A Dreadful Splendor (107)

She made a tsking noise and shook her head. “The second I laid eyes on you, I knew you’d be worth the time and effort, no matter if it took a few years. I would have molded you into my most valuable girl. But your mother wouldn’t let me get close to you.”

To hear her calmly discuss Maman’s murder as nothing more than a business venture set my blood on fire. I fought the urge to reach through the bars and hit her, but I had to hold back and let her finish.

She nodded with a slight smile on her chapped lips. “I was going to make you into something special. Something amazing and unforgettable. With your beauty and my brains, we’d never want for anything London could offer. We could’ve owned the city.” Then her expression crumbled, aging her a million years.

“Instead, you’re going to rot in jail.” I took a step closer, nailing her in place with my stare.

I had never talked back to Miss Crane in such a way. She growled like a cornered dog. “I’m the only one who took care of you when all the other girls wanted you out! Your own grandmother couldn’t be bothered. She refused to send a pound even though she’s stinking rich.”

I shook my head at her and began to turn away, unwilling to hear this slander.

“Wait!” Her face molded itself into an expression of exaggerated sadness. She began to sob uncontrollably, clutching the bars with both hands. “It was only me who cared, Jenny. It was always me.”

I was tired of her cruel lies and manipulation. I replied with her own words. “Oh, now, don’t give me them dark pools of fake tears. You’d sooner cheat a dying man than give him a drink of water.”

With that, I left, content to let my last image of her be a pitiful, wilting creature, stripped bare of all rouge and finery, staring after me in utter despair.

As I walked outside, a gust of cold air sobered me. Miss Crane’s words echoed through my mind. Then I stopped in my tracks before reaching the carriage. Grandmother? Maman’s family had never known I existed. So how would Miss Crane know they were wealthy? I turned the corner in the direction of the boardinghouse, though the thought of returning there curdled my stomach. Was she only using this last opportunity to torture me?

Being brave meant listening to my instinct. I had to at least check before returning to Wrendale.

When I reached the boardinghouse, I tentatively knocked on the door. I smoothed out the front of my dress self-consciously, worried it might be too much for this part of London.

Drusilla answered. “Jenny?” She looked me up and down with the same surprise I felt.

I almost didn’t recognize her fresh face and bright smile. She still favoured a low neckline, but the dress was new and clean.

She welcomed me inside and led me to the parlour. The furniture was the same, but the cobwebs were gone, and a vase of flowers brightened the area considerably. The three-legged settee wobbled on the stack of books propping it up as we sat.

We discussed the trial and Miss Crane’s conviction. She told me that the girls would keep the boardinghouse running for their own profit.

“It’s completely different when you get to choose the blokes,” she explained.

Eventually, I told her about my meeting with Miss Crane and her mention of my grandmother. “Do you know of any ledgers she would have kept?” I asked. “Any records of correspondence?”

Drusilla shook her head. “The police went through all her papers,” she said. “Her office wasn’t anything more than a tiny desk, and it’s completely empty. Sorry.”

I hadn’t realized how foolishly optimistic I’d become. I was embarrassed by how easily I’d been duped. Maman hadn’t contacted her family in decades; I was certain they didn’t know of my existence. “Thank you anyway,” I said. “I’m sure she was lying.”

There was a curious knock at the door—four quick raps. Drusilla smiled as she checked the clock on the wall. “That’s Fred. He’s me afternoon appointment.” She hurried to the foyer. There were hushed words exchanged as she ushered him quickly past the archway and up the stairs. “Be right there, love,” she called out to him.

I stood to take my leave and thank Drusilla for the visit. The settee wobbled. I regarded the stack of books. They’d been here holding up this settee since I first arrived with Maman. What other use did a boardinghouse have for books? My skin prickled as an idea swept over me.

With Drusilla’s help, I lifted one end of the settee, freeing the stack. I held the first novel upside down, fanning it open. Money floated to the rug. Drusilla squealed and tucked the bills into her cleavage. The second book had nothing but moths.

The third novel held an envelope.

Shaking, I unfolded the letter. It was entirely in French, but I recognized Maman’s name. I could understand and speak a bit of my mother’s language, but translating it properly would need Gareth’s help. Was this written by my grandmother? Did she indeed know about me? I wasn’t sure if I could bear any more rejection, but I needed to know for certain.

“Oy.” Drusilla leaned over my shoulder. “Good or bad?”

I refolded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “I’m not sure, but at least I know where it came from,” I said, pointing to the return address.

Drusilla winked. “Bring me back a croissant.”