but Father said that was no occupation for a gentleman. It’s a trade, and a marquis isn’t supposed to pursue a trade.” His eyes lit up. “Maybe the Rebel Mechanics really will start a revolution, and then I won’t be noble anymore and I can do anything I want!”
“I’m telling Uncle!” Olive said. “You’re not supposed to talk like that!”
“Olive, no one likes a tattletale,” I scolded gently. “I am present, and I will decide what needs to be told. I don’t think Rollo meant anything by it.”
After we saw Rollo safely into the care of his headmaster, Olive and I headed home, taking a different route along a more commercial street. That pleased her immensely, as she enjoyed looking in the shop windows, and I was glad of the excuse to do so myself. With such shops selling so many wonderful things, I could see how Flora could have an entire conversation about clothing.
“I got a doll for Christmas from this store,” Olive informed me in a running commentary as we walked. “Flora buys her gloves here. She got a hat here once, but she didn’t like it, and she told everyone else how awful it was, so nobody else bought hats here, and now it’s not a hat shop anymore. It’s a shoe shop. I don’t know if their shoes are good, though. I don’t think we’ve ever bought anything there. Do you like shopping, Miss Newton?”
“I haven’t done much of it.”
“Don’t go with Flora. It’s boring because she won’t make up her mind and she has to look at everything. Maybe you could take me shopping.”
“We’ll see.”
Apparently taking my noncommittal answer as an affirmative, she began skipping and singing, “We’re going shopping! We’re going shopping!”
Although I had worked as a tutor, I hadn’t the least notion of the extent of a governess’s duties. Was I responsible for Olive’s deportment, and what were the boundaries of acceptable behavior? Should I consider skipping and singing harmless childish high spirits or unladylike actions that must be corrected?
I was still wrestling with this dilemma when I heard a voice calling my name. I turned to see a newspaper boy standing on the corner. “Nat!” I said with a smile. It was reassuring to see a familiar face.
“Good morning to you, Verity,” he said. With a glance at Olive, he added, “I take it you got the job.”
“Yes, I did. Olive, this is my friend Nat. Nat, this is Lady Olive Lyndon, my pupil.” I realized that it might be improper to introduce Olive to a nonmagical boy, but since she was only six, I decided not to worry. Olive gave a pretty curtsy and bobbed her head so that her ringlets bounced.
“You’ll want to read the newspaper this morning, Verity,” Nat said with a wink. I felt I owed him at least the price of a newspaper after he’d helped me the day before, so I fished a penny out of my pocket and handed it to him. He presented a copy of the World to me with a bow. My father had subscribed to the Herald, and that had been the newspaper at the breakfast table that morning. Given Nat’s association with the rebels, I assumed that the World must take a more radical editorial approach. Feeling a little uneasy about how acceptable such a paper might be, I folded it with the headlines inside and tucked it under my arm.
Nat’s eyes widened, and he hissed, “Cross the street, Verity.”
There was so much fear and tension in his face and voice that I didn’t hesitate or ask questions. I clutched Olive’s hand and darted with her across the street. Once we were safely on the opposite side, I looked back to see a pair of policemen approaching Nat. One of them grabbed a newspaper out of his hands, read the front page, then rolled it up and smacked him on the head with it.
“What’s this, then?” the policeman snarled. “Selling sedition, are you, boy? This paper doesn’t have the royal stamp on it, so it’s not legal to sell. Did you know that?”
“I don’t know anything about stamps,” Nat cried. “I just sell papers.”
The policeman backhanded him across the face, then sent him sprawling with a rough shove. I was so outraged to see a child treated that way that I ran back across the street to come to his aid, entirely forgetting that I still held Olive’s hand.
IN WHICH I AM A RESCUER AND AM RESCUED
“Leave that boy alone!”