I held back, unsure, as the other boys took their places, and then I sat in the remaining chair, the one to Mr. Lincoln’s left, next to the globe. A woman, who I later learned was called Athena—but who seemed as little like the Greek goddess as I could imagine a woman to be; perhaps Mr. Lincoln had given her a new name too—brought coffee in mugs for the three of us, and a plate of bread, which the other two fell to pulling apart, leaving barely a crust for me. Mr. Lincoln seemed not to notice, and I took my crust and dunked it into my coffee and hoped my stomach would not complain too vociferously.
“Your father is a gentleman,” Mr. Lincoln said, looking at me over his spectacles.
The other two stared at me. “I believe so, sir,” I said.
“But he is also in trade.”
The boy called Touch looked down at his mug, but Carrot continued to watch me, his eyes slightly narrowing at this last.
“I suppose he is,” I bumbled on, too inexperienced to understand the disapproval the phrase might carry.
“He has business interests,” Mr. Lincoln went on. “In Liverpool, I believe.”
I hesitated.
“Not in Liverpool?” he asked, his eyebrows rising.
“I think he has some business in Jamaica as well, sir,” I said, unsure what, exactly, was the case. I felt as vulnerable as one of Rowland’s mounted butterflies.
“Jamaica,” he said, “hmm.” Then: “Do you know where that is?”
“No, sir.”
“No, sir, what?”
Panic rose, but nothing came out of my mouth.
“One must speak civilly at all times,” Mr. Lincoln admonished, ignoring my discomfort. “A gentleman does not give the shortest possible answer to a question if he is able to phrase it in a more comprehensive manner. ‘No, sir, I do not know’ is an acceptable response to such a question, although it is the least acceptable of all possible ones.” He was still staring at me over his spectacles, and I could hear the other two sniggering into their hands.
“No, sir, I do not know where that is,” I said.
“And why not?”
“I hadn’t a map that showed it, sir.” Not that I would have thought to look for it if I’d had one.
“Not even a globe?” he demanded.
“No, sir, not even a globe.” At that, I felt a quick nudge of my foot under the table, and I glanced at the two boys, who were both gazing at me, but I did not know whose foot had touched mine, nor what it had meant.
Mr. Lincoln took a swallow of his coffee and rapped the table with his knuckle. The woman came and refilled his mug. “You’re a quick learner, I’ll say that for you,” he said to me. Turning to the others, he asked, “What do we know about Jamaica?”
There was a moment of silence, and then Carrot said, “I don’t know anything, sir. Except where it is.”
“I don’t know anything either, sir,” Touch said, the first words from his mouth that I had heard. His voice sounded rusty, as if from lack of use.
Mr. Lincoln turned to the globe and gave it a spin. “Here we are in England,” he said, pointing a broad finger. Then he looked closely at me. “Do you know where London is?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” I laid a finger on the globe.
“No!” he shouted. “One does not touch a globe with what undoubtedly are greasy fingers!” He pulled out a pocket-handkerchief and rubbed my filth from the face of England.
“I’m sorry, sir,” I said.
He stared steadily at me, and I wished I could melt into my shoes, and then he said, “How far from London are we on the globe—if you can tell me without touching it?”
I looked at the globe, afraid to bring my finger close to it, and unable to understand what he was asking.
“How far?” he asked again, leaning forward. “A finger’s breadth, two fingers?”
It was a large globe, but still, England is a small country. “It’s a finger’s breadth, I think, sir,” I said.
To my great relief, Mr. Lincoln turned to Carrot. “And where is Jamaica? You said you knew that?”
“Yes, sir, I do know.” He pulled a handkerchief from his own pocket and, with it covering his hand, as he had evidently been taught to do, he turned the globe, located the place, and pointed, his finger close to but not actually touching the globe’s surface. “Here is Jamaica, sir, in the Caribbean Ocean.”
“And how far is that from us, would you think?” Mr. Lincoln asked me. “How many handspans?”
I had no idea.
“Well?”
“Would that be my handspans or yours, sir?” I asked, playing for time.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “It’s goodly far. Not a distance one travels on a whim. You understand that, I suppose. And what do you know of Jamaica, other than that your father has business there?”