Page 60 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
Andrew gaped. “So, they really think there’s treasure somewhere in the estate grounds?” It was insanity. It was not possible.
Grandma lifted a brow. “You sound sceptical. It is a treasure from Elizabethan times. Captured from a Spanish galleon. It is worth a King’s ransom.”
“That is absurd! Surely, if such a thing existed, it would have been found long ago,” Andrew declared instantly.
Grandma lifted her shoulder. “You take some convincing, Grandson. You’re just like my Randolph.” A small smile played at the corner of her mouth.
Andrew took a deep breath. “I find that I have to believe you, Grandma,” he said slowly. “But what can we do? I can’t take my eyes off you. That murdering traitor, Wainwright, might do something to you.”
“He’s not got the better of me yet,” Grandma said dryly, one eyebrow lifted. “I noticed straight away that my tea tasted funny. I’ve been pouring it out of the window when they go out. I trust none of the trees has perished yet.”
“Grandma...” Andrew stared at her, admiration mixing with horror. “They were poisoning your tea?”
Grandma nodded. “Indeed. I still don’t know what they put in it. Not enough to kill me outright, whatever it was—I think their plan was to induce a slow deterioration. Which is why I have been acting so consummately.”
“Grandma!” Andrew exclaimed. His grandmother was a wise, intelligent woman. But she had depths that not even he had guessed.
“I think we need to act quickly, Grandson,” she said at once. Andrew’s mind was already reeling. They needed to tell someone. Dr Wainwright and the cousins all needed to be arrested. But what proof did they have?Aside from the fact that they had been poisoning Grandma’s tea, it was all speculation.
“What can I tell the Watch, Grandma?” he asked.
“Tell them,” his grandmother said slowly, “that Wainwright was responsible for the death of your grandfather. That ought to get them moving.”
“What?” Andrew’s jaw dropped. This was one frightening revelation more than he could take in such a short time. “They killed Grandfather? What are you saying?” A new feeling began to blossom within him, in spite of his horror. Hope. It had not been his fault. His grandfather had not died of apoplexy because he and Andrew had argued. He gazed at his grandmother, longing for her to tell him the true story.
“They poisoned him as well,” she said, her voice low but steady. “I suspected it at the time, but now, seeing their attempts with me, I am certain. They used something in his tea—something that caused his heart to fail gradually, ensuring no one would suspect foul play.”
“No.” Andrew gaped. It didn’t seem possible, and yet his grandmother believed it. And Grandma was the wisest, most observant person he knew. If she said it was so, then he could only believe it. “But that means...” he did not complete the sentence. If Grandfather were to have been poisoned, then Andrew would be liberated from the guilt. He no longer had to believe it was his fault.
“It was their fault, Andrew,” Grandma said, clearly guessing his thoughts. “If it was anyone’s. It was Wainwright’s fault. Not yours. It was never yours.” She reached out and held his hand and tears slid down his cheeks. The thought had haunted him for years, and now he was finally free. It was as though he had been let out of a cage.
He stared over at the window, the velvet drapes drawn tight across it, taking a moment to assimilate that huge fact.
“I shall inform the Watch,” Andrew answered slowly. “I shall speak to them about your suspicions regarding Grandfather’s death. But I fear I lack sufficient proof. Too many already believe it was my doing—it may sound as though I am accusing my cousins merely to exonerate myself.”
“The journals,” Grandma said instantly. “The ones your uncle kept, recording his search for the treasure’s location. If you can find them, they might provide the evidence needed to show that the earldom—and this estate in particular—is worth killing for. I believe he would haveuncovered it himself had he not passed away before completing his search.”
Andrew inclined his head. “Yes, Grandma.” Something made sense that had not made sense before. Ambrose snooping in his study. It reallyhadbeen him, and now Andrew knew what he was trying to find. A shiver moved down his spine.
He kissed his grandmother’s cheek and stood.
“I shall go and look now, Grandma,” he promised.
“Good luck,” she said. “I will play dead—or almost dead.”
“Yes,” Andrew replied, his heart twisting. “Please be careful. I do not want you in here on your own. I am sending Philipa to keep an eye on you.”
“Thank you, Andrew,” Grandma replied. Andrew pulled the bell to summon her maid, holding her gaze.
“No, Grandma,” he replied softly. “It isIwho must thank you. I believe you may well have saved my life.”
His grandmother inclined her head, a faint smile playing at her lips. “Find those journals, Grandson. And keep out of harm’s way.”
“I shall,” Andrew replied, swallowing hard. “I promise.”
He shivered.
As soon as Philipa was stationed with his grandmother, with strict instructions to stay by her side no matter who was there, he ran.
He had to find the journals and stop a murder before it was too late.
