Chapter 18
“The Sir Thomas Lawrence?” Alexander stood agape. “No! Mother would never allow it!”
“Your mother had no say in the matter. The Earl of Wellwood sold it without asking her permission. It is, after all, his estate,” Captain Morrison advised.
“Marcus would never have sold the portrait! He knew how much it meant to our father, and, by goodness, the value of the thing!”
Captain Morrison shrugged. “It has gone. Along with much of the family silver and valuable ceramics. He is liquidating assets to pay off his debts.”
Alexander fearfully shook his head in disbelief. “It cannot be so …”
“I have it on good authority that the creditors grow increasingly impatient—and these are men who express their lack of tolerance not through words, but with fists and knives.”
Alexander’s eyes grew wild as the reality of the threat to his brother’s life hit him. He stood sharply from the wooden bench in the abandoned church.
“No longer can I hide out bearing witness to the atrocities these men subject my brother to!” Alexander declared. “I must come into the light and assist.”
Morrison stood to mirror his assertive stance.
“To do so would not only expose you to the magistrate but would additionally end any positive trajectory for our investigation. If you reveal your presence here in London, the real killer will be instantly alerted, and this may provoke some terrible repercussions, the extent of which I dare not even consider!”
Alexander paced the uneven flagstone floor, his breath smoking clouds in the cold early morning air as he puffed out his frustration.
“My vulnerable brother is being extorted by these criminals! He feels forced to sell our family heirlooms to satisfy impossible debts created by predatory lenders. Yet I must simply witness from the shadows and allow it?” Alexander appealed to the captain.
The captain spread his arms wide. “If you wish to evade the gallows and you intend to keep your family safe, then yes.”
Alexander slumped against a damp stone wall, crawling with ivy breaking through the cracks.
“At least now you must see,” Alexander proffered. “How it is clear that Marcus has fallen victim to these parasites. The apparent systematic liquidation proves how he has become under criminal pressure—it does not demonstrate any behaviour suspicious of something as heinous as patricide!”
The captain responded neither verbally nor physically, leading Alexander to conclude Morrison still suspected his brother.
“Truly, Captain! Young men often fall prey to sophisticated gambling operations designed to entrap wealthy families, and Marcus's actions surely prove he's trying desperately to meet unreasonable demands rather than plotting murder!”
The captain bowed slightly to Alexander. “I am not employed to convince you. I will reach out via Lord Carrington when I procure news on any further developments.”
Exasperated, Alexander watched him go, wishing he and Thomas could see past Marcus’s fraught behaviour and focus their time instead on pursuing the real murderer.
***
Arabella arrived at the boathouse before Alexander. It was creepy to be in a deserted, cold, creaky cabin in the darkest area of the estate so late into the night, and so when Alexander stealthily entered, she almost threw herself into his arms in relief.
Instead, she held herself tall and composed her fears, knowing that she had important information to impart.
“Tonight, I have news for you!” Arabella announced the moment he had closed the wooden door behind him.
Alexander reached up to remove the tweed cap from his head and looked at her, rather amused.
“Good evening to you, too, Lady Spencer!”
Arabella shook her head in frustration at his levity. “Alexander, this is serious!”
Alexander’s smile dropped. “Tell me.”
“I received a letter from a man called Joseph Evans. He was Edmund’s valet, spanning well over a decade. I recall him as a loyal and amiable fellow during the time I lived with Edmund.”
Alexander nodded, working hard to bury the surge of envy in his chest at the idea of Arabella living in Edmund’s home as his wife.
“Joseph Evans is dying of consumption in a workhouse east of the river,” Arabella explained, taking the letter from her pocket to show him.
“That’s terrible. But how does it affect our investigation?”
“It may not,” Arabella admitted. “But I feel certain there is some relevance. Joseph Evans has requested my attendance at his deathbed, for he claims Edmund entrusted secrets to him that he wishes to declare before he meets his maker.”
Alexander’s mouth dropped open as he took the letter to look over the words Joseph had written.
“Additionally, he says he has something of Edmund’s that he believes should now be bestowed upon me.”
“What is it?” Alexander breathed.
Arabella shrugged. “I can tell you when we next meet, for I will visit him tonight.”
“No–” Alexander interrupted. “Not alone. I will go with you.”
Arabella laughed. “You cannot! You are a wanted man, Alexander. You cannot be seen there!”
“Let me be captured! I will not risk your safety. Arabella, it is your choice. Go—with me as your chaperone—or do not go at all.”
“I must go, Alexander! This could be the answer to who killed your father and even, perhaps, lay clues as to who killed Edmund! It is not to be negotiated.”
“You go; I go.” Alexander fixed her with a solid glare that told Arabella there was no flexibility on this point.
For a moment, they stood in opposition. Alexander noticed how Arabella’s breathing became more rapid—he could tell by the rise and fall of her chest above the empire waistline of her dark grey dress. She had obviously dressed for covert movement through the night and was committed to this mission.
What he could not tell was how his words had created a fizzing sensation throughout Arabella’s body.
Alexander’s insistence on escorting her—even to his own detriment—demonstrated very clearly how he felt about her.
He had stated that he was not willing to risk her safety, and this declaration shifted something in her carefully guarded heart.
Despite the walls she had deliberately built up to protect herself, she experienced the same flush of affection for him that she had the night he proposed.
When he was bold and strong, it took considerable effort not to succumb to his allurement.
She had considered exile a precarious status for weak men in hiding, but she realized now that the hardship had fortified a resilience in him, and he had returned mightier.
Arabella shuddered slightly as their eyes conveyed a conversation their words could not. She blinked quickly and looked away, out the small window, to where the moonlight gleamed off the lake.
Alexander continued to focus on her beautiful face and stepped forward, closing the gap slightly between them as he asked, “Which is it to be?”
Arabella snapped out of her reverie and looked at him sharply.
“You may attend under the guise of being my servant.”
Alexander allowed himself a small smile.
“It is not because I need protection,” Arabella told him sternly, trying to shake off the fondness she was feeling for him. “But because you are petulant, and I know if I leave from here on my independent mission, you would only follow me.”
Alexander grinned indulgently. “I would.”
“Therefore, you may follow as my servant, but keep your head bowed low and do not speak.”
Alexander blinked in acceptance of this condition.
“I could not bear you to be captured,” she added in a softer voice, and as she reached out with a demonstrative gesture, her hand incidentally brushed against his.
They both took a sharp intake of breath at the connection, and their eyes flashed once at each other before Arabella looked quickly away.
“We must proceed at speed,” Arabella harried. “Joseph Evans is not a well man, and it would be catastrophic if he passed before we have a chance to speak with him …”
“We will visit tomorrow morning, before dawn. Go and sleep now. Rise early,” Alexander advised.
Arabella nodded. “The address is on the note. Will you remember where it is?”
“I know the area. But we should arrive together.”
“Well plotted. Where will you stay tonight?”
Alexander’s eyes roved around, as if he might be considering this for the first time, and Arabella correctly guessed that he was yet to source a safe location.
“You will stay here. Sleep in the boathouse tonight. Nobody will venture to this part of the estate in darkness, and by the time anybody attends, we will already be gone.”
Alexander smiled with a nod.
“I will return to collect you before dawn.” Arabella headed for the door, pulled it open a few inches, and looked both ways before opening it fully and whispering back over her shoulder. “Sleep well, Alexander.”
Alexander doubted he would sleep at all, desperate as he was to reach the dying man before it was too late.