Page 4

T he morning after Miss Sparrow had cried in the supply closet, Ollie McNab woke up early—normally, he rose at noon since his job required him to stay up until the early morning hours—and went back to the museum to check on her under the guise he was checking on the artwork again, as he so often did.

But she wasn’t there. And no one knew where she was, either.

Mr. Burlington and Mr. Currow accused her of being irresponsible and had a few choice words about her unexplained absence. But to Ollie, nothing about her seemed irresponsible. This was all strange, and something about it didn’t sit right with him.

If only he knew what she had been so upset about yesterday.

“Would you pay attention to what you’re doing?

” a dark, frustrated voice pulled Ollie from his thoughts.

Ollie looked up to find a large man with irritatingly perfect black hair.

Nothing was ever out of place on his oldest brother Victor’s person.

Not one hair, not a stain on his pub apron, not a dull spot on his shoes.

Ollie frowned and Victor’s scowl deepened.

Realizing he must have done something wrong, Ollie looked down at what he had been doing before his mind had trailed off to Miss Sparrow. The beer cask he was carrying had fallen to the floor.

“If that breaks open, the money to replace it comes out of your wages.” Victor set his jaw and lifted his own beer cask over one shoulder.

“It was an accident, Victor,” Ollie retorted.

“Be more responsible.”

Ollie let out a huff of annoyance but knew it was pointless to argue. Again, he threw the cask over one shoulder, just like Victor, and followed his brother out and behind the bar, where they secured the casks in place.

Victor headed over to a window and crossed his arms as he gazed out of The Harp & Thistle. Outside, the sky was gray and dark. “Prepare for a crowded afternoon,” Victor said. “If people get rained out from work, then they’ll be coming here.”

Right as Victor said this, his prediction came true. The sky opened up and rain came down in sheets.

“Where’s Dantes?” Ollie asked, putting away clean pint glasses that had drip-dried. If they had a rainstorm crowd this early in the day, and Dantes wasn’t here, they would be in trouble.

Victor turned around. “He’ll be here soon.”

Annoyance hit Ollie at the way Victor was speaking to him this afternoon, short and snippy. “I didn’t ask when he would be here, I asked where he was.”

Victor scowled again before leaving the bar. “I have invoices to go through,” he said before disappearing in the hallway leading to their office.

“Christ’s sake,” Ollie mumbled to himself, glad Victor was gone. Victor was ten years older than Ollie, and he often treated him like a child, though Ollie was rounding twenty-seven years.

The pub door opened suddenly, and the loud noise of rained-out workers echoed through the pub as they filled in the large, empty space.

Lots of shouting and laughing, having a grand time leaving work early for beer and whiskey instead of toiling away on the docks or a construction site.

Ollie swore to himself while he did his best to keep up with the incessant orders, manning the pub all on his own. Where were his brothers?

“Three pints over here, laddie!” A man, soaking wet, squeezed himself between two others seated at the bar.

Ollie quickly filled and served the pint glasses, told the man what he owed, and hurried over to the large, brass register to ring up the order and record it in their register book.

As other men shouted their orders, Ollie tried his best to count out the change, tripping over numbers a few times.

The noise and energy were making it hard for him to think or concentrate.

He almost never handled the money. That was always Victor or Dantes.

After several minutes of fumbling about, including dropping and shattering one pint glass, Ollie found his momentum in solo serving the unexpectedly packed pub.

He poured three whiskeys at a time, then poured pints in mere seconds, slid them across the bartop, and caught tossed coin.

The rain outside worsened and was loud enough to hear over the rowdy workers.

Through it all, though, Ollie was rather irritated Victor or Dantes remained absent, but he didn’t have enough brain capacity at the moment to dwell on it.

As he threw coin into the register and counted out change, he spotted Victor emerging from the hallway and growing still as he looked around the room, his mouth fallen open.

Ollie returned to his task, not able to keep his eye off of it for long. It was far too busy and hectic.

“You were doing this all on your own?” Victor was now at Ollie’s side, and his voice was filled with surprise. Ollie should have felt annoyed by this, but in truth, he felt a bit proud.

See? He was just as capable as his brothers were.

Though admittedly, it was partially his fault his family didn’t take him seriously.

For the longest time, he’d hardly taken anything seriously himself.

He’d worked as best as he could and had never been late, but that was the extent of it.

He’d often partake with the customers—though they seemed to genuinely enjoy Ollie’s company and Ollie thought it was important to get to know them all by name.

Dantes had once joked the reason women came to their pub was to get a chance with Ollie.

Dantes had said this in front of their whole family—the McNab brothers, but also Dantes’s wife, Vivian, and Vivian’s sister-in-law, Lady Litchfield—and no one had batted an eye.

It made Ollie feel cheap and ridiculous. He always thought he was having a grand time in life. After all, he only had the one. But Vivian had once called him a scoundrel, which at the time he’d thought had been nothing more than a joke. But she’d been serious.

And one thing he learned from Vivian was that women did not take scoundrels seriously.

And they absolutely did not respect them.

The realization had hit Ollie upside the head. And ever since, he’d been trying his best to grow up a bit. But they all had their ideas about him set in stone. If only he knew how to get his family to see he could have fun and be responsible.

“What happened here?” Victor’s voice darkened once again. Ollie realized Victor had found the shattered glass.

“It was an accident,” Ollie replied. “As you can see, it’s a bit harried out here.” Ollie resisted groaning when Victor began inspecting everything behind the bar.

“We’re a little busy, if you haven’t noticed!” Ollie slid more pints down the bartop, the gold liquid spilling over the sides. “Think you could help out instead of picking everything apart?”

But Victor ignored him and crouched down to the beer cask Ollie had dropped earlier. There was a puddle forming underneath it.

Ollie swore out loud.

Victor glared at him but didn’t say a word just yet. Instead, he continued his inspection and watched Ollie hurry over to the register, count out change, and record the sale in the register book.

Victor plucked the book out from under him. And then he swore, too. “How much have you been charging for pints?”

A sick pit formed in Ollie’s stomach. The pointed stare from Victor actually pierced his body, he was sure of it. He continued working as quick as he could to avoid looking Victor in the eye. “The book’s right there, Victor. You can see for yourself.”

“Costs went up and we had to raise the price of a pint when we reopened last month. You’re charging the old prices.” Victor’s eyes searched the page. “How many have you served today?” But he wasn’t really asking Ollie. He was counting for himself.

Once Victor counted it up—what total he came to, Ollie did not want to know—he slammed the book down onto the bartop, causing everyone around them to look over for a moment before returning to their conversation.

Raw humiliation ate through Ollie, and it only worsened as Victor began counting the coin in the register, his face reddening with anger.

Ollie had ruined everything. The beer cask, the broken pint glass, miscounting change and charging incorrectly?

Victor turned back with murder in his face. “You cost us several pounds. Pounds ! That’s a lot of money, Ollie.”

“Would you calm down?” Ollie clenched his jaw. “I made a mistake. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Not the end of the world?” Victor’s whole body tensed, and Ollie resisted the urge to roll his eyes, knowing exactly what Victor was going to say next. He had heard it far too many times in his life.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to not have money?

” Victor’s voice was sharp, and he was dangerously close to Ollie now.

“To sleep in putrid streets filled with rats and horse dung? To have to steal in order to feed your two-year-old baby brother? To be thirteen years old and teaching a toddler how to wee in an alley instead of his trousers?”

Ollie glanced around and was glad to see no one was paying attention to the scene any longer.

Except for their regular, Billy, who seemed engrossed in the saga, sipping at his pint as his eyes darted back and forth between the brothers.

Ollie ignored Billy and put his attention back on Victor, seething with anger himself now.

As if he had any control over when he’d been born!

As if he wouldn’t have had to survive just like them if he’d been only a few years older.

It wasn’t his fault he had no memory of that life.

“No.” Victor’s voice lowered. “You had Grampy and Grammy and their fancy townhouse, a full stomach, servants, Eton, and Oxford. You’re a spoiled brat and irresponsible to boot. Look at how badly you botched being alone for a short time!”

Ollie’s mouth hung open. This was hardly the first time Victor had ripped into him like this, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was something Ollie would never get used to.

It was horrid.