Teddy was frowning again.
Matthew sighed, leaning down to blow the powder off the sheets of paper he’d been writing with a thin stream of air from his lips. “Nothing personal,” he said to Teddy. “You just don’t look the part. Reed does.”
“I’m aware,” Teddy answered, glancing out the window as their compatriot emerged to greet the pair of assessors before they could cross the churchyard to the entrance. “You’re right.”
It was a man and a woman, Vix saw, both severe, tall, and dressed all in black. The woman was scarier somehow, her hair twisted into a tight knot on the top of her head and pinned under a black net. She glanced right at the window where Vix was watching and frowned, making all three of the children inside jump away.
“Blast!” Matthew said shrilly, giving a nervous little giggle. “Ah, we’re terrible criminals.”
Teddy glanced at him. “You are.”
This time Matthew was the one who blushed.
“Will I meet them here in the office?” Vix asked impatiently, shifting foot to foot, “or in the sanctuary?”
“Neither,” said Matthew. “Come with me. I want you to sit out in the garden with the fig tree. It’s idyllic and will charm them. Tod. Just … just stay here.”
Her brother glared. He put his hands in his pockets. But he did not move to follow.
“Teddy …” said Vix.
He only shook his head. “Go on,” he whispered. “You’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she said.
She did not know if it was a lie. She supposed it did not matter.
Matthew held the stack of documents loosely against his chest as he steered her out into the churchyard.
“Good morning!” he called to the adults. “I see you’ve met our junior deacon, Mr. Reed!”
Reed gave a tight smile in response, the kind that promised a slap later, his freckles stretching around the curve of his lips.
“Good morrow,” the woman said, lowering her gaze to Matthew. “I was expecting Reverend Everly. Is he attending?”
“I am Matthew Everly, the good reverend’s son,” Matthew said with a slight bow and a cheeky grin. “My father has asked me to attend you today, as he was called away on urgent business. Death-beds, you know.”
“Death?” the man repeated in a horrified little whisper.
“Death,” Matthew confirmed with a raise of his brows. “This way, if you please. I have all the documents here. My father is terribly organized. Miss Beck is shy. Come along, Miss Beck!”
Vix stepped on his toe as she passed him, lowering her eyes demurely as she did so.
The woman fell into step beside her, and though Vix did not look up to observe her, she could feel the inspection begin, like the sweeping gaze of adult eyes examining her hair and her dress and her posture were little needles gently scraping against her skin.
“Your parents were missionaries, dear?” the woman asked softly as they approached the bench under the fig tree. “Lost abroad?”
Vix blinked, looking at the bench instead of at any of the people around her, and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Terrible thing,” the woman said with a sniff. “You may sit. I am Mrs. Baxter.”
Vix was already beginning to sit, and hesitated. She did not realize she was supposed to wait for permission. She hovered for a second before resuming the motion and smoothing the borrowed skirts under herself as she found her place on the bench.
Mrs. Baxter was already leaning forward, squinting at her through the morning sunlight, while the gentleman was making a show of finding a position he considered acceptable on the stone slab.
Matthew and Roland were standing near the tree, side by side, like sentries.
“Do you often play outdoors, Miss Beck,” the woman asked suddenly, her lips quirked downward, “or is that your natural complexion?”
