five
WHATEVER OUR SOULS are made out of, his and mine are the same.
That sentence would stay with Keith forever. He couldn’t stop readingWuthering Heights. He was slow, had to stop to read a few passages again, and some words were difficult to pronounce even in his thoughts. But the ache and longing in the story ripped him apart because he understood them too well. Dusk crept along the garden as he walked back to the manor, reading in a low voice.
He knew why Mr. Sharpe had wanted to talk with Violante. She was going to be a debutante and find a husband in the next Season. She’d move to London and forget him, as it was the natural order of life. Yet it hurt. Deeply. Intimately. He should be used to being alone, but from the moment he’d moved to Sharpe Manor, he’d understood what a family was, and now he was addicted to the feeling of being part of one.
He walked towards the manor while reading, his eyes glued to the pages. He pushed the front door open and took a few steps before bumping into someone. The book slipped out of his hands.
“Careful, lad.” Mr. Sharpe snatched the book before it fell to the floor. “Violante won’t be happy if you scratch her copy ofWuthering Heights.”
“Not happy? She’ll kill me.” He took the book. “I didn’t see you, sir. Sorry.”
Mr. Sharpe smiled. “I’m glad to see you’re learning. Nothing is more important than an education. You’re doing well. What would you like to do with a proper education?”
“Learning to read makes me think. If I could I…” He shook his head. “Sorry. You aren’t likely interested.”
“Quite the opposite. If you could?”
“Well, I’d like to build a place like the one you did for the lads. A gymnasium where people can learn to box and stay busy. Staying busy would improve the lives of many boys and keep them off the streets.”
Mr. Sharpe raised his eyebrows. “You’re on your way to becoming a great boxing teacher. When the time comes, I’ll help you open your own gymnasium.”
If Keith hadn’t already respected and loved the man, he would now. “Really, sir?”
“I hate losing you, but if this is your dream, I’ll help you. Why do you want to keep people busy?”
He hesitated, skimming the book, but Mr. Sharpe didn’t prompt him to answer. “I grew up in Sir Howard’s house in London. I saw many boys wasting their time and lives on the streets of the rookery, turning to crime. It sounds silly, but I believe that if they have something to do during the day, something they might turn into a career, they won’t become criminals.”
“It’s not silly at all. It’s an excellent idea.”
The praise warmed Keith’s cheeks.
“Listen, Keith.” Mr. Sharpe’s stance changed subtly from relaxed to ready to pounce. Since Keith boxed regularly, hecaught the tiniest muscle contractions. “You know Sir Howard’s mansion here in Hertfordshire well, don’t you?”
“I do, sir. At least I know the grounds, kitchen, stables, and barn. I’ve never been in the upper floor rooms.”
Mr. Sharpe scratched his chin. “How far is the barn from the main house?”
Keith hesitated before answering. Mr. Sharpe didn’t care about Sir Howard. Why the questions? “Not much.”
“In yards.”
“Four hundred, give or take.”
“Any basement?” The tone sounded like that of a copper.
“Wine cellar. Why?”
Mr. Sharpe shrugged. The lines on his forehead relaxed. “The bastard is giving a party. His vile friends are crawling to his house from every part of the country. I’m worried something might happen.”
The questions didn’t sound like concern but like interest.
“Yes, the Fenians might get ideas.”
“Stay away from his estate in the next few days.”
“I will, sir.”
