Chapter 5 #2
“Yes …” Alexander fumbled behind him for an armchair he knew would be there. He sat down in it heavily, and this prompted Thomas to circulate the room, lighting various candles with his own, pulling the other armchair closer to his friend, and taking a seat opposite him.
Alexander looked down at the palms of his hands in the mellow candlelight and realized they were shaking. He wondered when he last ate and couldn’t recall.
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, Thomas implored, “Tell me.”
“I decided it would be safer to visit Wellwood under cover of darkness to avoid being seen …”
“Ah,” Thomas responded, as though he understood the logic, yet opposed the decision.
“I know it was misguided …” Alexander admitted as he observed the disapproval on his friend’s face.
“Foolhardy,” Thomas added.
“Perhaps a little incautious …” Alexander placated him.
“Reckless,” Thomas confirmed.
The two of them stared at one another for a moment before Alexander acquiesced.
“I accept it was reckless of me. The room in Whitechapel, though, Thomas. It was loud, damp, rat-infested. I would never have slept, and then I began to catastrophize—what if Mother should die in her sleep this very night, when I was mere miles away without her knowledge?
To have come so far and risked so much, then lost her regardless, would be an absolute tragedy. It would have all been so pointless. And if night it were to be, then I bartered, why not this night?”
Thomas clicked his tongue and released a loud sigh, leaning back into the elegant curve of his armchair.
“So you have been to Wellwood. Did you see your mother?”
“I did,” Alexander confirmed, deliberately withholding any further detail until he absolutely must reveal it.
“How was she?” Thomas’s brow furrowed. Having known Alexander since they were children together in school, Margaret had been like a second mother to him; it was only natural that he would be concerned.
“She looked frail and pale, and so much older …” Alexander looked sadly off to the side, remembering as he watched his mother in the moments before she saw him.
“But then, she seemed—how should I express it? She seemed improved. She went to stand to greet me, which was not at all conducive to a dying woman. She was competent in her speech and alert in her manner. I am pleased to report this, of course; however, it was not what I had expected …”
“I hope you do not think me a fraud for reporting her in mortal decline and calling you back here unnecessarily …”
“You did not call me back—in fact, you advised I stay away–”
“Even so. Now you must think I was sensationalizing regarding her health …”
“Not at all, Thomas. She was unwell. And truly I am thankful that I did not find her bedbound and ill at ease …”
“Very well,” Thomas relaxed that he did not stand accused of histrionics. “And are you quite satisfied that no other person witnessed your visit?”
Alexander could not find the words and simply looked at his friend, blinking as he constructed the appropriate articulation.
Drawing the correct conclusion from Alexander’s hesitation, Thomas drew back in horror. “Who saw you!?”
Alexander dropped his eyes to the floor and steepled his hands, bringing them to his lips. As his eyes rose to meet Thomas’s, he whispered, “Arabella.”
“No!” Thomas stood abruptly from his chair and began to pace the room. Of all people who could have witnessed Alexander’s reappearance, Arabella was the most problematic.
“I have played along with Marcus’s narrative that you died escaping London. I mourned with Arabella; I have continued to keep your memory alive with her, recounting fond stories and reassuring her when she felt guilty for marrying your cousin …”
He stopped pacing and turned to Alexander, all colour drained from his face. “I have lied to her, persistently. And now she knows you survived! How she will hate me …”
“I am so sorry …” Alexander uttered, as he considered for the first time how many untruths Thomas had been compelled to fabricate on his behalf.
“But aside from all that,” Thomas dismissed his self-obsession with an errant hand and seated himself back down opposite Alexander. “How did it happen? Was she in terrible shock?”
Alexander raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to one side. “She fainted. Then, when she came to, she yelled …”
“Arabella yelled?” Thomas interjected.
“Yes, it was quite unlike her.”
“I have only ever heard her speak so gently … she must have been awfully upset!”
“To Arabella, one must suppose, I appeared as a ghost, revived.”
Thomas took a sharp inhale of breath as he realized how frightening the situation might have been for Arabella.
“And what did she say?”
“She was raw, impassioned, hurting … lots of accusations—about how she felt guilty for marrying Edmund—asking me why I did not include her in my plan of evasion … she is correct, of course. I should have involved her. It all just happened at such speed.”
Thomas looked down at his soft leather slippers that adorned his bare feet and took a moment to consider his role in the facade.
“We did what we could. At the time. We did what was best, don’t you agree?”
Alexander thought on this and sighed wearily.
“I had always thought so, until tonight. At the very least, I believed we had made the best of an impossible situation. And it was important to me not to disrupt Arabella’s life.”
Thomas nodded sombrely.
“Now, however, it has become apparent that Arabella would have preferred I had disrupted her life. It seems she has not had the life she wished for and now resents me for it …” Tears pinched the corners of Alexander’s eyes, and he sniffed them back.
“One cannot regret anything if one did what they thought was best at the time,” Thomas asserted, but it seemed to Alexander that he was also trying to convince himself of this.
“I have betrayed her on a base level that she may be unable to forgive. And worse, I have dragged you and my brother Marcus down with me. I would not be astonished should she be unable to ever condone our deception.”
Thomas straightened himself and seemed momentarily distracted.
“Whilst Arabella is a very valid concern, Alexander, it would be remiss of me to neglect the principal concern I now have, which is whether your reappearance is to be exposed to the authorities.”
Alexander looked up at Thomas with na?ve eyes, suggesting his entanglement with Arabella had prevented him from considering this very dangerous potential.
“You do not believe Arabella would report me …?” Alexander’s eyes widened.
“Not necessarily Arabella. Did any others see you? I do not understand how it came to be that you engaged in conversation with her … pray, tell me you did not simply enter the main entrance of the house?”
“Of course not! You recall the old servants’ passageway that runs underneath the house?”
“We played there as boys, do I remember correctly?”
“The very same one. It is completely disused now, judging by the cobwebs. I gained entrance using this tunnel and headed directly to Mother’s sitting room.
The corridors were dark and quiet. Mother was fortunately alone, and at that point, I felt it was an entirely successful mission.
All I had to navigate was exiting as swiftly as I had entered. ”
‘Then what happened?”
“Arabella was merely fetching tea … If Mother had not been so shocked to see me, I feel certain she would have warned me of Arabella’s imminent return …”
‘So she walked in and saw you?’
Alexander nodded. ‘Teacups shattered. Servants ran to see what the commotion was …’
“Servants saw you?” Thomas’s hand raised to his mouth in horror.
“No! Mother encouraged them away. Nobody saw me but Arabella.”
Thomas took a deep breath and released it thoughtfully. “Arabella is close to her sister, Charlotte. If she tells anybody, it is likely Charlotte she would confide in.”
“Do you believe Charlotte would report me?”
“I can speak with her and try to ascertain whether or not she is privy to the revelation.”
“You?” Alexander frowned and, presently, noticed the hint of a smile at the corner of Thomas’s lips and how his eyes softened when he mentioned Arabella’s sister.
“Really? Miss Charlotte, is it?” Alexander teased his friend, bashing him playfully upon the shoulder with a boyish fist.
“We are friends!” Thomas held his palms up in defence, with a large grin that Alexander had missed in his years of absence. “I can speak with her and will be able to talk her down if it appears her sister has confided in her.”
“Very well,” Alexander smiled and shook his head at Thomas’s slight blush.
“Are there any other weak associations that could pose a threat to your exposure?” Thomas got back to business.
“I do not believe so. The only other member of the household who might reasonably hear of my reappearance would be my brother—and he is already aware of my status.”
“Ah, Marcus. Yes,” Thomas nodded thoughtfully. Alexander took note of his distraction.
“How is my brother?”
Thomas looked up at Alexander as though he had been caught off guard.
“Marcus? He is well, I believe …”
“You have not seen him? Spent time with him these past years?”
“With no offence intended, it was always you I attended to visit at Wellwood, Alexander. And whilst there, I would often pass the time with Marcus, but he and I were never close. I visit your mother, of course, and upon occasion I will cross Marcus’s path–”
“Is he unwell, Thomas?” Alexander interrupted.
“Because Wellwood has been bitterly neglected in my absence. I witnessed fallen walls, trampled fences, overgrown hedgerows; the horses in the stables were notably lacking … I do not understand how my brother, knowing how highly our beloved father valued the estate, could allow such a fate to befall our beautiful home. The only reason I can understand is if some illness has debilitated him?”
Thomas looked troubled as he considered how he might answer. “As far as man can see, Marcus is well; walking, talking, travelling …”
“But?”
“There are illnesses man cannot see, Alexander, and in that vein, I am unable to conclude whether or not your brother is well.’”
Alexander frowned and gripped the wooden arms of his chair. “Marcus was always a sensitive soul, with a tendency to worry, and he allowed it sometimes to cripple him with vexation. I fear the overwhelm of his responsibility as earl has proved too much for him.”
Thomas shrugged noncommittally. “I regret I can neither confirm nor deny.”
Alexander rubbed his hands over his face. He was tired, it was late, and so much drama had erupted that evening that it was exhausting to process it all.
Taking this cue, Thomas claimed two glasses from his liquor cabinet and poured a finger of brandy into each.
Passing one to Alexander, he queried, “You have seen your mother now. As this was the purpose of your visit, I can send word to MacLeod that you will begin your return journey to Scotland tomorrow.”
Noticing Alexander’s expression of surprise, Thomas assured him, “I will deal with the collateral damage here; placate Arabella and encourage her to be loyal to our secret, to secure your safe passage. If it seems she has confided in Charlotte, I will appeal to Charlotte’s good nature to support our plight. ”
“I am not leaving, Thomas.”
Thomas had the brandy in its decorative glass halfway to his lips and paused. “What?”
“How can I leave? Mother only saw me briefly and begged that I return. Poor Arabella is reeling from the shock of seeing me alive. And it sounds as though my brother is in dire need of some support.
“Alexander, it may have escaped your memory, old friend, but if the magistrates believed you were alive, they would have you hanged! This was the narrative when you first disappeared—although there was a slim chance of incarceration then, in the place of execution. Now you have evaded the law for three years, it would be certain death.”
Alexander hung his head, wondering, as he so often did, how it had come to this. His life had been so blessed before that horrific night in his father’s study, and everything was so different now.
“The odds are not in my favour. Of this, Thomas, I am acutely aware. However, returning to Scotland without the satisfaction of conclusions would be a living torture. Currently, I am failing everybody I care about. I must risk remaining here because my life in Scotland would be cowardly and inconsequential.”
Thomas simply stared at his friend, occasionally blinking, considering their limited options.
“Then drink,” he eventually said. “Sleep here on this settee over the next few hours. Rise early, and we will talk.”
Alexander looked gratefully at the long, damask upholstered seat that stretched the length of the study wall with its intricately engraved rosewood surround.
“When you have rested a little, we shall devise a plan. I will advise my staff that I have confidential papers laid out in my study, and they must not enter.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” Alexander said as he knocked back the last of his brandy, setting the glass on the liquor cabinet.
“Her face is haunting my thoughts …” Alexander clutched onto an embroidered cushion to use as a pillow. ‘The utter betrayal. Knowing how much I hurt her …”
“Ssh. You must rest now,” Thomas encouraged.
“For three years, I have imagined how it would be to see her face again; to be within her presence. In my mind, our reunion would be beautiful, warm, and loving. But it was raw and caustic. I do not believe she will ever forgive me for the years of difficulty I have caused her …” Alexander continued, as he settled himself on the settee, his eyes closing even as he spoke.
“Our plan would have worked perfectly, and she would have been fine,” Thomas told him as he stood to leave.
“Under what variable?” Alexander barely repressed a yawn.
Thomas was striding to the door, but he turned briefly to reply, “If she had stopped loving you.”