Page 16 of Charity

CHAPTER SEVEN

The man across the room snorted, napping with his feet perched on the table edge, head lolling to the side. The sound covered the ominous creak of the floorboards beneath Oscar’s feet as he moved farther into the room. The shabby, untidy sprawl of the orphanage’s office conflicted with the neatness of the slumbering factor. There were papers strewn everywhere, books lying in untidy piles on the floor. Such disarray was simply unacceptable, and tidying this room was the first task Oscar would insist upon.

Mr. Dickson of the Grafton Street Orphanage was supposed to be waiting for him, not sleeping on the job. But Oscar was not so tardy that the factor should have wearied of the wait and fallen asleep. Perhaps it was foolish that he’d let the other trustees run the place up till now. He’d thought they knew what they were doing. He doubted they knew of Mr. Dickson’s habit of sleeping his day away though, or approved of said habit.

Oscar cleared his throat, and the man before him bounced to his feet.

“Lord Carrington, I presume.”

Oscar bobbed his head sharply rather than voice his displeasure.

“Please, won’t you take a seat?”

He settled into a chair, wincing when it creaked as ominously as the floor. “I understood that you would have everything ready for me. Do you require more time?”

The factor blinked rapidly. “Everything about the running of the orphanage is within this room. What else do you require?”

How about a system of neatness? Of order for the accounts? Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose and expelled a frustrated breath. “I’ve been asked to review the accounts. I was assured everything was in order for my examination. This,” he swept his hand in an arc over the untidy heaps, “is not what I expected to see. I shall be here for weeks.”

Dickson straightened a letter on his desk. “The board never quibbled about how I ran the place before.”

“Well perhaps it’s time they did.”

Dickson rocked back in his chair as if Oscar had struck him, but Oscar had no time to settle the man’s feathers. The quicker he could get this done and return home, the better. He did not want to bump into Agatha here. He’d promised her that he would keep a distance between them, both publicly and privately. The chances of running into her were very great indeed, given his mother’s hints on how much time she spent at the orphanage these days.

“I’d like the ledger for this month’s accounts, if you please. And if you could arrange a cup of tea, I would be most appreciative. I fear I shall be here for some time.”

The factor blinked, then shoved his hand into the upper draw, retrieved a battered ledger, and thrust it in his direction. “I would be more than happy to arrange the tea, my lord.”

The man hurried out.

When Oscar opened the ledger, he was pleasantly surprised to see the disorder only extended so far. The ledger was neat. Meticulous, in fact. A welcome relief, indeed, after the shock of his initial impression.

Pleased with this new development, Oscar stood, circled the desk, and sat himself in Dickson’s place as he began his calculations. The quicker he started, the quicker he could be done and gone.

Sometime later, a giggle sounded at the door but when he glanced up, he couldn’t see anyone about. Oscar drew out his pocket watch to check the time. He’d been here two hours and had yet to receive that requested cup of tea, or glimpse Mr. Dickson again. Annoyed and thirsty, he marked his place in the ledger with a scrap of parchment then stood, intent on finding the factor.

As he stretched his back, someone giggled nearby within the room he occupied. Curious, he looked about. But wherever the sound came from was a mystery. Perhaps the sound came from the floor above, not in the room with him.

Shrugging off the distraction, he took a step toward the door, but the sight of gray fabric disappearing under the desk caught his attention. Oscar crouched low.

A pair of solemn eyes peered at him from beneath the desk. The child was tiny. A drab little girl, whose eyes widened with surprise at being discovered.

Not wishing to frighten her, Oscar smiled before he held out his hand. “How do you do there, miss? Do you like it very much there beneath the table?”

“No one would think to find me here, would they?” she whispered so low that Oscar strained forward to hear.

“I’m afraid they could if they listened very hard. You seem to be in the habit of giggling. The others will hear that if they are searching.”

Her hands clapped over her mouth. “So that’s how they always find me so quickly,” she mumbled. “Not one of them said a word.”

Amused, Oscar chuckled and lifted his hand again. “I suspect they don’t mention it so they might be assured of the win. Here, you must consider yourself found. Come out now. Let me take a look at you.”

Obediently, the child crawled out, and then to his utter surprise, she threw herself into his arms. “Are you my new papa? Have you come to take me home?”

Startled, Oscar set the girl from him and held up one hand. “No, child, I am not your new papa. I am Lord Carrington.”

The girl’s face fell at the news. “You don’t look like a lord.”