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..."

"He said, 'Guess who the first customer was'..." Speaking those words aloud makes my eyes widen. The vagueness of the sentence dawns upon me:
Crimley never explicitly said it was my father.
He only rolled the dice and took the resultant route.

"They yearn for what they dread."

Mathilda slowly nodding brings me to the present, back to feeling her palm within mine.

She understood that sentence right away, but I... I let emotion cloud my judgement this time...

I suck in my lips, ruminating,
"But then... you didn't tell me your mother's history-- I mean, health background-- when you two came to the hospital."

"Then Walter Penrose died and so did all official transactions."

That isn't exactly a lie either...

She sighs, shaking her head,
"At the time, we were a bit too shocked that the doctor randomly assigned to us was a Knightley. It seemed too... coincidental."

"Now what do you think?"

Mathilda takes a moment.
"Mama thought you were curious, but about something else. She was better at hiding her surprise, though.
I... don't think there's anything suspicious about you now.

Suspicious now...

My figure leans against the bookshelf, gazing at nothing in particular.

"Matthew?"

I look up at her bright brown eyes.
"Nothing. I... we just thought the same about one another. Please," I breathe out, "go on."

She frowns, but continues,
"We eventually had to sell the manor. That's when we came here.
But debts surrounded us here, rather than new beginnings.
Father's health had already started declining... and then it worsened when he found out what Mama had to do for us...
Eventually, the cold ground became his companion..."

The moments tick away, her adjusting to words leaving her lips, while I absorb to all that has been said.
I want to console her as she leans against the bookshelf, gaze wandering to the window.
But I don't know what will that do. Will it actually help? Or will it weaken her composure?

Mathilda compresses her palm against mine.
"But before passing away, he wrote a letter to your father— to his former friend— asking for help." She notices my leaning forward, but doesn't comment.
"Percival Knightley only cleared those debts.
He offered to arrange for better lodgings, but Mama refused since he had already done enough."

The first day I really met her; Father coughing at the surname; me rushing to check his health...

If he helped... then why did he act like that?

"He helped you three?" She nods at my question.

A memory sweeps by my mind again, touching only at fragmented edges.

A boy of ten, his father by his side.
Talking to a woman his age.
The boy talking to a small girl.

"Do... do you remember when I once came here with my father?"

A pause. "I do, but vaguely. Della was upstairs with Mrs Trevor... but not much other than that."

"And the summer when we spent talking in Edenfield's library, about a decade ago?"

Her eyes widen.
"You... I thought you didn't remember..."

I take a step forward.
"I do, every moment of it. The first time, we talked about Persuasion. Even then you said you adored the writing." A smile finds its way onto my face.
And I don't mind it one bit when her expression mirrors mine.

"And you said it is unrealistic how a man waited eight years for his love." She rolls her eyes.

My smile lessens, but only for a moment
"Then I ought to assure you that my fourteen year old self was a mortifying moron."

She puts a finger at the corner of her lip, their curve never leaving.
"I once told Miss Estelle— she told me to call her that— that I liked books. She then invited me to come read at Edenfield's library."

"Mother, do you know anyone with the surname Penrose?"

"No, I don't think so. Why do you ask?"

"All right, I'll take you with me.
But you have to promise to not tell anything about this at home."

This... something is amiss...

Instead of the new discovery covering my mind, I say with a neutral expression,
"And I was always away for school, except for summer and Christmas holidays."

She keeps staring at me, but doesn't comment on the change of tone.
"Your sister was about five years old then.
Miss Estelle told me your brother mostly stayed within the nursery... because of his health."

My hand runs through my hair, nodding,
"Why... why did you stop coming then?"

"Summer was turning into golden leaves those days... Your father saw us together then. He didn't say anything. Just kept looking in between us. I never came back after that."
Mathilda shrugs.

He never does say anything, but still leaves a scar...

Still my lips part, thumb travelling to my chin.
"But why would—"

Mathilda narrows her eyes, something breaking in them, before a veil comes forth.
"I am the way into the city of woe,
I am the way into eternal pain,
I am the way to go among the lost."

The thumb on my chin sweeps across it, trying to tell me to right words. All I do is take a deep breath, an unwanted smile covering my lips.
"Of course, you would quote Inferno..."

Mathilda shrugs-- our hands parting-- as she makes her way to her chair.
"Crimley knew about our secrets and I don't know how. He asked for money in exchange for our sound reputation in this neighbourhood."
Mathilda sighs, her shoulders relaxing in releasing the breath.
"My point is:
Crimley may never lie, but he does know how to brew a thousand half truths to seem like a lie. That is all I will say about yours and his matter."
She sucks in her lips for a moment, before coming back to her usual demeanor.

"Everyone has secrets, you do, that Trevor boy did, and the Penrose girl..."

"Susan Weathers," she whips her head up at my saying that name,
"She had bruises on her neck during Jacob Trevor's... funeral..." I swallow, crossing the distance between us.

Mathilda blinks, folding her arms across her chest,
"Her brother did that... when he found out she was with Jacob Trevor's child... Crimley has started blackmailing them..."

I only stare at her, falling back into a vacant chair.
Elbows hit my knees while bending forward. Now both hands run through my hair.

Waves of regret, disgust and agitation wash through thrashes of pride and even sympathy.
How they all mix together-- even for a moment-- is unbeknownst to me.
But when my eyes open, it's because of her fingers on my shoulder.
My fists grip my folded arms while gaze much softer than before.
"What... what will happen now?"

Mathilda shies away her hand; I frown.
"Her sister-in-law is about to have a child, as well. She convinced her husband to claim the child as their own."

I vaguely nod; she glances at the wall clock.

"I don't understand why you Knightley men are so infatuated with these Penrose women."

That was the hook...

"How long will it take for you to get back?" Mathilda asks.

"Made his wife into a whore for money."

... And that was the lie.

My jaw tightens.

A visit to someone in particular is long overdue after all.

"Matthew?" Her voice jolts me back to reality and time.

There are only five minutes left till one O'clock.
"Twenty if I walk. Fifteen if I run. No one will notice my absence till a quarter past one." I turn to her, waiting for a reply.

"Then you must go then!" Mathilda stands up, rushing over to papers on her table. She tucks them quicker than I can stand up.
Within another moment, she takes her cloak.
"I have to go to my publisher by half past one."
While fastening her cloak, a strand of hair falls from her bun.
She sighs, putting her hands on her waist.

"Mathilda, it's all right. We'll both make it in time."
I tuck the loose strand behind her ear.
She only sighs-- putting her hand on my own.

Now is not the time, Matthew...

"Thank you, Mathilda, for everything," I say, taking a few steps back.
As our hands part, I brush my thumb against her fingers.

She smiles back at me, even if it is one the faintest I've ever seen.
"Your... talk of people falling off pedestals reminded me of how I felt when my father died." Mathilda folds her arms across her chest, turning to the door.
"Don't thank me." She opens her mouth again, but doesn't find any words.

A flash of light, a sliver of a smile and she's gone through the door, leaving me behind.
Giving one last look at the apartment I first saw almost fifteen years ago, I exit.
Even as we part ways, I find the answer to my own question:

I'll always come back to you, Mathilda...

So yeah, I gave y'all the major reveal but also left some questions here and there. You're welcome ;)

I wonder who Matt is gonna pay a visit 😏😏😏

Some facts about Victorian prostitution:
Prostitution was legal at the time and people from almost all classes took advantage of this arrangement.
Sometimes, women were forced by male family members to sell their bodies.
And sometimes, they did it as a sort of side business.
And sometimes, a girl from a well off family could have to resort to this if she didn't have enough inheritance or family members.

I don't have much to talk about rn
I'm overwhelmed (in a good way) & incredibly humbled.
This morning, I found out that this book is now FEATURED
And then in the evening, I've found out that SOL has been LONGLISTED FOR THE BLOODY 2018 WATTYS
LIKE HOW DID THAT HAPPEN ISNJSKSKSKSKKSKSKS
I LOVE YOU ALL FOR BEING SO SUPPORTIVE IN TIMES I DOUBTED MYSELF THE MOST 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Don't forget to vote! ❤️

HAVE A GREAT DAY YOU LOVELY PEOPLE,
LOVE,
MS ZAME