Hightham stared at Wayland, then slowly pushed to his feet, turning as he did to face the new hull. Almost reverently, Hightham put out a hand and ran it down one of the huge ribs. “Even after I damaged the first, you’ve replaced and got on so quickly and in such fine style... It’s remarkable.”
He glanced questioningly at Wayland, who nodded. “We opened our doors at just the right time. Many of the best craftsmen have been put out of work by the shift to iron ships and steam. We’ve been able to recruit some of the very best, and they’re thrilled to work on projects such as ours. You can’t beat enthusiasm for turning out quality work.”
“I can see that.” Hightham was now studying the rib joints.
Kit could envision Hightham and Wayland standing admiring the hull for hours. Kit shifted and, when Wayland glanced his way, said, “We’ve also had a healthy dose of luck.”
Wayland read the question in Kit’s eyes: Was he sure? Wayland nodded.
Kit looked at Hightham. “John, we can offer you probation for three months. You can start on Monday. Report first to my office in King Street and see my secretary, Miss Petty. She’ll sign you on and sort out everything that needs sorting.”
Hightham looked from Kit to Wayland, then back again. “I...can’t thank you enough.” He swallowed and left it at that.
Kit tipped his head. “Just don’t let us down.”
“I won’t.” The words were a vow, one Kit and Wayland both heard.
Satisfied, Kit glanced at Wayland, who yawned and said, “Now it’s time for me to find my bed.” Wayland glanced at Hightham. “Where are you staying?”
Hightham blushed and sheepishly admitted that he hadn’t anywhere to spend the night. “I’ve a bag out on the cobbles, but... I was saving my funds for getting away quickly after I sent the keel alight.”
Wayland snorted. “I suppose that demonstrates an ability to plan ahead.” He raked his gaze over Hightham. “It might not be the most comfortable bed, but you’re welcome to the couch in my rooms for a few nights—until you can find a decent place to hang your hat.”
Hightham was learning not to waste his breath protesting their decisions; he endeavored to accept Wayland’s offer with as much humility as he could muster.
Kit left him to it and went into the office, unhooked his hammock, and rolled it up in the blanket. With the roll tucked under his arm, he walked out to join Wayland and Hightham in heading out of the doors.
Once all was shut and relocked, the three of them strode around the corner into Princes Street. Wayland’s lodgings were halfway along. Kit saw a hackney idling a little farther on. He was about to hail it when he remembered a question he needed to ask. “Hightham?” When the younger man looked at him, Kit caught his eyes. “Have you, by any chance, been watching me as I’ve been going around town? For instance, when I’ve been squiring a lady about?”
Hightham looked thoroughly confused. “No.” He added, “I’ve only been in Bristol since Sunday, and I’ve been keeping watch on the warehouse since then. I don’t even know where in King Street your office is.”
Every word rang true. Kit waved the odd question aside. “It was just a thought.” He met Wayland’s eyes. “I’ll leave you both here—I’m for that hackney and my bed.”
They exchanged quick farewells, and Kit strode for the hackney.
He slumped onto the seat, and the jarvey turned his horse and set out for Queen’s Parade.
Kit felt tiredness dragging at his wits, but forced himself to review what he now knew about Sylvia’s elusive watcher. Hightham had been totally at sea at Kit’s mention of a lady. Ergo, his hadn’t been the stare Sylvia had sensed.
No matter how Kit rearranged the facts, he kept coming up with the same highly disturbing result.
Someone else was watching Sylvia, and that someone was focused on her, not Kit.
A ridiculous compulsion to tell the jarvey to turn around and make for Mrs. Macintyre’s house reared its head. Kit considered it for several minutes, but after spending two nights in the workshop, he needed at least a few hours’ solid sleep.
“And she’s a clergyman’s daughter,” he assured himself. “She’ll go to church in the morning.”
He’d already arranged to see her in the afternoon, and fortuitously, he hadn’t stated a time.
“So I’ll be unfashionably early.”
Sylvia would be safe enough until then.
As the horse clopped on, its hooves ringing on the cobbles, his mind swung back to Hightham and the second chance he and Wayland had handed the younger man.
Second chances were all very well, but seizing a chance the first time around was infinitely wiser.
Kit wasn’t going to let his chance to secure love and happiness with Sylvia Buckleberry slip through his fingers.