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He shook his head.

Sophie leant forward to whisper in his ear, and when she pulled back, he was grinning. “Really?”

“Really,” she smiled. “My brother—he’s also a seaman—always calls me by a silly name, too. So-fie-ah.” She gave a false shudder, and the boy’s smile broadened.

“I like Sophie better.”

“Me too.” There was a lapse, a space of quiet that couldn’t have exceeded a second, and it told her what to do. “Do you like playing marbles, Barnard?”

“Yes, miss.”

She loosened the strings of her reticule. What she was about to do was unthinkable, and yet, she didn’t need to think about it. Her hand trembled as she drew out the marble.

Barnard’s eyes widened. He moved nearer, taking the offered treasure and rolling it between his skinny fingers.

“It’s made of mica glass,” she said. “But my brother and I think it looks just like a globe. Blue for the sea and green for the land. What do you think?”

Barnard pinched the marble between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the failing daylight. “It really does, don’t it, miss?”

She smiled. “It’s yours, if you’d like it.”

His mouth opened, and he dropped the marble. Before Sophie could grab it, it was rolling toward the open courtyard. Mr. Balfour crouched down, picked it up, and slowly pressed it into her outstretched palm. She took it quickly, sniffing and redirecting her attention toward Barnard.

“You’re sure, miss? You’re really givin’ it away?”

Sophie put the talisman in his right hand and patted his shoulder. The navy-issued coat was loose around his thin frame. A coat made for a man. “I would love for you to have it.”

“Thank you. Thank you, miss.” Barnard smiled, tucking his treasure into his coat pocket. His round, green eyes settled on her. “Miss Sophie.”

“You are most welcome, Mr. Barnard,” she said, but he was already hefting his baggage up and hurrying away. Sophie smiled as she rose, rubbing her palms over her skirts.

“What did you say to him?” Mr. Balfour asked.

“Hm?”

“You whispered something to him.”

She drew in a deep breath. “I told him his name means strong as a bear.”

Mr. Balfour huffed a laugh. “Does it really?”

“Yes. I didn’t tell him its other meaning.” Her tongue twisted over the terrible irony. “Young warrior.” She met his eye. “He’s not going to be one of the pensioners here, is he? Surely he’s got family to return to.”

“I haven’t a clue. But it’s not all bad here, you know. For the men who can’t return to service, this place gives them work and a place to lay their heads.”

“But he’s not a man, is he? And those fellows by the dock, they were patronizing him.” She turned away, letting the cool breeze fan her eyes.

His shoes scuffed against the ground. “There’s a school across the street. It’s ordinarily reserved for the pensioners’ children, but perhaps they’ll make an exception for the lad.”

“Yes,” she said slowly. “Perhaps.”

“I can ask after him, if you’d like. Someone is sure to know more.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You would do that?”

He gave a small nod. Heavens, he was serious, his kindness easy and demanding nothing in return.

She must’ve crossed her arms without realizing it; she let them unfold at her sides and drew in a breath. “Well, then, where is this Painted Hall you keep speaking of?”