"I suppose she did," Benjamin said. "And yet, she would hardly be the first lady to have such an insecurity. Of course it's wrong that it was manifested toward you. You had done nothing to deserve it. But it was such a long time ago now—surely it's time that we moved on from that. Surely you and I can find a way to be friends even though we have this in our past."
James shook his head. "I can't."
"I don't understand why!"
"I know this is unfair to you," he said. "I know this has always been unfair to you. You're right when you say that you did nothing wrong."
"I didn't come here to say that."
"But you have said it. And you're right. I just can't forget about the past. And I can't be here in a room with you, knowing that you will never understand."
"Help me understand, then. Tell me why this all matters so much."
"I don't think I can tell you."
"I'm asking you to, James. For the sake of whatever relationship we have—for the sake of our bond as brothers. Please. Tell me why it has to be this way."
James closed his eyes briefly.
He had always struggled with whether or not it would be permissible to tell Benjamin the truth. After all, this was Benjamin's mother, and she was dead. He would be poisoning Benjamin's memories of his own mother, and that felt like a shameful thing to do.
And at the same time, Benjamin was here. He was asking. More than asking, he wasbeggingto know. James was beginning to see that Benjamin would never leave this matter alone. He would never stop trying to figure out what had happened.
James was simply going to have to come clean.
"I'm not angry because your mother favored you over me," he said slowly, heavily. "You're right. That would have been understandable."
"Then why?"
"Because she tried to kill me, Benjamin."
Benjamin stared. His mouth opened and closed several times, but he appeared to be lost for words.
"This is why I didn't tell you," James said. "No one should have to hear something like this about his mother.
"But it's true? She tried to kill you?" Benjamin shook his head. "That can't be true. I would have known about it."
"You did know. You just didn't recognize it for what it was. Did you honestly think I was so unhealthy as a child that I had to spend weeks at a time in bed, and that the moment I came of age—and moved out of that house—that condition simply went away? Did you think that was a coincidence?"
"I don't understand."
"She was poisoning me," James said. "She was putting strychnine in my tea. I didn't figure it out myself the first time, but the second time I did, and I tried to tell Father. He didn't believe me, of course. And I'm sure you don't believe me now."
"Well, of course Ibelieveyou," Benjamin said.
James hadn't expected that. "You do?"
"What possible reason could you have to lie about something so serious?" Benjamin asked. "Of course it's the truth. And it makes sense of everything else. My goodness. I can't believe it—but I do believe it. Of course I do."
James exhaled. He hadn't known that having his brother on his side was something that mattered so much to him. He hadn'timagined that knowing Benjamin took him at his word could feel this good.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "Truly, Benjamin. It means a lot to have you take me at my word."
"Is that why you've never told me this? You thought I wouldn't believe you?"
"Well, that isn't the only reason. You were a child at the time, and she was your mother. What was to be gained by telling you, even if you had believed me?"
"I suppose so," Benjamin said. "Still, I wish you had. I wish I had known. I might have done something to help you."
