Sarah would have felt more guilty, except she knew the man truly enjoyed every opportunity to use the skills he had gained in his former profession as clerk.
Once Mr. Gwilt was happily bent over the ledgers in the library, Sarah returned to her work belowstairs.
A short while later, she heard hushed voices in the kitchen, and Emily stepped into the workroom. “Ready? Good heavens. What’s happened to your apron? Looks like you collided with a rainbow.”
“You will understand when you see the cake.”
“Well, take that off before we go up.”
Sarah wiped the last of the beet juice, red cabbage, and turmeric from her hands, pulled off the apron, and followed Emily upstairs.
When they entered the library, Mr. Gwilt looked up.
“Ah, Miss Sarah. I think I’ve corrected the problem.”
“Oh?” Sarah swallowed a guilty lump and stepped closer.
He ran a finger along a column of numbers and then turned the page. “We pay our fuel bill quarterly to attain a lower rate. But you’ve listed it here for this month as well, although it’s not yet due until after the first of the year.”
“Oh. Of course. How foolish of me.”
“Not at all.” He looked up with a pleasant grin. “An easy mistake to make and easily remedied.”
“Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Gwilt,” Emily echoed.
When Emily had asked her to keep Mr. Gwilt busy upstairs, introducing a mistake like this one was all Sarah could think of. She had once made that exact mistake more than a year ago now. And Mr. Henshall had been the one to help her find it then.
Now Mr. Gwilt gestured toward the various piles of correspondence on the desk. “Anything else I can do while I’m here?”
“No need. Simply enjoy the rest of your Boxing Day.”
“I am enjoying it, I assure you. And thank you again for the gifts. I appreciate the smart new gloves and the journal for my own jottings. Your doing, Miss Emily, I’d wager?”
“Why yes.”
“Most considerate.”
Emily stepped forward, and Sarah noticed her eyes shine with both eagerness and nerves.
“I have something else for you as well,” she said. “Something I very much hope you will like.”
“Aw, now. You’ve given me more than enough already, you have.”
“Even so, I hope you will like this.”
She handed him a folded document.
“What is this?” he asked, unfolding it.
“It’s a publishing contract—for your book of Parry’s adventures.”
“No.”
“Yes. Mr. Marsh, though bankrupt, was true to his word. His colleague is indeed interested in publishing your children’s book. This is the offer—how much he is willing to pay for the copyright.”
“Gracious me.”
