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stories very interesting, each in its own way. I hope you’ll write more.”
    Gimlet eyes drilled into me. The boys simultaneously took another bite of food
    and a sip from their glasses of milk. Their unison movements were more than a little unsettling, especially since I was already on edge.
    “I thought after lunch we’d have a crack at arithmetic.” I lowered my voice
    confidentially. “Not my strong suit, I must admit. Perhaps we can invent ways to make numbers more entertaining.” I fired off a dazzling smile, which was met again with disappointing results—blank stares. Apparently my charm would do nothing for me here in this grim house.
    All of us had apparently worked up an appetite running around outdoors earlier.
    In a trice, all plates were emptied and the trays set aside. It was time for me to engage my students once more. Learning times tables could be deadly dull, so I determined not to fossilize my students by making them recite the tables aloud.
    The scattershot teaching method I’d invented outdoors seemed to have gained
    their attention, so I employed something similar. I wrote simple addition, subtraction, and multiplication problems on the chalkboard and rewarded points toward a prize to the first boy to come up with the correct answer—on paper, since Clive wouldn’t speak. I was relieved that the boys’ hands shot up rapidly as they raced to outdo each other.
    It seemed Clive was better with numbers, or at least faster, and in the end, he won the prize—the only thing from my luggage remotely appropriate, a small bag of candies.
    Clive took the paper sack, opened it, and poured his booty on the table. Then he carefully split the hard candies into two piles, keeping mints for himself and pushing a smaller pile of butterscotches to his brother.
    “Well done!” I approved his sharing and fished around in my mind for a way to
    fill the next segment of time. A movement at the door caught my attention. The footman who’d carried my luggage the previous night hovered in the doorway. Pinheaded Tommy goggled at us, then silently came in to remove the lunch trays.
    “Do you like to draw?” I asked the boys. “I’ll admit it’s one of my favorite ways
    to pass the time. If you like, I can show you the technique for perspective drawing.”
    I passed out sheets of paper and the pens and inkwells from the supply shelf and
    began to demonstrate setting a horizon point and using a ruler to draw buildings receding into the distance. The boys set to work, blond heads bowed, pen nibs scratching at paper, and I turned to my own notebook, intending to jot down at least the beginning of my story in case they should ask to see it. I didn’t want my ruse to get them to write to be uncovered.
    Tommy still lingered over picking up the trays, a job which should’ve taken no
    more than a moment. His gaze roamed over the stark black lines the twins made on the white paper. I could see the eager interest in his eyes, as well as more intelligence than I’d suspected upon meeting him.
    “You like to draw too?” I asked. “Sit down. I’ll get you some paper.”
    I knew my offer to let him draw with the young masters was inappropriate.
    Tommy was a mere footman—and apparently the only one in the house from what I’d
    seen so far. But it could do no harm to indulge the lad in a moment’s leisure. Whatever tasks he had waiting for him couldn’t be that pressing: blacking shoes or polishing silver, perhaps beating the carpets. The staffing at this place seemed very strange. Shouldn’t they have more than a meager handful of servants? And wasn’t it unusual to hire someone like Tom in a grand house such as this?
    At first, it seemed Tom would flee at my offer. He shook his head and reached for
    a tray. But when I laid a blank sheet of paper and another bottle of ink on the table, he sank into the chair on Whit’s left and picked up the pen.
    Both boys glanced at him, then returned to their own projects,