Phillip sat beside the young boy, his large hand gently covering Bertie’s smaller one, helping the child form the letters of his name. The lines were shaky, but the letters were recognizable.
“Excellent, Bertie. Now, can you do it by yourself?”
The six-year-old nodded and pursed his lips as he gripped the chalk tightly and concentrated on his task.
Phillip wasn’t sure how he’d come to actually help Amelia in this makeshift schoolroom. He’d merely wanted to see that she’d received the supplies he had sent. And then suddenly she’d had to deal with a little girl’s tears, and Bertie had needed help. She’d turned to him, but he’d hesitated. He’d turned to her footman, who had shrugged.
“Beggin’ Your Grace’s pardon,” Giles had said. “I’d like to help, but I can’t read. I help Lady Amelia carry her supplies and watch out for pickpockets and lowlife, but I can’t help her in here.”
With a sigh, Phillip had seated himself next to the child, showing Bertie again and again how to form the letters of his name.
A sixth sense made him twist around. Behind their bench, a man watched intently as Bertie worked. One hand was raised, his index finger tracing a path in the air. Was he Bertie’s father? He didn’t bear any resemblance to the child.
The man must have felt the duke watching him, because he abruptly put his hand down and lowered his eyes. His cheeks reddened. “Sorry, Yer Grace. Since me little neighbor Bertie and me share the same name, I thought so’s I’d learn along with ’im how ta write it. That way, I can sign me own name rather than just a mark.”
Phillip’s mind whirled at the man’s words. Reading and writing were so much a part of his life that he couldn’t imagine not having the ability to do so. And being able to sign one’s own name to a document was a basic skill this man didn’t have.
“I have an extra slate and some chalk,” he told the older Bertie. “Why don’t you sit down and join us?”
The older Bertie’s jaw dropped. “Me? Sittin’ down wi’ a duke? Truly, Yer Grace?”
“Truly. I’d be honored to help you.”
Big Bertie promptly plopped himself on Phillip’s other side. “Thank ye, Yer Grace,” he said. “Me name’s Bertie Jones, and if ye ever need yer chimney swept, I’m yer man.” He was soon hard at work writing the letters of his name, his face as determined as the younger Bertie’s.
The boy finally finished writing the last letter and looked up with pride shining from his dark eyes. “I wrote my name all by myself,” he bragged. “Mama will be so proud of me.”
Phillip shared in the boy’s joy. “Perhaps she’ll give you a treat.”
Bertie’s face fell. “Maybe. If Mama can get enough washing to buy food this week.”
“What about your father?”
“Papa is sick. He got hurt at his work. He has marks like yours all over his whole body.” He pointed to the scars on Phillip’s face.
“How did he get them?”
“He was working in a factory, and the furnace exploded. Now he can’t walk. Mostly he just stays in the bed because he can’t see and he can hardly hear.” Bertie reached up and gently traced a scar on Phillip’s cheek. “Does it hurt?”
Phillip shook his head. “Not anymore.”
Bertie nodded. “Mama said someday soon Papa’s sores won’t hurt him anymore.” He turned his hopeful eyes back to Phillip’s. “Do you think that will be soon?”
Phillip’s heart ached. Bertie’s father didn’t have long to live. What were a few facial scars compared to the agony this boy’s father had had to endure? He swallowed. “I hope so, Bertie. I sincerely hope so.”
~~~~
“Thank you again for helping little Bertie Crabtree, Your Grace,” Amelia said as he escorted her out of the cathedral to his waiting carriage. “I know he looked up to you. He misses interaction with his father.”
“Yes, he told me about his father’s accident. I would like to do something to help his family.”
“How generous of you, Your Grace. I know they would appreciate your donation.”
“I could donate, but I thought perhaps I would see if Bertie’s mother could join my household staff. He told me she presently takes in washing.”
Amelia stopped in her tracks. “What a wonderful idea! I’m sure that would help the family immensely. I’ve been trying to think of ways to help the students and their families. But giving them positions would benefit them so much more than simply giving them food and money.”
Her mind raced with new ideas. She bubbled with excitement as he handed her into the carriage. “I can’t offer positions to every family, but I think I can persuade Mrs. Garrett, our housekeeper, into hiring one or two more maids. And I shall speak to some of my friends, too. They’re always complaining about how difficult it is to get good help. I shall have to gather the children’s parents together and find out what their talents are. If there are men who have training of any kind that will make them more marketable…”
Before she knew it, they had arrived back at Sudbury House, and she bade the duke a good night. She went straight to her room and gathered her writing materials. There was work to be done.