Soon, they were being led through narrow corridors to a large, overheated room where a dozen or so boys, ranging from five to twelve years old, were attempting to play with a worn wooden top.
“Come on, John!” the littlest of the lot shouted to a blonde-haired boy with bright green eyes. “You can do it!”
“Yeah, John!” the others shouted. “Spin it! Spin it! Spin it!”
The moment Elspeth stepped into the room, the cacophony of shouts and scuffles ceased. A dozen pairs of wide, curious eyes swiveled toward her.
Hugo, standing stiffly behind her, seemed to tense under their scrutiny. Elspeth attributed that to his lack of siblings and interactions with children in general. She figured that few dukes had such an experience.
“Good morning, lads,” she greeted, her voice soft and friendly, devoid of any condescension or pretense. She knelt down, bringing herself to their eye level. “Me name is Elspeth, and thisis the Duke of Arrowfell. Ye can address him as Yer Grace for short—I find it is easier.”
A brown-eyed small boy, no older than seven, piped up, “Are ye a real lady? With a fancy hat and all that? Like the ones we read about in the stories?”
Elspeth chuckled. “I am a lady, aye. And sometimes I wear a fancy hat, but nae when I can help it. I fear me life isnae terribly excitin’, but I am hopin’ ye can change that for me.”
“Oy, she is from Scotland!” one boy yelled from the back as he shuffled closer. “I have never met someone from Scotland before! Is it true that everything is green, and it is very cold?”
“Aye, it is!” Elspeth confirmed with a laugh.
Another boy, older and more wary, eyed Hugo up and down before whispering, “Is he the King?”
“Oh no, he isnae the King,” Elspeth said, glancing back at Hugo, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. “He is a duke, which is almost as important. And doubly as serious.”
To Hugo’s obvious discomfort, Elspeth immediately fell into easy conversation with the children as they walked around the room.
“So, what are yer favorite games?” she asked, her voice gentle. “I see that ye enjoy spinnin’ that top!”
“We also play a game called Hide the Pebble,” a young boy said as he approached her. “You get one pebble and have to hide it from everyone else. The last one to find it wins. We all have jars in our rooms where we keep track of who has the most!”
“That sounds terribly competitive but very fun,” Elspeth remarked. “What is yer name, lad?”
“My name is Timothy! And John came up with the game; he always comes up with the best games.”
“And what is yer favorite thing to do, John?” Elspeth asked, looking at John as he approached her as well, a wide smile on his face.
“I like drawin’,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “I like all the other games we keep on makin’ up and playin’, but I really love drawin’. But we only have small bits of charcoal, not paint or anythin’ like that.”
Elspeth nodded thoughtfully, her mind already turning over possibilities for the charity event.
Surely we can get these boys some proper supplies.
A boisterous boy named George, who had been wrestling with another boy moments ago, puffed out his chest.
“I am the best at catchin’ frogs in the mud!” he declared proudly. “John can draw and do all the other cool stuff because he is older, but I am the best frog catcher on this side of the Thames!”
Elspeth’s eyes twinkled. “I am certain ye are. What about yer favorite stories then, boys? Do you have a favorite?”
“Oh yes, Lady Elspeth! The one about the boy who steals the giant’s magic beans!” Thomas, a small boy with an endless supply of energy, gushed. “And the giant has a feast!”
Elspeth smiled. “Ah, Jack and the Beanstalk. A classic. But I have always been intrigued by tales of brave knights, fairies, monsters, and dragons. What about ye, Yer Grace?” she asked, turning to Hugo, who looked distinctly out of place.
“I am partial to history. That would be accounts of the past,” he replied with a loud cough that echoed through the room awkwardly.
A collective groan rippled through the children, and Thomas, brave as ever, shouted, “That sounds so boring!”
The other boys giggled.
“Well, I think that history can be very excitin’,” Elspeth said, casting a playful look at Hugo, who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else. “It is just told poorly sometimes. Maybe we can work on rewritin’ stories of the past to make them more interestin’, like a play!”
