“Something like that, but more as well. You would live on the premises. We have a cook, housekeeper, and some other domestics. The laundresses come around on Mondays, and the men take care of the heavier work themselves. They need somebody to preside over meals, hold parade inspections, schedule chores, rebuke excessive profanity, that sort of thing.”

“A headmistress, then.”

“I had a mother and a sister to guide me onto the path of gentlemanly manners, and for a time, a father. Even my rapscallion cousin was some help when it came to tying cravats or lighting cheroots. These men have nobody, and they are willing to learn. They simply know more of marching and fighting than of holding doors or doffing their caps.”

“You should help them, Mama,” Tommie said. “I’m not grown up yet, but I know all about escorting a lady now. Nobody likes to feel stupid.”

Mrs. Merridew considered the boy for a long, quiet moment. Out of the mouths of babes…

“Let us proceed,” she said, “on a trial basis. I will do what I can with your recruits for, say, thirty days, and then we will reevaluate. If I am effective, they might not need me for much longer than that.”

She truly had no sense of her own appeal. If she was effective, the men would devise strategies for keeping her on the premises until they were all proficient in French, drawing, pianoforte, and the quadrille.

“I cannot express clearly enough how relieved I am to have your assistance,” Tremont said. “Will fifty pounds do?”

She studied her tea cup. “Per annum?”

Did she rate herself on a par with tippling bachelor curates relegated to obscure rural pulpits? “I had that amount in mind for the first month. Don’t say it’s too much until you’ve met the men.”

“Very well, I won’t. I will also reserve judgment until you and I have agreed upon a curriculum of sorts. Are these men literate?”

“Some of them.”

“I can write my name,” Tommie said, looking up from his cup of chocolate. “Mama makes me practice, and the letter T is my favorite. I write the T and the M grown up. The other letters are small.”

“Capital,” Mrs. Merridew said. “The big letters are capital, majuscule, or uppercase. The others are small, minuscule, or lowercase.”

“Why does one letter have three names?” Tommie asked. “Why not just big and little, like people?”

Tremont wanted to put a hand over the boy’s mouth, because Mrs. Merridew had not agreed to any stated compensation, and that term mattered. A contract was not binding unless consideration—such as a promise of payment—was offered and accepted.

“People have several names too,” Mrs. Merridew pointed out. “I am Matilda, Mrs. Merridew, and Mama, depending on who addresses me. You’d best finish that chocolate before somebody comes around to clear the dishes.”