“You said Cook needs more hands in the kitchen,” Tremont observed, “and we’ve already added one boy to the household. Shall we offer the post of potboy to yonder fellow, Mrs. Merridew?”

Potboy, a job at the elbow of the cook, who would prepare six meals a day if left to her own devices. Charles would be warm and well fed and might eventually apprentice to his supervisor.

“He could also see to the men’s boots on Saturday nights,” Matilda said. “Shine them up for services on Sunday.”

“Until he pikes off in the spring,” Tremont replied. “We can but try. Charles!” He motioned the boy over to the walkway, and a parley ensued. Matilda eventually divined that Charles was reluctant to become a member of any household composed primarily of men.

A reluctance she well understood. “You will work for Cook,” Matilda said, “but you will also report to me.”

Charles was trying heroically to stop his teeth from chattering. “You bide there too, missus?”

“With my son, Tommie. He’s a few years younger than you and will make a complete pest of himself if you allow that. The men are former soldiers, Charles. If they in any way treat you ill, they will have me to answer to.”

“And me,” Tremont said. “To say nothing of what our housekeeper, Mrs. Winklebleck, would do to them.”

Charles’s grimy countenance brightened. “Big Nan is your housekeeper?”

“She is Mrs. Winklebleck now,” Matilda said, “and a more cheerful housekeeper you never did meet. Please say you will assist us, Charles, or least give it a try.”

“I’ll lose me patch,” the boy said. “If I’m gone three days, some other lad’ll take me patch. That’s the rule. A fellow can miss on Sundays, and he can take ill for a day or two while the other boys keep his corner tidy, but three days straight means he’s given up his patch.”

Harry had known such rules, and he’d also made up his share. “If you come work with us,” Matilda said, “I will teach you to read and write. I will show you how to drive the pony cart. You will have more than coin to show for your labors, Charles. You will have skills.”

“My ma could write,” Charles said, sniffing as snowflakes dusted his dark hair. “Some.”

“Why don’t you look the place over?” Tremont said. “You know where it is?”

“Aye.”

“Reconnaissance is a vital part of any successful mission,” the earl went on, “and you shouldn’t accept the job without some idea of what you’re getting into. Tell Cook we’re taking you on, have her show you where you’d sleep and what your duties would be. Make up your own mind. Nobody will steal your patch if you take a day or two to do that, and this weather will soon have the streets cleared in any case.”