Page 111 of Marry in Secret
“But Venables—”
“Can die in a ditch for all I care. Ten o’clock and you’re out of here.”
“Ten? But that’s an outrag—”
“Nine then.”
“But that’s even more inhum—!”
“Eight o’clock. And if you’re still here by five past eight, I’ll have you and all your belongings thrown into the street. Understand?”
“Yes, Thomas.”
***
So if Cornelius hadn’t tried to kill him, who had? Thomas worked it out on the way back from the village. Ambrose. The thought made him sick to his stomach.
It couldn’t be. His oldest living friend—or so he thought. He had to be mistaken.
But he knew he wasn’t. Why else would he tell Thomas that Cornelius had bribed some village boys to dig up the badger’s sett if it wasn’t true?
There was no answer to that.
The case against: He’d specifically warned Thomas against going into the sett.
Knowing full well that such a warning would prompt Thomas’s curiosity.
It had to be him. There was no one else.
But why? The question pounded uselessly at Thomas’s brain.Why?What good would Thomas’s death do him? There was no advantage that Thomas could see.
Did he hate Thomas? Had he hated him all these years?
And if so, why?
He’d always considered Ambrose his friend. His cousin. His only living relation, apart from Cousin Cornelius.
It dawned on Thomas with sickening certainty that it must have been Ambrose who sent those letters, purporting to be from Uncle Walter and Gerald. Condemning Thomas to life as a slave.
The memory of Ambrose’s chalky complexion when Thomas had mentioned his slavery came back to him.A slave, Thomas? Is that what you became?
Had he not realized the power of those damned letters? He must have. Surely.
It was Ambrose. Ambrose had condemned him to slavery. Ambrose had sent the poisoned marzipan. He must have shot Rose in mistake for Thomas. And today he had tried to crush Thomas with a doctored tree branch.
The realization was devastating.
But the question remained:Why?
Chapter Fourteen
Nobody can tell what I suffer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied.
—JANE AUSTEN,PRIDE AND PREJUDICE
Rose was waiting for him when he reached the house. “Well?”
“He didn’t do it.”
