“Last week.”
She did not believe him. “Olly.”
Olly shrugged. “Last month, maybe.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You are definitely the source of the odor. When one smells unpleasant, it is past time one removes the filth.”
Olly’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you wanted to get these books back on the shelves, my lady.”
“I do,” she agreed, taking up a volume of Shakespeare and settling it onto a different pile. “But not if I must suffer your smell all afternoon long. I am ordering a bath for you.”
“No!” Olly hollered, an undeniable expression of fear crossing his features beneath the dirt.
“There is no harm in a bath,” Catriona soothed, wondering why the poor child would possess such an aversion to cleansing himself.
“Perhaps the carpets is the source,” the lad bit out hastily. “Or look there. Rainwater got into the wall.” He pointed at a water stain marking the wall covering. “You smell rot from within.”
The stain in question was dry. Catriona had already inspected the damage herself. Likely, it had been caused by the nearby window, which appeared to have been fixed. Either by someone other than the horrid steward or well before the man had grown so bold in his refusal to perform his duties.
“The smell has one source, and I am looking at him,” she told Olly. “I will have my lady’s maid prepare a bath for you.”
“No,” Olly denied instantly, eyes wide. “No bath.”
His fear troubled her. “Come now, you must bathe at some point, and better now than before the flies circle you in truth.”
“I’ll be taking my chances,” the lad insisted, scowling.
“No,” she said sternly. “You will not.”
Though she had no experience with children, Monty was her older brother, and he was something like the fully grown, man-sized version of one. Surely that had to count. She knew when to be firm, when to stand her grown, and when to concede the point.
If Olly wished to remain at Marchmont, he would need to win Alessandro’s favor. He would also need to render himself far less pungent. She could not allow him to run about Marchmont covered in grease and grime, holding her nose each time she held an audience with him.
“I doesn’t want no bath, my lady.” Olly stood equally firm, just as determined.
For a young lad, he was certainly sure of himself. But then, she supposed he had needed to be. Heavens knew what manner of deprivations and suffering he had experienced at the hands of his departed guardian.
“I do not want a bath,” she corrected gently, moving toward her quarry with slow, careful strides. Much as she would an untamed horse, lest she startle him. “You must learn the proper speech if you wish to grow up to a fine gentleman.”
“I doesn’t want to be a fine gentleman neither.” He took a step back as she approached. Then another. “Take me to the village if you like. It’s sure they has work for me there. Maybe in the tavern.”
The thought of any child working in a tavern was enough to send a chill down Catriona’s back. “No indeed, Mr. Olly. I am afraid that will not do. You must remain here. Lord Rayne is responsible for you now.”
Not entirely true.
Certainly not what Lord Rayne wanted.
But Olly needn’t know that.
“I doesn’t want a bath,” the lad insisted once more.
She caught his wiry arm in a firm but gentle grip. “Sometimes, Mr. Olly, life is not about what you want. Indeed, most times it is all about what you must do. Obligations and burdens, duties and requirements. I am sorry to tell you, but I cannot bear the smell of you for one moment more.”
Olly struggled to escape, but Catriona was far stronger, and she held firm.
“Here now, you cannot make me do anything!” he protested.
A new wave of odor overtook her as she hauled him from the library in search of her lady’s maid, a tub of warm water, and the requisite soap.
