Olivia Twist(37)

She quickly told him about the Hill Orphans, why she’d had to sell the locket, and her concerns regarding Monks, then moved to the door. “Meet me tonight at Golden Square. Midnight.”

His lips compressed, his brows lifting into his hair. “I believe I’ve been trying to make that arrangement for nigh on a week.”

Loud conversation and laughter floated through the walls. “You said anything. Now give me the key.”

He produced the key and set it in her palm, his large hand engulfing hers in a light embrace. “Do you believe me then? That I didn’t abandon you?”

She blinked at their joined fingers, his touch buzzing through her veins. “I’ll speak to my uncle.”

He released her, and with a bow of his head stepped away from the door. “Tonight, then.”

Olivia returned to the party. Jack did not. She kept up polite conversation for a few moments for the sake of appearances, and then, claiming a headache, left early. The entire cab ride home, one thought played over and over in her mind: Monks, the terror of the London streets, was her brother, and he was coming after her.





CHAPTER 11


I hate that blasted getup,” Jack grumbled, shooting Olivia a glare. “It’s hard enough to reconcile my memories of you and Oliver without seeing you dressed like an overgrown bag-snatcher.” Tucking a large black umbrella under his right arm, he shoved both hands into his pockets, and focused on the cobbles at his feet as if they might contain the answers of the universe.

Olivia almost laughed at the way he wrinkled his nose like a petulant child. “What would you suggest as an alternate disguise? No, wait, let me guess.” Olivia shifted Bram’s leash to her other hand and then tapped her finger against her lips, pretending to think. “Perhaps the blousy dress of a milkmaid?”

When he didn’t respond, she went on. “Oh, I know! I saw a perfectly garish frock in Paul’s Pawnbroker Shop. Purple silk edged with a profusion of black feathers. I believe I could pass for a lightskirt if I set my mind to it.” She skipped ahead of him and gave an exaggerated sway to her hips.

Jack jogged up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Stop that, before you attract attention.”

The streets were deserted, besides the stray drunk or homeless wanderer. But when he pulled his hand back like it burned, she refrained from pointing that out. A bubble of hurt swelled in Olivia’s chest, dampening the elation she’d felt since Jack agreed to help. She realized now that she had no knowledge of his motivations.

When she’d returned home from the party, her uncle had been tucked into bed, but still awake. She’d asked him about the missing wallet all those years ago, and reluctantly he’d admitted Dodger’s role in returning it and leading him to the courthouse where she was being sentenced. When she’d questioned him about Jack checking on her afterward, her uncle said he couldn’t recall such a conversation.

But the more she thought about it, the more she felt he hadn’t divulged the full truth. Growing up, he’d told her many times that he wished for her to have a clean slate; a fresh start as Miss Olivia Brownlow. When she would talk of her old life, Uncle encouraged her to think of her past as a nightmare; the less one spoke of it, the quicker it faded away.

“Tell me what you know about your parents,” Jack requested, still staring straight ahead.

His words reminded her they had bigger problems to solve than sorting out their twisted past. Olivia took a deep breath and dove into her tragic tale. “This is all second-hand knowledge, from my uncle’s point of view, you understand.”

At Jack’s nod, she continued. “My father’s name was Edwin Leeford. He was a widower, an industrialist, and an inventor with a reputation for being brilliant but eccentric. When he met my mother, he pursued her with singular focus. His charm and persistence proved to be irresistible to her and they fell in love, but her parents would not approve the match. They felt that despite his success, he was not of respectable stock, and therefore not good enough for their daughter.”

Brom stopped to sniff a discarded paper sack, jerking Olivia to an abrupt halt. Jack stepped close, took Brom’s leash, and they walked on.

“Continue, please.”

Olivia sorted through all the snippets of information she’d gained of her parents over the years and worked to put them in logical order. “My mother ran away with my father and they eloped in Scotland. My grandparents disowned her, refusing to even acknowledge her existence when someone mentioned her name. After they passed away, my uncle came into possession of a letter my mother had written to her parents several years after the elopement, begging for their help. She wrote of my father’s personality taking a drastic turn, that he’d become obsessed with proper society not accepting him and took it out on her. He became abusive. And she was with child.”

Olivia peeked over at Jack, but his profile remained stoic. “The best we can piece together is that she feared for my life, so she ran. We can’t be sure why she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring at the time of my birth and” —Olivia swallowed—“her death.”

“Have you ever seen that letter?”

Olivia thought back and realized she hadn’t. She only knew what her uncle had told her was written in it. “No, but I think I need to.”

“Where does your half brother fit into all this?”