“Do not shout at him!” came Helen’s all-too-familiar refrain. Then she marched up and took her brother by the hand. Giving Martin and her father a withering look, she turned and led the boy down the pier. And Leah pulled at Silas again and again as he watched them with a sigh.
“In over your head, sir?” said Martin with a dry chuckle.
Silas gave a weak smile and nodded. The sailor clapped him on the shoulder and barked out a genuine laugh.
“That’s why I stay on the ship as much as possible.” And with those unhelpful words, Martin marched off, leaving Silas staring at Helen and Griffith as they wandered away.
“Come on, Leah,” he said, pointing her towards her siblings, but when she refused to move, he added, “Would you like a treat from the street vendors?”
Leah gave him a broad grin and took off after her brother, the hem of her gown fluttering behind her, though she tripped over her feet more than once. Silas lingered for the briefest moment, savoring the brief second of peace, before following after them.
Only when he was a few farthings poorer and the children were laden with sweets did Silas turn them towards the warehouse that served as the heart of Byrnes & Co. The building was a great wooden rectangle amongst a row of great wooden rectangles, each side by side along the street. The offices of the owners and clerks lined the front, their shingles hanging in front of the doors.
With Leah and Griffith gorging on their treats, they were easily led down the street and towards the front door of Byrnes & Co., while Helen trailed behind them; Silas felt her eyes burning into his shoulder blades as they entered the building, dragging in mud from the streets, sticky hands, and far more noise than three children should be capable of. The front room was little more than a dumping ground of crates and straw with Mr. Chapman’s desk shoved to the side and the man himself seated beside it, the clerk’s eyes widening as the flurry entered.
Griffith and Leah launched themselves at the crates, taking handfuls of the straw and scattering it about while Helen barked at them to stop. Silas watched it all with wide eyes, all the excitement of the outing draining from him and leaving an exhausted void behind. There were too many things lying about as the office was being organized and new shipments unpacked, and Silas had dropped a typhoon in the midst of it. Hatch emerged from his office and stood in the doorway, watching the havoc with a stony face (and just a hint of panic coloring his gaze).
“Children, do you wish to see what we just unloaded from Europe?” asked Silas.
Getting the children into his private office was like corralling a litter of inebriated kittens. Their attention never lasted more than a few steps before something stole them away from where he wanted them. They bumped into each other and crates, hardly able to take more than a few steps before someone or something was upended. A few collisions resulted in tears, and Silas struggled to calm the younger two while Helen gave orders that were far too often contrary to his own.
“Bring a crate from thePhoenix, Mr. Chapman,” he said while stepping through the doorway after them.
“Which one—?”
“Any that isn’t already bought and paid for,” he said, hoping his tone wasn’t as clipped and desperate as he felt.
Sagging against the doorframe, he watched as the younger two ran around the room, chasing each other around his desk. He’d had them in his care for hardly three hours, yet Silas felt as though it had been three days. The children were never quiet for more than a heartbeat, they touched anything they shouldn’t, and they paid no more attention to his directions than one gave a fly hovering at one’s shoulder.
One thing was very clear from this attempted outing—he wasn’t paying Miss Delmonte and Nurse Johnson enough.
“You are going to hurt yourselves!” said Helen, moving the chair away from their race track while slanting her father another scowl as though he was the source of this commotion. Silas opened his mouth, though he wasn’t certain if he was going to tell the two younger ones to calm themselves or to warn Helen that she was being too heavy-handed. He supposed it made no difference for none of them paid him any heed. At best, they redoubled their efforts to do the opposite.
Hatch appeared beside Silas, the fellow’s footsteps muted by the racket emanating from inside the office. He looked at the chaos and then at Silas, his brows raised, and Silas needed no words to know precisely what Hatch was thinking.
“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” murmured Silas with a shake of his head.
“Miss Delmonte will have them in hand in no time,” said Hatch, and Silas grimaced.
“That is the mistake I was referring to.”
Hatch’s brow furrowed. “You sacked her?”
His eyes widened, a jolt of fear pushing Silas off the door jamb. “Dear heavens, no. At present, I am more in mind to give her a raise. The mistake I made was leaving her and Nurse Johnson at home.”
Those brows of Hatch’s curled, his expression holding such disbelief that additional words were unnecessary.
“Every time I’ve attempted to speak with my children in the past sennight, they’ve hidden behind the blasted governess and nursemaid.” Silas winced at the slip of his tongue and felt a modicum of gratitude that the children were too occupied to hear his colorful language. “I wanted one afternoon with them alone. That is all!”
Mr. Chapman appeared in the doorway, waving forward a worker hefting a crate on his shoulder. With a few words of instruction, Silas had it settled in the center of his office; Griffith and Leah began reaching for it before the thing was even opened, and Silas thought a few less than choice words as he fended them off while the lid was pulled back to reveal the treasures inside.
Peeling back the top layer of straw, Silas hoped for something of interest to the children and heaven smiled upon him, revealing a pile of paper fans and a sack of hard candies. Neither were of much worth, so Silas paid it no mind when Griffith and Leah threw themselves on it like a pack of scavengers. Though they’d had treats aplenty, they immediately filled their cheeks with more sugar before they grabbed a couple of fans apiece. Leah sent up great gales of wind that felt like an assault as she fanned everything in sight, while Griffith took a different route and treated them like swords, stabbing anything that stood still and chasing after anything that didn’t.
The noise grew as the pair worked themselves into a full tumult, and Silas stepped back to the doorway, leaning against it and pinching his nose.
“Send for Miss Delmonte,” muttered Hatch.
As loath as he was to surrender, Silas couldn’t see the point in drawing out this torture. Helen seemed no more pleased with him than when they’d set out; if anything, her scowl grew fiercer with each passing minute. Griffith and Leah were only contained if plied with treats, and even his minimal experience with children knew it would spoil the pair.
