Page 13 of Debtor’s Daughter

The afternoon sunlight shone through the leaves overhead, their russet autumn shades turning gold. The lingering warmth felt good on Larkin’s back and brought back memories of playing with his father and sister in the rambling gardens at Mitcham Priory, the ancient home that had been in their family for generations. His father had always been willing to spend time with them, though his injured leg made some games challenging for him. He had always been patient, though, kind even when Larkin had suspected he was in pain. His sister and he had always said they were bored with the game at that point, not wanting their father to be the one who had to call a halt. He was a proud man, and rightly so in Larkin’s view, for he was a hero in every sense of the word, wounded in battle and yet fighting on, ensuring his men were safe and that they triumphed against the French despite being vastly outnumbered.

How fortunate he’d been, how blessed, to have his father beside him as he grew up, to have his kindness and his guidance, even his anger when Larkin pushed his luck too far.

He looked at Gideon as the boy patiently tried and tried again to catch the ball, and something in his heart twisted. Finally, the lad made a solid catch, his little hands clasping the ball and holding on to it tightly.

Gideon gave a little yip and Larkin shouted too, finding a sudden burst of joy in the way the lad’s face lit up.

“I catched it! I catched it!” Gideon said, his face flushed with pleasure.

“You certainly did, a magnificent catch. Well done, sir,” Larkin said, giving the boy a gentle slap on the back in an echo of how he might with one of his friends.

“You saw how I catched it?” Gideon gazed up at him, round blue eyes shining with happiness.

“I did,” Larkin said, crouching down to observe the boy. “It was very well done.”

The boy hugged the ball to his chest and seemed to swell visibly with pride at Larkin’s words. How little it took to make the child’s day.

“Well, after all that exertion, I think you must be famished. How about a glass of milk and some cake?”

“Cake?” If Gideon had looked pleased before, this invitation seemed to have given Larkin heroic status. “I like cake,” he said solemnly.

“So do I,” Larkin confided. “Come along, then, but I had best send Barnes round to tell your mama where you are, or she’ll worry when she discovers you’ve escaped.”

Larkin led the boy into the kitchen and sat him at the table there. He had a cook who came four days a week, and the woman prepared meals for the other days, to which Barnes saw. Barnes was a tolerable cook himself, and Larkin wasn’t a fussy fellow who wanted a dozen different dishes on his table every night. A good stew followed by a pudding that stuck to his ribs was exactly the type of fare he preferred, rather than fancy sauces and complicated dishes that were more for show than for tasting. He did like cake, however, and there was always something in the pantry if he found himself peckish.

As if summoned, Barnes appeared.

“Sir?”

“Ah, Barnes. Tea, a glass of milk, and some cake, if you’d be so good. Master Gideon is starving after his sporting endeavours. Would you also be so good as to pop next door and explain that he has paid an afternoon call upon me and will return whence he came in half an hour?”

Barnes looked a little surprised by this but nodded.

“Come and wash your hands first, if you’d be so good, Master Gideon,” Barnes said, ushering the lad to the scullery first, where he liberally applied soap and water.

Gideon didn’t protest overmuch, no doubt used to such attentions in a household composed only of women. Larkin meekly followed suit, not wishing to give a poor impression. They returned to the kitchen and Barnes filled the kettle and swung it into place, fetched the cake, two plates, and the cake slice. Then he gave Gideon a glass of milk and hurried next door.

“Splendid fellow, is Barnes,” Larkin said, lifting the glass dome covering the large fruit cake that Gideon was considering with an avaricious glint in his eyes. “He keeps me in order,” he explained as he cut two generous slices and handed one to Gideon.

“Big as my head!” Gideon exclaimed in delight, staring at the large slice in awe.

“Is it too big?” Larkin asked. He hadn’t wanted to give the lad a smaller slice than he had, and he really was famished. Perhaps it was too much for a small boy, however, judging the size of it against the size of Gideon.

“No! Oh, no,” Gideon said in alarm, clearly anxious it would be taken away again. He stuffed a large piece into his mouth before such a dire thing could come to pass and chewed frantically. “S’good,” he mumbled, cake crumbs flying in all directions.

Larkin laughed and reached out, ruffling the boy’s hair. “It is, though don’t choke yourself on it, for heaven’s sake. Your mama will not be pleased with me. It’s all yours and it’s not a race.”

With this assurance, Gideon relaxed, and Barnes returned a moment later, just as the kettle began to boil. “I spoke to Miss Smith, sir, and she will pass the message on to Mrs Finchley,” he told Larkin, pouring a little boiling water into the teapot and swirling it about to warm the pot before emptying it into a basin.

“Miss Smith?” Larkin queried, frowning.

Barnes nodded, spooning tea leaves into the warmed pot as the kettle sang once more. “Miss Sally Smith. She’s their lady’s maid, sir. A lovely young woman she is, too,” he added with a slightly wistful sigh that was most unlike Barnes.

“Sally’s pretty,” Gideon said, chasing crumbs about his plate, as Larkin noticed with some astonishment that the cake had disappeared. “Mama is pretty, too. Not as pretty as Caro, but pretty.”

“I don’t think anyone is as pretty as Caro,” Larkin said with a laugh.

“Auntie is big and squishy,” Gideon added, clearly not wanting to leave anyone out. “She gives good cuddles, but s’hard to breave,” he said confidingly.