She saluted him. “Yes, sir.”
“Mock me if you want, but rule and order would not go amiss with those boys right now. I’ll take them and clean up your kitchen while you—”
She halted. “The boys will clean the kitchen?” she said, her tone disbelieving.
“Under my supervision, yes.”
She barked out a laugh. “I have tried to make them sweep and mop before, and they made more of a mess than we started with.”
He muttered something under his breath. They stood at the bottom of the steps, his face in shadow in the dark vestibule. Just beyond the front door, she could hear the boys’ voices and knew their game continued.
“What was that you said?”
“Planned incompetence,” he answered, articulating every syllable.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the boys made a mess of the chores you assigned them so you wouldn’t ask them to do them again.”
She inhaled sharply. “They wouldn’t.” But she knew they would. Of course they would. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? “And what does one do about planned incompetence?” she asked.
“Oh, a night in the stocks usually takes care of it,” he replied.
She stepped back. “Mr. Wraxall! These are children we’re speaking of and—”
He held up a hand. “Save your ranting. I won’t put anyone in stocks.”
Was it her imagination or did he mutter this time after those words?
“Having me act as supervisor will be sufficient.”
“And you know how to use a mop and broom?” she asked dubiously.
“I was a soldier. I know how to launder my own clothing and sew on a button too, Lady Juliana. You take the teacher and speak with her in the parlor. I’ll take the boys and clean up the kitchen. While we’re at it, they might as well straighten the dormitories.”
“Good luck with that.”
“I wish you the same in your endeavor to convince the school teacher to remain. Now that we both know our assignments…” He reached for the door. “Ready and”—he opened it—“charge!”
He strode out first and began bellowing orders. Julia held back for just an instant. Her life had become a whirlwind, but she couldn’t allow herself to trust Mr. Wraxall to do any more than pull her free momentarily. He might help her now, but he’d soon lose interest. She wouldn’t make the mistake Harriett had and put her faith in him or any man.
Four
The orphans were not so different from newly enlisted soldiers. They were brash and bold on the outside, but inside they wanted direction and the comfort of having someone to tell them what to do.
Neil still thought a few hours in the stocks would have done several of them a world of good.
Neil dealt with the paltry resistance the boys put up when he told them to clean the kitchen. The younger ones followed the older boys, so when the first older boy, the tall one with shaggy, brown hair in his eyes who had been fighting, folded his arms and refused to pick up the broom, calling it woman’s work, Neil got an apron and told the boy to put it on.
The lad folded his arms. “I won’t!”
“Then you don’t eat.” Neil looked at all of the boys, meeting each one’s gaze in turn. “Let me explain to you how life works. You either earn your keep or you have none. If you don’t work, you don’t eat.”
“You can’t keep us from eating,” another of the boys, this one with straight, brown hair and freckles, said.
He would have had any soldier who challenged him thus whipped. Instead, he gave the boy a dark look. “Can’t I?” Neil asked, leaning close. “Would you like to test me?”
The boy’s eyes grew wide and he stepped back.
“Since Lady Juliana has not yet hired a cook,” Neil continued, “I will be providing dinner. Baked pies like you had earlier.”
Some of the younger boys cheered. Neil ignored them.
“If you want a pie, you work. If you don’t work, you make your own dinner.” That was more than generous. He would have let grown men go hungry.
Neil leaned back against the wall and waited. If there was one thing he knew, it was men’s—and boys’—stomachs. In about three heartbeats, every boy was sweeping, mopping, or washing dishes. Even the fighter with the hair in his eyes. Neil pointed to him. “You over there.”
The one who liked to count—Lady Juliana had called him Michael—cleared his throat. “That’s Walter, sir.”
Walter scowled at Michael and did his best to ignore Neil.
“Master Walter,” Neil said. “You said this is woman’s work. So put on the apron.”
“But—”
Neil raised a brow.
With a scowl, the boy yanked it over his head and went back to sweeping.
Neil heard a few sniggers. “First boy I catch laughing at him has to wear an apron too.”
The laughter ceased immediately. Then one of the little boys, a lad who couldn’t have been more than four and who was attempting to sweep with his thumb in his mouth, toddled over. He tugged on Neil’s coat. Neil almost bent down, but he resisted the urge. “What?”
The boy pulled his thumb from his mouth. “What if we want to wear an apron?” He blinked large, brown eyes up at Neil. Neil steeled his heart. He would not allow these children to worm their way into his affections. He was here to do a duty, nothing more. Once Lady Juliana was safe, he would be gone.
“What’s your name?” Neil asked against his better judgment. It was better if he didn’t know the children’s names, but he couldn’t go around pointing and saying you there for the next few days. And he’d seen enough of the orphanage to know he would be here for several more days to come.
“Sharee,” the boy said, thumb back in his mouth.
Neil plucked the thumb from the mouth, dismayed to feel saliva on his fingers. “Say again?”
“Charlie,” came the reply in the high voice.
“You want to wear an apron, Charlie?”
Charlie nodded fervently.
“Anyone else?” Neil asked.
Two more little boys who couldn’t have been much older than Charlie jumped up and down and shouted, “Me! Me!”
Neil could only find one more apron so he fashioned aprons out of dish towels for the other two, whose names he discovered were Chester and Jimmy. Michael, eight-year-old fount of information that he was, informed him Charlie was four and a baby, Chester was five and his mother was a harlot, and Jimmy was five too and not really an orphan. His parents were in debtor’s prison.
“What’s a harlot?” Chester asked when Neil had the dish towel secured around his waist.
“A harlot is—”
Neil gave Michael a quelling look. “Don’t worry about it.” Neil handed Chester a clean towel. “Wipe the table.”
Neil stood back and surveyed his troops. They had done a decent enough job. He’d send half upstairs to clean the dormitory and keep the rest with him to finish down here. Lady Juliana hadn’t eaten, and that had to be rectified as well.
“Michael,” Neil said.
Michael straightened immediately. “Yes, sir!”
“Who is the oldest among you?”
“Robbie, sir!”
“Who’s Robbie?”
A lad with freckles and straight, brown hair came forward. “I am. I’m probably eleven.”
Neil nodded. “I need you to do a job for me, Robbie. Pick five men and go upstairs to straighten the dormitory.”
Robbie frowned at him. “But there aren’t any men here, save you, sir.”
Neil stifled a sigh. “Pick five boys and straighten the dormitory. You are in charge, Robbie. I want beds made, clothes put away, and the entire place ready for inspection. So pick your boys carefully.”
Robbie glanced at the other orphans. “I’ll take Michael.”
Robbie was no fool, Neil thought. Michael would probably annoy every single one of them, but he’d do his job. “And? Four more.”