Fern stood, but paused at the door, hand on the frame. She looked back at the dying man, the one who’d ruined so many lives without an ounce of remorse. ‘At least give me his name,’ she said. ‘The boy. What was his name?’
Nathaniel didn’t lift his head, but his lips moved.
‘William Brooks.’
Fern nodded once, swallowing the tight knot in her throat. She left without another word. The door shut behind her.
As she walked back to the sitting room, her stomach twisted with a sharp, nauseating churn at the thought of what both men had done to her great-aunt.
‘We’re ready to go,’ she said, looking at Daniel, who stood and crossed the room towards her without a word, reaching for her hand. She took it without hesitation, then she turned and fixed Alistair with a hard, unflinching stare. ‘What you did…’ she said, her voice low but shaking with fury. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’
Alistair didn’t speak, just silently followed them into the front hall and closed the door behind them.
Fern and Daniel didn’t speak again until they were through the iron gate, past the waiting journalists, and into the quiet of the side street beyond.
‘What the hell happened in there?’ he asked.
Fern shook her head slowly. ‘He’s a man without a soul, no remorse, obsessed with money, with being adored. He used Matilda for her talent, her love, and when she became inconvenient, he tossed her aside like she was nothing.’ She exhaled. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what she went through. Losing the man she thought loved her. Her songs stolen. Believing her baby died at birth… only to find out years later he’d lived. She ran a DNA match and found him but then learned he’d already passed away. It’s all just… heartbreaking.’
Daniel glanced over at her, the concern in his face growing. ‘Did he give you anything? A name?’
Fern nodded. ‘I asked for it. I just thought… maybe I could visit the grave. Let her know, somehow, that someone cared enough to remember him.’
Daniel’s grip on her hand tightened.
‘What was his name?’ he asked.
‘William Brooks.’
Daniel stopped walking.
‘Say that again,’ he urged.
She turned to face him, confused. ‘William Brooks.’
Daniel’s face went white. His mouth opened, but no sound came at first. Then, barely louder than a breath: ‘That’s my father’s name.’
ChapterFifty-One
The train clattered along the tracks, heading north, the sea flashing in and out between clumps of windswept trees and scrappy hedgerows. Fern sat across from Daniel, who hadn’t said much since she had shared the name of Matilda’s child. She didn’t push him. ‘This is us,’ he said suddenly, standing up just as the train began to slow.
‘This isn’t our stop.’
‘I know. Come on.’ He didn’t explain or even smile. Just added, ‘Trust me.’
The platform was tiny, the station one of those blink-and-you’ll-miss-it stops. There wasn’t even a station building, just a shelter with a bench. Beyond that, a quiet lane wound towards the coast. They walked in silence along the lane for about fifteen minutes until he turned down a narrow track. At the end of it, nestled between two hills, was a house.
Fern stopped in her tracks. ‘Oh… my… God. Look at that.’
The house looked like something out of a countryside romance film. Cream-coloured stone walls, ivy climbing all over, pale blue shutters, a front porch with a swing seat gently moving in the breeze, and a roof made of weathered slate tiles. The garden was wild but beautiful, lavender bushes, tall grasses, and daisies sprouting between the flagstones of the path.
‘Okay, what is this place?’ she asked.
Daniel looked towards the house before meeting her gaze. ‘My family home, and now my home.’
Fern stared at him. ‘This is yours? And you’re living at the antique shop?’
He gave a small, sheepish shrug. ‘Yes, I couldn’t face it.’
