Page 70 of The Swindler’s Daughter

I changed my mind. I wouldn’t have felt bad for him regardless. He was a horrible person.

“Now get this cleaned up!” Reeve shouted as he overturned an entire basket filled with wheat, scattering it all over the ground before growling and stalking away.

Everyone was silent. Some watched Reeve depart, staring after him. Others crept closer to the woman, wanting to comfort and assist her. I couldn’t help but notice that all those of lower class seemed appalled but not surprised. It was those few gentlemen and ladies who roamed the market who seemed utterly perplexed, as if they couldn’t believe the scene they had just witnessed.

So while my heart cried out at the unfairness of Reeve’s action, there was a portion of me that filled with just a little hope. Reeve hadn’t been underhanded just now. He hadn’t framed his demand in the form of a request or pretended as though he cared. He’d thrown a tantrum that showcased his greed and his hunger for power. Would those of higher class recognize the injustice and do something about it? Would they start to believe the stories their servants told? Had our rumors spread to the different classes? Would they take up the cause? Go against Reeve? Contact the high magistrate? Something?

Laws, I hoped so.

I wanted to go help the woman, but the urgency to get out of the village swelled in my chest. So instead I stepped around those who were already assisting her and dropped a handful of coins into a satchel that leaned against a stool behind her table.

***

We spent the afternoon in the forest, talking through our options and trying to make a plan. In the end it was decided that we would go to Bridgefield. The duke’s abandoned estate had two separate wings that had been built at different times—the old wing and the new wing. The late Lord Damian Rockwell, who had died less than a year into his marriage to Princess Marilee, had occupied the new wing exclusively, and after a fire damaged the old wing further, it had been abandoned for good. That was our destination. We hoped that by inserting ourselves into the old wing, we would be able to stay hidden while keeping close to home.

It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the only one we had. We couldn’t live in the forest indefinitely despite what these young men might wish to believe.

We didn’t travel on the road at all. We walked the forest paths, and I trusted that Rowan and John knew where they were going.

The sun was close to setting when we caught a glimpse of Bridgefield, but we didn’t continue. Instead we stopped, crouching down and listening for any sound that didn’t belong, any indication that Reeve or his men might be waiting for us here. It was a very real worry and my nerves pulled tight with paranoia.

“So this is what it feels like to be an outlaw,” Oliver commented dryly after several minutes of silence.

I looked at him sideways. “Did the running for our lives and driving away with a wagon full of gold and silver not make you feel like an outlaw?”

“I just meant I didn’t realize it would be so boring.” He was on the verge of whining.

I let out a long sigh and hung my head. I, for one, was not bored. I was terrified. Each time one of them would shift, I would turn to make sure it wasn’t the sound of Reeve approaching. The sun set and was likely a beautiful sight, but I couldn’t notice that right now. I was too busy feeling as if our luck had run out.

After a time, we all sat. None of us had said it, but I think we were all waiting for the safe cover that darkness would offer. Only then would we be willing to figure a way into the old wing and hopefully find rest there.

“Well,” Rowan said, finally breaking the silence after darkness had settled over the grounds. “Shall we break into the duke’s summer home?”

John snorted a laugh.

I gave a smile even though it was tough for me to find any amusement in the situation. The truth of what we’d done and what we would now have to face was settling under my skin, making me uncomfortable.

“I can get in through the kitchen,” John said, “then I’ll come open that door.” He pointed to an archway near the front corner of the house.

We all ventured on silent feet across the yard and into the deeper shadows along the wall where even the moonlight didn’t touch. John crept around back to the kitchen, and when the rest of us reached the side door, we waited with nothing but our heartbeats and our unsteady breaths to keep us company until the latch was lifted from within.

We stole inside and I tried not to choke on the stale air. John led us to a wide staircase and we ascended to the upper floor, our footsteps stirring the air with more dust. Despite the darkness, there was enough moonlight filtering through the windows for me to notice the blackened streaks that marred the walls of this hallway. “They really never repaired it,” I whispered, unable to tamp down my curiosity. I knew they hadn’t, and it still seems such a waste to let something so grand rot away.

“Only the outside,” John confirmed. “They never used this wing anyway.”

“Her Highness did,” Tyson pointed out.

“Exactly,” John said cryptically.

Even though I knew the stories, this evidence of the depth of bad blood that ran between Princess Marilee and the Duke of Winberg’s family surprised me.

We entered a room halfway down the upper corridor. Phantom shapes of chairs and couches under dustcovers scattered the room and the taste of ghosts lurked in the corners.

“It’s strange to be in this house,” I commented, needing the comfort of my own voice.

Tyson shrugged. “Johnny and I are employed here, so we can’t get in too much trouble, right?” He was trying to sound brave, but I could hear the unease. Everything was draped in unease—our voices, our steps.

I wasn’t sure the housekeeper would agree with Tyson’s assessment, and I was certain the duke and duchess would be swift to condemn our presence if they ever learned of it.