Chapter 8
Alexander bowed his head as he passed a couple of women mudlarking in the shallows of the River Thames.
They were up to their knees in the dirty brown water, and he noted their hands were red raw with cold, despite it being a spring morning, with the promise of light sunshine cresting on the horizon.
He repressed a shudder as he imagined how freezing that water would be during the depths of winter, when they would still be obliged to hunt out treasures washed up by the tide, because the potential to find something of value was their only chance of putting food on the table for their family.
Alexander had always been aware of his privilege, but no more so than these past few years working the land, having been forced to leave behind his wealth.
Even then, he had a comfortable, small room in a smart house to return to in the evenings, so he was by no means experiencing the poverty these poor women had inflicted upon them.
They delved their hands into the water, churning up repulsive-smelling mud, but paused to stare at him as he walked along the towpath. He considered it was rare for them to see a gentleman taking a stroll along the river as early as sunrise.
Although, he countered, he was not dressed formally—he wanted to blend in as an unremarkable worker, so he wore corduroy trousers, an off-white coarse linen shirt, and a brown flat cap.
A ragged wool waistcoat completed the look, but Alexander was very conscious of his gait and how he had been raised to walk with the grace of a gentleman.
He wondered if this set him apart, and in response, slumped his posture and dipped his head to obscure his face from the mud larkers’ curiosity.
He saw the dilapidated warehouse up ahead that Thomas had described, and the reeking smell of fish as he approached the door suggested it was once used to gut and package up fish caught in the river, ready to be shipped out for sale.
Alexander pushed the door open a little and peered inside. Thomas was already there, in the vast, dusty, cavernous space, waiting.
“Good morning, Alexander,” he greeted his friend with a smile. He appeared more relaxed in this setting, where it was less likely Alexander would be seen and recognized.
“Morning, Thomas, though I might query the ‘good’ in it …” Alexander responded.
“Did not you sleep well in Whitechapel?”
“It is nearly impossible to sleep in such a place. Each moment that passes, I am grateful intruders have not accessed my room and ransacked it!”
“On the bright side, at least you have very little to pillage!” Thomas teased, and Alexander appreciated the light-hearted banter. “Here, I brought you a little breakfast …”
Thomas handed Alexander a paper bag, and upon opening it, Alexander found an apple, a ginger cake, and a gooseberry tart. He inhaled with delight.
“Oh, you excellent friend!” He tucked in immediately, suddenly aware of how ravenous he had become.
“You do not know Captain Morrison?” Thomas cocked an eyebrow.
“We have yet to meet,” Alexander confirmed through a mouthful of flaky pastry.
“As I thought. The man is highly accomplished at investigation. I employed his services as soon as you returned, and he communicated that he already has developments of which to inform us.”
“I very much look forward to hearing his findings!”
“He is … quite a character, I hear it said,” Thomas intimated. ‘But if ever there were a man to uncover the antagonist in a murder, it is he.”
“He is a former soldier, you say?”
“A Military Investigator, well-versed in criminal networks and suspicious deaths. I have it on good authority he is methodical and thorough.”
Alexander wiped his mouth with his thumb. “I certainly hope so.”
With that, the door creaked open. Thomas and Alexander stepped aside to see a tall, grizzled man whose face was lined in a way that suggested he frowned often and smiled little. His dark eyes darted between Thomas and Alexander with suspicion.
“Lord Thomas Carrington?” he asked, his voice gravelly and intentionally low.
“How do you do?” Thomas bowed slightly, and the captain bowed back, turning his attention to Alexander.
“Good day. I am …” Alexander paused, unsure how to introduce himself. Thomas came to his rescue.
“The Right Honourable Earl of Wellwood-”
Alexander turned quickly to his friend. “I am not. My faithful brother assumes that title now.’
“How should we have you addressed, my dear fellow? Any alternative station is below your standing.”
Alexander dropped his eyes to the floor. He had been simply ‘James MacLeod’ for so many years now that he felt unworthy of a title.
“My friend is Alexander Hartwell and should be The Right Honourable Earl of Wellwood,’ Thomas clarified for their visitor. ‘But of all of this, I feel sure you are aware.”
“Indeed, I am.” The captain spoke with an unexpected compassion in his voice. “We shall reclaim your honour and your title, I have confidence.”
Both Thomas and Alexander looked at the captain in shock.
“Do you believe so, Captain?” Thomas gasped.
“There is much work to be done. But already I sense the unravelling of something tremendous and revelatory.”
“Pray, do tell,” Thomas encouraged. All Alexander could do was stare, stunned by the potential concept of exoneration.
“Is the location secure?” The captain looked from side to side, his eyes hungrily seeking out each corner. “Are you satisfied our conversation is in no way compromised?”
“Fully satisfied,” Thomas asserted.
“Then I have some details to divulge …” The captain performed a strange twitch; it began at his collarbone and ascended as a tremor through his neck and up into his face, where he shook his head rapidly to rid himself of it.
Thomas and Alexander exchanged a glance of bewilderment.
The captain sniffed and continued as if nothing had happened, addressing Alexander directly.
“Lord Carrington and I decided the most effective place to start would be the death of your unfortunate cousin, Edmund Spencer. As his passing was more recent and utterly unexpected, we considered that perhaps there may be some suspicious circumstances–”
“But my cousin died of heart failure; natural causes—is this not what we were told, Carrington?”
“Indeed, it is …” Thomas frowned, as perplexed by this turn of events as Alexander.
“I spoke with the physician to ascertain this was indeed the case; however, it has transpired that Edmund suffered unusual discolouration and muscle spasms, which are inconsistent with a death from natural causes.”
“What does he suggest may have been the cause?” Alexander eagerly asked.
The captain looked both of them in the eye individually before announcing, “Poison.”
Thomas and Alexander inhaled sharply as a collective.
“But how can this be?” Thomas flailed.
“You are suggesting murder!?” Alexander demanded.
“It does look likely,’ the captain confirmed morosely.
“But who would have wanted to kill my cousin!” Alexander was outraged. “A more kind, generous, and amiable fellow, you could not hope to meet!”
Captain Morrison fixed Alexander with a poignant stare.
“Your father, too, was kind, generous, and amiable, was he not?”
“You believe the person who murdered my father also murdered my cousin?” Alexander’s face grew pale at the prospect.
The captain silently looked between the two friends, carefully articulating his next words.
“I have reason to believe the two deaths are inextricably linked.”
“But why?” Thomas asked, leaning up against a dusty stone pillar.
“Investigating Edmund’s activities in the lead up to his death, I have discovered that he was researching his uncle’s murder. It seems he never believed you were the murderer, Wellwood …” The captain pointedly nodded towards Alexander, who breathed deeply in some form of relief.
Of course, he had only assumed those closest to him would trust in his innocence, but without having been able to reach out to them, it was impossible to know for certain. Alexander experienced a sad satisfaction that at least his deceased cousin had believed in his integrity.
“In digging into the circumstances surrounding your father’s demise, Edmund uncovered quite the controversial conspiracy!
He discovered financial documents showing embezzlement on the Wellwood accounts and recorded all his findings in a journal—I consider these amounts large enough to motivate murder … and to frame you, Wellwood.”
Alexander stepped backwards as he experienced the shock like a punch to his gut.
“Do you know who could have done such a thing?” Thomas appealed to the captain.
“My investigation is young. My reason for requesting your acquaintance today, however, was to ask if you can think of anybody who may have a motive to commit fraud, embezzlement, murder, and frame for a wrongful conviction?”
Alexander and Thomas looked at each other aghast. Members of their families and friendship groups ran through both their minds, but they were at a loss.
“I cannot think of anybody who could be so malicious!” Alexander admitted.
“Consider then,” advised Captain Morrison. “Who may have benefited from killing your father and having you banished?”
There was a loaded pause whilst both men considered this.
“Certainly not my mother or brother. They both loved us dearly.”
“Your brother, Marcus Hartwell,” the captain clarified, “is now the acting Earl of Wellwood in your absence. Is this correct?”
“It is,” Alexander concurred.
“And might this be considered a reasonable incentive?” Captain Morrison took a notepad from his pocket to refer to some scribbled notes.
“Hah!” Alexander laughed. ‘My brother never wanted to be earl! As a child, he would say how fortunate it was that he had an older brother, as he did not desire such responsibility. In a more ambitious fellow, I could understand the suspicion, but Marcus never strived for much. This can be demonstrated by how notably the Wellwood estate has unfortunately been neglected since my brother’s peerage. ”
“I can attest to that!’ Thomas contributed.