“The use of axes sound promising,” Edmund said. “I will gladly make use of one should you have such a thing.”
She laughed. “Of course. In the garden shed, by the wall.”
After finding the axe, he set his shoulder to a sizeable branch and began dragging it towards the boundary wall. The work was honest and demanded a satisfying degree of physical effort. Every lift, every haul, every chop against the resistance of roots and earth served to push back the fatigued fog that clung to his mind.
It also placed him in an excellent position from which to observe.
Girls peered out from windows, then were whisked away by unseen hands. Smoke began to curl from a freshly lit kitchen fire. There were evidently no lessons that day—all hands were on deck.
The south lawn resembled the aftermath of a battlefield—branches strewn like fallen pikes, shingles scattered like spent shot, and the ruined gate lying in ignominious pieces against the hedge. Edmund had removed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and attacked the work with a soldier’s efficiency.
Miss Archer arrived at his side with an expression of brisk capability upon her face.
“I warn you, Mr. Leigh,” she said. “We run a precise household. Clutter of this magnitude offends my sensibilities.”
Edmund bowed gravely. “Then I shall do my best to prevent your swooning from distress, ma’am.”
“I never swoon, sir, but I do get cross.”
“Then I shall make it my duty to prevent such an occurrence. Where shall I begin? Shall I attack the tree crossing the path to the town?”
“That will take several men. They will be making the rounds to see how we fared and will find it. First, I think, we should remove the large branches that have fallen upon structures. It can be cut into firewood later. The girls can make piles of smaller objects and sweep up the debris.”
She pointed over the garden. “The gate and garden wall will need repair. Have you skill at masonry?”
“I do not yet know. I have more experience with trenching and bivouacking.”
“My heart brims with curiosity and confidence.”
He bit back a smile. “Then allow me to begin with the worst offender. This fellow here looks ready to mount a rebellion.”
He planted his boot against the branch and heaved. The roots tore free of the earth with a protesting rip, showering them both with clods of damp soil.
Jane brushed flecks from her sleeve. “You realize the girls will adore you for this show of strength. It is the sort of thing they shall turn into legend. Ah, here they are now!”
A chorus of laughter spilled across the lawn, releasing a wave of girls armed with brooms and baskets—eager assistants in the labour of restoring their little dominion. At their centre walked Mrs. Larkin.
Her cloak was fastened neatly, her hair pinned with beautiful order despite the restless wind, and her expression one of composed determination—a general reviewing her troops.
“Girls,” she directed, “we shall begin with small branches only. No heroics, please. And do have a mind for your dresses—Sanford will not thank you for tearing them.”
She approached him with a faint arch of her brows. “I see Miss Archer has enlisted you fully into our ranks, Mr. Leigh.”
“Indeed, though it is much more perilous than I imagined,” he replied. “I fear I shall require hazard pay.”
The corner of her mouth lifted—not quite a smile, but something warm and sly. “Your payment shall be in currant buns. Our treasury cannot stretch to more.”
“I accept the terms,” he said gravely, “provided I may negotiate for second helpings.”
“You are bold, sir.”
“They say fortune favours the bold,” he countered.
“Be careful, Mr. Leigh. If you spout Latin Proverbs as well, we might also enlist your help in the schoolroom,” she said lightly.
“I am amazed I remember any Latin at all. Declensions were the bane of my time at Eton.”
A gust of wind cracked loose a branch and jolted them from the pleasant conversation.
