Olivia Twist(76)

“I’m Charles Brownlow, Olivia’s uncle and guardian.”

Jack squeezed his temples between his thumb and fingers. “I know.”

“Then I find I’m at a disadvantage, because I have no notion who you are.”

Unsure who he was at the moment, Jack raised his eyes to the old man, who watched him with an empathy and a shared grief that drew him outside of himself. “I’m Jack MacCarron.” Jack leaned over, extended his hand, and shook the man’s knobby fingers.

“I must assume you are him.”

Jack sat up straight. “Sir?”

“The man who’s stolen my Olivia’s heart.”

A bit of light penetrated the dark saturating Jack’s mind. Had he stolen Olivia’s heart? If she’d admitted as much to her uncle, there had to be some truth to it. As if those words woke him from a dream, Jack jumped to his feet. “I have to go after her!”

He’d taken two long strides toward the door when a voice, more stern than he would’ve believed possible, bellowed from Mr. Brownlow. “Come sit back down!”

Jack stopped and turned around slowly.

“You will do her no good if you go racing down to the station half-cocked. We need to devise a plan.”

He couldn’t deny the old man’s logic. With a quick nod and a somewhat clearer mind, he returned to his seat. “Is Francesca Lancaster really dead?”

The man’s eyes turned liquid, but his reply was steady. “It would appear so, and that someone has set Olivia up to take the fall.”

“How?” Jack practically barked.

“The constables say they found Olivia’s wrap at the scene of the crime, a servant spotted them together shortly before the murder was discovered, and . . .” He pressed his lips together and swallowed before continuing. “They found Frannie’s amethyst necklace stashed in Olivia’s dresser.”

The stodgy butler arrived with their tea, shooting Jack a glare as he set the service on the table. In no mood, Jack stared the man down until he shifted his gaze to Mr. Brownlow.

“Will there be anything else, sir?”

“Yes, Thompson. Please go to Mr. Appleton’s personal residence on Henrietta Street.”

“I know the place, sir.”

“Yes, wake him and explain what’s happened. Please ask him to advocate for Olivia’s bail and then come to me.”

Thompson gave a bow, looked at Jack and then Mr. Brownlow and opened his mouth to speak, but the old man cut him off. “Go now.”

As soon as the butler had gone, Jack said, “I think there are a few things you need to know.”

Mr. Brownlow coughed, took a sip of tea, and then nodded for him to continue.

“I’ve known Olivia since she was a child living on the streets.”

The old man’s neck stretched out and his shoulders straightened.

“You see, I was the boy who took her in after she fled the workhouse, and I’m also the one who stole your wallet.”

Tea halfway to his mouth, Mr. Brownlow froze. And then Jack explained his entire history from returning the wallet, to lurking around their house to check on his friend Ollie, to Monks almost killing him and that leading to him becoming a street lord. The old man didn’t interrupt until Jack got to the part about Lois March.

“The Widow March trained you up as a gentleman for the sole purpose of you stealing for her?”

“Yes, sir, I’m not proud of it. But as you can surely see, her offer was irresistible.”

A rough series of coughs racked the old man’s entire body. Jack rose to come to his aid, but Olivia’s uncle regained control and croaked, “Go on.”

“Sir, I must ask your forgiveness.” Jack perched on the edge of the sofa and stared into the cup clutched in both his hands, realizing this was the first time in his life he’d begged mercy from anyone. But for her, he would do anything.

“For what, son? I’m actually grateful for the day you stole from me, because it became the most joyful of my life.”

“It’s not that, sir . . . I’ve fallen irrevocably in love with your niece.” He met the old man’s gaze. “I know that I am not a suitable match, but she has become my world. Without her . . .” Emotion clogged his throat and he took a gulp of his tea, while images of Olivia in a prison cell morphed into her being dragged to the gallows. No!

He straightened. “Sir, Olivia has a half brother named Edward Leeford, and I have reason to believe he’s framed Olivia for Miss Lancaster’s murder. He’s known on the streets as Monks.”

Brownlow’s brow crinkled. “The crime lord who stabbed you?”

“Yes, sir. He believes Edwin Leeford left a significant fortune to the child who does not besmirch his good name. I overheard him threaten to defame his sibling—Olivia—so that he might inherit. He has considerable anger towards Olivia and her mother.” He gestured toward the painting of Agnes Leeford looking down at them from above the hearth. “He blames her for driving his father insane.”

“How do you know all of this?”

Realizing anything he said would implicate Olivia in any number of breeches in propriety, he answered, “That isn’t important. But we need to find that will.”

“Edwin Leeford died in Bedlam, penniless.”