“Ladies!” boomed Abraham Murphy, grinning as he circled their blanket and fell into a cross-legged pile of limbs between his wife and sister, still managing to balance two plates with pie in his hands without incident. “I was hoping I’d get to speak with you all together! My investigation has borne fruit!”
“Ah, good,” said Vix, perking up immediately and looking around for someone to hand her baby to so she could listen properly.
Rosalind crawled forward with an arm out to take him.
Ambrose Aster the SecondlovedRosalind Everly. He went to her with his arms out and his voice gurgling.
Mae was not offended. At all.
“So,” said Vix, dusting her hands off on her skirt to rid them of infant residue. “What have you found?”
“Should we wait for Mr. Reed?” Abe asked, looking around the lawn. “Is he here?”
“Who cares?” Vix snapped. “Of course not. The women handle business here. Go on, Mr. Murphy.”
His wife hid a smile in their baby’s hair.
“He’s just there, by the by,” Hannah whispered to Mae, gesturing to a hedge where it appeared Roland had just sprouted from the branches.
He looked to be berating Matthew.
For some reason, this made Mae’s heart give a little trill. She watched him gesture angrily to the table, and then to Matthew’s plate, a flush of color in his cheeks, his pink-gold curls quivering. She watched Thaddeus Beck approach the pair, think better of it upon drawing close enough to hear what they were saying, and change course, and bit down the urge to giggle at it.
“Isn’t that right, Mae?” Vix snapped, drawing her attention back.
“Oh,” she said, blinking.
Vix was glaring at her, but she was also wearing a very self-satisfied little smirk. “You’ve somewhere secure to put the records, don’t you? If not, Hannah can keep them at the Fox.”
“The records,” Mae repeated softly. “I could put them with the medicines.”
“I’ve got the names and particulars of every student your motley patrol was able to identify, thanks to Mr. Reed,” Abe Murphy said, stretching his arms over his head with pride at his work. “One of them is the son of the surgical head at Guy’s. No surprise there, but what was juicy was their connection to the inspector who keeps popping in to rummage through your supply closet. Brother-in-law to the good doctor and uncle to the boy. How about that?”
Mae’s vision sharpened, a little cord of fury tightening around her throat. “Yes,” she said with distaste. “How about that?”
“I still say we put Mr. Barnett on the matter,” Hannah said. “I know your grandfather doesn’t want us using print to retaliate, but it seems a rebuttal is our best option, as far as I am concerned.”
“He didn’t say not to use print at all,” Rosalind cut in, seemingly talking to the baby in her lap rather than to the adults as he grasped at her nose. “He said not to tell the world about teaching cases, because it would make matters worse. Isn’t that right, little Ambrose? Sweet bairn? Aye, it is!”
“That is true,” Mae said, tilting her head to the side. “We should ask Ezra what he thinks about it. He might not want to put his name on the line to defend us in this matter, and we should respect that. He still buys his bread with his pay from theChronicle. His time with us is freely given, and we’d do well to remember that.”
“Bah,” said Vix. “He still owes us for the Miss Manners debacle.”
“Can you say penance?” Rosalind asked little Ambrose. “Penance!”
“You will notice,” Hannah said happily, “that there are no statues to unveil at this year’s picnic, but the donations haven’t reduced at all.”
“Yes, yes, good job,” said Vix with a flipping hand of annoyance. “Where is my husband? I hunger.” She pushed herself up without further ado to prowl off in search of the elder Ambrose, leaving the younger with Rosalind and the Murphys.
Mae stood as well, stretching her legs one at a time, and took up the little gift box to tuck under her arm as she looked around the grounds to see if there was anyone she ought to thank directly for their generosity.
She walked past the refreshment table and greeted the rabbi and several of the Quaker matrons from the breakfast shift. She shook hands with a donor from Matthew’s church and tried a bit of the roasted pork from the newest platter. She took it under an oak tree near the fence and leaned against the bark, propping the gift by her feet to eat the pork.
Roland appeared shortly thereafter.
“Mae,” he said, strolling up to her as though he had not been ranting at another man not a quarter hour ago. “Good afternoon.”
“Roland,” she replied, waving a bit of pork on the end of a fork at him. “You were late.”
