Den of Thieves

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was whirring. It wasn’t what Iwas expecting, but it was better than nothing. And there was his promise to give my work more thought. ‘Thank you, I accept.’
    â€˜There are conditions, of course.’
    â€˜Yes?’ I wasn’t in a situation to demand much.
    â€˜If I take you into my household, you’ll work in exchange for bed and board.’
    I’d been here before, but I suppose I could look on it as a start. Maybe I’d get some money if he published something of mine?
    â€˜I wish to take proper care of you so you are not to leave home without my express permission. Nokes – that’s my assistant – will continue to go to the market so there should be no need for you to wander.’
    I must have looked doubtful for he added, ‘I don’t want a gadabout maid, miss. I have my good name to consider – and yours. I stand
in loco parentis
to my household, so I expect you to behave as a daughter to a father.’ He smirked. ‘I don’t suppose you know what that means, do you, miss?’
    I was liking this Mr Tweadle less and less.‘Oh, but I do. In place of the parent, sir.’
    This took him by surprise. ‘My word, you are a clever girl! Where did you learn Latin?’
    â€˜It’s a long story.’
    He waved this aside. ‘What other languages do you speak?’
    â€˜French – a bit of Italian.’
    â€˜Hmm.’
    That ‘hmm’ again. I was learning to recognize it as a sign of him scheming.
    â€˜Perhaps when you’ve done your duties as maid, I may be able to make use of you with cataloguing the foreign books.’
    â€˜I’d like that.’
    â€˜Good. That brings me to the last condition. If you work here, you are not to set foot in the shop, do you understand? If you wish to speak to me, you knock on the door between here and the rest of the house and wait for me to answer.’
    This seemed so unreasonable. What was wrong with me? I didn’t have two heads, did I?
    â€˜But why?’
    â€˜I will not have my kitchen maid, even a cleverone, interfering with my customers. You stay out of sight, do you understand?’
    Bed and board versus the pleasure of telling him to get stuffed. Guess which won out.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’
    He gave me another of his insincere smiles. ‘Then you can start right away. What’s your name?’
    â€˜Catherine Royal.’
    â€˜Well then, Cathy. Come this side of the counter and I’ll show you where you are to live.’
    Stepping through the gap, I shed my status as ‘Miss’ and became just ‘Cathy’. I thought to say that my friends called me ‘Cat’ but realized at once that I didn’t want Mr Tweadle addressing me on those terms. Cathy was a stranger I was sharing my life with for a few weeks until I could get myself out of here. She wasn’t me – not really.
    Mr Tweadle led me down a dark passage to the back of the house. It didn’t take long to work out why the last maid had left. Mr Tweadle and his assistant had the eating and sleeping habits of pigs – though perhaps, Reader, I am slandering thoseworthy porkers whose only fault is that they like to roll in a little mud. The kitchen was filthy – not a clean utensil anywhere, rotting food in the cupboards and an inch of muck on the floor. Even a rat would have turned his nose up at dining here. Mr Tweadle thrust a cap and apron in my hand, pointed to the pump in the yard and turned to go.
    â€˜Where am I to sleep, sir?’ I asked, thinking that I’d like to get that clean before I bedded down for the night.
    â€˜Here of course. This is your kingdom now, Cathy. You’ll find your bedchamber behind that door.’ He crunched his way out over the grit that had accumulated on the flagstones. ‘I’ll have my dinner at five, supper at ten. I’ll send Nokes in with the necessaries when he gets back. I’ve an urgent

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