements of town.
The past few days, his cousin was always out at the museums or some function or another.
Inexplicably, Ellis was even badgering Callum to attend the final ball of the Season with him that evening.
Callum didn’t see the point. His relationship with Margaret had come to its worst possible end, and there was no one he wished to see. He was determined to stay home and oversee packing for their departure for Scotland in the morning instead.
A knock sounded on the door. Callum bade them enter, and the butler deposited Stephen before the large desk. The boy looked much the same in appearance, save that his hands and face had been washed, and his great quantity of red hair had indeed been wrestled into some semblance of order.
But the largest change came from the expression the youth now wore. It was half apprehension, half guilt, and as Callum watched him impassively, Stephen glanced back toward the door with obvious longing.
“Well,” Callum said, arching an eyebrow, “you are here.”
Stephen jerked at his words. Then he bent at the waist in such a deep, drawn-out bow that it was all Callum could do to keep from laughing.
“You may rise,” he finally said, when it was clear that the boy intended upon staying in such a prostrate position until he was excused from it. Callum managed to wipe all amusement from his face before the boy was upright again.
The boy swallowed deeply. “Your Grace, I have come to apologize.”
“Is that so?”
The boy nodded. “I have wronged you and your household, and I am deeply sorry.”
“Very well, Stephen.” The boy’s eyes went wide that Callum had remembered his name. Callum said, “What precisely are you apologizing for?”
“For giving you false information about Miss Margaret, for taking your sovereign when I hadn’t earned it, and for not coming sooner to ask about a job.”
Callum leaned back in his chair, impressed despite himself. “Did you come up with that apology all on your own, or did someone help you?
The boy slicked the back of his hand beneath his wet nose, and Callum tried not to wince.
“It’s true I had help,” he admitted. “Miss Margaret helped me.”
“Did she now?”
That was information that Callum was interested in, though he kept any sort of inflection out of his voice. He’d already told Stephen far too much, but in his own defense, at the time, Callum had been desperate and hadn’t truly expected to see him again.
Not that he was sorry the boy was here. On the contrary, Callum felt a deep satisfaction when young people showed a propensity for honest work.
It was part of what had inspired him to take St. Alban’s under his protective wing.
He wanted to encourage more of these advantageless children to have a solid, secure future—one where they weren’t taken advantage of.
“What did you do with the sovereign?” Callum asked.
The boy twitched. His face contorted with his internal struggle.
It was as if Stephen hadn’t thought Callum would ask, and now debated whether or not to tell the truth.
But this would be the moment that decided how much Callum helped him, for there was little Callum liked less than a liar or a thief.
Granted, the thief part was debatable. Callum understood why the boy had done it. He could wave off such a misgiving under the circumstances, but if the boy stood before him and lied as he endeavored to apologize, that would be the end of it.
Well, that wasn’t precisely true. Callum would still do everything he could to help the boy, but he would definitely give Stephen a stern talking-to first.
Stephen’s nose wrinkled as he finally admitted, “We drank ale and ate meat pies.” His shoulders slumped as if he thought his honesty would cost him dearly.
“I’m a fan of meat pies myself,” Callum said, “and ale, too, now that you mention it.”
Stephen’s head jerked up, his expression hopeful. Without the hard edge of cynicism, for once the boy looked as young as he truly was.
“Are you willing to work for free until you’ve repaid my sovereign?”
The boy nodded. “Yes, sir. It’s only fair.”
“Very well.” Callum picked up a piece of paper, dashed off a note with his instructions, folded it, and handed it over. “Give that to the groomsman. He’ll see to it that you are taken care of.”
The boy took the paper from Callums’s hand and stared at it. Then he raised his eyes and said, “That’s it?”
Callum arched a brow. “Did you expect there to be more?”
“No, Your Grace. Thank you, Your Grace.”
He bowed lowly again and turned for the door, but Callum held up a finger. “One more thing before you go. What precisely was your conversation with Miss Margaret Preston?”
“She said that you wouldn’t have me arrested.” The boy shrugged. “She told me you were honest. That you was a good man.”
“When?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed. “When did she tell you this?”
“This morning.”
Callum leaned back and blinked. For the first time since that disastrous morning in the park, hope fluttered in his chest. Perhaps Ellis was right, and they should attend the final ball this evening after all.