Chapter Twenty-One
The men dined with them in the nursery and then they all played jackstraws. Pip probably ought to have read from the Bible given that it was a Sunday, but her father had allowed gentle entertainments on Sundays, and anyway, what was the harm in jackstraws and laughter? It did the girls good. It did them all good.
After the girls had gone to bed, Newingham stirred the jackstraws on the table. He was frowning. Not the frown of mock outrage that he’d worn when Fanny had beaten him yet again, but a real frown. “I wish . . .” he said.
Mr. Pryor leaned back in his chair. “What?”
The frown on Newingham’s face deepened, pulling his eyebrows together. He pursed his lips, then shook his head.
“Out with it, Bunny,” Lord Octavius said.
“I wish the girls didn’t live with Rumpol
