Chapter 14
Alexander watched Arabella go; her black shawl spread behind her like some dark angel as she sprinted out of the graveyard. He wished more than anything to go with her; she could be followed and attacked, and he would not know.
But going with her posed an increased vulnerability to her. How he hated all that he represented; he wished to be back to the man he once was, who would escort her home safely and have the luxury of protecting her.
He encircled the old chapel—they had trusted that the footsteps had moved on, but in truth, they may have belonged to an adversary hiding out.
A full circuit of the building revealed no threat, and as he passed an area of shrubbery, he noticed a dark vaulted area beneath it. Moving the vegetation to one side, Alexander peered into what appeared to be a crypt.
He stepped down inside the stone chamber underneath the chapel. The cobwebs, dust, and dank smell suggested nobody had visited here in a very long time, which made it a fortuitous candidate for Alexander’s nighttime location.
Cautiously creeping deeper into the crypt, which echoed with the disturbance of his steps in a chasm of eternal silence, Alexander took his tinder box from his deepest coat pocket. He set about sparking a flame from the flint on the steel and setting light to the small piece of char cloth.
Once it ignited, casting a warm glow in the eerie darkness, he held a sulphur-tipped spill to the flame.
He was primed to simply explore the space with this light and then sit in darkness, but the light afforded him a view of several candelabra set against the far wall.
He went to it and lit just one candle—not enough to attract any attention from outside, but a small comfort.
Settling down onto the cold stone floor, Alexander retrieved an apple from his pocket that he had plucked from a tree earlier that day and bit into it ravenously.
His cheek hummed with the warm memory of Arabella’s lips.
That brief, beautiful moment of her impossibly soft cheek against his.
So smooth, her skin, and so light and fresh the scent of her hair as she brushed past him.
He closed his eyes and held his hand delicately to the spot where she had kissed him. Finally, despite the cold, Alexander fell asleep, dreaming of the woman he loved in mortal danger purely due to his presence around her.
***
Alexander trod carefully through the dense woodland copse to avoid breaking too many noisy twigs. He hoped that Thomas and Captain Morrison would do the same from their directions.
As he met with Thomas, they each confirmed their passage had been clear, and they did not believe they had been followed. Even so, they spoke in low, hushed voices.
“Last night I felt so defeated,” Alexander confessed. “My presence here is causing so much trouble; the enemy is closing in, and we are losing control of the situation. I told Arabella we should abandon this mission and I should return to Scotland…”
Thomas’s mouth fell open in shock. “And do you still feel this way?”
“No.”
“I admit I am relieved—now that we have started this journey, it would be challenging to stop without a satisfying conclusion—but what changed your mind?”
“A solid few hours of sleep and … a kiss from Arabella …” Alexander allowed a smile to show through his sombre expression.
“A kiss! You scoundrel!” Thomas laughed and playfully hit his friend on the arm.
“Only on my cheek! Arabella is a respectable lady, and it was only a fleeting gesture of goodbye, but it told me that beneath her brusque exterior, she still cares …”
“But of course she still cares, you oaf! If she did not hold affection for you, she would not be so angry and hurt!”
Alexander nodded, accepting this to be the truth.
“So we continue our investigations?” Thomas checked.
“Absolutely.”
“Right. In that case, whilst we await the captain, I have an update he relayed to me. I met with him at dawn and can confirm that he has discovered some extremely disconcerting facts.”
Alexander swallowed hard and steeled himself to hear it.
“After your father’s death, a gentleman he was friends with at his club offered to speak with a Bow-Street Runner to lend detail that may assist with the investigation. He died the night before he was due to attend.”
Alexander inhaled sharply at this revelation.
“And there was another. A servant of the Wellwood estate who apparently held suspicions about men in your father’s circle.
He was inappropriately vocal about his views, declaring you were most certainly innocent and there was a murderer at large.
He was silenced—he did not appear to work one day and was found dead in his home. ”
“This is preposterous! Is the captain suggesting the murderer will kill anybody who strives to expose him?”
“That is exactly the case. He has requested the physician revisit the demise of those two men to ascertain their causes of death, in case they should be coincidental, but currently, it seems that any person investigating the stabbing of your father is eliminated.”
Alexander drew in a ragged breath, and at the same moment, a strong breeze rattled through the trees, causing the branches to creak and shuffle their leaves. Both men looked up at the sudden whispering effect and then around themselves to ensure they were still alone.
“It has been suggested …” Thomas’s face set in a stern expression, “that it could be Marcus who is systematically eliminating witnesses.”
Alexander seemed to forget the crucial requirement to remain quiet as the shock of his friend’s insinuation hit him.
“What? Carrington, how can you intimate such a dreadful notion? Marcus is my baby brother and your lifelong friend!”
Thomas merely blinked, taking the assault he knew that his words would provoke.
“How could Marcus possibly orchestrate such sophisticated killings? My brother is unwell,” Alexander confessed.
“He is not thinking straight; a victim of his unfortunate hereditary pattern. He lacks both the criminal connections and the ruthless temperament required for systematic murder. If witnesses are dying, it proves dangerous criminals are involved, but Marcus would be their casualty, not their partner!”
Alexander ran his hands through his hair and took several paces away from Thomas, who stood silently bearing witness to Alexander’s turmoil.
Eventually, Alexander took a deep breath and returned to where Thomas was standing.
“I apologize for aiming my vitriol at you, my friend. You did say this was Captain Morrison’s suspicion and not your own. What are your thoughts?”
Thomas looked sadly at Alexander and then shrugged. “I was at the club in Mayfair last night …”
Alexander remembered the place fondly. What he wouldn’t give to be able to dress up for the evening, take his Landau to Berkeley Square, and meet with his old friends for brandy and play billiards.
The memory felt so long ago that it was as if it belonged to another’s life, although this was still Thomas’s reality, and Alexander felt a pang of envy as he longed for it.
“I saw your brother there. He did not see me—he was too drunk and was causing a stir, acting raucously. People avoid him, Wellwood.”
Alexander looked down at the wood chips and fallen leaves of the woodland earth beneath his feet, shaking his head in pity.
“Poor Marcus, what has become of his mind …” he mused, partly to himself.
“Whether or not we believe Marcus to be involved,” Thomas asserted, avoiding the glance of daggers Alexander shot him, “we need to find some concrete evidence to take to the magistrate. The longer we fumble through this independently, the higher the stakes. Charlotte has begun asking questions to which I cannot provide answers.”
“Charlotte?” Alexander smiled at his friend.
“Yes. I am very fond of her, but the way I am acting right now, I should not be surprised if she accepts some other proposal. I am aware my mind is distracted, my temper is short, and I evade her enquiries consistently. I do not know how she can trust me as I currently portray myself.”
“Arabella did not reveal my appearance to her then?” Alexander asked, impressed.
“Certainly not. Arabella has been an absolute font of loyalty.”
Alexander smiled indulgently to himself.
Hearing footsteps shuffling through leaves, Thomas and Alexander’s heads darted towards the encroaching noise, relieved to find it was only Captain Morrison joining them.
He launched immediately into his crucial communications.
“Look here–” the captain held out his hand and nestled in his palm were three mother-of-pearl gambling markers. On each, there was a scrawled initial or name.
“Gambling markers bearing signatures—and these papers–” the captain obtained some paperwork from his knapsack. “Demonstrating Marcus, the Earl of Wellwood’s debts to criminal organizations.”
Alexander snatched the papers and frowned at them. “Where did you get these?”
The captain looked between Thomas and Alexander, considering how much to say.
“I believe it will not be news to you that there are some household staff members at the Wellwood residence who are a little disgruntled and, with a small tip for their pains, obliged in searching through the study to bring me items that may be relevant.”
Alexander shifted uncomfortably at the idea that his rightful home could be so easily infiltrated, but he reminded himself of the importance of the deed.
“These names …?” Alexander pointed at the list in his hand.
“These are names of organizations known to me, and I can tell you that they specialize in collection through violence.”
Alexander’s eyes glinted with fear as he appraised the captain.
“My brother must be so afraid …”
Thomas ignored Alexander’s sentimentality and addressed the captain directly.
“Then we can take these to the magistrate as proof of Marcus’s involvement!”
Alexander looked at his friend as though he were a traitor.
“Alas, the documentation proves motive for murder, but not definitive proof of the act that would satisfy magistrates.”
Alexander’s eyes zipped between the two of them in outrage at their insinuations. He held the documentation aloft.
“Such massive debts prove only that my brother is being exploited by predatory lenders, and not that he would resort to murder to escape them! Young gentlemen often fall prey to sophisticated gambling operations designed to entrap them in impossible debt—we have all seen it happen. Marcus has been targeted by this underworld. It is our responsibility to help him, not to accuse him!”
The captain watched Alexander’s plight play out and then turned to Thomas as if he hadn’t even spoken.
“We need a confession or some evidence of Marcus caught in action that reveals guilt beyond doubt, then we can approach the magistrate.”
Thomas nodded his agreement.
“No!” Alexander insisted, fiercely protective. “We need to find the real killer and free both of us brothers from this nightmare! Marcus is another victim here, not the perpetrator!”
“Wellwood,” the captain softened his voice, showing a compassionate side to his nature.
“I understand your misgivings and passionate insistence on your brother’s innocence; however, my sources say Marcus is growing increasingly erratic, possibly dangerous.
I have been told many household staff have deserted their positions at the Wellwood residence due to fear … ”
“Admittedly, I have heard, too, of Marcus’s unpredictable behaviour. But an unfit mind does not a murderer make. I should wager the staff are worried for his health and concerned that he is receiving no support or treatment …”
Thomas regarded his friend with a look of pity.
Brushing it off, Alexander appealed to the captain.
“I beseech you, Captain Morrison. Please. Before you condemn my brother to your assumption of guilt, consider this fact that I know. Our great uncle suffered a malady that caused mental afflictions. It is widely felt that this condition is hereditary and that poor Marcus has contracted it. By all accounts, he seems to be displaying symptoms of it similar to my great uncle, who ended his days in an asylum.”
Captain Morrison nodded in sympathy.
“I fear my brother may be experiencing a complete mental collapse under the weight of all the threats and pressure. Will you please obtain medical reports on his health before you hold him accountable for these heinous crimes?”
Alexander’s complexion had become flushed, and his forehead sheened with the exertion of his perplexity.
The captain regarded his anguish and nodded curtly, once, before turning to walk back through the woods.