Page 11

After he readied for sleep and headed to the sofa, though, he noticed the food he had sent up for her earlier still sat untouched. She must have fallen asleep before she’d had a chance to eat.

Thus, the next morning, Ollie slipped out and went to the bakery down the block. He had no idea what she liked, so he bought several different muffins, scones, and anything else that looked appetizing.

When Ollie returned to the pub, he was surprised to find Victor there already.

“Do you ever go home?” Ollie asked, irritated.

Victor gave him a look of mild annoyance. “Of course I do. I couldn’t fall back to sleep when I awoke this morning and decided to come in here and really dig into how much you lost us yesterday.”

Ollie’s face went hot.

Victor began scribbling a pencil across a sheet of paper. He was doing some complicated calculations that, to Ollie, may as well have been a foreign language. Then with a flourish, Victor finished and turned the paper to face Ollie, circling a large number at the bottom.

“What is that?” Ollie asked, uneasy.

“That’s how much money we lost yesterday because of you.

As you can see, it is not insignificant.

Now, I know you think money flows endless like a river, as that’s what our grandparents have led you to believe, but in the real world, money is not endless and if you lose too much of it, you lose your home and the food on your table. Then you end up living on the streets.”

Ollie had to bite the inside of his cheek. The loss from yesterday had been far, far higher than they’d initially estimated.

“I’m hiring extra help for the next few weeks,” Victor said.

“Why?”

“Because you cannot step foot in here until we’ve recovered financially.”

Ollie squeezed the paper bakery bag in his hand when Victor shoved the piece of paper at Ollie’s face. “I am not paying you to destroy my business and my livelihood because you’re too daft to function!”

Ollie clenched his jaw tight. It was just as much Ollie’s business as it was Victor’s. But how could he speak up in this moment? Victor was right. Ollie was not smart, and it wasn’t a big secret.

“Look, why don’t I just pay you for what happened today? It is a lot, but I can cover it, too.”

“No,” Victor replied in a dark voice. “As I’ve already said, that defeats the purpose.”

“But—”

“Also…” Victor pulled a newspaper out from under the bartop and slapped it down. “Miss Sparrow needs to leave the premises.”

Raw anger flooded Ollie now. Who the blazes did Victor think he was? How could he cast off a woman in a desperate situation like that?

But then, Ollie looked down at the newspaper. And what he found made his heart stop.

In bold letters at the top was Family of Runaway Bride Offers Reward for Her Return

And below that was a picture of Evelyn. Ollie didn’t bother reading the article—he couldn’t stomach it—and slid the newspaper back to Victor.

It wasn’t so long ago that the newspapers had hounded his sister-in-law when she’d unexpectedly inherited a fortune.

And then, the fire that had burned down The Harp & Thistle.

Now they were harassing Evelyn, too? “Is this your plan to recover financially from my stupidity? Turning Miss Sparrow in for a reward?”

Victor crossed his arms. “No. But I also will not house a fugitive. She must leave today.”

“She’s not a fugitive !”

“She may as well be. All of London will be looking for her at that price. She needs to go back to her family, Ollie.” Victor’s face softened ever so slightly. “I am sorry for her predicament, but there is nothing we can do to help her. Surely, you understand that?”

Ollie shot Victor several choice words, grabbed the newspaper, and stormed up the stairs.

When he opened the door and headed in, he was surprised to find Evelyn appearing from the hallway. She wore a nightgown, and her hair was adorably messy, but she seemed to glow with rest. “There you are, Ollie. I just woke up and didn’t know where you were.”

He swallowed hard and tossed the paper bag and newspaper on the table before cleaning up the old food. The ire roused from Victor was replaced with the concern he had for Evelyn. “I saw you didn’t eat last night, so I ran out to get breakfast.”

Evelyn opened the bag and pulled out a muffin.

“Thank you, Ollie. I meant to, after I’d gone to lie down for only a short while, but I fell asleep for the night instead.

Apparently, sprinting about London in the rain makes one quite tired.

” She met his eye for a moment and concern pulled at her brow.

“Are you cross with me? You look upset.”

Ollie rubbed a palm over his jaw. “No. I had some words with Victor is all.”

Evelyn took a thoughtful bite of her muffin, chewed, and swallowed. “Does he ever go home?”

Ollie chuckled, but the seriousness of the matter cut it short. “I, apparently, am not allowed to return to work for some time.”

Evelyn took a seat at the table and motioned for Ollie to join. He did and grabbed a muffin for himself.

“Tell me what happened,” she said before taking another bite.

And he did. How daft she must have thought he was! “I can’t believe I bungled everything so badly,” he said, feeling sick. “It’s one thing to break a glass, or charge one order wrong, or miscount change one or two times. But how does someone make as many mistakes as I did?”

“I’m sorry, Ollie.” Evelyn gave him a look of regret. “Wasn’t it you, though, who said everything always has a way of working itself out?”

He shifted. “Yes. And it will work out eventually. But I’ve always gotten such little respect from Victor, and even Dantes sometimes. I really don’t think they’ll look at me the same again after this.”

“Does that matter to you? What your brothers think of you?”

This question surprised him. “Of course it does. Doesn’t it matter to you what your family thinks of you? At least, to some degree?”

Evelyn seemed to be contemplating this question as she took another thoughtful bite of her muffin and chewed slowly.

This seemed to be a good time to bring up the reward. Ollie pulled over the newspaper but didn’t flip it to reveal the article about her just yet. “There’s something else you should probably know.”

She froze mid-chew and set the muffin down, then took a big swallow. “What is it, Ollie?”

As it would be better for her to read for herself than have him explain it to her he, hesitantly, turned the newspaper over so she could see the article.

Ollie watched as she read through it, her eyes darting quickly across the page. Her face paled, her lip quivered, then her shoulders tensed.

He had to give her credit, though. After the news had sunk in, she steeled herself, clasped her fingers together, and set her hands on the table. “It appears we both have our own predicaments.”

Ollie rubbed at his jaw again. Now he had to make it all worse for her. “Yes, and unfortunately, because of that bit of news, Victor wants you out today.”

Her face fell. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.” Losing his appetite, Ollie set his muffin to the side, suddenly disgusted by it.

“None of this is your fault. You don’t need to apologize.”

“That may well be true, but it doesn’t make either one of us feel better about it, though, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” Evelyn sunk back in her chair and stared out the window in thought.

He could see the inner workings of her mind whirring as she tried to calculate her next move.

It was endlessly fascinating when her mind went to work like this.

There had been many a time where, at the museum, she’d focus on a niche art history subject and talk to him about it for seemingly hours, with that same concentration that enveloped her now.

“I’ve been trying to think of what to do and I will admit I’m at a complete loss,” Evelyn admitted, still staring out the window. “I was hoping I would be able to figure that out while staying here, but unfortunately, it appears my time is up.”

“Out of curiosity,” he hesitated, “what would happen if you returned home today?”

She began picking invisible crumbs up from the table surface. “Oh, there would be lots of shouting, and then I’d have to marry the earl regardless of my escape.” She looked up. “Basically, the longer I stay away, the longer I delay the inevitable.”

Ollie frowned. “What are you saying, that you’re going to go home today?”

“What else could I do?”

“You don’t have friends you could stay with?”

“None who would be able to keep me hidden from my family—they know who my friends are. And even if they did take me in, what am I supposed to do, hide there for the remainder of my life? Plus, I really can’t hide anywhere else now.

That reward they are offering is far too high.

Few could resist something like that.” She stared down at the newspaper.

“My family is better off financially than many, but they don’t have that kind of money readily available, either.

I bet the earl is funding this.” Her bottom lip began to quiver.

“Oh, my parents must be so humiliated right now.”

Ollie nearly reached out to put his hand over hers in comfort but stopped himself, remembering how much she disliked being touched.

“Do you want me to bring you home?” Ollie said it gently, hating the thought, but if that was what Evelyn wanted, what was he supposed to do?

Evelyn smiled, but it was more pitying than anything.

“It appears I have no choice.” And with that, she rose up.

“I should go wash up and get dressed.” She paused and turned back to face him.

“You will bring me home, though? I think I may be able to get through the cab ride if you’re with me.

I understand if you don’t wish to, though.

It will cause an uproar if anyone discovered us together without a chaperone. ”

Ollie shrugged, not one to care much about lack of chaperones. “If that’s what you want, it’s the least I can do.” Since he’d failed at giving her the help he had promised.

“You’ve done plenty already, Ollie. Thank you. Truly.” And with that, Evelyn hurried off.

Ollie stared at the spot where she’d disappeared into the hallway. There was a feeling of despair left behind. Needing to distract himself from it, Ollie picked up the newspaper, ignoring the article about Evelyn, and began to read. One particular article caught his interest.

The Signature Swindler Strikes Again!

For the past few years, London has been hit by a rash of burglaries and last night was business as usual in that regard. The Signature Swindler, London’s most famous thief, has struck again, shocking Scotland Yard with a new boldness: fine art theft.

An art heist! How fascinating. Ollie continued reading, eager to know the rest.

For some time, the Signature Swindler has stolen small but high-value items such as jewelry and pocket watches from their respective stores and wealthy owners. But with increased confidence, the thief appears to have moved on to bigger, more valuable objects.

The museum director at the Bethnal Green Museum was making his morning rounds when he discovered three highly prized paintings had been stolen overnight: two Rembrandts and a Fragonard. This journalist was unable to hear between the museum director’s sobs which specific artworks had been taken.

Ollie lifted his head when he heard Evelyn return. “Look at this,” he said with a bit of excitement. “There was a heist last night.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide. “Where?”

“The Bethnal Green Museum.”

Evelyn’s shoulders fell with relief. “Oh, thank heavens it was not the National Gallery. May I see?”

Ollie handed the newspaper to her, and she read through it. “We’ve been worried about this,” Evelyn said as her eyes darted back and forth on the page.

“About what, art theft?”

“About the Signature Swindler progressing to art theft. He’s quite successful at what he does, unfortunately.”

Ollie had never heard of this particular thief before. “You’re familiar with him, then?”

Evelyn nodded vehemently. “Oh, yes, he’s been the talk of the art community for a while now. We knew it was only a matter of time until he worked his way to robbing museums.” She glanced down at the article and swallowed. “It appears now he has.”

“Why do they call him that? ‘The Signature Swindler’?”

Evelyn set the newspaper back on the table. “Rumor is he signs his name wherever he steals from.”

“Signs his name?” How strange. “Then they should be able to find him easily, don’t you think?”

Evelyn bit her lip in thought. “That’s what I’ve been wondering, too. If he leaves his signature behind, why can’t they find him? And, if he signs his name, why give him a moniker?”

“Maybe that’s the newspapers’ doing. They gave Vivian a moniker before, calling her Britain’s Richest Spinster every time they talked about her in articles.”

“I forgot about that! But yes, that is very true. Journalists do love outlandish monikers, don’t they?

But there must be a reason why they created it in the first place.

However, the police have not released any information about that.

I know people who have asked them about the roots of the moniker, and each time, the police refused to comment. ”

“What a mystery. There must be something they’re hiding from the public.”

“Oh, yes, I agree.” Evelyn stared down at the newspaper but didn’t seem to be focusing on it. Raw emotion radiated out from her, and Ollie wondered what she was thinking about. “Well, I suppose this isn’t any of my concern any longer.”

“What, the thief? Why not?”

She gave him a small smile. “Ollie, surely you understand I’ll never set foot in the museum again once I’m married to the earl. It isn’t a concern of mine that the Signature Swindler might target the National Gallery.

He frowned. “I don’t understand, actually.”

“I don’t know when the wedding will take place now, but I won’t be allowed to return to work. A countess doesn’t work. In truth, no married women from the aristocracy work.”

So, he would never see her ever again? Ollie was more distressed by this than he ever would have expected. But then he realized why: Dantes’s artwork. Yes, that must have been it. “What about my brother’s artwork?”

“I’m sure they’ll find someone to replace me.”

“But—”

Evelyn suddenly turned away, and her emotion seemed to dissipate, replaced by a hard wall. “I don’t wish to dwell on this, Ollie. Your concerns are valid, but I assure you the museum will see that the artwork continues to be worked on. Now, I must get ready to return home.”