Olivia Twist(26)

Ollie swallowed her screams, and the tears took over, streaming down her face in great rivers. Could this man, with eyes so like her own, harm her? She wanted to believe she was safe in this clean, beautiful place. But at what price?

So much kindness shone from Mr. Brownlow’s face, that when he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her, she sagged against his sturdy frame, her entire body shaking with sobs.

“Shhh, it’s quite all right now,” he soothed, stroking her short curls. “I have some important questions for you, but you cannot answer them if you are crying, can you?” He pulled back and smiled.

Ollie shook her head as she met his gaze, sniffling up her tears.

“Now then, what is all this screaming about?” The man led her back to the bed.

Like a wrung-out ragdoll, she climbed under the covers and let the maid wipe her face. Mr. Brownlow pulled a chair up and sat looking at his folded hands. It was several minutes before Ollie realized he waited for her answer.

“I-I am sorry, s-sir.” Her speech broke on the sobs shuddering through her chest. “N-no one knows I-I’m a g-girl.” She took a steadying breath before continuing in a whisper, “At least they didn’t.”

“I see.” The man gave her a small smile, but his eyes were sad. “Your fear is understandable. But you need to know something.” Slowly, as if her bones were made of the finest porcelain, he took her hand in his and met her gaze. “I will never allow anyone to harm you. Ever.”

The man’s lined face swam before Ollie’s eyes, and a tiny spark of hope leapt within her.

“In fact, I believe you and your friend robbed me for a reason. That God brought you to me after all these years.”

She wasn’t sure, but she thought she saw his chin tremble.

“When Nanny took your clothes to the laundry, she found this . . .”

Her breath caught as he lifted a golden chain from his pocket—Ollie’s only possession, her mother’s locket. Her old nurse had found it on her mother’s body and saved it for her until she was old enough to keep it herself.

She reached out and Mr. Brownlow set the necklace in her hand, where her fingers closed around the oval, a perfect fit in the hollow of her fist. “I don’t understand.” What could her locket have to do with God wanting her to rob this man?

Mr. Brownlow leaned forward. “Do you know whose locket this was, my dear?”

“Yes. It was my mother’s.”

The old man’s eyes closed and tears leaked onto his weathered cheeks. When he looked at her again, his smile was wide. “Her name was Agnes Fleming, and she was my niece. My beloved sister’s daughter. Which makes you my great-niece.”

Ollie was speechless as she stared at this man’s familiar honey-colored eyes, the confirmation that he did not lie. But she’d been on her own since her nurse passed on. Suddenly, she had family? She wasn’t altogether sure what that meant.

“My dear, I know this is a lot to take in, but I was hoping you would consider living here with me.” He gave her hand a quick, warm squeeze. “I’d resigned myself to living the rest of my life alone. But if you’ll consent to stay, we can take care of one another.”

Ollie swallowed the lump in her throat. “Truly? You want me . . . to stay here, forever?”

Mr. Brownlow laughed softly. “If you so choose. Clothes, food, books, toys . . . a proper education . . . I could provide all of those things for you.”

She glanced down at their joined hands, his skin papery and spotted against her small, reddened fingers. Slowly, she raised her eyes to find the man waiting, patient and still. The choice was easy. “Yes. I would like that . . . very much.”

His arms came around her, enveloping her in the scents of soap and spicy tobacco. She’d never smelled anything so sweet.

When he released her, his face grew serious. “There’s just one more thing. I understand why you pretended to be a boy, but now that you can live as a female, I think a new name is in order. How does Miss Olivia Elizabeth Brownlow sound?”

She repeated the name under her breath several times before answering, “I like it!” She cocked her head to one side. “But do you think you could teach me how to spell it?”

Her uncle’s rich laugh filled the room. “It would be my honor, little one.”

Olivia almost choked on the unexpected emotion clogging her throat. Without thought, her fingers grasped the spot under her dress where the egg-shaped locket rested against her skin. Her reassurance and strength. But there was nothing except a hollow there. The only piece of her mother she’d retained all these years, gone to finance a single physician’s call. And worse, in her rush to help Chip, she’d forgotten to remove the tiny portrait of her mother that her uncle had given her.

God, what have I done?

“Olivia, what is it?” Her uncle’s trembling hand grasped her fingers, his skin warm and thin as paper.

Olivia met his faded gaze and shook her head in silence. Tears filled her eyes. She didn’t resent selling the locket—it was a worthy sacrifice for the health of a child—but she still ached with loss. And fear. Stealing a few trinkets at parties wouldn’t be enough to ensure her boys’ safety this time. She didn’t doubt the thugs who had blackmailed Brit would be back for more. And who was this Monks character terrorizing the Hill? What could she do against a seasoned crime lord?