“We don’t want to trick you.”
If I had to be honest, the idea of having someone close who understood my condition thrilled me. We could be friends, and I would talk to him without worrying about being called insane.
I fiddled with a napkin. “You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t find me disgusting because of…you know.”
He lowered his gaze. “My sister, Odette, suffered from seizures.”
“That’s why you knew what to do.”
He jumped when Papa returned, almost spilling his tea.
“For you.” Papa handed him an envelope. “Buy something to eat and come here tomorrow morning at seven. My butler, Jones, will find you something to do.”
Alex opened the envelope and parted his lips in silent shock that tickled my neck. “My lord?”
“Stop stealing.” Papa used the stern voice he reserved for when he was annoyed. “I mean it.”
“I will be here.” Alex gave a solemn nod and stood up. “My lord, Miss Harlowe, thank you.” He left the room as if chased by a hellhound.
Papa exhaled. “I hope we did the right thing.”
I was sure of it.
3
THE LAST SANE PERSON
Alex
The envelope in my pocket seemed to weigh like a brick when I hurried out of Harlowe House as fast as possible in case His Lordship changed his mind.
With that money, Darius and I would eat well for two weeks. No, less than that. Darius ate for four.
I cast a last glance at the building; it was a three-storey townhouse with red-brick walls, diamond-paned windows, and a tall wrought-iron fence.
With its frilly curtains and polished front door, it looked like a place where dinner was served at six no matter what happened in the world, a maid would light the fireplaces before dawn, and only polite conversations would be allowed… Where someone returning home would be welcomed with a hug.
“Alex!” Darius came out of a dark corner, sweaty and out of breath. “What happened? I saw that man carrying you to his carriage. I spent my last shillings on a cab to follow you.”
I resumed walking. “I got lucky for once. The man offered me a job, a real one, and gave me some ready.”
“What’s the catch?”
“I can’t steal.”
Annoyance settled in my stomach at the thought of not stealing anymore. It wasn’t that I enjoyed it, but it had its perks. No timetable to follow, plenty of excitement and freedom. Besides, it’d taken me a while to hone my pickpocket skills, and I didn’t want to lose them.
We left the sophisticated Mayfair behind to cross the threshold of the less savoury Whitechapel. The change of view was staggering. No more elegant houses with glossy black doors and colourful curtains, but sad brick walls, splattered with mud and blood and radiating desperation and unpaid bills. The smell of dirty clothes and sewer water replaced that of flowers. Not to mention the not-so-polite yells and loud comments on someone’s mother.
Darius was panting when we stopped at my door. I wheezed too, but the sandwiches had helped me regain energy.
I pushed the door as gently as possible, lest the hinges break, and put the envelope on the scarred table. “Have a look.”
Darius snagged a slice of bread from the basket before looking inside the envelope. “Hell’s bells!”
I hopped onto the table, remembering too late it had a dodgy leg. It quaked, and I jumped off it. “I accepted the job offer, but on second thought, I won’t go.”
“Why?”
