Page 23 of Debtor’s Daughter

“I know it. But we got eggs.”

“Got no cake?”

“Not for breakfast.”

“But I like cake.”

“Not for breakfast.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Why?”

“Cause I said so.”

“Why?”

“Because we got eggs, no cake!” exclaimed an increasingly agitated Barnes as their voices faded and the sound of the kitchen door left Larkin in merciful peace.

“Heaven preserve me from diabolical infants,” he muttered, settling himself back against the pillows. But his bed, which had been so wonderfully cosy and comfortable just moments earlier, was now all wrong. He pounded the pillows into submission, rearranged the covers, and tried again to go back to sleep. It was no good. Besides, if he went back to sleep, he might have another peculiar dream about his neighbour. Whilst that was oddly tempting, it was a bad, bad idea. Very bad. Anyway, he was bloody well awake now, so he might as well get up.

Muttering all the while about other people’s children, he got up, slung on his dressing gown, shoved his feet into a pair of leather slippers, and headed downstairs.

He pushed the kitchen door open, unsurprised to find Gideon at the table, tucking into a fried egg sandwich. Larkin sent his valet a baleful glare.

“Coffee,” he said, or possibly grunted. He really wasn’t at his best.

The dream bothered him still, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. It felt like he’d done something wrong, like spying on her in the bath. Of course, it wasn’t the least bit like that, and he didn’t feel he could be held to account for what his troublemaking brain got up to when he wasn’t looking. Still, the uneasy sense of guilt lingered, and he didn’t like it.

Barnes set a cup of coffee in front of him and Larkin took it gratefully, adding several lumps of sugar before taking a sip. He watched Gideon, smacking his lips with pleasure as golden yolk oozed out from between two thick slices of bread. Larkin’s stomach growled.

“Barnes.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ll have the same as Master Gideon,” he said, gesturing to the messy sandwich. Gideon had dripped it down his shirt, despite the tea towel Barnes had tied about his middle but looked to be enjoying himself.

“Is it good?” Larkin asked, amused despite his rude awakening.

“Mmm. Good,” Gideon mumbled, pausing to lick his fingers.

“As good as cake?” Larkin asked innocently.

“Oh, sir!” Barnes protested, giving him a reproachful glare.

Larkin snorted as Gideon set down the remains of the mangled sandwich.

“Not as good as cake, but good,” he said gravely. “Any cake, Barnsy?”

“No!” Barnes said and stalked out of the kitchen, muttering.

“No cake,” Gideon said, holding his hands up in a ‘what can you do’ expression that made Larkin snort with laughter.

“No. No cake, you wicked child. I tell you now, if Barnes quits on me, I shall know who to blame.”

“Me?” he asked, looking pleased with himself.