Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,76
when Father Neapolitan and the archbishop were smoking were placed in separate envelopes, too. “Why?”
“I’m assuming that you are DH and Elizabeth is EH?” he asked.
I nodded.
Gideon blew out a long breath. “Alright. It says that while they found a paternal match for the candidate DH, they could not find a match for the father of EH.”
Chapter Thirty
I stared across the room at Gideon, my brows creasing into a frown and my heartbeat accelerating with every passing second. What the hell did he mean that there was no match for Elizabeth’s father? Maxwell and I had checked and double-checked the samples.
“What are you saying?”
“None of the men tested were the father of Elizabeth,” Gideon said. “I wondered if the laboratory mistook her sample for yours.”
“Because it would make better sense that my father would be none of the above,” I muttered.
Gideon rose from his pile of clothes and placed the cover letter on my lap. I stared down at a bunch of words swimming across the page but couldn’t understand a thing.
He placed an arm on my shoulder and sighed. “If my suspicions are correct, then this is wonderful news. It proves that you’re not in any way related to the Liddell family and have no claim whatsoever to their fortune.”
“And if you’re wrong?” I asked
Gideon shook his head. “It’s impossible.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, pushed away the fog closing in on my eyes, and opened them again. The piece of paper contained a jumble of undecipherable letters and numbers.
“DC stands for Deputy Chief Constable and AB stands for archbishop?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Gideon flipped over the first page and placed his finger on one of the results. On the left-hand column were the initials DH and the right the alleged father, AB. “A fifty-percent match with a probability of paternity of 99.9998%. Do you see why I think that’s Elizabeth’s result?”
I frowned but nodded.
He flipped over the next page. “DC here is a twenty-four percent match, consistent with an uncle.”
“If the lab mixed us up, then that would make sense, since Cameron Liddell is the archbishop’s younger brother.”
Then he flipped the next. “DB also has a twenty-three percent match, consistent with a grandfather.”
“But Mr. Burgh isn’t related to the Liddells—”
“I haven’t finished.” He flipped over the next. “TN’s match is eighteen-percent, which denotes a more distant familial relationship.”
I rubbed my chin. “If you think they mixed my sample with Elizabeth’s, why would Mr. Burgh come out in the DNA test as Elizabeth’s grandfather?”
“I don’t know…” Gideon turned a few more pages. “Who is GB?”
“Gabbage,” I said. “That’s Lady Liddell’s maiden name.”
A breath caught in Gideon’s throat, making him stiffen. “What?”
“What?” I asked.
Gideon held up a palm and muttered something about incomplete information. For the next few seconds, he flipped through the results and even picked up the pamphlet to cross-reference them. Throughout this, nausea rippled through my insides. What if the results weren’t really jumbled up? What if Lady Liddell got pregnant with another man’s child and passed Elizabeth off as the daughter of the archbishop?
That would mean he was my father. I shook my head. My father couldn’t be the archbishop. Mother barely knew the man. He was ancient—even older than Mr. Burgh—and he hardly got involved with anyone apart from the occasional meeting for chapel sermons.
“Remember everything I just told you?” Gideon placed the papers back on my lap. “Forget it. The final DNA test matched EH to GB, indicating that Elizabeth is both the daughter of Lady Liddell and none of the men sampled.”
Every ounce of blood drained from my face. I reached a trembling hand into my pocket and pulled out my phone. “Bloody hell.”
Gideon’s gaze dropped to my hand. “What are you doing?”
I tapped the shortcut for Mother, hoping she would be sober enough to pick up. “Calling the only person who can tell me what really happened eighteen years ago.”
Gideon flopped back on the crushed pile of clothes. “Good luck.”
The phone rang and went to voicemail. I hung up and dialed again and again and again until someone picked up. An impatient, female voice I didn’t recognize. When I told her it was Lilah, the voice softened and told me to wait a moment. I licked my dry lips. Was this another housekeeper or was that Margaret woman doing a bit of overtime?
Just as I turned on the phone-recording app, Mother rasped, “Lilah?”
“I’ve just gotten some DNA results back from the lab. Guess what they say?”
She paused before answering. “What are you talking about?”