Page 160 of Immortal Rose

There.

There it was.

I felt no freer, no lighter, for having said it. There was no relief in the truth, not with the ghastly look of surprise on Hugh’s face or the way his hands slowly retreated from mine.

“Your father is Michael Lockwood,” he said faintly.

“That was the man my mother married,” I told him. “She named him as my father in the parish records, but the ceremony occurred after my birth.”

Mrs. Keyes didn’t look surprised so much as concerned. “How in the Devil’s name did your mother become entangled with Robert Greystone?”

“It happened before he became—” I paused, folding my hands together tightly in my lap. “It happened before he became the Robert Greystone. When she met him, he was a solicitor for Charles Walsh, who was only just making a name for himself as a smuggler and the leader of a fencing syndicate. They fell in love, but she spurned him when he suggested they elope against her father’s wishes.” I bit my lip. “She told me she’d rejected him because she’d sensed a sort of . . . growing darkness in him. He accused her of not wanting him because he wasn’t wealthy or powerful enough.”

“And so, he killed Walsh and seized his fledgling underworld organization to prove her wrong,” Mrs. Keyes finished, looking faintly impressed. “Expanding to gambling, protection rackets, extortion, murder for hire, and brothels. Ambitious, to be sure.”

“My mother discovered she was pregnant around that time,” I continued weakly. “But she wouldn’t go to him, not after what he’d done—well, I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate on that.”

There had been all-out war within the ranks of Walsh’s old gang as the old man’s second- and third-in-command had fought Greystone for control of the group. Blood had run in the streets for months.

“She was afraid Greystone might try to use me in some way or take me from her—to punish her for her rejection, I suppose,” I said. “So, she disappeared into Riverside, and she was able to support herself for a time at a workhouse there . . . and then she met Michael Lockwood.”

“I see,” Hugh said after a moment.

I shook my head. “You don’t. Not entirely.”

Standing on trembling legs, I made my way back to the washstand, where I had dropped the letter. The pool of blood was spreading ever toward it. For a moment, I was tempted to let it consume the old parchment and devour its secrets.

Instead, I retrieved the commonplace book and brought both over to him. “This slipped out from the pages.”

Hugh took the note, unfolding it with care. His brow furrowed as he read, then his gaze shot up to meet mine.

“Dobbin—for Robert?” he asked.

I nodded, swallowing. “I had no idea she called him that, I swear.”

“Who is Dobbin?” Mrs. Keyes asked, her essence doused in the nuttiness of confusion.

“A man we believe may have the nectar we need to finish Immortal Rose,” Hugh said. “He’s a known collector of fairy plants and oils.”

Hugh looked as though he had swallowed one of Mrs. Silver’s poisons.

The knot formed in my throat, aching. Well, it certainly wasn’t every day you found yourself married to the daughter of the Butcher of Linden.

I pulled away from him and opened the commonplace book, scouring its pages for mentions of the name.

“He had no idea you existed,” Hugh began. “Not until your mother’s journal was stolen.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Were you able to get it back?” Mrs. Keyes asked.

“No,” he said, his hands curling against his knees. “Someone had already broken into the newspaper’s offices and stolen it.” Hugh reached out, catching my hip and my attention. “What does she mean in her note about Rosebourne creating a nightmare?”

“I have no idea,” I said helplessly. “Earlier, Hornsby told me that my mother hadn’t been cast out, she’d chosen to leave, but that runs contrary to everything she’s ever told me.”

And if she had lied . . . why?

“May I see it?” Hugh asked, gesturing to the journal. I handed it to him, feeling hollow at my center. He went straight to the commonplace book’s final pages, moving through them in reverse order. He breathed in sharply, then turned it around so I could read it. With my quizzing glass on the bedside table, I closed my one eye.