“Milo, stay in this corner,” Brianna whispered, guiding her son onto a woven rug. “Do not touch anything. If you wake Mr. Greyford, I might lose this job. Please be quiet.”
“Yes, Mom,” the boy answered, his voice soft.
Brianna hurried out of the room to finish polishing the silver in the dining hall. Then the library settled into silence. Malcolm listened, expecting mischief. Children tend to explore. They lift lids. They tug at drawers. They drift toward forbidden treasures. Yet Milo stayed still.
Minutes slipped by. Then Malcolm sensed movement. The faint shuffle of fabric. Gentle, hesitant steps approached his chair. He kept his eyes closed.
He braced himself for the sound of money being taken. Instead, he felt tiny fingers brushing his chilled hand. A very small voice murmured, “Sir, you look cold.”
