Chapter 12
“Exotic?” Alexander’s voice erupted too loudly and echoed around the cold, abandoned church.
“Shh …” Thomas reminded him, and they looked around, checking that they had not disturbed anybody, alerting them to their presence.
They scanned the crumbling stone walls, with ivy trailing in from the outside, the broken pews where the wood had become damp and splintered.
The stone floor seemed to radiate a chill, and Alexander pulled his worn coat closer around his body, turning back to Captain Morrison to continue his explanation.
“Yes, exotic poison. The physician has confirmed it was not the standard poison he sees administered in such cases, but an expensive toxin of continental origin. A serum of this value would require significant resources and criminal connections to obtain.”
Thomas and Alexander exchanged a troubled glance.
“Then are we to assume that the murderer is a member of the Ton?” Alexander asked the captain.
The captain’s expression jerked as it was prone to do, and the two friends sat patiently, waiting for him to regain his composure.
“Indeed. A murder of this sophistication would have required advanced planning by a man of intellect. Only someone wealthy with dangerous connections would use such methods.”
Thomas cleared his throat. “I feel obliged to draw attention to a situation I feel loath to reference, but Lord Marcus Hartwell, your brother, has become a frequent gambler. His reputation precedes him in Mayfair’s casinos.
He spends money nightly that would ruin men of less wealth.
” Thomas looked intently at his best friend.
“I am sorry—I know that you trust your brother to take care of your mother and the estate–”
“And well he does! He would never allow any harm to come to Mother!” Alexander retorted defensively.
“But of course not. However, it would be remiss of me not to mention the staggering debts he has accrued, and I am aware that he has obligations to some of London's most dangerous moneylenders; the likes of whom are known to collect through violence when payments lag …”
Alexander frowned at Thomas, outraged, then laughed.
“Why would you trust the rumours you hear in society, Carrington? When you know our family intimately. Please do not entertain the gossip you hear!”
“If I may–” Captain Morrison interrupted.
“I must support Lord Carrington’s account.
I have, of course, researched all characters your father spent time with or held association with, and I, too, found evidence of your brother’s excessive gambling habits, and one informant I met with claims Marcus's debts have tripled in recent months. It is a slippery slope …”
Alexander stood, feeling personally attacked by this line of questioning.
“Marcus’s gambling may be habitual, but it will be no different from half the young gentlemen in London!
I am sure that my brother seeks distraction from the crushing responsibility of running the estate, rather than pursuing any criminal enterprises as you suggest.”
“Wellwood,” Thomas stood, extending his hand out with his palm flat to placate his friend. “This is not an accusation, merely an open conversation. We must investigate everybody linked with your father and expose all their vices to eliminate them as potential suspects.”
“This is simply a process of elimination?” Alexander asked, eyeing Captain Morrison.
“Of course!” Thomas confirmed, gesturing that they should sit again on the damp pew.
“At this stage,” the captain clarified, and Alexander reluctantly took his seat again.
“Listen, I know my brother,” Alexander continued more calmly. “It is likely Marcus borrowed money to keep the estate afloat; so keen he would be to honour our father’s memory and not fail him. He would not fritter away the family’s wealth for personal pleasure.”
“Witnesses I have spoken with have seen Marcus meeting with known criminals late at night,” Captain Morrison revealed coolly.
“Who are these supposed witnesses?” Alexander demanded. “Likely people operating out of jealousy, with contempt towards poor Marcus! Perhaps these are the people we should be investigating!”
“I must confess, I have also seen Marcus meeting with notorious criminals …” Thomas whispered, his head hung in shame.
“What, Carrington?” Alexander’s face reddened in fury. “You did not tell me this! But my young brother may be in danger! Clearly, these undesirable individuals are threatening my sibling and coercing him into precarious predicaments!”
Thomas and the captain shared a glance that suggested their train of thought was not to frame Marcus as the victim.
“It would have been ineffective to tell you, Wellwood,” Thomas justified. “Marcus is a grown man, an earl no less! And what could you have done from far away in Scotland? There would be no benefit in worrying you.”
Alexander seemed to accept this and frowned into his lap.
“Marcus was raised with exactly the same moral code as I. The notion of him collaborating with criminals is absurd.”
Alexander stood once again and paced the uneven stone floor of the dimly lit church.
“Desperation drives men to many things—selling family heirlooms, dismissing servants, taking risky loans—but not to patricide.” He turned, appealing to the two men.
Thomas held his eye, clearly anguished. Captain Morrison looked away, avoiding Alexander’s plight.
“You forget,” Alexander said, laughing convivially, “that Marcus was terribly young when my father was murdered! Why, he was fresh out of university. I recall he had recently returned from graduating at Cambridge.”
His audience said nothing, and Alexander sat at another pew, slightly distanced from his comrades.
“Poor Marcus. A young graduate and inexplicably tasked with arranging the staged disappearance of his older brother, grieving his father, and the weight of being an earl prematurely, a title he never desired. My brother’s struggle with debt proves his inexperience, not his guilt.”
Alexander appealed to his fellow investigators, but they would not meet his eye.
***
As Alexander’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he hoped that Thomas would make it home without incident.
They had spotted this disused stable on the outskirts of an estate as they walked out from the deserted church, checking left and right to ensure they had not been seen, and the friends parted their way for the night.
It was no longer safe for Alexander to plan where he would stay each night; he needed to embrace spontaneity and accept any shelter nature may offer up.
He dug out a small cavity in the hay, which emitted a fusty scent of mould and earthy damp, and he sat down in it, hoping the hay would provide a little more warmth than his previous evening in the open-air ruins of a castle.
As he sat, he worried at a loose flap of skin next to his thumbnail, thinking of all that the captain and Thomas had revealed.
Are you in danger, my brother? Alexander muttered to himself. He found that he had developed quite a monologue with himself during his years in exile, but tonight he must be careful to keep his voice low.
Here I am, hiding out like a coward, when you are being pursued by criminals, hungry for your money and devoid of ethical method. I should be there protecting you.
He had hoped to visit Marcus and see for himself whether some form of madness had manipulated his mind as Arabella and Thomas both insinuated.
But now, he realized, if criminals were controlling Marcus’s actions and threatening him, it would be quite impossible for Alexander to reappear to his brother.
It would risk the whole investigation and not only his freedom but also put all the people who were involved in acute danger.
Alexander didn’t expect sleep to reach him, but he closed his eyes in some attempt to rest and determined to himself that they would need to find the murderer fast to draw this disaster to a close.
His initial incentive had been to prove his own innocence, but now he had a new driving force: to rescue his brother.