Page 151 of A Modest Independence

“What difference does it make? There’s nothing to gain by talking about it. It will only make it worse. I’d as soon forget it than review it again.”

“I don’t suppose this means you’re abandoning that other matter as well? If so, you should know that I’ve already sent Mr. Treadway to Dorset.”

“Your inquiry agent?” Tom had almost forgotten about the man.

“Your inquiry agent now,” Justin said. “I wish you better luck of him.”

Tom thrust his hands into his pockets. “I’m not concerned with Treadway at the moment.” The cold sea air nipped at his face, whipping at his frock coat and rumpling his hair. He took a deep breath. “There is, however, something else I’d like to discuss with you. Something to do with our time in the orphanage.”

Justin gave him an alert look. “What about it?”

“Perhaps we should find Neville? He’ll want to hear it, too.”

“That bad, is it?” Justin’s lips compressed. “Very well.”

The stone stable block stood ahead. Tom followed Justin inside. It was snug and sweet-smelling, the fragrance of fresh hay, oiled leather, and well-groomed horses permeating the air.

Justin called out to Neville.

“Here, Justin!” Neville’s blond head popped up over the side of one of the loose boxes.

During their time in the orphanage, he’d always been considered a good-looking boy, and he’d grown into an equally well-favored man. He was lean and fit—and as muscular as a bull. But though he outstripped Justin by at least an inch in height and a stone in weight, Neville was no brute. He was a gentle man in every sense of the word. Gentler still after his childhood fall from the cliffs. Now he preferred the company of animals to that of people, often spending time in the stables or down at the beach with Thornhill’s two mastiffs, Paul and Jonesy.

His face lit up at the sight of Tom. “Tom! Have you come to stay?”

“No. I’m only here for a short visit. Will you come out a moment? There’s something I’d like to tell the both of you. Something I should have confessed long ago.”

Neville opened the door of the loose box. Paul and Jonesy ran out ahead of him, first barking at Tom and then galloping to their master.

Justin crouched briefly to pet the two hulking black beasts. “You’re making me uneasy, Tom.”

“That’s not my intention.” Though it might as well have been. Revelations from the past were never easy to deal with. But Jenny had been right. Tom had borne the burden alone for too long. It was past time he shared it.

Neville dusted off his linen shirt and coarse woolen trousers. “What is it, Tom?”

“It’s about Alex Archer.”

Justin’s expression froze. So did Neville’s. They both stared at him, waiting for him to explain himself.

Tom didn’t hesitate. As clearly and succinctly as possible, he told them about the day he and Alex had found the treasure. About how Alex had beaten him and broken his nose. And about how Alex had absconded with the treasure some days later, disappearing from Devon, and from all of their lives, forever.

As Tom spoke, Justin paced to the loose box and back again, his large frame taut as a coiled spring. “I’ve thought him dead these many years,” he said at last. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?”

“Would it have made any difference?”

“Probably not. But I’d rather have known about it all the same.” He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Damnation, Tom. I thought it was Cheevers who broke your nose.”

“Does this mean Alex is alive?” Neville asked.

“I haven’t any idea. There were times I thought to look for him, but if he prefers to cut off contact with us, who am I to—”

“You assume it’s his choice,” Justin said.

Tom gave him a dry look. “What else am I to think? It was always in his nature to be selfish. You know it as well as I do. I’ll wager he took that money and ran as far from Abbot’s Holcombe as it would take him.”

Justin gave a sudden bark of laughter. “Good for him. At least one of us got away unscathed.”

Neville’s hands tightened on the door of the loose box. His knuckles went white. “Someone was hurting him.”