“Oh.” A warm feeling chased away the cold that had seeped into her heart. “Thank you.”
He bowed his head.
She sat up on the bed. “Is it dawn or dusk?”
“Dawn. You slept through the day and night. Although you probably don’t feel well rested.”
She shook her head.
The sunlight turned gold as the sun rose on the horizon. They stared at each other.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to lie to you. When I heard Cowasj’s name in your house in London, I thought that being here was the best way to approach him.”
“I understand.” Although, his dark eyes filled with pain.
His kindness almost hurt. He had every reason to not trust her and throw her out of his house. Yet here he was, after having spent the night holding her hand.
A new wave of tears threatened to overwhelm her. She snatched the reticule from the nightstand to search for a handkerchief, and Father’s letter tumbled down on her lap.
The damn letter. If she was being honest with herself, anger—a lot of anger—brew in her chest. Father had kept secrets from her, dangerous secrets, and left her in an awful situation. How could have Father left her with only—
She almost ripped the letter open when she unfolded it. She paused, reading the letter for the umpteenth time.
Christopher perked up. “What is it?”
The words had another meaning now. She read the letter quickly. “Chris, I think my father did tell me where the money is.”
The mattress dipped when he sat next to her. The scent of his cologne distracted her for a moment.
“I don’t see anything unusual in this letter,” he said, inching closer. “It seems a normal letter to me.”
“But look.” She pointed at the words where there were blotches of ink. “At first, I didn’t take notice of these ink stains, but if you read the stained words in order, what do you have?”
His brow creased, gaze narrowing. “Paddington . . . Station safe . . . box seventeen.” He rasped a hand on his unshaven chin. “Bloody hell. A safe box, at the station.”
“I don’t know where the key of the safe box is.”
“We don’t need a key. We’ll blow the box up if necessary.” He jumped off the bed. The fabric of the blue silk dressing gown fluttered around him.
Pearl slouched back on the bed, energy leeching from her. The letter was the last, final proof of Father’s crime. It was real, all too real.
“Aren’t you coming?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I want to see it, the confirmation that my father was a criminal.” Sadness shuddered through her. Just the thought of seeing the safe box filled with money choked her with disgust.
“If you want to stay here, I won’t force you to come. But promise me you’ll wait for me. Promise me you won’t leave again.” He gripped the doorframe so hard, his knuckles whitened.
“I promise.” It was easy to promise it. Where else should she go? And she did want to know what was inside the cursed box.
“Good.” He limped to her and kissed the top of her head. “Please, don’t leave.” He rushed out of the room.
When the door closed behind him, Pearl hugged the pillow and pressed her cheek against the soft fabric. Maybe she was a coward, but she wanted to remember her papa as the kind, patient man who taught her how to ride a pony and play the piano, not as the cold, calculating fraudster who stole thousands of pounds, lied to her, and left her alone.
“Oh, Papa.”
Who knew how many times he’d had stolen money. Perhaps all the things he’d bought her had been paid with dirty money. The thought soured her mouth.
Minutes passed. The noise of footsteps, and then of a carriage rattling away echoed.
