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“He doesn’thavea daughter, Penny,” said one of the girls.
“Then why is he here?”
“Children!” Mr. Roberts said sternly. “Do you see the string Miss Waverly and I are holding?”
They all agreed that they did.
“I will ask again, does the row appear to be straight?”
The girls studied the row for longer than was necessary—even a quick glance would convince the dullest of creatures the row was not straight. They all agreed it was not, except for two lone holdouts, who stubbornly held on to their original yes votes.
“Is he thegardener?”one of the smaller girls asked.
“When is it time for tea?” asked another one.
“Tea,tea,tea,” shouted one of Iddesleigh’s girls, jumping up and down with each utterance oftea.
“Enough of that,” Mr. Roberts said sternly. “Is this how you will behave when we have a distinguished guest?”
“No, Mr. Roberts,” they sang at him.
Joshua had to leave. He had to get out of here before his heart exploded with grief. But he still had to think of a way to broach the letters with Mr. Roberts. It had seemed so simple when he’d set out this morning, but nothing seemed simple now. He was looking at a sea of cherubic faces with pink cheeks. They were bright and so trusting that life would bring them joy. He suddenly had an answer to one of the questions he’d posed to Mr. Roberts—adults promised children joy, because how could they look at these faces and wish for anything less? It was an expression of sincere hope.
And hope was all an adult would have when they discovered that these cherubs couldn’t dig a hole to save their precious lives.
He shrugged out of his coat. “If I may, Mr. Roberts. This row has been dug too deep in some places. Furthermore, it’s too long and too crooked. And there is no indication of where the next row may be. They must be spaced at a proper distance. Has anyone thought of that?”
“I did,” said one small girl, and Joshua believed that she had.
“Very good,” he said. “If you will give me your shovel, I will demonstrate.”
“Your Grace! That’s not necessary,” Mr. Roberts tried.
“Why not? I’m here, and you are clearly in need of assistance.”
Mr. Roberts looked set to argue, but he didn’t say more.
Joshua began to repair their first attempt at making a row. The girls were absolutely no help at all, which he might have guessed, but he’d given Mr. Roberts the benefit of the doubt and thought perhaps they hadn’t been trained any better.
The girls peppered him with questions while he worked. Where did he live? What was a duke? Could they be dukes, too?
He asked what they intended to plant. From their answers, there didn’t seem to be any sort or plan. Some said flowers. One girl said pinwheels. He explained a pinwheel was not a plant, but lost the argument when she and her friends agreed that if it wasplanted in the groundit must be aplant.
“You need to plant food,” he said. “How do you intend to feed your family with flowers and pinwheels?”
“My husband will do that,” said one girl.
“No, Molly, you’ll have abutler,” one of Iddesleigh’s girls corrected her.
“I think not everyone will have a butler, Lady Maren,” said Mr. Roberts.
“Really?” Lady Maren inquired, perplexed. “Why not?”
As Mr. Roberts explained that butlers cost money, Joshua carried on, straightening their row and filling it back to a proper depth. But when he picked up the first seedling, Mr. Roberts asked him to stop. “It is important for the students to do the planting.”
Joshua thought it was painfully obvious they would do it wrong and kill the seedlings, but Mr. Roberts hastily continued, “And I’d not like to steal Mr. Puddlestone’s moment in the sun. He will be here on the morrow to help with the planting.”
Another of Iddesleigh’s daughters very primly put her hand out for the seedling he held. Joshua reluctantly relinquished it to her open palm.
