Page 93 of The Mystery Guest

But when Mr. Preston repeats it—“Molly, did you hear me? I really am your grandfather”—I put down my teacup. The world begins to spin. Fabergés and muffins and Gran’s thrift-store silver dance before my eyes.

“Molly. Please don’t faint. Here,” he says, picking up my cup from the table and putting it in my hands. “Tea cures all ills.”

“My gran used to say that,” I say between long, unsteady breaths.

“I know,” he replies.

I look at him as the spinning world slows to a standstill. “Mr. Preston, are you of sound mind?” I ask.

“What? Of course I am,” he replies.

I wait for him to say more.

“Molly, years ago, when your gran and I were young and in love, her parents were desperate to keep us apart. Once upon a time, your gran had money. Her parents were very well-to-do. She was upper crust, and in her parents’ eyes, I was just a poor, useless crumb. But, you see, her parents failed to keep us apart.”

“Failed how?” I ask.

Mr. Preston takes a sip of tea. “I mean it literally, not figuratively.” He clears his throat and squirms in his seat.

It takes me a moment. “Oh,” I say. “I see.”

“Molly, when I found out your grandmother was pregnant, I wasn’t upset. Not at all. I told Flora it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I wanted to elope and live happily ever after. We made a plan to do it, but it never happened.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“On the day we’d planned to run away together, I went to her home, a posh three-story mansion in a neighborhood far from my own. I knocked on the door, but I wasn’t allowed in. Her parents didn’t even have the nerve to speak to me themselves. It was the butler who told me she was long gone.”

“She’d run away?” I ask.

“No. She was shipped away against her will. By her parents. They sent her to a home for unwed mothers, the kind where they take the baby away from its mother once it’s born.”

“But they didn’t take the baby away,” I say, my eyes turning to the photo on the curio cabinet. “Gran kept her. She raised my mother.”

“Yes, because she ran away from that loveless place. She escaped. She came back to the city. She showed up on her parents’ doorstep begging for forgiveness, but her parents disowned her. She was eight months pregnant, Molly. She accepted a job as a domestic maid, working for a very wealthy family. When her time came, she took a few days off to have her baby, and then she kept working with the infant bundled on her hip.”

“But why didn’t she come back to you? Why didn’t you help her?” I ask.

“She wanted nothing to do with me. Her parents had filled her with shame, told her she was a failure and a good-for-nothing who never understood the reality of things until it was too late. For years, your gran refused to see me. She rented this very apartment, Molly, and she lived here until the day she died. Did you know any of this?”

“No,” I say.

“I tried many times to help her. She wouldn’t let me. She wouldn’t let me see my child either. Eventually, I gave up trying. I met my wife, Mary, and we married, had our daughter, Charlotte. And we were very happy. But I never forgot Flora. And I never forgot your mother either,” he says.

“Maggie,” I say.

“So your gran told you her name.”

“No,” I say. “She didn’t.”

“After a lot of pressure, Flora eventually let me back into her life. I’d told Mary everything, of course. My beloved wife knew the whole story, that I’d fathered a child with Flora out of wedlock. My Mary was a good woman. She and your gran formed a lovely friendship over the years. When your gran struggled, all on her own like that, it was Mary who convinced her to accept our help. We did what we could when we could.”

“The rent money,” I say. “You gave it to us.”

“Yes. And later when your mother got mixed up with that…that…”

“Fly-by-night?” I offer.

“I was going to say ‘thieving drug dealer,’ but you’ve always been more polite than I am.” He looks at me, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I tried, but I couldn’t find the words. I worried the shock would undo you.”

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