Kitabı oku: «The Pursuits Of Lord Kit Cavanaugh», sayfa 4

“Once we have those arranged in the new hall,” Sylvia went on, “we can return here and ferry everything else across.” She paused, then added, “I don’t want the boys struggling with anything they might drop while they’re crossing the Frome.”

“No, indeed.” Jellicoe looked at the boys who had remained in the warehouse; they were busily emptying the desks and stacking books, slates, chalks, and papers on the tops. “We’ll need at least two trips for the smaller stuff, and depending on how many men turn up, at least two for the desks and boards. Even emptied, those desks are too unwieldy for any one man to manage on his own—even a dockyard navvy.”

Just then, a thin, faded older lady, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun, walked into the warehouse.

“Miss Meggs.” Sylvia went forward to greet her. “I’m relieved to say that we’ve had some excellent news.”

While Sylvia explained about the new school hall, bringing a relieved expression to Miss Meggs’s face, Jellicoe murmured, “Our assistant. She’s a good soul and handles the boys surprisingly well.”

Cross softly huffed. “I think the boys see her as a vague but doting aunt they need to take care of—which is not a bad thing.”

Jellicoe laughed softly. “I think she plays up to that—when it comes to organizing our lessons, she’s as sharp as a tack.”

Kit watched Sylvia animatedly explaining the school’s change in circumstances to the older woman. Their meeting with the prior the previous evening had gone much as he’d anticipated, with one major difference; the prior, Sylvia, and Kit had discussed various payment options, and, in the end, in order to avoid any future onus falling on Sylvia regarding the rent, they had agreed—Kit reluctantly—to put the lease in his name, with him making payments directly to the Abbey, rather than having Sylvia’s name on the lease, with him standing as formal guarantor, and the payments routed through her. While she’d been perfectly content with the arrangement, Kit had to wonder if she realized just how much at his mercy that left the school. Of course, he would never do anything untoward, like renege on payments or cancel the lease, but she didn’t know that. He’d ended with the distinct impression that Miss Sylvia Buckleberry, clergyman’s daughter, trusted too easily for her own good.

Except, of course, when it came to him, but he was working on that.

One of the boys who’d gone to fetch family members returned, towing his older brother by the sleeve. The pair were quickly followed by the other four boys with their willing elders in tow. Most weren’t fathers but older brothers and cousins, hale and strong from working on the docks. When all were assembled, they had twelve men, in addition to Jellicoe, Cross, and Kit himself.

Kit glanced at Sylvia, and she stepped forward. In a clear voice, she thanked the men for coming and outlined the proposed sequence of ferrying items to Trinity Street. “I’ll go ahead and open up the hall there. Please, before you leave the warehouse with anything, notify Miss Meggs”—Sylvia waved to the school assistant, who now stood by the warehouse door, board and pencil in hand—“so she can ensure that we successfully get everything to its new home.”

The men nodded readily.

One said, “We’re pleased to help, miss. But about our money...?”

Kit stepped forward. “Come to me at the end of the day for payment—at that time, I’ll be at the Trinity Street hall.” Kit ran his gaze over the boys and men alike. “And the end of our day is as soon as we clear this building and ferry everything to the new hall.”

The boys cheered, and the men looked eager to start lifting and carrying.

Kit waved them forward with the stipulation “Two to a desk. We don’t want any dropped and broken.”

The move got under way, with everyone in high good spirits. The men could easily handle a desk between two, and the boys loaded their arms with books and slates.

As Kit had suspected, Jellicoe and Cross folded the stands of the two big blackboards, then carefully set the boards into strap-like slings and set off, each carrying one of the boards slung on his back and the folded stand in his hands.

There was no spare man with whom Kit could partner. He looked around, amid the chaos of boys arguing over who should take what, trying to assess what item would be most useful for him to cart.

Sylvia had paused to speak with Miss Meggs and ensure that everyone was having their loads noted. Kit lifted a pile of slates, which was surprisingly heavy; wrapping his arms about the stack, he hoisted it and joined Sylvia as—apparently realizing how many men and desks had already passed out of the warehouse on their way to Trinity Street—she somewhat distractedly farewelled Miss Meggs. Seeing Kit with the slates, she waved him on and bent to lift a smaller box of chalks. Miss Meggs made a note and smiled and nodded to them both to proceed. Kit stepped out, pleased to find Sylvia falling in beside him.

“We’ll have to hurry.” She was, indeed, bustling along purposefully. “There’s no sense in the men reaching the hall before us. They won’t know where to leave the desks.”

Smiling, Kit inclined his head and, lengthening his stride, easily kept pace.

They strode quickly up Princes Street, electing to avoid the busy quay for as long as they could. She glanced sidelong at him several times, then said, “I didn’t expect you to carry things yourself. Your coat is likely to get chalk dust on it.”

He bent a faintly teasing smile on her. “My man will tut, but I really don’t care. A coat is a coat, after all.”

When she continued to look as if him carting things was something of a social solecism, he sighed. “Think of this as me ensuring that the warehouse is completely cleared by day’s end.”

At that, she looked openly disbelieving. “You didn’t have to help carry things to ensure that—you’ve already done more than I expected.”

He held her gaze for an instant, then quietly said, “Is it so hard to believe that I honestly like helping people?”

The way she blinked at him before she faced forward suggested it had been, despite her “Of course not. I just...hadn’t expected it.”

He hoped she was readjusting her image of him—one of his less-obvious motives.

Their procession had to cross the drawbridge over the Frome, and as the bridge was presently raised, they caught up with their eager helpers there, in the shadow of Viell’s Tower. The instant the ship had passed and the bridge was lowered, everyone set off again. Less encumbered than the other adults, Sylvia and Kit drew ahead.

When they got to the hall, he reached across and lifted the box of chalks from her arms. When she looked about to protest—the chalk!—he grinned. “I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.”

She humphed, but consented to dive into her reticule and drag out the key. She unlocked the door and set it wide.

Kit followed her inside. “Where do you want these sorts of things?”

She pointed to the far-right corner. “Over there. Once we have the desks set up again, the boys will put what they each should have back into their desks.”

While he crossed to the designated spot and set down his burdens, she stood by the door and welcomed the men and boys who’d been following them.

He returned to her side and stood behind her as she directed the men as to where she wished them to place the desks, then Jellicoe and Cross arrived with their unwieldy burdens.

The teachers set the blackboards down along the front of the room.

“Well!” Jellicoe turned and, eyes lighting appreciatively, surveyed the hall. “This is certainly a step up.”

“And it’s going to be much closer for us,” Cross said. To Kit, he explained, “Our digs are on this side of the river—along St. Augustine’s Back.”

Jellicoe nodded. “Just a few minutes away, and we won’t have to wait for the drawbridge ever again.”

Sylvia came up. “Can you two remain here for the moment and oversee the boys?” She handed Jellicoe the key. “Once they’re all on their way back, you can lock up and bring the key back to the warehouse. I want to check on Miss Meggs, but by the time you get back, I’ll be ready to head over here again.”

Jellicoe took the key, and Cross tipped her a salute. “Given there are twenty desks, we’ll have to pitch in and muscle over a couple between us. We’ll see you back at the warehouse.”

“Thank you.” With a relieved smile, Sylvia turned away. She collected Kit with a glance. “Coming?”

As was becoming his habit, he grinned and waved her to the door. “Lead on.”

They went back and forth; on reaching the hall a second time, Kit left Sylvia chatting with the teachers and boys and slipped out to the tavern he’d spotted just around the corner. Emerging five minutes later, he fell in with several of the hired men hauling desks between them. He smiled. “Pass the word, if you would—sandwiches and cider for all who’ve helped with the move at the new hall at noon.”

The men’s eyes lit, and they hoisted their burdens with renewed purpose. “Thank ye, m’lord,” several called, while others tipped their heads to him.

Kit strode ahead, meeting Sylvia as she reappeared on the hall’s porch. “There are more desks just turning into the street. And I ordered food—sandwiches and cider—for everyone. The tavern keeper’s wife said she and her girls will deliver the food here at noon.”

Sylvia stared at him. “Thank you. I hadn’t thought...”

He grinned. “I’m used to working with men. We get hungry. And I could hardly eat all by myself.”

She sent him a look that seemed to say that she’d adjusted her preconceived notions of him already, then she looked into the hall. “Cross—did you hear?”

“Aye, and very welcome the sustenance will be,” Cross called.

Together with Sylvia, Kit set out for the warehouse again. Once they’d crossed the bridge and reached the top of King Street, he halted and turned to her. “You go ahead—I have to deal with something, but I’ll join you in ten minutes or so.”

She looked faintly surprised, but nodded. “All right. I’ll meet you at the warehouse.”

He saw her across the street, then turned and strode for his bank. He needed a small mound of shillings.

When he reached the warehouse fifteen minutes later, he was vaguely aware he was clinking with every step. Ignoring that, he halted beside Sylvia near the door and scanned the almost-empty space.

She looked up with a pleased smile. “The last of the desks has gone on its way. We’re almost finished. Just a few more packages of books.” With her head, she indicated a small pile of packages trussed up with twine. “I have to admit I had no idea the boys had borrowed so many books from the lending library. Cross and Miss Meggs take the boys to exchange and borrow new books every week.”

“Has it proved useful—the lending library?”

“Immensely. An adventure book is just the thing to help the boys learn to read.”

Six of the older boys appeared, returning for their next loads.

“We’re the last, Miss Buckleberry,” one of the boys reported. “Mr. Jellicoe and Mr. Cross kept the others back to start unpacking and putting everything away.”

“Excellent.” Sylvia waved the group toward the pile of books. “Take one or two packages each—whatever you can safely carry. I sent Miss Meggs on, so please report to me as you go out.”

“Yes, miss!” came the enthusiastic reply.

With Kit, Sylvia did a quick circuit of the warehouse while the boys picked over the book pile.

“There’s nothing left but the books,” Sylvia stated with satisfaction. “I wouldn’t have believed we could move everything so quickly. Well,” she temporized, “we wouldn’t have if we’d had to move the desks without help.” She caught Kit’s eye. “Again, thank you.”

You can thank me by not tarring me with an undeserved brush. Kit held the words back; he had no idea why her opinion of him should matter so much. All he knew was that it did. Smiling easily, he waved at the empty space. “This is my reward.”

She smiled back, then crossed to the door.

As the boys, each laden with packages, trudged up to the door, Sylvia blinked at the leading pair; the two oldest lads were carrying three packages each, their arms wrapped awkwardly about the bundles. “Boys, are you sure you can manage those?”

“Yes, miss,” the pair chorused. “We’ll manage.”

She hesitated, clearly unsure.

Standing behind her shoulder, Kit ducked his head and spoke softly, for her ears alone. “Let them go—they’re trying to do what they think they should in clearing the place completely. We’ll be following close behind, after all.”

Sylvia nodded at the pair. “Just take care. If you get into difficulties, please wait, and we’ll be along shortly.”

Kit could have told her that was a futile instruction; the last thing the lads would want was for him to see them fail in their self-appointed task.

As the oldest lads departed, the other four trailed up to the door.

One boy fixed Kit with an eager look. “Is it true, then, your lordship, that there’ll be food and cider for us all?”

Kit smiled. “Yes—for everyone who helped move the school, and that definitely includes all you boys.”

The lad beamed, then turned to the boy behind him. “Told you. His lordship’s no pinchpenny.”

With a confident smile for Kit, the first boy led the way out, those behind him looking grateful and eager as well.

“You’ve made friends there,” Sylvia commented.

Kit glanced at her and arched a brow. “Boys are easy to bribe—food almost always works.”

She chuckled, then looked at the book pile; only two packages remained. “We can take those, and then, I believe, you will have your wish—the warehouse properly and thoroughly vacated and ready for your men to move in.”

Kit crossed to the packages and hoisted both up, tucking them under one arm. “I didn’t imagine we’d be this efficient, either, so we’ll have to wait until morning for the delivery of the timbers we’ll need, but come morning, we’ll be here.”

His heart lifted at the thought.

He followed Sylvia out of the open doors and helped her tug them shut. She secured the simple latch with the padlock, turned the key, then offered it to him. “I believe this is now yours.”

Kit accepted the key and dropped it into his pocket. “Thank you.”

In companionable mood, they set out to catch up with the boys.

Sylvia found herself inwardly marveling. Not just at the fact they’d managed to move the school, lock, stock, and barrel, in just one morning, but also that the transfer had run so smoothly.

A boon she was well aware she owed to the man striding so easily beside her.

She glanced sidelong at him—just a quick glance, enough to take in his relaxed, confident, and assured expression. Just long enough to sense again the tug on her senses. That hadn’t abated with exposure, much as she’d hoped it would; he remained a lodestone for her senses, for her attention. Indeed, if anything, the result of spending more time in his company had only increased the intensity of what, in her view, remained a dangerous attraction.

For as long as she’d been aware of it—from the first month of her London Season—Kit Cavanaugh’s reputation had painted him as a charming, dangerously flirtatious nobleman, one who was wealthy but indolent, who meant nothing by anything he said, and who was very much a care-for-naught—the sort of gentleman all sane young ladies and all careful parents avoided like the plague.

Yet the man by her side was none of that.

He definitely wasn’t the gentleman she’d met at Felicia’s wedding...or perhaps he was the same, but she’d assumed he was quite different.

The Kit Cavanaugh she’d seen over the past days was a gentleman of a very different stripe.

The sort of gentleman who could be good company, but who had a serious side. A practical side. On top of that, he seemed to know how to deal with people, especially those not of his class.

She’d met enough aristocrats to know that wasn’t a widely held talent.

Quite what she thought of the Kit Cavanaugh who was walking beside her, she wasn’t entirely sure.

Was what he was now showing her of him real? Or was this the façade?

CHAPTER 4

“Careful.” Kit gripped Sylvia’s elbow to steer her safely across the cobbles of King Street.

His touch sent thrills lancing up her arm; her breath caught, but he gave no sign of noticing, and once they’d reached the wider expanse of Broad Quay, he released her and resumed his steady pacing alongside her.

She decided she was not going to look his way; instead, she surveyed the pedestrians before them. “I haven’t yet caught sight of the boys—they must have rushed ahead.”

It was close to noon, and the crowds on the quay limited how far she could see.

Head raised, Kit was scanning the throng. “A couple of the boys are approaching the bridge.”

As she and Kit neared the drawbridge over the Frome, she got a clear view of the two oldest lads; more heavily burdened, the pair were trudging doggedly along. The other boys with their lighter loads must have gone ahead; there was no sign of them. As by Kit’s side, she wove through the crowd, making for the steps leading up to the drawbridge, she saw the two lads struggle up the stone steps, heave their loads higher in their arms, and tramp out onto the wooden span.

She and Kit were almost at the steps when she heard a loud hail.

Looking up at the bridge, she saw the two school lads being bailed up by a gang of older youths. The four youths pushed and taunted the two schoolboys; it was blatantly apparent that the gang thought to enliven their day by making the younger lads drop their precious packages over the bridge’s railing into the churning waters below.

“Oh, no!” Sylvia tensed to run forward, but Kit thrust the packages he’d been carrying at her feet, all but tripping her.

“Wait here and watch those.”

She had little choice as he strode to the rescue, taking the steps up to the bridge in two strides, then descending on the pack of louts like an avenging angel.

The gang saw him coming and paused, instantly recognizing a predator of much higher status than they. But they didn’t back away from the schoolboys. Instead, the youths waited, assuming Kit—who, whatever he wore or wherever he was, carried his status like a mantle—would stride disinterestedly past and leave their victims to them.

Kit assessed the situation with a keen eye, then veered to halt behind the two schoolboys. He dropped a hand on each lad’s shoulder. “Is there some problem here?”

He directed the question to the lout he judged to be the leader of the gang, a gangling youth of perhaps seventeen years.

Kit allowed his gaze to dwell, coldly, on the youth’s pasty face and waited with icy calm.

Beneath his hands, he felt the two school lads straighten, confidence returning. One of them said, “Don’t rightly know what this lot want with us.”

“Indeed?” Kit arched a brow at the gang leader. “Perhaps you’d like to enlighten us.”

The other members of the gang started to edge away. The leader glanced around, then swung back to face Kit and swallowed. “Ah...no. No problem.” The youth licked his lips and added, “We was just asking if they perhaps needed a hand with them packages, is all, sir.”

Kit allowed a shark-like smile to curve his lips. “It’s not ‘sir’—it’s ‘my lord.’ And how kind of you to volunteer to help.”

The youth’s eyes flew wide. “Wot?”

But Kit was already speaking to the schoolboys. “We have six packages and, all together, I see six lads before me.” He patted the schoolboys’ shoulders encouragingly. “Let’s pass the packages around to these helpful lads, and we’ll be at the school that much faster. Here—let me help.”

Kit plucked a package out of the arms of one of the schoolboys and pushed it into the chest of the gang leader.

Instinctively, the youth grabbed the package.

Before his mates could flee, Kit pointed at them and beckoned. “Come along—don’t be shy.”

In less than a minute, each of the gang members was clutching one of the packages.

“Let’s get moving, then.” Kit waved the six toward the other end of the bridge. “Boys”—he caught the eyes of the two school lads—“why don’t you lead the way?”

Leaving him to pace behind the gang members.

Now carrying only one package each, the schoolboys happily took off, and reluctantly, with an almost disbelieving air, the gang fell in behind them.

Kit watched for an instant, then turned to fetch Sylvia and the packages he’d been carrying—only to discover her a yard away with the packages at her feet.

She met his eyes, and the amused smile on her face was something to see—a sight he hadn’t seen before but wanted to see more often. He frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. “You shouldn’t have struggled with those.”

“They weren’t that heavy, just unwieldy.” Sylvia nodded to where the four youths were lagging and casting glances over their shoulders. “And you’ll need to keep up with that lot if we want those books to reach the school.”

He grunted. Settling the two packages under his arm again, he fixed his gaze on the gang members, who immediately faced forward and picked up their pace. “Come on.”

Sylvia fell in beside him.

As they descended the steps at the other end of the bridge, she glanced at his face. “They’ll never forget that, you know.” She meant not just the gang members but also the two lads from the school—the dockyard brats who’d had a lord stand up for them.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” He sounded as if he wasn’t entirely sure, then added, “I hope they’ll also remember that bullying others can have unforeseen consequences.”

“Indeed.” She looked at the now-subdued youths walking ahead of them.

Her mind scrolled through several vignettes from the morning—of Kit helping some of the younger boys load up, of him answering questions from the avidly curious lads. After a moment, she ventured, “You deal well with children.”

He lightly shrugged. “I was a boy once, too.”

“Be that as it may, you seem to have retained the ability to interact with them, which not all adults do.”

“Ah—that’s the influence of Ryder and Mary’s brood. I spent the last weeks with them, playing at being Uncle Kit.” Briefly, he met her eyes, an amused smile in his. “Trust me when I say that my brother’s children are a very much more difficult proposition to manage than your school lads and their ilk. Aside from all else, my niece and nephews aren’t impressed by, much less cowed by, my rank.”

She chuckled. “I hadn’t thought of that—as the children of a marquess, they share the same rank as you.”

“And they already have the confidence that goes with that.”

They’d reached Trinity Street, and she looked ahead to see the four youths milling uncertainly on the pavement in front of the hall, the packages they’d carried still in their arms.

Kit had seen them, too. He touched a light hand to Sylvia’s back. “Go inside and let me handle this.”

The lads he’d rescued must have already been inside, and judging from the many boys who, their faces alight with smiles and wonder, came to the door to peek out at the gang, the tale of the school lads’ rescue and the gang members’ resulting discomfiture was already doing the rounds.

“Perhaps just have them stack the packages on the porch,” Sylvia murmured.

Kit nodded and halted, facing the now-surly gang. Sylvia walked on and went up the steps and into the hall, gathering the younger boys who had been hanging about the door and shooing them deeper into the hall.

As soon as she’d passed inside, Kit tipped his head toward the porch. “Stack the packages there, and then I’d like a word.”

Warily, the youths complied, then re-formed in a close knot on the pavement before Kit, who had set his packages at his feet.

“Right, then.” He studied the four, who shifted and shuffled. He waited until they were completely still, then said, “The moral of this story is don’t pick on others smaller or younger than yourselves. It’s an easy rule to remember, and I trust you will, indeed, remember it from now on. I’ve taken up residence in the city, and should I hear of any of you being involved in a similar incident or anything worse, I’ll make a point of taking it up with the local authorities. In a nutshell, whenever you’re tempted to do something wrong, remember that there’s always a chance that someone—like me—will be watching. Do you understand?”

They shuffled some more, but managed to mumble, “Yes, m’lord.”

Kit wasn’t entirely satisfied, but there was only so much he could do. “Very well. I believe you have somewhere else to be.”

It took them a second to comprehend that they were being dismissed, then—still wary—they bobbed their heads and skirted around him, giving him a wide berth before, increasingly rapidly, walking back toward the river.

Kit watched them go, then inwardly shook his head. He’d been tempted to see if any of the four needed a job, but the likelihood was that all of them did, and he couldn’t saddle Wayland and whoever he hired as foreman with all four.

Bending, Kit scooped up the packages he’d carried and carted them into the hall.

The scene inside was one of furious activity, with the hired men shifting desks into position and boys running this way and that, ferrying stools, unpacked books, slates, chalks, and all manner of educational impedimenta hither and yon. Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs were directing the scurrying ant-like flow.

Sylvia stood to one side, watching it all with a smile on her face.

Kit set down the last two packages on a desk. Miss Meggs sent him a distracted smile, then directed two boys to untie the strings.

Kit sauntered over to Sylvia. She glanced at him, and he was again struck by the immense difference between the woman now before him and the chilly, reserved lady he’d encountered at his brother’s wedding. “I take it all is going well?” he asked.

“Astonishingly well.” After a further moment of surveying the action, she said, “Once they get everything tidied away, I believe they’ll have earned the rest of the day off.”

“They have worked diligently.”

A shadow darkened the door, and he and Sylvia turned to see the tavern keeper’s wife bearing a huge tray laden with sandwiches.

Miss Meggs hurried forward. She waved the woman to a long trestle table set up along the front wall of the hall. “If you’ll set everything down there...?”

With a grin at the boys and the men—who had all stopped to watch—the tavern wife came in and set down her burden. She was followed by three younger women carting pottery jars of cider and a basket of tin mugs. At the rear of the procession came a burly youth bearing another huge platter of sandwiches.

“There you go, your lordship.” The tavern wife, having set down her burden, turned to Kit with a huge smile. “Been a pleasure doing business, and if you need anything else, just send, and we’ll deliver.”

Kit smiled. “Thank you. This should be sufficient, but”—he tipped his head toward the boys, now gathering in an expectant pack and eyeing the sandwiches as if they were gold—“with a lot like this, one never knows.”

“Aye, you have that right.” The tavern wife beamed at the children, then looked shrewdly around. “A good idea, this—keeps them off the streets and teaches them their letters and hopefully”—she mock-glared at the boys—“some manners as well.”

The entire platoon of boys adopted angelic expressions.

“Huh.” The tavern wife turned from the boys and looked at Sylvia. “If you’d like, miss, me and Bertha can stay and take the platters and things away later. And we’ll make sure there’s no ruckus over the serving.”

“Thank you. That would be a help.” Sylvia motioned to Miss Meggs. “We’ll get the boys in order and send them to you.”

Kit found a stool against the wall, perched on it, and watched Sylvia and Miss Meggs, assisted by Jellicoe and Cross, marshal the boys into a queue in order of youngest to oldest.

Next came the men he’d hired, all good-naturedly grinning and chatting with each other and, occasionally, with the two teachers.

Once the boys and men had helped themselves, Sylvia waved Jellicoe, Cross, and Miss Meggs to the table, then looked at Kit.

He rose and ambled across to join her as she trailed at the end of the queue.

The platters of sandwiches had held up under the onslaught; there were still more than enough left to satisfy even Kit. Not that he was all that hungry; he’d enjoyed a substantial breakfast courtesy of Dalgetty, the male cook Gordon had hired, who had proved to have an excellent grasp of what men like Kit preferred to eat.

After helping himself to one of the substantial sandwiches and a mug of the sharp cider, he perched on a stool beside Sylvia and the teachers and Miss Meggs and ate.

Cross gestured at Kit with his sandwich. “Thank you, my lord. This sets the icing on our day.”

“Indeed.” Jellicoe tipped his head Kit’s way. “I have to own to being amazed. I would never have imagined we could shift the entire school in less than a day. And with no fuss, much less major dramas.” Jellicoe gestured widely with his mug. “This took teamwork—and is an excellent lesson for the boys in what can be accomplished when we all pull together.”

The others, Kit included, nodded.

From the corner of his eye, he watched Sylvia nibble delicately on a sandwich...

He shifted on the stool and told himself to focus on something else.

Such as Cavanaugh Yachts and what more he could do to move things along.

The answer was: not a great deal at this moment in time.

Strangely, he felt comfortably resigned to that.

He’d been facing a day of frustrating inactivity as far as getting the workshop under way, but thanks to Sylvia and the school and all who had crossed his path that day, he was feeling content in the sense of having achieved something worthwhile.