Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Standing in front of the door to her father’s study, Ginger placed a trembling hand on the doorknob.
The last time she’d been in this room her father had been alive.
She couldn’t remember the exact words they’d exchanged.
But the betrayal and disappointment in her father’s eyes—that had been branded to her soul.
She pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders.
She’d waited until everyone had gone to bed, not wanting to explain herself.
Her head boiled with angry pressure, conflicted by her own rational thought and the emotions she’d done her best to control.
She should go to Noah, apologize for her lack of compassion for Victoria, for her refusal to be civil.
Of course she didn’t believe Osborne’s claims about him.
Whatever had happened at Kut, Noah wasn’t perfect. But he was honorable. He wouldn’t betray the British the way Henry or her father had. No matter how disillusioned he might be.
She swallowed her fears and pushed open the heavy door.
Nighttime wasn’t the best for this.
Ghosts don’t exist.
Yet, she could feel her father here. The smell of his pipe tobacco. The creak of his shoes.
She closed the door, pressed her back against it, and shut her eyes. Her accelerated heart rate told her she was afraid. But not of ghosts, not real ones, anyway.
Just the ones she couldn’t rid herself of: the memories of her father and Henry.
A few quick steps took her over to a lamp. She pulled off the sheet covering it and turned it on. The yellow glow of the bulb chased away some of the fearsome shadows.
Her mother clearly hadn’t wanted to sort through her own ghosts—the study was still closed. No doubt coming here was painful in a way Ginger couldn’t understand. Her mother had been forced to watch her father’s demise but couldn’t stop it.
That her mother had managed her knowledge of his affairs with such graceful silence and savvy only spoke to her intelligence.
And the nature of her parents’ relationship.
Not all husbands troubled themselves with telling their wives about their business dealings.
The more Ginger learned of her mother, the more she admired her.
Ginger moved toward the large mahogany desk, which was still shrouded. She uncovered it and bundled the sheet into the chair behind it. Her mother had told her the CID had taken some of her father’s belongings. What if she couldn’t find anything here?
She brushed her fingers along the grooves of the desk.
How often had her father sat here, making notes in ledgers, his head buried in books?
At home, his study in Penmore had been used for more personal matters.
But in Egypt he’d done the lion’s share of work here.
She’d missed most of it, of course. Her work as a nurse had kept her in the hospitals or on the front.
She’d missed the last three years of her father’s life. Henry’s too.
A quick search revealed empty drawers, just as her mother had suggested. The CID had taken everything. A fountain pen rolled in the top drawer as it opened, smacking against the side. She sighed. Other than a few bits and bobs of junk, nothing else seemed to be inside the desk.
She sank into the chair, her back against the bundled sheet. What had she expected? To simply open the desk and find valuable information right there?
It would have been too easy.
Ginger closed her eyes once again, listening to the stillness of the room. While her father was alive, the butler would have taken care to wind the grandfather clock. She missed the familiar rhythm of its tick-tock, counting the seconds of life. Its life had been extinguished like her father’s.
She stared at the desk. Her father loved his secrets. He wouldn’t have hidden the paperwork for the concession, otherwise. Wouldn’t have succeeded in his misdeeds as long as he had.
He wouldn’t have left information about Paul Hanover anywhere that was easy to find, even if Paul used an alias.
Ginger leaned forward, then pulled the top drawer of the desk open once again. Back home in Penmore, her father had a secret compartment in his desk. She’d found it while exploring his desk as a child and received quite the scolding for it.
Running her fingertips along the sides of the drawer, she felt for anything unusual but found only the smooth grain of the wood.
She flattened her hands, ran them along the surface. Toward the back, she felt the slightest groove, barely big enough for two fingertips to fit in. She dipped her pointer and middle fingers into the groove and pushed them forward, toward the back of the drawer.
The bottom of the drawer slid open a crack, revealing a compartment underneath.
She was right.
A smile curved at her lips as she pushed it open further.
A flash of gold caught her eye. The compartment was lined with velvet, with thin wires embedded into the velvet to hold various objects in place.
A pair of gold-hinged Egyptian cuff bracelets was tied down with the wire, the hinge open to accommodate the narrow space of the compartment.
Ginger untied one of them, lifting it with wonder.
Her lips parted. Hieroglyphs were inscribed on the inside of the bracelet, the outside encrusted with lapis lazuli.
If she’d ever needed proof her father was involved with smuggling, this was it.
A matching Egyptian broad collar necklace was carefully tied down beside the bracelets.
These objects were invaluable.
And most likely stolen.
A black leather book lay behind them. She placed the cuff bracelet on the desktop, then lifted the book. Flipping it open, she found her father’s neat script. An address book.
Her heart thudded as she flipped through it.
Paul Hanover.
And an address listed for him in Giza.
She covered her mouth, a bubble of victorious joy rising within her.
The doorknob jingled.
Ginger held back a cry and slid the drawer shut, still holding the book. As the door opened, she noticed the bracelet still on the desktop. She palmed it as William opened the door.
“Ginger.” His gaze swept over her. “I didn’t expect to find you in here.”
She tightened her shawl over her dressing gown. “I …” Taking the bracelet and the address book, she came around from behind the desk. “I was thinking of my father. Wanted to spend some time in the space he used to inhabit.”
William slipped inside, closing the door. “I can only imagine how difficult it is to have lost him.” He came closer. “I was hoping to have some time to speak with you about it one day. But you seem to slip in and out of the house before I even see you.”
“Oh—” She felt her face flush. “That’s the difficulty of my schedule, I suppose. Nurses keep odd hours.”
William shifted his weight onto his back foot, his head tilting as he considered her words. “That’s good. I worried I might have chased you away.”
“No, of course not.” Her palm broke into a sweat against the objects there.
She had no desire to explain them or herself to William, however likeable he was.
He looked different tonight. His left arm wasn’t in a sling and hung by his side instead.
In his striped pajamas, he could have passed for one of the many patients she tended to in the hospital.
They stood in silence, then Ginger nodded. “I should go to bed.” She hurried past him.
William reached out toward her. “Oh, Ginger—”
She sidestepped to avoid his hand and bumped into a chair near him. As her foot snagged on the fabric of a sheet draped over the chair, it entangled, and she tripped.
With catlike reflexes, William leapt forward, both arms outstretched. He caught her, keeping her from tumbling onto the floorboards.
Ginger froze, his face inches from hers.
Her eyes scanned his, then widened as she sprang away from him.
He’d caught her with both hands. Her jaw dropped and she stared at his left arm. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I—”
“You’re not a cripple.” Her words were a whisper.
William’s face reddened and his head hung in shame. “No.”
“But …” Disappointment crashed into her lungs and stole her words. “But why? Why would you lie?”
William sank into the chair she’d tripped on. “I wasn’t—” He didn’t meet her gaze. “I was never in the service. I’m a fraud.”
On another day, she might have been able to handle his lies with more grace, but tonight her eyes stung with angry tears. “Why, William? Why would you lie to us?”
He paled, then swallowed. “I have a heart murmur. Since I was a boy. I tried to sign up for the service. It was my dream to serve my country. But they rejected me. Instead, I was handed white feathers for my cowardice. So many I could practically make wings.”
Ginger thought of the many soldiers she’d known who lied about medical conditions or their age to serve. Either William was an honest man or he actually deserved those feathers for being a coward. And, right now, she didn’t think of him as honest. “So you lied about your service? And the uniform?”
“The uniform belonged to a friend of mine who died. He was the pilot at the Battle of Aubers. Shot down. Killed.” William flinched.
“But when I heard I was to be the new Earl of Braddock, it occurred to me: how could a coward hold such a rank? So I pretended when I arrived at Penmore. And, from there, I didn’t know how to stop the lie. ”
She didn’t know how to respond. What if there was even more?
She crossed her arms. “What of the other things you’ve bragged about?”
His voice dropped by degrees. “Those were to impress you. Once I told your family about being a pilot, something seemed to change in the way they viewed me. Even you. The other lies came more easily afterward.” He pulled at his collar.
“I heard about the doctor you were engaged to.” He cleared his throat.
“I’m good at numbers. Nothing to interest a brave and intelligent woman like you. ”