Sarah and Giles spent Thursday in the shop. For the first couple of hours, she berated herself for not seeing Munro off at The Swan. He probably expected her, but she was afraid she would dissolve into tears and beg him not to go.

Giles pouted for most of the morning, obviously upset over Munro’s absence.

Tiring of his sulking, she sent him off to buy food. When he returned with pickled eggs and bread, she closed the shop for the usual half hour luncheon.

They ate together in the workroom, Giles perched on his pallet, Sarah standing at the counter.

“What have we learned from the Battersby episode?” she asked, anxious to get him talking again.

“Never trust a prefect,” he replied with a grin.

“Seriously,” she retorted, glad to see a smile.

He scratched his head. “You put the remedy in your pocket as soon as it was sealed, and didn’t let it out of your possession until you gave it to Mr. Battersby.”

“Yes, good. That way you and I both knew it hadn’t been tampered with. What else?”

“You shouldn’t have let the headmaster give the opened packet to Addison.”

She shivered. It was a reality she’d nagged herself over. “Or I should at least have warned him about losing sight of it.”

Giles swallowed his food. “But how were you to know what would happen?”

“I didn’t trust the sly look in Addison’s eyes.”

Giles scoffed. “He always looks like that.”

They finished their meal in silence, then Sarah broached the subject of the future. “I don’t suppose you’d want to go back to the school?”

He gritted his teeth. “Never. I like it here.”

“You could go on to university.”

He gave that some thought, then shook his head. “I’d like to study at university, like Mr. Pendray, but chances are Battersby will be even meaner now. He’d see to it I never got the chance.”

She ought to mention the likelihood the shop would close in the not too distant future, but didn’t have the heart.

Custom was surprisingly brisk in the afternoon. It seemed the entire neighborhood had heard about Addison’s crime. Some voiced the opinion it was to be expected of a spoiled brat raised by a wealthy father. Others lamented the falling standards of a prestigious school. All assured Sarah they didn’t believe for a moment she was involved, and patted Giles on the head for his willingness to sacrifice himself to save her.

Grove brought the news that Battersby was recovering. Sarah was immensely relieved. Her apprentice excused himself to use the privy and returned ten minutes later with red-rimmed eyes.

The evening shadows were lengthening when she locked up. Fraternizing with apprentices was frowned upon in the profession, but she couldn’t face eating alone. “We’ll have a quick supper upstairs,” she told Giles. “Then I’m for bed.”

“Me too,” he replied with a yawn. “This was a long day. Can’t wait for Mr. Pendray to come back.”

The other three passengers on the Shrewsbury coach probably thought Munro was the gruffest person they’d ever met, but he didn’t feel like conversing with anyone. He feigned sleep for most of the day, arms folded across his chest, legs sprawled. For the first two hours, he pouted because Sarah hadn’t come to see him off.

Then he turned his ire on Giles. The lad could at least have made the effort to…he stopped in mid-thought…there was no guarantee Giles even knew he’d left. He swallowed the lump of regret in his throat. He should have bid the boy farewell, tousled his curls, assured him he’d be back.

By the time the coach pulled into the torch-lit courtyard of The Lion, he was thoroughly annoyed with himself. This love business was turning a jovial, friendly fellow into a sulking oaf who seemingly couldn’t control the persistent hardening of his tarse whenever he thought of Sarah, which was every moment of the day, and night.

He barely exchanged a word with the buxom landlady who handed him a key and directed him to a room. He groaned inwardly when he set eyes on the urchin assigned to carry up his bag. The child was a six-year-old red-headed replica of Giles, who could barely lift the satchel, hampered as he was by a candle-lantern in the other hand.

“I’ll take both,” he whispered, handing the servant a penny when they were out of the landlady’s hearing. It was tempting to ask how long the boy had been at work, likely since dawn, but there was nothing he could do about it anyway. Prior to the journey to King Charles’ court, he’d never traveled far from Kilmer, except to go to university. It was a sad truth he’d been ignorant of the plight of children working long hours.

He tossed his luggage onto the wooden chair, paying scant attention to the room’s amenities, and toyed with the idea of going straight to bed. His appetite had fled.

However, having eaten nothing all day and faced with the likelihood the morrow would involve a lot of walking, he blew out the candle and made his way to the dining room.