was all Ilsa could do to breathe.
“Your mother was never strong again after you were born and the midwife said she shouldn’t have more children. When she died, I resolved that the promise I made to her would guide my life, and I tried to be the best father I could be to you, child . . .”
“Who is he?” asked Drew.
Papa looked up, his mouth a firm line. He would not answer.
“Liam Hewitt,” said Ilsa faintly. Papa started but didn’t deny it.
She had wondered for years why Liam disliked her so much, and why Papa always tolerated Liam’s rudeness and insolence. This explained why Papa had always favored him and promoted him so rapidly in the cabinetry shop. It even suggested why Mrs. St. James’s shop, small and modest, had been robbed—Ilsa had gone to Perth with them for two weeks. People had seen her walking on the hill with Drew. Liam had always taken pleasure in spiting her, and hurting her friends was the nearest thing to hurting her.
And it was all because Liam had known of their connection, while she had been kept ignorant, like a child.
Suddenly furious, she flew at her father, pounding his chest with her fists. “How could you? How could you not tell me something so important? How could you put our lives in front of him like that, making him resent and despise us? How—?”
Drew pulled her back, sitting beside her and wrapping his arms around her. Papa, who had not defended himself, stared long and hard at the way Ilsa clung to Drew.
“How are you certain he’s the one?” she demanded, slightly calmer but her voice still throbbing. “Doing this.”
He gazed at her with sadness and resignation. “Several of the victims were patrons of ours. They were robbed weeks after Liam supervised the installation of new locks and doors. I began to suspect . . . Well, I tried to protect him. I discovered he has a weakness for the cockfights, as I once did. I tried to dissuade him from them and paid several debts, but I heard he’s been playing deep again, and losing. One of the men arrested is his known companion, a low fellow who would do nothing but debase him and poison his mind.”
“Thomas Browne,” murmured Drew.
Papa nodded. “When Browne claimed the King’s Pardon, I feared Liam was involved. I tried to see Browne—hoping against hope he would deny Liam had scouted the shops and made duplicate keys—but they refused to let me see him. And then I heard my own name implicated, making clear what Liam meant to do. They’ll leave the other fellow to hang, cast the blame onto me, and Browne and Liam will walk free. The keys were likely made in my workshop. I’ve no doubt more evidence will be found there. It will appear beyond question. I daresay Liam will profess himself shocked and dismayed, and completely ignorant of my crimes.”
“Papa,” Ilsa pleaded. “How can you allow this?”
His hand on the table closed into a fist. “I cannot send my only son to the gallows. No matter how abhorrent his actions, no matter the cost to me. I cannot, Ilsa. Do not ask it of me.”
“But if you explain,” she began, a little wildly.
“If you drag me back to Edinburgh, I will confess,” he warned. “I am decided, Ilsa.”
She collapsed in her chair, bereft. He would confess to a crime he didn’t commit to save his son, who had betrayed him, regardless of what it did to his daughter, who had believed in him when no one else did. Between the two of them, Papa was choosing Liam—over her.
“What do you mean to do?” asked Drew.
Papa seemed relieved that the confession was over. He cleared his throat and nodded at Lorde, who had been apparently absorbed in his study of the grain of the oak table beneath his hands. The solicitor leapt into action, sliding a thick document to him.
“I’ve made over my will.” Papa glanced at Ilsa. “Almost everything to you, Ilsa. A bequest to Jean, of course, a remembrance to Mary, annuities for the servants, a few charities. And . . .” He paused. “Two hundred pounds to Liam. At one time I had thought to leave him the workshop . . .” He shook his head, avoiding her numb gaze. “I pray he uses the sum to start fresh and make the most of this escape.” He gave her a faltering smile. “Do some good with my money,