I came back to Briar to look for some clue of your whereabouts, now that I knew Mr. Lilly was dead. The house looked dead and empty. I was sure that I wouldn't find no one there, just the old furniture and the moss growing on the outside walls. Walking around the house gave me a strange feeling alright, as if somebody was going to jump out at me, even if I was sure there was no one, and I don't believe in no ghosts either. It was a different kind of feeling. I looked out the window and for a moment I thought I saw two girls, similar in height, wearing frocks and hats, giggling and running, arm in arm. It was the memories, clouding up around me like the fog in the road. It was like a living dream, after all I'd been through... Sometimes the madhouse seemed to be the dream, and sometimes, it was the weeks spent at Briar.

When I opened the door of your uncle's office and saw you sitting in his place, writing, I couldn't believe my eyes. However, I'd never seen you sitting there and I hadn't seen you writing, so I knew that it couldn't be another haunting memory. It was you, surrounded by sheets of paper, filling them with those wavy lines of ink that I could not understand. It seemed like you hadn't even heard me open the door. For a moment there, I was so struck with having found you that I couldn't move a muscle; I could only look at you. You were not wearing gloves. But then, I think you felt my eyes on you, and you raised your head and you saw me. And I saw all that I ever wanted. I stepped over the mark of the finger and went towards you, unafraid.

You sat back in your chair and very royally asked me if I had come to kill you. The mere thought terrified me, it was so contrary to my feelings and my intentions. It was different when I thought that you didn't love me, when I thought you had stolen from me what I had, what I counted on always having: my home and Mrs. Sucksby. One minute I was giddy and dazzled by the familiar stink of London, and the next I saw you looking out from my very window! I'm not ashamed to say that I cracked a little then. I thought you mocked me with that card, the two of hearts!

It was our own two hearts, Maud, now I know it. I wasn't aware of the journey we needed to make in order to be face to face, clean of lies at last. I was blinded by all the wrongness that had been done to me. Even my reputation had been blundered and I wasn't an honest thieve anymore! Everybody thought I had ran away with all the spoils, like a rat! Me, who always handed over everything to Mrs. Sucksby! I'm sorry to have grabbed that knife, I'm sorry to have jumped at you with it, but I couldn't even think, I believed that every one of my feelings was spoilt and worthless.

After that, you disappeared, and the sorrow for Mrs. Sucksby covered up everything else. She looked so small, standing on the platform... and then, swinging from the rope, already dead -for they make it quick for women-, she didn't look more than a little sack. Everybody becomes smaller when they die, I guess. Even Gentleman looked like a boy, lying on our floor, and we discovered that his origins were much less noble than what he had us all believing.

I wasn't a girl anymore, Mrs. Sucksby's death made me grow up. And then I found the letter written by the woman who was my real mother. My mother hadn't been a killer after all, she hadn't been hanged. She had left me with Mrs. Sucksby and had taken you instead. She had saved me; and you, Mrs. Sucksby's very daughter, had paid the price.

There was no way I could stop thinking about you. I knew that I had to find you, no matter how long it took me, after your uncle died. We had both gone too far and suffered too much. You were bearing the sadness and emptiness alone, writing in that hollow house as if you accepted that you were going to stay there for the rest of your life - I'm sure you did. You thought that you had done something so wretched that I wouldn't want to see you ever again, or, if I did, I would want to kill you. You looked at me like you thought you deserved it, but all I wanted was to be close to you, at last, without the plans and the lies between us. How could I harm you?

Then, you suddenly seemed stronger. You told me that I didn't know you at all, that you weren't a sweet girl, and began reading out from a book. At first the words made no sense to me, I didn't understand what the dusty old books had to do with it, but then my mind seemed to click. Tongues and lips? Bottom? I took the blasted book from your hands and stared first at the tiny blocks of letters and then at the drawing beside me, which I could understand. Naked figures! Was it a dirty book? Were they all like that, all that time you were with Mr. Lilly? The filthy bastard! How could he make you do that?

But you had more to say. You were writing those books yourself now, to earn a living, and you said it not without some self-satisfaction. You thought you were going to drive me away with that, didn't you? Did you expect me to cringe, to think you dirty? All I wanted was to cross those few steps that separated us and have you in my arms again. You were shaken, talking about Mrs. Sucksby, and your eyes were huge. I could never resist those eyes or the corners of your lips, which frame all the kisses that I still haven't given you.

Your lips twitched into unsure smiles when I brought a hand to your face, when I tried to rub off the smudge of ink on your temple. I wanted nothing else than to remain there and take care of you, and you seemed to sense it, but some part of you couldn't quite believe it. I'll work hard to erase that part of you that thinks you deserve to be despised.

Part of me still finds it hard to believe that all this time you've really loved me, that all those words you write are ways to say how you want me. You hesitated when you said that those words also spell out how you love me, as if I was going to scorn you for that, or as if it was too much to say it that simply. But I love you too, and now that I've found you, I'm here to be with you every day of my life. I'm here to bask in you every night and every day - your skin, your scent. You were shut inside this shell of a house, but I have found you now, gleaming and pure, no matter what you say. You pearl, you pearl.