Chapter 35 #2
A knot formed in my gut, heavy as a stone.
My plan took a slight detour. “I have been reflecting on the happenings of that night.
" I paused a beat before continuing. "I cannot tell you of the pain I endured, Briggs, nor the terror of being left to die in the dirty streets of London. I figured one of my friends had betrayed me out of jealousy—since they did not simply rob me—or someone I had won money from sought revenge. What reason would anyone else have to commit such a horrific crime?”
Briggs did not answer. His face was an impassive stone.
I persisted in my tale. “Thankfully, God had mercy on me. I was given a second chance. I do not gamble any longer, but neither do I trust anyone. I am careful where I travel and who I am with. I have guards watching my property, and I pay two investigators to help me search for not just my rescuer but my attacker. There was only one person I allowed myself to confide in, and that was you. You are my only friend, Briggs. Or were my only friend. Until I fell in love recently with the woman who rescued me.”
“What?” Briggs broke his stony countenance, his forehead wrinkling under his persistent lock of hair. “You found her?”
“I did. And she found in my hand evidence that belonged to my attacker.”
Briggs paled.
I wish to heaven that he had not.
I knew then that I sat across from the man who had tried to destroy my life. The man I had called my friend.
“What evidence?” he asked. His hands crawled upward to his waist. Did he have a knife?
“Evidence that points to you, Briggs.”
He shot out of his chair to his feet, his eyes wild with fear.
My hands lifted in a defensive position. “Sit down, Briggs.”
He did not move.
Tension coursed through me, woven with sorrow. “Don’t bother denying it. Your actions are proof enough for me.” My voice was calm. Heavy. “Can you at least tell me why?”
I don’t know what I expected—for him to scream at me, to attack me, or to bolt from the room. Whatever it was, I did not expect for him to slowly round the corner of my desk and fall to his knees.
“Kill me, please.” His words bore his hopeless surrender and a furtive plea. “I deserve to die.”
Die? I had been the one to almost die. Every nightmare and memory of physical pain from the attack assailed me, as if I were reliving it in that moment.
Then there was the worry for my family. The constant concern for their lives.
And he . . . my only confidante and friend.
After all he did to me—to my mind—maybe he did deserve to die.
My temper flared. “Dash it all, Briggs. How could you do this to me?
" I stood with such haste that my chair crashed to the ground behind me.
"Tell me why! Why did you try to kill me?”
His eyes lifted, so empty they scared me. “I, too, love the thrill of the game of cards. I needed the money.”
The rock in my stomach sunk ever further.
He was like me.
We were the same.
I could barely catch my breath. “Why did you not rob me then? You could have had my horse and my purse.”
“The horse could have been traced back to me. Besides, I had already been stealing from you, and I could not have you find out.”
I stilled. “The failed investments.”
He nodded. “One or two were real, but for the most part, I never invested the money. I changed the bank routes and pocketed the funds.”
My arms felt limp at my sides. “Mercy, Briggs. What kind of debts do you have?”
His pale skin turned a shade of green. “You have no idea.”
“I think I can imagine,” I muttered. “So, you had to kill me.”
“I changed your will. You were to leave me a small inheritance.”
I moaned, my hand coming up to my mouth. How had I let myself be so deceived? How could I ever trust myself to judge another man again? “Why didn’t you try to kill me again when I returned?”
“I am not a murderer,” he said. “I tried to be, but that night in the alley, I stopped those men before they finished you off. It’s true, I hoped you would die of your wounds, but I washed my hands of your fate.”
“And when I returned?”
He lowered his gaze. “It was easier to want to do away with you when you were selfish and conceited. When you returned, you were vastly changed. You wanted to be my friend.” He said the last like it was the worst circumstance imaginable.
I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. “I did.”
He shook his head. “Do you know how that tortured me? Instead of wanting to eliminate you, my guilt destroyed me. First, you overpaid me. Then you gifted me money. Have tea, you said. Be careful of the storm, you said. I trust you, you said.” His face screwed up in visible pain.
Then he lowered his head to the floor. “I cannot face my wife and children. The guilt is killing me, anyway, my lord. I beg you. Finish it, and put me out of my misery.”
I shook my head. For months, I had waited for another attack. I had startled over shadows and held a knife to an innocent woman’s throat. Never in a million years had I expected this scene before me. “Are you still stealing from me?”
He did not raise his head and spoke into the carpet.
“No, your lordship. I set the will back to rights too.
The last investment was my way of refilling your coffers.
It failed in its own right. It was my last hope for redemption.
Forgive me. I wish I could go back and change everything. I despise myself for what I have done.
“Is this why my detective never found you? Did you ever even pay the man?”
He ducked his head. “Only to oversee specific tasks I approved.”
I swallowed my disgust. “And the clues around the estate? The cold fire the guards found? The camp?”
“Meant to distract you. I cannot be sorrier.”
I breathed out slowly. What was I to do?
Estelle was gone, and now Briggs had betrayed me.
And I was an even greater fool than I was yesterday.
I stalked the perimeter of my office, my hand massaging my brows.
My loathing for gambling multiplied. What sort of ruthless obsession with winning and money led a man to steal and to take another man’s life? I pulled up short.
That same ruthless obsession had had a choke hold on me not that long ago. But even at my lowest, I never would have stooped to that level.
I marched to Briggs’s side. “Get up, Briggs,” I growled.
“My lord?” His head lifted a fraction.
Choices had consequences, as I well knew. “Briggs, you are dismissed from my employment, effective immediately.”
He gave a grave nod.
“As for your trial,” I began, but something in his eye made me hesitate.
Again, I saw a glimpse of myself in him—friendless, tortured, and empty inside.
My bluster waned. A thousand times I had wondered if it would have been better for me to die so some other good-hearted man could have lived instead.
Why me? Why had I been granted a second chance? Maybe it was because of the cottage hospital. Maybe it was because my family did not need two men in their lives to mourn. Or perhaps . . . it was to prove to myself my own worth.
The light from the window splayed across Briggs’s face, and I was reminded of all the potential I had seen in him since we’d met—as a businessman, as a father, as a friend. Instead of seeing the man who had betrayed me, I saw his worth.
My second chance was about this too. It was about a wife who needed her husband, and children who needed a father. It was about a man's life. If I sent him to trial, he would very likely hang.
What if . . . ?
What if I lived so I could forgive Briggs?
I cleared my throat, now thick with emotion.
“Your trial . . . is up to you. What you did was unthinkable; however, no one deserves to die who desires reconciliation and expresses true sorrow for their trespasses. I, of all people, know of the pain you speak of. I carry my own burdens. I will not press charges if you leave now. I will, however, keep an eye on you from a distance. This time, my detectives will be paid, and they will be relentless. If I hear word that you are gambling again or stealing money, I will not have mercy on you a second time.”
Tears sprang to Briggs’s eyes, and he wept at my feet.
If he was anything like me, his guilt would continue to torture him. Eventually, he would become dead to it, or he would let it motivate him to be better.
It was a quarter hour before Briggs left my office.
Between his thanks were his repeated apologies and his humble request for my counsel in abandoning his vice.
I would never see my money returned. I knew that and still let him go.
In some ways, the monetary loss had vindicated my soul.
What I had cheated from others was now cheated from me.
I sat in my office for a few hours, contemplating my day. I had lost a friend, and for now, Estelle was lost to me too. And yet, this low point was not as low as it should have been. My heart felt somehow lighter. With what energy I had left, I went in search of my sister.
I knocked, and when I heard her voice, I let myself in. Augusta lay curled up with Gingersnaps on her bed. It was never a good sign to find Augusta enclosed in her bedchamber.
“She’s gone,” she said.
“I know.”
Augusta smoothed Gingersnaps’ fur in rhythmical strokes, and I caught the redness around her eyes. “I had a sister again. Now the house feels empty, and I feel so alone.”
I walked deeper into the room and stopped only when I reached the end of her bed. “You’re not alone. We’re together now. But I will do all that I can to set this to rights.”
Augusta pulled herself up against her pillows. “Then I must give you an important piece of information to aid your search. Estelle’s surname is Lowry, not Lewis.”
“Lowry?” I knew a man from university by that name. Could they be related? “Thank you. I know an excellent detective who will help us. I’m going to bring her back.”
Augusta dropped her hand and visibly swallowed. “It will not be easy. There is more you do not know. I’m only betraying her confidence because the circumstance demands it. Estelle is engaged.”
I gripped her bedpost. “What?”
Augusta paled. “I’m sorry, Atlas. I just learned of it myself.”
I tried not to panic or let myself sink again into the dark place I had just risen from. I recalled Mr. Thornbeck’s words: Of all the people I have met on this earth, not one of them has been perfect, and I rallied. “Tell me everything you know. Don’t leave out a single detail.”