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Chapter 9 – Safe House
Eva took a deep breath. Someday it might. What does that mean? Tintin's surprisingly sturdy shoulders were outlined by the faint light coming in through the window he was facing, turning his copper hair paler. He stayed where he was, not facing her, and Eva tore her eyes away to examine the room.
It wasn't wide, but it was very long. Windows lined either side at various distances, and it was unfurnished except for an armchair not too far to the left. Suddenly, Eva felt as if she had invaded something private – something no one else had seen. To take her mind off it, she spoke. "This room is bigger than just the house we came through."
Tintin finally turned. "Yes, it is. It's the connected attics of all the townhouses beside it, but there only seems to be one entrance." He motioned towards the place in the floor they had come through, and approached her.
Eva's breath hitched, and then she realized that he was only moving to close the trapdoor she hadn't seen. Now it was her turn to move to the window, the pale light illuminating her face. She stayed there, looking fixedly at the glass panes though she was aware of Tintin approaching her from behind, and stopping a few feet away.
"There isn't much I can tell you about these people," Eva began, unmoving, "But I can tell you about my father, and some other useful things."
"Anything you can tell me could be of use." Tintin replied cordially. Eva turned to him now, her eyes wide in her anxious face. He was suddenly aware of a vaguely unsettling realization – that he trusted her completely, and that his usual politeness was not the thing most needed right now. Gentler, he added, "Start from the beginning."
Eva turned back to the window, and began her story in a quiet, steady voice. "Mr. Hartley isn't really my father, he's my uncle. My grandfather had disinherited my mother, but when Mr. Hartley became the master of the house he tried to find his sister. He did find her, but she was very sick, and my birth father had already died. She died too, shortly after Mr. Hartley found her. He took me back here, to Brussels and raised me as his own. I was two years old then, so I don't remember much of my real parents. Mr. Hartley has been my father all these years." She took another deep breath.
"My father didn't send me off to school, but kept me with him and brought in the best scholars from all over Europe to teach me. He was very generous with everybody, but made it a special point to make sure I had all the education a young lady should have. We only kept a cook and a butler, but both vanished after he died. Paid off, I expect. He was found dead in his bed – they said he died in his sleep, but I don't believe it."
Tintin watched Eva's face carefully. Her voice was still steady, but her eyes glistened.
"The morning he was found dead, these 'cousins' show up with a will. My father always told me that he would leave his money to whoever needed it and the house and a little more would go to me. When they arrived – I didn't know what to make of it. It couldn't be. My – my father wouldn't have left everything to me. They said the house was theirs now, that I'd have to leave. I tried to argue, and then they offered me a bribe. I got angry, and they threatened me. They locked me into the library, but I knew a way out. So I took what money I had stored away and left the house in secret."
Eva's breathing had gotten more unsteady as she continued, but she moved forward nonetheless.
"I cut my hair and dyed it, and took an apartment. I thought the best place in the city to not be looked for would be in the apartment building of the famous reporter Tintin." Now she allowed herself a small smile as she wiped away her errant tears. "Unfortunately, they had seen fit to threaten you anyway. I was the one who stole the second note from you."
Tintin was uncharacteristically silent for a moment as the gears in his brain turned. "That's it," he said. "That's the answer!"
