“Now,Wuthering Heights.” He wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin before opening the book. “I’m ready for a new adventure.”
“Take your time. No need to rush. It’s only practice.”
He frowned at the first page. She let him study the words. No need to push him.
He cleared his throat. “1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbour that I shall be troubled with…”
He didn’t read smoothly but stumbled, especially when a word started with a ‘t.’ He took long pauses as well, but she didn’t mind. The haunting story told in his deep voice held an achingly desperate note she loved.
“I’m butchering it,” he said once he finished the first chapter.
“No, you’re improving.”
“Not fast enough.” He scoffed. “I learnt to box in a matter of weeks, but it’s taking me months to read. It can’t be normal.”
“You’re too harsh on yourself. No one learns to read perfectly in a few months.”
He closed the book with a reverence she approved of. “I’ve never thanked you.”
“For what?”
“For hitting me with your sledge.” He flashed one of his rare, full smiles. Not the arrogant smiles he showed around to the other lads or the adoring ones he reserved for her father only. It was his secret smile, the vulnerable one. The one that told her he’d suffered and that he was scared to be hurt again. He kept that smile for her only.
She returned the smile. “You shouldn’t thank me.”
“If you hadn’t hit me, I’d still be at Sir Howard’s service.” He touched the book. “Unable to read or write my name. Hungry. Cold. Weak. Dying.”
Yes, the thought was disturbing. She handed him another sandwich. “My father gave you the opportunity to stay here, not me.”
He took the sandwich. “He’s the best man I’ve ever met. He’s more honourable than my own father.”
She tensed a little. Keith had never talked about his parents, and she hadn’t bombarded him with questions since he never asked about her mother. She assumed he didn’t ask questions because he didn’t want to be questioned. But then, not even Papa talked about her mother. Never.
“What happened to your parents?” she asked.
He wolfed down the sandwich and didn’t say anything until he sipped his tea. “My father drank himself to an early grave. I wasn’t born yet. He died when my mother carried me. She died in the Clerkenwell bombing by the Fenians.” His tone remained flat, but the way he hunched belied his sorrow.
She drew in a breath in shock. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”
He fiddled with a buttercup, touching the pretty petals with a finger. “She worked for Sir Howard in his London house. She was walking by the New Prison when the bomb exploded. The police said she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Bad luck. It didn’t feel like bad luck but like a tragedy. I was four. I learnt everything I know about that day from other servants.” He clenched his fist until the tendons in the back of his hand stood out. “I don’t even remember the sound of her voice or her face. I don’t have anything of her, neither a picture nor a pendant. I grew up with Sir Howard’s servants, taken care by whoever of them had time for me. Sometimes, none of them had and I was left alone,” he whispered the last words.
She put her hand over his, her chest tightening for his pain. For once, he didn’t move his hand but let her stroke his knuckles.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine my life without Papa. He’s never made me lack for anything, material or emotional.”
He turned towards her, slipping his hand out of hers. Unfortunately. “You told me your mother left. May I ask why she left?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. In the year before she left, she and Papa argued a lot although I don’t know about what. She grew anxious, distant, and easily startled. When I asked her what troubled her, she always said nothing. Then one night, she vanished. She didn’t say anything to anyone.” She had to take a deep breath to ease the sense of betrayal in her heart. “She wrote a note and left it on my nightstand.I have to go. I can’t stay here. That’s all. No explanation. No last hug. No begging for forgiveness. She left most of her belongings behind as well. Her beloved star-shaped pendant is in my father’s safe. I don’t know why she didn’t take it.”
Keith frowned but didn’t look as outraged as she expected he would be. “What did your father say?”
“He was furious,” she said. “He never said that Mama had a lover, but that’s what I thought happened. She must have left with whomever she’d fallen in love with. Papa refused to talk about her. He said we had to accept the fact she was gone. Even now, he can’t bear to talk about her. She never returned or sent a word. Papa searched for her, but he never found any clues about her. I have beautiful memories of her, of us sharing every secret, going to the market together, singing, and then she became someone else. I imagine she has a new husband, and maybe, a new daughter, and doesn’t care about us.” Her voice cracked, just like her heart.
He inched his hand closer and let it hover over hers for a split second before closing his strong fingers around hers. He didn’t say anything. The warmth and strength of his hand around hers were the best comforts she needed.
She pushed the good memories out of her mind because they were too sad. “But I’m lucky to have Papa.”
“As I’m lucky to have you.” Papa’s voice came from behind them.
