Page 52 of Scars of a Passionate Revenge
Benedict could hold back no longer. “You speak as if you were fond of him, as if you respected him, My Lord,” he said, rather sharply, staring up at the baron, a flicker of anger coursing through him.
The baron raised his eyebrows. “Of course I respected him. He was a good man, and he served me well.”
“Then why did you dismiss him, without a word?”
The baron looked confused. “I do not know what you mean, dear boy.”
“You ordered for him to be dismissed!”
The baron shook his head. “That I did not do, Benedict. I remember the fire, and the horses going missing, and there was some gossip about your father being behind it all, but I never believed it for a moment. I never ordered for him to be dismissed.” He paused and looked thoughtful for a moment. “I always wished that he had stayed, so that we could clear his name, but he fled, taking you with him, and then it was too late.”
Benedict let out a gasp. How could it be that there were two such different versions of the truth. “But Alice said….” He trailed off before finishing the sentence. He was ashamed, now, of what he had done to Alice. Could it be that what she had been told was a lie, a story?
He took a breath and resolved that today, he would find out the truth. “My Lord, I think there has been some grave misunderstanding, that has gone on for many years. The baroness dismissed my father. She told him that it was on your orders, that everyone knew he was guilty. And so we ran away. Of course we did, we had no choice. And many years of hardship followed.”
And I always believed it was your fault, and now I have done something terrible which I may never be able to undo,he continued silently in his head.
“Well, Benedict,” the baron replied. “I think that we have a lot to talk about. Shall I call for some tea?”
“No!” Benedict almost shouted the word, and the baron looked a little startled.
“What do you mean, no?”
“My Lord, there is something else.” Benedict hesitated. Once he had expressed his suspicions out loud, there was no going back, but he had been going over it in his mind again and again for the last couple of hours, since he had awoken from his stupor, and he was almost certain now that he was right. “I think that you are being poisoned, My Lord. Please, do not take any tea that may have been prepared by the baroness or her maid.”
Chapter 23
“Poisoned?” the baron said, his eyes wide with shock. “It cannot be possible. Here, in my own home? Do you mean to say that you think that my wife is poisoning me?”
Benedict nodded. “I know that it sounds far-fetched, My Lord, but I am convinced of it. I think they gave me some tea earlier on that was meant for you, which is what made me sick. And yet the doctor could find nothing wrong with me. There are some poisons, you know, which do not leave a trace and are very hard to detect.
And just before I passed out in the drawing room, I heard the baroness calling the maid an idiot. I think that the maid gave me the tea that was meant for you.”
The baron was quiet for a while, digesting what Benedict had said. “You know, it is rather strange, because I have been feeling unwell for some time now, but recently I decided not to drink the tea that Dorothea brought to me, as I do not like the taste of it when she makes it, or her maid. And I have been throwing it into that plant pot over there.”
Benedict glanced across the room, following the baron’s gesture, and his eyes fell upon a plant that was in all honesty looking rather droopy and as if it was not thriving in the least. “The plant does not look at all well, My Lord,” he said tentatively.
The baron nodded. “You are right. Now, what shall we do, shall we send for the maid and see if she will be able to tell us anything?”
“I think that would be a good idea,” Benedict said.
The baron rang the bell, and within a few minutes, the severe-looking maid appeared.
The baron shook his head. “No, not you, Marie. I wish to see Sarah. Send her up immediately.”
“But, My Lord,” the maid protested, her thick French accent very apparent as she spoke.
The baron held up a hand. “This is my house, and I will have my orders respected!”
The maid curtseyed and left the room, and soon the other maid appeared, the one who the baroness had upbraided in the drawing room earlier in the day. She looked terrified.
“Do not be afraid, my dear,” the baron said kindly.
Sarah nodded, but Benedict did not think that she relaxed at all, even after his reassurances.
“Now, will you tell me about how the tea is made in the kitchen, please,” the baron said slowly.
“The tea, My Lord?” Sarah looked at him in confusion. Clearly it seemed strange to her that a man such as the baron would be at all interested in how tea was made in the kitchens of his own house.
