Page 14 of Debtor’s Daughter

Larkin and Barnes exchanged amused glances.

“Can I have some more?” Gideon asked, gazing at Larkin with a worshipful expression.

Well, he’d done it now. He’d not only played ball with the lad but fed him cake. If he’d not wanted to be the boy’s best friend in the world, he might have thought a bit more about that. Too late now.

Larkin looked at Barnes, uneasy. “He’ll burst,” he said, wondering if Mrs Finchley would be cross with him for stuffing the boy with cake.

“In my experience, boys have hollow legs,” Barnes said with a shrug.

“What experience is that?” Larkin asked, wondering if there was something about Barnes he didn’t know.

“I was one,” his valet said in amusement, placing a tray with the teapot, a cup and saucer, and the milk jug on the table.

Larkin laughed. “So you were and, thinking about it, I could have eaten that entire cake single handed as a lad. Actually, I did once, and our housekeeper, Mrs Norrell, chased me around the garden with a broom!”

“A formidable lady, Mrs Norrell,” Barnes said, having met the lady on several occasions whilst visiting the priory. Though she had long since retired, Larkin’s father had given her a cottage on the estate, and she kept a close eye on all the goings on.

“Join us,” Larkin said, gesturing for Barnes to sit down as he cut Gideon another slice of cake. This one was not quite as large as the first, just in case.

Barnes poured them both a cup of tea and they considered Gideon as he worked his way happily through his second slice. Larkin smiled as he noticed the boy picking out the cherries and putting them to one side to eat last, just as he himself had done as a boy. The cherries had always been the best bit of the fruitcake.

“How did he get into the garden?” Barnes asked quietly.

“A hole in the fence, so he tells me.”

Barnes nodded, regarding Larkin thoughtfully. “You going to get it fixed, then?”

Larkin frowned, glancing at Gideon and shifting in his seat. He’d been wondering the same thing. “Probably, but… well, there’s no rush, is there?”

“None at all,” Barnes said, though his lips quivered a little. “I reckon you’ll be getting more visits, then.”

Larkin sighed. “I reckon you’re right.”

Once tea was done, Larkin asked Gideon to show him the hole in the fence. To his surprise, Gideon took his hand, leading him down to the end of the garden where the fence was in far worse repair than Larkin had realised. An entire section had collapsed, lying flat on the ground. There had been high winds and heavy rainstorms back in August, which must have done damage to the already rotten wood.

“Ah,” he said, as Gideon marched straight over the wood. “Now I understand.”

At the far end of the garden on Mrs Finchley’s side there was a large apple tree, windfalls littering the grass. As they approached, Gideon looked up at the tree with an excited light in his eyes and gripped his precious ball against his chest. “Climb up?” he said hopefully.

Larkin looked at the huge old tree, gnarled and with twisting branches that curved off in all directions. It was catnip to any small boy, practically demanding it be scaled.

“No,” he said firmly. “No climbing trees unless someone is here, and certainly not now. Your mama will be worried about you.”

Gideon sighed and led him past the tree, back down Mrs Finchley’s garden. Larkin noticed the grass was knee deep and the trees and shrubs badly overgrown, brambles encroaching on all sides and scrambling up into the branches overhead. Of course, Mrs Finchley would not have the funds available to see such work done and with winter approaching, it was hardly a priority. Yet a garden for a small boy was a necessity, in Larkin’s view.

As they approached the house, the back door opened, and the lady herself hurried out. She started in shock upon seeing him, a blush climbing up her throat and pinking her cheeks. Larkin thought this a little odd, but assumed she was only embarrassed about him bringing her errant son home. He watched as she composed herself and addressed herself to her son.

“Gideon!” she said, her voice calm, though she was clearly exasperated. “What have I told you about disturbing Mr Weston? And now you trespass into his garden too!”

“Wasn’t ’sturbing him,” Gideon objected, glowering a little. “We played ball and ate cake. Lots of cake,” he said with a touch of defiance.

Mrs Finchley groaned and put her fingers to her temples. “Oh dear.” She looked at Larkin, her expression pleading, and putting him so forcibly in mind of her cherubic son, he almost laughed. “I’m so terribly sorry, Mr Weston. What must you think of us?”

Larkin shook his head, smiling at her. “No harm done. Indeed, I’ve had a most entertaining time, and it’s a shame to waste such a lovely afternoon stuck indoors.”

“You are very kind, but I’m afraid he’s been a bother to you,” Mrs Finchley said, lowering her voice so Gideon couldn’t hear her words.

“I thought he was going to be,” Larkin admitted. “But I meant it. I enjoyed his company. I may even invite him again,” he added, before he had too much time to think his words through.

Mrs Finchley gazed at him in wonder and Larkin realised he’d best watch his step. He’d already made a cake of himself over Elmira, inserting himself into her life when she’d never explicitly invited him to be there. He had played knight in shining armour, expecting them to live happily ever after, without ever asking Elmira what it was she wanted. With hindsight, he suspected she’d needed him to be a friend and a confidant, and he’d read more into the relationship than there was. He had assumed he’d had all of her trust, all of her love, and finding that had not been true had been more painful than he’d imagined. He would not make such mistakes again. Mrs Finchley was a woman in need of his friendship and support, and he must be careful she did not believe he was offering more than that or allow himself to want to give more. He needed to concentrate on his career for the next few years. Perhaps then he would be ready to again consider finding a wife. Perhaps.

“Well, now Gideon has been returned to you, I shall bid you a good afternoon,” he said, going to raise his hat before he realised he wasn’t wearing one. Belatedly, he realised he wasn’t wearing a coat either, just his waistcoat. He was in his shirtsleeves. Not only that, they were rolled up to his elbows. Suddenly, he felt oddly naked, and wondered that Barnes hadn’t stopped him. No wonder Mrs Finchley had stared at him so oddly. Going about with no coat on was tantamount to wearing no trousers in society’s opinion. Added to that, he was in her back garden, and she had no chaperone. Mrs Finchley might believe she was past the age of needing one, but no one else would agree. Belatedly realising what a difficult position he’d put her in, Larkin executed a somewhat awkward bow and retreated with all haste.

“Thank you, Mr Weston!”

“Fanks, Westie!”

Her and her son’s voices followed him down the garden as he negotiated the overgrown lawn and the invading brambles. One caught his hand as he passed and he muttered an oath, putting the bloody scratch to his mouth. No wonder Gideon’s shirt had been torn, his ankles scratched. The lad was lucky the scratches hadn’t been worse. Larkin must ask Rogers, his gardener, to come over and sort it out. Then Gideon might be less inclined to trespass next door. It would be for the best.