“Mr Hawke did not murder Papa.”
“You would say that. You’re in bed with the devil.”
“He has an alibi.”
“Yes, he was at Mivart’s gorging on the bones of his victims.”
“That’s enough, Aunt,” Daphne snapped.
Aunt Augusta sighed before nodding. “Let’s not bicker. Heaven knows we have enough strife coping with the gossip.” She smoothed her gloves and flicked her hand at the teapot. “You pour, dear. My nerves are in tatters since you left.”
Doubtless, this was the first of many jibes. Daphne steeled herself and poured the tea. “Have you heard from the solicitor? Has he mentioned the details of the will?”
“Once your father’s debts are settled, I’ll be counting the pennies in one hand. The fool mortgaged the house.”
The news came as no surprise. There was a reason he’d decided to sell his own daughter.
“It wasn’t to pay the Moseley brothers. You know they hound the family for the debt. You owe Mr Hawke your gratitude.”
Her aunt shivered. “I suppose he’ll want blood.”
“I’m sure he’ll settle for an explanation.” She took a long sip of tea, watching her aunt’s reaction over the rim of her cup.
“About what?” Her aunt harrumphed. “If it’s about your trip to Bengal, that wasn’t my idea. The pressure of the loan left your father doolally.”
“There’s the debt Mrs Foster is working to pay.”
Her aunt paled. “For heaven’s sake, speak quietly.” She glanced about as if the walls had ears. “Look. I see no harm in telling you now. Your father had a particular arrangement with her. She … provided certain services … to ease his financial burden.”
Daphne froze. She’d been living with a monster who deserved to rot in hell, not the city morgue.
“I know that Mrs Foster is currently paying Father’s debt to Lord Ainsley.”
Aunt Augusta leant closer. “It’s a dreadful affair. I had togive her some items from the house. The last of the silver. Your mother’s pearl earrings and cameo brooch.”
The comment landed like a stone in water.
Daphne dropped the cup on the saucer, the clatter ringing through the coffeehouse. A few people turned their heads to stare.
“They weren’t yours to sell,” she said through clenched teeth. “They were bequeathed to me. Besides the locket, they were all I had left of her.”
It was her own fault. She had left the most precious things behind.
Her eyes stung, though whether from grief or the blur in her vision, she couldn’t say.
“We’ll find a way to buy them back from the pawnbroker.” Her aunt took a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at the spilt tea, then refilled Daphne’s cup. “It was only a temporary measure.”
“Did my father have the same arrangement with my mother?” she blurted. “She was so desperate to repay a loan, she begged the Moseley brothers for money.”
Aunt Augusta puckered her lips. “Who told you about the loan?” She poured the last of the milk into Daphne’s cup. “Your mother made us swear never to mention her … spending.”
Why was this the first she’d heard of it?
Why was Augusta not drinking her tea?
“That’s not the reason Mr Moseley gave.”
Aunt Augusta took a lump of sugar in the nippers and dropped it into her cup. “What did he say?” The spoon clinked against the china as she stirred. “You can hardly trust a moneylender’s word.”
