The Prisoner by Karyn Monk Page B

knew about servin’ and cleaning up after crowds of people and such.”
    Haydon looked at Oliver. “What about you?”
    â€œWell, lad, I’m proud to say I’m the only true professional amongst the lot of us, descended from a long and distinguished line,” Oliver declared loftily.
    â€œYour father was a butler?” said Haydon, somewhat astonished.
    â€œA thief,” Oliver corrected him, amused. “And one of the best in the county of Argyll, I might add. Began teachin’ me the family business when I was but a wee lad of seven. I could ask a gentleman, ‘What time is it, sir?’ an’ lift his watch and billfold before he’d finished giving me the answer,” he boasted, chuckling. “Because I had an uncommon talent for it, my da had me breakin’ into houses and robbing coaches at an early age. There isn’t a lock in all of Inveraray I can’t get past. ’Course there’s no honor to it anymore,” he finished, scratching his white head wistfully. “Thieves today just bob a pistol or a blade about and terrify people into givin’ everything over. I ask ye, where’s the bloody sport in that?”
    â€œAnd Miss MacPhail took you from the prison as well?”
    Oliver’s expression softened. “Like a bonny angel she was,” he said. “Cold had seeped into my bones in that miserable place, and I was plagued with a nasty cough that made me sure I was about to take my dying breath. And she marched into my cell and asked but one thing: Did I like children?”
    Haydon absorbed this in silence. How had one small slip of a girl found the strength and the resources to salvage the shattered lives of all these people? he wondered. And how did she manage to support all of them? Clearly money was tight, as was evident by Eunice’s thrifty approach to meal preparation. These three were obviously not paid much, but even so, to maintain a home and feed, clothe, and otherwise provide for ten people would be very costly. And that cost was only exacerbated by his presence, he suddenly realized. A stab of guilt penetrated his reflections. It was Genevieve’s uncommon concern for others that had enabled him to lie shivering upon her bed for the past three days, just one step ahead of the law.
    He needed to get out of here soon, before his presence placed her and her family in any further danger.
    â€œWell, laddie, if ye’ve eaten enough to tide ye over ’til dinner, ye’d best be thinkin’ about getting yerself back in bed,” Oliver suggested. “If Miss Genevieve were to come home and find ye wandering around naked but for a plaid about yer waist, I’m sure she’d have somethin’ to say about it.”
    â€œWhat time will she and the children return?”
    â€œShe usually takes them to a tearoom after their gallery visit, where they have to mind their manners and sit still and learn how to behave in public,” said Doreen, banging her pot of mutilated carrots on the stove. “They’ll likely be gone another two hours or more.”
    Haydon rubbed the dark growth of beard on his chin. “It appears I am in need of a shave and some clothing.” He raised an inquiring brow to Oliver. “Do you think you might have something that would fit me?”
    â€œOnly if ye dinna mind havin’ yer shirts stop at yer elbows and yer trousers end at yer shins,” he joked, amused by the idea. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll have to do a sight better than that if we don’t want to have ye arrested for indecency.”
    â€œWhat about the viscount’s clothes?” suggested Doreen. “There’s two whole trunks of them up in the attic. Very fine things, too, I might add—Miss Genevieve has been keeping them so that the boys might wear them one day, providin’ the fashions haven’t changed overmuch.”
    â€œWell, now, that just might