Chapter 10 #2
“I would be cowardly, and that is not in my nature. Now tell me how to proceed. What do you need help with?”
Alexander scuffed the turf with his foot. “We are yet to formulate a plan, but I wanted to update you on the developments so far.”
“Thank you.” Arabella nodded and looked away, back towards the house. “In that case, if there is nothing more, I should return.”
“But wait!” Alexander pushed out a hand towards her, withdrawing it as soon as he saw her bristle.
“May I ask how you are? I am aware what a shock it must have been for you—my reappearance. Your realization that the scenario you had believed for several years was an untruth. It must have been a difficult week for you, Arabella. How are you?”
Arabella swallowed hard, and in the moonlight, Alexander saw a light blush colour her pale cheeks. She shook her head.
“I have taken in very little sleep. I barely have an appetite. I am distracted and find my temper to be short with people. I am worried about your mother and your brother. I am obliged to lie to my sister. But I am otherwise quite well, thank you for enquiring.”
Arabella turned as if to leave.
“Please,” Alexander frowned. “You are worried about my brother? Pray, tell me why?”
Arabella shrugged a little and looked about as if wondering if she might have said too much.
“Please, Arabella. I heard no update regarding my brother from Thomas, and I have returned to find that Wellwood has been utterly neglected in my wake. The grounds have not been maintained, the horses have nearly all been sold, and the household staff are dismissed or leaving of their own will. It appears my brother is struggling to shoulder the responsibilities of being an active earl.”
Arabella dropped her gaze and nodded, acquiescing.
“It is true. Marcus does struggle. Your mother fears he may have inherited the mental instability your great uncle endured.”
Alexander’s eyes grew wide with concern. “It cannot be.”
“That is what your mother communicated to me, just yesterday evening past.”
“And what are your thoughts on the matter?”
“Marcus is sweet, affectionate. Eternally gregarious. We all agree that you know when Marcus is in the room!” Arabella allowed herself a little smile, which lifted Alexander’s spirits momentarily.
“However, his behaviour of late has become increasingly erratic. He bursts into a sudden tantrum, yelling at the servants. His moods escalate due to the most innocuous of activations. He is unpredictable and quite intense.”
“So you believe he is suffering from the same illness as my great uncle?”
“I believe it could be possible,” Arabella agreed sadly.
Alexander rubbed his hands down his face in despair. “My poor brother. Does he complain of the estate and how difficult his experience has been?”
“If he does, it is not in conversation with me. I have not witnessed him expressing a struggle, though it is clear that he does.”
“I wish I had been around to avoid him having to assume this role he never desired.”
“You appear to carry a burden of guilt regarding your disappearance,” Arabella observed.
“Inevitably. As I told you the other evening, it was a choice I would never have made, had it not been essential. I feel responsible for my brother’s mental decline.”
“If it is hereditary, it is likely he would have succumbed to it regardless.”
“Possibly aged fifty, though, and not a mere twenty-nine?”
“Nobody can predict.” Arabella shrugged her shoulders. “Life would have been different for all of us had you stayed.”
The accusation hung heavily in the air between them, and Arabella refused to meet his eye, staring instead, once again, towards the house.
Concerned that she had concluded the conversation and would once more suggest leaving, Alexander jumped in.
“Will you walk with me a little?”
Arabella looked at him in alarm.
“I will keep my distance, I assure you. Only, this is my home and—oh! How I have missed it! I should like to look around the grounds, and it would be so much more pleasant to do so in your company.”
Arabella took a moment to consider before bowing her head in admission and beginning to walk down the gravel path away from the folly.
***
Alexander honoured his word, leaving a space between Arabella and himself when the path was wide enough to do so.
When it narrowed, passing through low boughs of trees or borders of flowers, he would fall behind significantly, to respect her desire for space and to abide by the correct social expectations.
“Do you not think you should return to Scotland?” Arabella whispered.
“No. Thomas assumed the same, but I cannot. My mother is terribly unwell, it appears my brother is suffering without my support, and now it transpires that a murderer is on the loose and watching my loved ones. To leave would be immoral and spineless. If I am discovered and pay for it with my life, so be it. I will not abandon my family again.”
Arabella frowned slightly as he said this but did not argue. After all, she had also refused to back away from the situation despite the danger.
“Do you miss it?”
“Scotland? Hah! No!”
Arabella looked confused.
“The highlands themselves are beautiful, and the people are kind. But Scotland, to me, is the prison of my exiled existence. It is the place where I have one friend and a small room as my only comforts. I rise before dawn and work the land all day.
I eat one hearty meal with the gentleman who kindly offered me the position as land steward, and I sleep heavily. Then I wake to repeat. Days merge into one another. They are not punctuated by moments of levity or joy. There is no break from the monotony. I do not miss it.”
Arabella’s eyes appeared wet as she listened to him.
“Do you enjoy any sociable time?”
“On occasion, I have drunk whisky with my landlord and a couple of other stewards. Mostly, though, I prefer to stay in my room and write letters.”
“To Thomas?”
Alexander felt his heart surge, wondering if he should be completely honest.
“To Thomas, yes, sometimes. When I receive coded letters from him, it is the highlight of any week. The intrigue in decoding them is exciting, and the joy to hear news of home is my only luxury.”
A small frown bothered Arabella’s brow. “Who else do you write to?”
Alexander looked away, embarrassed. “To you, Arabella.”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. “To me?”
“Yes.”
“But I have never received any letters! Nor should I, certainly, if I were to believe you were dead?”
“I could never send my letters. But they exist. I keep them in a large bundle underneath my bed, in my room back in Scotland. There are about nine hundred of them now—I write most days.”
Arabella’s mouth had fallen open, but she did not respond. She wrapped her arms around herself and dipped her head, continuing to walk. Alexander fell into step beside her, maintaining a respectful distance.
“What would you write?” Arabella asked, tentatively.
“About my day. About how the weather had been—sometimes it was so hot I would dehydrate working in the fields, and my skin would burn. Some winter days were so bitterly cold that I could not feel my extremities. I would tell you what crops I had planted and how the plants would make up our dinners. I would write all the things I had learned, tending the land, nurturing the animals—things I would never have experienced as an earl.”
Arabella nodded as they continued to walk, past the fountain and an arrangement of stone pillars.
“And I would write telling you how I missed you. My letters are full of apology and regret. I would theorize what your life is like now and ask you how you feel—always, of course, without an answer …”
As they reached an arbour with roses climbing around the frame, Arabella stopped and turned, taking a deep breath.
“I wish I had received your letters,” she told him sincerely.
Alexander went to tuck a loose tendril of her beautiful red hair behind her ear, but as he raised his hand to do so, she flinched and stepped away.
“Alexander. Must I remind you that our agreement does not encapsulate such brazen familiarity?”
“I am sorry.” Alexander dropped his head in shame. “I will practise more restraint, I promise.”
He looked back up into her eyes and her face appeared so conflicted; angry and hurt, yet sad and wanting.
“I should not even be here with you. You will maintain your distance,” she told him firmly.
“Quite right,” Alexander whispered, trying not to notice how her eyes sparkled in the moonlight as it filtered between the clouds.
Suddenly, a night bird called out from the trees, causing them both to startle and look up.
“I really must go now,” Arabella asserted. “When will we meet again to discuss how the investigation is developing?”
“Three nights from now. But we must meet later. The earlier we meet, the higher the risk of being seen. Can we meet at midnight?”
Arabella’s eyes darted back and forth, seeming frightened of venturing out at such a time, but she nodded.
“Of course.”
“Promise me you will take care. If criminal elements are involved, everyone connected to this investigation could be in danger.”
“I will look out for your mother and your brother,” Arabella agreed.
“And yourself. Mostly yourself,” Alexander prompted.
“And myself. Goodnight, Alexander.”
Without waiting for him to reply, she turned to walk back to the house.
He watched her go, willing her to stay safe.