Page 55 of Anything But a Duke
Pain and guilt were as clear in Callihan’s eyes as if Aidan were looking in a mirror.
“Please.” The word felt odd on his tongue. He wasn’t used to pleading with anyone. For anything. He’d worked and fought and maneuvered for everything he’d acquired.
“There is one thing, Mr. Iverson.”
“I’m listening.”
The landlord grew silent so long, Aidan wondered if he’d reconsidered confessing more. He was just on the point of urging him when Callihan took a deep breath.
“There is a young lady.” He wheezed out a long sigh. “I believe she is your sister, sir. But she doesn’t wish to be known.”
Blood rushed in Aidan’s ears. He stalked to the mantel and gripped the edge, but it did little to stem a wave of dizziness that made the corners of his sight dim. Memories rolled in. Fragmented images of a girl with red-gold hair and a sweet smile.
Sarah was alive.
“How is she?” His voice quavered. His knees had turned to mush. “Is she well?” He turned back to face the man.
The man’s gnarled hands came up and he waved them at Aidan as if to push him away. “I don’t know. She wears a veil and comes infrequently. Only thrice in the last two years.”
“Why does she come?”
“I can’t tell you that either. I never invite her. She said she wished to help me. Gives me a few pounds every time she visits.”
None of it made sense. “Why would she pay you?”
Callihan didn’t answer. Instead he used his cane to push himself out of his chair and hobbled toward a small table where a cup of tea that must have long gone cold sat. He took a sip and then turned to face Aidan.
“I believe she means the funds as a gift. She said once the money was for Mary. I took that to mean a repayment for how I cared for her and saw to laying her to rest.”
Aidan began pacing the confines of the tiny parlor, his boot heels echoing against the polished wood not covered by the rug. “What sort of lady is she?”
The envy he felt toward the man was a living thing, clawing at him from the inside. Callihan had known Aidan’s mother and met his sister. Wealth, power, access to some damnable club seemed a pathetic substitute for those memories and connections he would never have.
Callihan made little aggrieved sounds as he considered his answer. “She’s a very finely dressed lady, sir, and speaks the queen’s English. A true lady.”
More mystery. Every step in his search showed him that the knot of his mother’s life and history was more tangled than he’d ever imagined.
But he wouldn’t stop. Aidan had to find his sister. He wouldn’t disturb her life. If she’d risen from the poverty they’d been raised in to become a fine lady, he’d never endanger her future.
Yet he had to see with his own eyes that she was alive and well. Perhaps he was selfish, but he needed to know.
“Anything else you can think of, Mr. Callihan? I intend to find my sister.”
He nodded his balding gray head solemnly. “Thought you would, sir. Won’t say I blame you either. But there’s nothing more to tell. She comes in fine clothes, says hardly a word, and offers me an envelope.”
“Do you have any of those envelopes?”
“I may have the last.” The landlord leaned heavily on his cane as he got to his feet and shuffled toward a side table and slid out its single drawer. “Yes, here it is.”
Between them, he lifted a cream-colored envelope. Aidan snatched at it eagerly, but it offered nothing. No writing, no watermark to indicate the maker, and no indication where it had come from or any clue that might help him find his sister.
“No help at all, is it?” Callihan sounded as bereft as Aidan felt. He’d never seen an old man who looked so weary.
“Youhave been helpful. Thank you.” He pulled two crown coins from his pocket and offered them to the landlord.
“Very generous, young man. I remember you as a kind child.”
There was no more to say. No more the man could give him, despite how much more he wanted to know. He headed for the threshold, almost as eager to be out of the lodging house as he’d been to enter it.
