Chapter 11
Arabella forced a smile as she looked across the table at Marcus. He slathered butter onto a thick piece of toast without looking at it, too intent he was on assessing all those present at the table with his keen eyes.
“Beautiful morning! I think I shall take a ride on Jasper!” Marcus announced loudly.
“Darling son, did you not sell Jasper?” Margaret asked woefully.
Marcus made a show of thinking; his eyes set to the top left corner coving of the high-ceilinged dining room and one finger dramatically placed to his lip.
“Why, Mother, I do believe you are correct!” He laughed and looked at Arabella, confirming. “I did sell Jasper! Poor old boy! I shall grab another of the horses then. A horse is a horse, after all.”
“You ought to check with the stable hand which horse is fit to ride,” Margaret croaked as she lifted her teacup daintily to her mouth.
“Quite,” Charlotte contributed. “When Thomas was last here, he was set to ride Jasmine, but the stable hand told us she had gone lame.”
“No matter,” Marcus batted it away with a hand. “I shall ride Stirling.”
“That is Alexander’s horse!” Arabella protested impulsively.
Margaret, Charlotte, and Marcus all looked suddenly to her in alarm.
Margaret, with a look of panic that Arabella’s outburst might reveal their secret, Charlotte, with concern for her sister’s well-being, and Marcus, with a frown of suspicion.
“And how I wish my dear older brother could be here to ride him,” Marcus added mournfully. “But he cannot, tragically …” Marcus bowed his head in demonstrative grief.
But he knows! Arabella thought, seeing through his facade now that she also knew the truth of the situation. How he has feigned these past three years to ensure I remain fooled!
“Arabella …” Charlotte reached out to place her hand gently on top of her sister’s. “Marcus has ridden Stirling before, these past months, and this has not troubled you. Are you feeling quite well?”
Arabella composed herself.
“I am fine, thank you, Charlotte.” Arabella smiled reassuringly. “Of course, Stirling should be ridden. A fine stallion such as Alexander’s old horse needs the exercise, and it would be a shame not to utilize his health and strength while he is still in his prime.”
“Past his prime, I would say,” Marcus added. “But I believe my brother would want me to ride him, God rest his soul.”
Arabella dropped her eyes to the table, unable to meet Marcus’s eye. She could feel Lady Wellwood looking at her, willing her not to slip up and say something that might expose the truth.
“If you venture into the paddock on the northern side of the estate,” Margaret spoke slowly and with a hoarseness to her voice, “have a look at the fence there. See if you can’t request the groundsman to fix it for us.
Thomas tells us the wooden posts were pulled directly from the ground in the storms, and the fence has entirely fallen to the ground. ”
“There have been no storms!” Marcus protested.
“The storms last winter …” Charlotte reminded him, with a sweet smile.
“Balderdash! If a fence had fallen last winter, I should most certainly have fixed it before now!”
All three ladies looked down, occupying themselves with their breakfast items, wary of igniting Marcus’s temper, whilst all silently acknowledging that there were, in fact, many unkempt areas of the estate that Marcus had neglected to rectify for several years.
Margaret looked up at Marcus and watched him as he poured a cup of hot chocolate.
Arabella glanced at Margaret and recognized the pity in her eyes.
Here is a mother who loves her son, Arabella thought sadly.
She has already lost so much, and he is, essentially, all she has left.
She is watching him disintegrate in front of her very eyes.
Arabella felt so sad looking at Margaret with her maternal gaze upon her son that she had to look away.
Marcus picked up his toast, with the melting butter stacked on top; Arabella noticed how his hands were trembling.
“I shall walk the estate with our groundsman and point out all the areas I believe need some maintenance, Mother. I shall do it today. Will that satisfy your anxiety?” he asked with a sweet smile.
“Oh, it would. Thank you, Marcus,” Margaret seemed pleased with this suggestion and placed her napkin contentedly in her lap.
Marcus’s voice took on a new tone. “Of course, if we employ men to fix the broken things, this all costs money!” He gesticulated wildly, and splatters of butter flew off his toast that he waved about, landing splodges of yellow oil onto the white table linen.
“I will need to justify the costs, and I had not accounted for putting my finances into the land this quarter!” He sounded vaguely panicked.
Arabella watched him intently, wary of speaking as she did not wish to fuel any speculation. Since her understanding of Alexander’s exile, she had begun observing situations and behaviours with scepticism.
Marcus had a chaotic mind, and the financial side of managing the estate caused him some agitation.
She found herself collecting clues to feed back to Alexander.
Perhaps this is some way I can be of help, she considered.
Bring information from inside the house to Alexander, Thomas, and Captain Morrison.
“Are you concerned for the estate, Marcus?” Margaret’s voice wobbled as she asked.
Marcus laughed too sharply, throwing his head back. “Of course not, Mother! The Corn Laws are working marvellously in our favour!”
“I do so hope there will be no more riots!” Charlotte mused. “Bread or Blood they were calling it, isn’t that right, Lord Wellwood?”
Marcus seemed either not to hear Charlotte or to avoid her question purposefully.
“Yes, the grain is being sold on at a premium, so we need not worry!” Marcus grinned, displaying all his front teeth.
“That is good, dear,” Margaret placated him, looking away.
Marcus stood very suddenly, pushing back his chair from the table. He placed his untouched toast on the small plate in front of him.
“I must leave! I have urgent business to attend to!” With that, he turned and departed from the breakfast room.
The three ladies sat in silence for a moment before Charlotte exclaimed, “But he didn’t eat a thing!” They all looked at the buttery toast sitting where the earl should be.
***
Before Arabella could lift the needle to her embroidery, in the morning room, Charlotte caught her elbow.
“Sister, a word if I may …” Charlotte walked Arabella to the window seat, which overlooked the vast sweeping lawn, and gestured for her to take a seat beside her.
Arabella feared the intimacy, knowing Charlotte was likely to probe about the current strange scenario, but dutifully sat beside her sister, clasping her hands in her lap.
Their skirts nestled next to each other, and Arabella distracted her thoughts with how the blue of her dress complemented the yellow of Charlotte’s skirts, to calm her thoughts and steady her breathing.
“You are distressed this morning once again,” Charlotte observed.
“How so?” Arabella feigned innocence.
“When Marcus declared he would ride Stirling, you practically jumped from your seat!”
Arabella breathed deeply, considering how to respond—she knew that denying anything was the matter would not hold for much longer.
Her sister was observant and curious. However, it seemed that she would not be obliged to reply, as Charlotte went on, “You are not the only person who is acting strangely, I must say.”
“Who else do you believe to be acting strangely?”
Arabella’s interest was piqued. It seemed most likely Charlotte would identify Marcus and his erratic behaviour—perhaps Arabella might be able to discreetly insinuate there was a family illness associated with madness and that they must remain supportive; this might satisfy Charlotte’s questions.
Or, perhaps Charlotte would identify Lady Wellwood, in which case, Arabella would refer to the countess’s ill health and obvious decline. These were questions she could field, she decided.
“Thomas,” Charlotte replied sulkily.
“Thomas?” Arabella reiterated, with surprise. She was unprepared for this candidate but felt assured that—as Charlotte was much closer to Thomas than she—there was no expectation she should be able to provide any justification about the odd behaviour.
Arabella sighed with relief at the realization that her sister only wanted somebody to vent to, as opposed to requesting advice or counsel.
“Last week, he was so attentive. He would visit most days and was so interested in all I had to say. This week, I have seen him very little, and when he is with me, his gaze is elsewhere, and his mind is preoccupied.”
Arabella shrugged, feeling for her little sister. “Perhaps he has some business distraction. I very much doubt his daydreaming is any reflection on you.”
“Then why wouldn’t he tell me so? I asked if there was trouble with a shipping issue, and he assured me there was not.
I do not understand why he appears so distant.
And additionally, he has been taking secretive meetings—with whom, he will not reveal, and he closely guards the purpose of these discussions. ”
Arabella blinked at her sister in sympathy. How she wished she could be honest. Alexander is alive! Thomas is helping to restore his reputation and expose the real killer!
But to tell her would not only betray Alexander’s trust but also expose Charlotte to a very real and probable danger.
“Sister, I understand your frustrations, but I cannot say why Thomas might seem so unreachable. All I can tell you is that sometimes men experience situations they do not choose to articulate. It is a feminine trait, indeed, to chatter and share secrets and ponderings. For the male species, this is not such a common notion.”
Charlotte sighed and nodded, seeming to accept this suggestion, but then frowned and turned her attention once again to Arabella.