Six short days we have, laughing, playing with the bat and ball. But then Master Augustus’ sister is well enough to travel, and I must go back to my feather duster. Mrs Cox says it will not do for me to cry when he goes; I think someone has told him the same thing. But I can see tears in his eyes, as I curtsy my farewell. Awkwardly he shakes my hand, folding my fingers over my palm. ‘When I am grown up, you … you must come and be my housekeeper,’ he says in a rush. ‘Please.’ Quickly he taps my clasped hand. ‘Buy some books!’
I know I mustn’t call him Gussie in front of his mama. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’ I curtsy again and back away from the barouche in which he is to travel. I stand with the other servants to wave. The barouche is already moving when he calls, ‘And this is for you too! One-handed, Harry!’
So I obey. With my left hand. The ball is mine. Mine. I smile and wave even harder. ‘Goodbye, Gussie!’
The two golden guineas Gussie put into my right hand will go into my box. And so will what I will treasure even more: the ball I caught.