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he had a creeping suspicion that if he were to look he would find
Wolcott among them. But if he opened the case, if he read what
was in there, who was to say he wouldn’t catch the same obsession
that had orphaned him?
No. It was bad luck for Charles and Thomas, and he was sorry
for them, but he would not give up what he had here to try and
save them.
They would have to save themselves.
With a weary sigh, he pulled the unopened letters he’d stolen
from Mary’s house out from beneath his pillow. Tapping on the
aged, thick paper of the envelopes, his fingers hovered, and then
he tucked them back away. He’d burn them tonight, rid himself of
this link, and then convince Mrs. Johnson to send Charles and
Thomas away.
Arthur’s jaw tightened. It wasn’t because he was jealous of
losing so much of the girls’ attentions — it wasn’t. He had seen it
in Cora, but it did not bother him because she seemed genuinely
happy. Minnie, however. He had seen her, more and more, with
something desperate but determined in her face as she looked away
from him and to Charles.
He couldn’t lose her.
Them. He couldn’t lose them. He had to protect them. His life
before them had been controlled by fear, but the day he decided to
stay, they became the foundation of his world.
He walked silently down the narrow wooden stairs to the sec-
ond floor, passing the girls’ room and pausing, as was his habit, to
listen for their soft sleeping murmurings and make sure that every-
thing sounded as it should.
Satisfied, he went to the kitchen, unlocking it with his key.
He’d eat before anyone else was awake. He could go sleep for a
