Page 120 of A Thief to Die For

I can’t stop thinking about her, and it eats at me that she probably hates me.

Then there’s Notting itself – who’s running things? And what’s happening there now that Atlas is gone?

I try to be patient and let myself heal, but I’m terrible company to everyone, including Mum, who visits often.

‘Is that doctor-approved?’ she asks, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her as she strides into the horse barn. She looks small, shoulders rolled in. Her grey hair brushing the edges of her hollow cheeks.

I pause with my hand on Duke. Brushing my horse doesn’t hurt too much. However, the push-ups I did this morning – probably not advised. ‘I’m being good. Mostly.’ I wink. ‘And he still needs to be cared for.’

‘You need to be cared for.’

I grin. ‘I am.’

She hums, not so sure.

‘It’s been three weeks,’ I say. ‘I’m practically good as new.’

‘Right.’ She smirks. ‘That’s why Dr Henshaw and Isadora said another two weeks?’

My jaw ticks. Two more weeks of no answers about Marian and I’m going to lose my mind. ‘But you know what happens once I’m cleared, right?’

She took the news of my marriage to Agatha better than expected. Probably because it proved her right: people – in this case, Atlas – took advantage of the connection the second he learned about it. I didn’t tell her much after that, so she doesn’t know about Rufus. That’s a conversation I’ve been building up to, and every day I chicken out.

‘You’re going back?’ Emotion chokes her voice.

I resume brushing Duke. ‘Yeah, I’m going back.’

She bites her lips. ‘Is there anything I can say to stop you?’

‘No.’

Her head bobs up and down. ‘And do I get to meet this Marian?’

My hand stops moving. I don’t even know if she’s alive.

Yes, I do. She has to be.

‘If she’ll have me, I’d love for you to meet her some time. She’s already …’ Just say it. I take a deep breath. ‘She’s already met my father.’ Shock registers on her face, and I shift my feet. ‘I … ah, I found my father, Rufus, in Notting. He told me the real reason he’s missing a hand.’

She sits down unsteadily on a bale of hay. Her shoulders have started trembling.

‘I understand why you did it,’ I say gently. ‘Why you lied while I was a kid and made up a story about what really happened. You were protecting me, because he’s … a swindler. But you could have told me later.’ Remnants of betrayal still cut through me. ‘I don’t know why you continued to shut down my questions, even when you knew I was having nightmares.’

Her face has drained of colour.

‘Were you afraid of people finding out? That you’d get in tr–’

‘I was afraid you’d go and find him. I know you.’ She gives a hard laugh. ‘You would want answers and justice. That’s how you work. You can’t just let things go,’ she says bitterly.

I suck on my teeth, checking my anger. ‘Have you let what happened with him go?’ The words hang between us. ‘Or do you live in fear that someone might break your heart again?’

We both know the answer. To protect herself, she’s dug a hole and buried herself alive.

I walk over and pull her into a hug, hoping this conversation becomes her turning point to do what only she can – set herself free.

Samuel drops a dusty old rucksack on the table with a thud.

I lift my plate of eggs in the air. The bag carries a distinct Samuel odour that I’m not sure should be allowed in our kitchen, let alone near my food. ‘What’re you doing?’