“I know that you were but a boy when your father was killed, and suddenly you were the man of the family. In one swift moment you had to learn to live without your father while taking on the duty of caring for your mother and sister,” Jensen said. “’Tis a lot of responsibility for a boy of seventeen.”
Fielding glared at him. “No more than any other heir takes on.”
Jensen shrugged noncommittally but then added, “I understand there were some financial difficulties as well.”
“It was my father’s fault he couldn’t pay the bills.” It made Fielding uncomfortable to learn how much this man seemed to know about his life. “I didn’t see anyone here discouraging him from continuing to spend money we didn’t have to chase that bloody dream of his.”
“You’ll not find the answers you’re looking for here,” Jensen repeated.
“Far be it for the great and mighty Solomon’s to take any responsibility.”
“For that, I suggest you look closer to home,” Jensen said.
Fielding met the older man’s gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“When was the last time you spoke with your mother?”
When Fielding didn’t respond, Jensen closed the book, in effect shutting the door on the conversation. “I’ve treated you fairly, despite the fact that you’ve entered our facility unlawfully.” Gone was the brief flash of compassion, and back in its place was cool indifference. “I will not alert the authorities, Mr. Grey, but I do suggest you depart immediately.”
CHAPTER 19
Fielding wasn’t accustomed to taking advice from others, but the very next morning he found himself in the entryway of his mother’s home. He’d been unable to dismiss Jensen’s suggestion that his mother might have had something to do with their financial ruin. Fielding knew his mother to be a lady of taste and discrimination, yet she lived modestly. There was no chance she’d spent them into ruin.
“Lady Beatrice is in the dining room having her breakfast,” the housekeeper told him. “Follow me.”
Fielding followed the tall woman down the hall to the back of the house. He remembered from when he’d lived here that his mother preferred to have her morning meal in the east corner of the small home. She enjoyed watching the sun rise.
He entered the room, and immediately his mother rose to her feet. “Fielding, what a surprise. I would not have guessed you’d be up this early.”
He kissed her cheek. “You look well, Mother.”
She returned to her seat but motioned to the sideboard behind her. “Have some breakfast with me.”
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Mrs. Jarvis, please make some coffee for my son.” The housekeeper bobbed and withdrew herself through a back door.
“What could possibly bring you out to see me at this hour?” Beatrice asked. “As much as I’d prefer to believe you’ve come simply to call on me, I know you better than that.” His mother was aging well. Her brown hair had grayed around her face and lines mapped out the years of her life, but she was still very much a beautiful woman. “What has it been, Fielding, six months, longer since we last saw each other?”
“I’ve been out of the country,” he said. Although he’d been back from Egypt for nearly three months, he’d been otherwise engaged for most of that time.
She smiled. “Always.”
“Mother, I wanted to speak to you about something,” Fielding said.
His coffee was delivered by Mrs. Jarvis, and then they were alone again. Despite his reservations about his plan for revenge, he knew someone needed to pay for the hardship his mother had endured. Losing her home and all her belongings had been humiliating. She’d never been the same. Even after Fielding had earned the money and bought back their homes and all their belongings, she’d stayed in this small house that her family had owned. Fielding had always thought she’d in a way been punishing herself.
“I know who was there.” Fielding sat beside her and took her hand. “Who was with my father when he was killed. We can finally make them pay for what they did.”
Beatrice’s delicate features hardened in confusion. “Fielding, what are you talking about? Your father was killed in an accident. It was a cave-in; no one was responsible.”
“No. They were there, and they encouraged him to go into that cave.”
“As he’d gone into many caves before then.” Beatrice looked down at her hands. Hands that had once been smooth and graceful but now were lined and stiff. She shook her head in sadness. “Is this what you’ve been after this whole time, trying to find someone to pay for your father’s death?”
He ignored her questions. She’d simply forgotten what their life had been like before they’d lost everything. “Yes, he’d gone into other caves, had searched this entire bloody continent for a treasure that does not exist.” He leaned on the table, willing her to understand. “Those men, the ones who pretended to be his friends, pushed him to do that. To spend every last pence in our accounts.”
She was shaking her head. “No,” she said firmly. “That isn’t true.”