The Last Garden in England(32)

“And then it was only Bobby and me left,” Robin jumped in.

“Symonds,” Mr. Evans warned again.

“Let him speak,” said Mrs. Symonds in a quiet, firm tone Stella knew only too well.

“We bet a sixpence that we could run fastest,” said Robin.

Stella bit her lip. She knew for a fact that Bobby didn’t have a sixpence to bet because, although Joan had packed Bobby’s ration book in his little case, she hadn’t left a cent to help pay for things like his books. Those fees had come out of Stella’s savings.

“I was winning,” said Bobby, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Then I tripped him,” Robin finished, matter-of-fact.

“You tripped him? Why would you do that, Robin?” his mother asked.

Robin shrugged. “He was winning.”

“That is not a gentlemanly thing to do,” Mrs. Symonds scolded.

“He didn’t trip me, I fell down,” said Bobby quickly.

“No, you didn’t. I tripped you, and then you punched me,” said Robin, as though that explained everything.

“Two teachers had to pull the boys apart from one another,” said the headmaster.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Evans. Bobby is usually such a well-behaved boy,” said Stella.

“And so is Robin,” said Mrs. Symonds.

“I’m afraid the boys will need to be punished,” said Mr. Evans.

“If you think that you will be responsible for doling out that punishment, you are sorely mistaken, Mr. Evans,” said Mrs. Symonds, her voice polished as steel.

Mr. Evans sighed. “Mrs. Symonds, there is nothing to be gained from leniency in these sorts of affairs. Boys must learn—”

“I will not tolerate you or anyone else striking my son.” Mrs. Symonds glanced at Stella. “And given that I believe what is fair is fair, neither will Bobby face that punishment.”

“Mrs. Symonds, both boys—”

“Will be punished, you have my reassurance. Now, if that will be all.”

Sputtering, Mr. Evans half rose from his desk, but by then Mrs. Symonds had already gripped her son’s hand and was leading him out. Stella bid the headmaster a hasty goodbye and grasped Bobby by the elbow.

“Are you truly okay?” she whispered as she helped Bobby ease on his coat and collect his satchel out in the reception.

“Yes,” said Bobby, more cheerful than she’d heard him since he’d arrived at Highbury House.

“Do you like Master Robin?”

“We’re friends. He lets me play with his toys, and I help him run. He doesn’t have to stop anymore. Nanny doesn’t know, but we’re going to show her.”

Outside, Stella found Mrs. Symonds waiting with Robin, who was crouched down, examining a bug crawling on the brick wall of the school.

A lump rose up in Stella’s throat again. It wasn’t fair, but she knew what was expected—even if Robin had been the one to start the fight. He was to the manor born, and Bobby was just a little boy with a cook for an aunt.

She put a hand on her nephew’s shoulder. “Bobby, you must apologize to Master Robin and Mrs. Symonds.”

“We’re friends,” said Robin. “I’m going to teach him how to throw a cricket ball.”

“It’s true, Aunt Stella,” said Bobby.

“Well, in that case, it will be even easier for you to both apologize to one another, won’t it?” asked Mrs. Symonds.

The boys muttered hurried, insincere apologies. They weren’t sorry for what they’d done. They were just being boys.

Stella was about to grab Bobby’s hand and say their goodbyes before walking the long way back to the house—alone—when Mrs. Symonds said, “Robin, why don’t you run ahead with Bobby? Miss Adderton and I would like to talk.”

Bobby broke free from Stella’s grasp, laughing as he ran down the pavement with Robin, their friendship newly solidified. Her hand fell away. A child in a cook’s care did not harm the heir of the house. She should’ve reminded Bobby of that, but Stella hadn’t thought it was necessary. The separation between people like Bobby and people like Robin was so great, the rules felt self-evident.

Mrs. Symonds cleared her throat. “Miss Adderton,” she started slowly, “I believe I owe you an apology, even if my son doesn’t seem to think that one is necessary.”

“You? Owe me?” she stumbled in shock.

“I understand the very difficult position that Robin put you in by acting so disgracefully with Bobby. I can assure you that he will receive a fitting punishment.” Mrs. Symonds tilted her head as she watched the boys meander off down the road. “I think that some time spent weeding in the garden would suffice. Two weeks after school should do it, I think. Robin does so hate the wet, and this is such a wet time of year.”

“Could Bobby join him?” Stella asked.

A slight smile touched Mrs. Symonds’s lips. “I’m certain there are more than enough weeds in Highbury for two punishments.”

Mrs. Symonds began to walk, glancing back at Stella as though she expected her to join. Stella frowned deep. The stuck-up, stuffy lady who demanded preposterous things like a cheese soufflé for a Sir Something or Another and his wife wanted to walk with her.