In spiteof Lydia’s doubts that it would ever arrive, Monday morning was eventually upon her. Her room at Petty’s Hotel was small compared to the suite she had shared with Nathan, but it was adequate for her needs, reasonably priced, and Lydia was comfortable there. She could walk to St. Benedict’s, thus saving cab fare, and Henry Tucker treated her as if she were royalty. She had already written to Nathan and expected a trunk of clothes to arrive any day. The missive enclosed her best wishes to Irish, another invitation to visit her in Sydney, and Father Colgan’s reminder that Mass was at ten on Sundays.
Anticipating the lessons at Saint Benedict diverted Lydia’s thoughts from Ballaburn and Nathan during the day. At night there was no help for it. She thought about Nathan when she was awake and dreamed about him when she was asleep. Lydia was only astonished that her grief wasn’t immediately evident to everyone, for grief exactly described what she was feeling. It wasn’t logical or rational since she could list—and often did—the reasons she was better off in Sydney. None of those reasons kept her from hugging her pillow when she reached for Nathan and didn’t find him. She missed looking up from her embroidery to catch him watching her thoughtfully. She missed surprising a smile from him and spying the elusive dimples. She managed each day because there was simply no alternative, but time had done nothing to ease the pain. She wondered if it ever would.
There were seventeen children in the chapel schoolroom ranging in age from six to fourteen. Ten of them were boys, most of them high-spirited, talkative, and curious. One child sat apart from the others, alone in a seat he might have shared with a classmate if he had been so inclined—or been invited. Lydia gave him only a cursory glance as she walked into the classroom behind Father Colgan but she noted his aloneness and wondered at it. Was this the child that had caused last week’s riot?
The priest had just introduced her to the class when he was called away by Sister Isabel. He apologized to her and the students, gave the class instructions, and whispered to Lydia that she was on her own. She estimated that she was alone forty-five seconds and only halfway through the roll when the first spit wad was thrown.
As near as she could tell the lone boy in the back hadn’t done anything to instigate the initial attack or the barrage that followed, but once he was hit he didn’t hesitate to retaliate. Before Lydia could get down the aisle the child jumped on top of his desk and flew across the aisle and three desks to get at the ringleader. His fists flailed in the air and he let loose a string of curses that opened Lydia’s eyes wide.
She knew then precisely who the boy was and where she’d seen him before.
Clapping her hands together smartly, she directed all the interested observers into the hallway and shut the door, then she pushed aside the chairs and desks so there were no unintentional bruises, and let the two boys clobber away.
Kit’s adversary was not nearly the size of his burly brother-in-law, but the battle was heading toward the same end. Kit was a head shorter, twenty pounds lighter, and so angry he wasn’t thinking how to get the better of his opponent. He did display a remarkable degree of tenacity, though. His arms worked like windwills, connecting just a third of the time but never letting up, and he came back each time Daniel Flaugherty put him on the floor. He’d spring to his feet and start jabbing and jumping all over again.
“Get himawayfrom me!” Daniel yelled, swatting at Kit. “Or I’m going to really hurt him.”
The challenge came back. “As if you could!”
Lydia’s only response was to push aside another desk as the combatants widened their arena. The movement of both boys slowed a little; they both glanced in her direction, anticipating her interference. She shrugged and held up her hands, palms out, in a gesture of innocence and impartiality.
The boys continued to circle, but the punches they threw lacked any real menace. After a minute of posturing and threatening they stopped altogether and turned simultaneously, wary and puzzled, in Lydia’s direction.
“Aren’t you going to stop me from killing him?” Daniel asked.
“Aren’t you going to stop him from killing me?” Kit asked.
Lydia answered both questions with a gentle, enigmatic smile. “Put the desks back where they belong, boys.” Her voice was quiet and firm. “I’ll let the other children in.”
The classroom was restored to order as the students marched in single file. There were curious glances at the two subdued warriors and Lydia heard one child ask in a stage whisper, “Who won?” She didn’t hear the reply, but when she turned around to face the class, she saw Kit and Daniel were both pointing at her.
She felt very good about that.
Chapter 13
“What did you do then?” Irish asked. He was chuckling around a mouthful of grog, trying to swallow and laugh at the same time. Across the table from him Lydia’s smile was innocent and demur, as if she could not understand what he found so amusing.
“I began the lesson, of course,” she said simply. She put a hand over her glass when the waiter came by to pour more wine and ordered another glass of beer for Irish. “And then I kept Kit and Daniel after school when the other children left for the day.”
“They cleaned for you?”
She shook her head. “A dirty classroom wasn’t the problem. When I talked to them I discovered that Kit was being teased constantly because he was so far behind in his work. He was doing sums and reading that the youngest children were doing, and not doing it as well. He’d never been to school before, but the other students didn’t care about that. You know how children can be.”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. But you seem to understand them.”
Lydia blushed, embarrassed and pleased by Irish’s genuine admiration. “Daniel, on the other hand, is one of the biggest boys in the class. His size alone would have made him a natural leader at his age, but he’s also smart as a whip. He was counting on the interference of some adult to stop the battle. The riot he helped cause the week before got everyone out of a few days of school. He was a hero.” She laughed, shaking her head as she recalled their stunned expressions when they learned their punishment. “Daniel is tutoring Kit every day after school for one half hour. In the evening Kit comes here to the hotel and I help him with more lessons. He’s making fine progress and Daniel is satisfied with helping.”
Irish was fairly beaming with pride. “It’s a wonderful thing you’re doing. Father Colgan must be pleased.”
“I think he is,” said Lydia. “I’ve already been given more responsibility in the month I’ve been there.”
“A month,” Irish said softly. “It’s hard to believe it’s only been a month. We’ve missed you at Ballaburn, Lydia.”
“You could have visited before now,” she admonished. “I thought you might bring my trunks yourself.”
“That’s what Nathan suggested, but I...” He hadn’t been able to travel then. With almost no warning the pain in his upper back had become excruciating, so much so that Irish had found himself confined to bed, unable to sit up for any length of time. The bullet in his spine was shifting. He knew it, had been warned by a surgeon it could happen, and now it was. “I thought it would be better if you had the opportunity to settle here. I hope you don’t think I didn’twantto see you.”
“I never thought it for a moment.” Her eyes darted over Irish’s face. A faint gray tint colored his complexion. He was thinner than when she had last seen him and there were new creases at the corners of his eyes and forehead. Even when he laughed there was a suggestion of tension around his mouth. “Have you been feeling well, Irish?”
