Symphony of Lilacs

30. City of Woe

Will I keep coming back once I have my answers?

I have always been enamored by mysteries. They've provided me with chances to find answers to questions no one often asks.
It has been always been more about the process, rather than the result for me.
I thought that curiosity had died down in the few months I've strayed away from them for my own sake.
But my entire resolve drowns when Mathilda says,
"But first, I need to know what you think you do."

It takes me a moment to reply, gaze escaping to the bookshelf on the other side.
"I know that your father had some... habits. And those habits led to unemployment and selling the manor you lived in. And I know about your mother... and my father..." my voice trails away.

She raises a brow at the last sentence, but continues,
"Our fathers were business partners."
Mathilda sighs, standing up. She walks the small distance between herself and the bookshelf on the other side.

"And I reiterate, your father and Walter Penrose were business partners. Knightley Industries was, at one time, called Penrose and Knightley Cooperation."

I leave my chair unattended, walking over to where she is.

The stories do match...

"We were in the middle then, neither too rich nor too poor. We were happy."
Mathilda shuts her eyes.
"But then my brother passed away."

"Brother?" both of my brows rise.

She nods.
"I was seven years old then and he was ten. I always thought he drank more than the fathers of my other school mates... But it became worse when my brother..."
Mathilda runs her fingertips on spines of the books. Her free palm clenches and unclenches at her side.

I take another step towards her, not saying anything, only praying it reads more like reassurance.

"The drinking became more and more usual. More bottles, longer absences.
He separated from the company when he felt he couldn't do anything about it."
She then opens her eyes, only to have them wander over to the golden pen sitting on a table near the stove.

Instead of commenting like a spectator, I say instead,
"Your father gifted you that pen... didn't he."

Mathilda shakes her head.
"Mama and Papa both did... during one of the days when they didn't fight." She bites her nail, lost in somewhere else.

I take her free hand, squeezing it.

"But everything became more difficult.
We were virtually penniless, despite living in a better area.
Paying even school fees was worrisome.
And Father still had no work, only wasted money on a bottle." She bites her lip.
"That's when Mama started to..."

Started to prostitute...

"You needn't finish that sentence if you don't want to," I say quickly, not letting go of her hand.

Both of her brows rise. Her lips try forming an answer, but maybe decide against the vocabulary at the last moment.
"What did you mean earlier when you said 'I know about your mother... and my father.'"

Breaths become shallower, ceasing me at the throat.
Though the choked breathing makes me realise one thing:
I have to tell her about him.

I run a hand through my hair, phrasing my words carefully.
"Crimley told me my father... took advantage of your family's situation."

Her jaw actually drops.
"That... isn't true. I know it.
Your father helped us. I'll tell you about his role later..." Mathilda mindlessly runs her thumb against our intertwined palms.
"But Crimley told you..."