Chapter 19
“Lord Thomas Carrington arranged your visit; is that correct?” The broadly set matron pursed her lips as she regarded Arabella on the doorstep of the workhouse infirmary.
“Indeed, he did. He emphasized the necessity for haste in the case of Joseph Evans, hence my early call …” Arabella nodded, ensuring she stood in front of Alexander, whose head was bowed in servility beneath his brown cap, tucking his chin into his rough labourer’s clothes.
“It’s fortuitous you have come now; he is not long for this world, I fear.
And Lord Carrington is such a generous benefactor of the infirmary, we are, of course, happy to accommodate his request.” The matron ushered Arabella and her apparent servant inside the hallway.
“This way …” and led them along draughty hallways.
As they walked briskly through the corridors, Arabella tried not to breathe in the stale tang of illness that hung in the air.
They passed poor people lying on makeshift mattresses and some on the floor under blankets, coughing, sleeping loudly with labored breaths, or vomiting.
Arabella respectfully averted her eyes and hoped they would reach Joseph Evans promptly, as she doubted anybody condemned to such a place would survive for long.
When the matron directed them towards the recumbent man lying on a cot-bed in the corner of a room filled with deathly pale people in various states of wakefulness, Arabella found that she recognized him, despite his having lost any flesh about his face and his skeleton protruding tightly against his greyish skin.
“Mr Evans?” Arabella asked softly as she approached. His eyes drifted around the room in a struggle to find focus before eventually finding her face, and a shift of recognition passed over his pained expression.
“Lady Spencer–” He heaved as a cough assaulted his chest. Joseph attempted to move himself into a sitting position.
“Please! Do not move. Remain where you are comfortable. There is no need for you to move,” she comforted him, kneeling next to where he lay.
He breathed out a rattling sigh of relief.
“I am so sorry to find you in such bad health, Joseph.”
“Thank you for coming–” he wheezed.
“I received word that you have a message for me, regarding my poor deceased husband?”
Joseph’s eyes looked around behind Arabella, to where Alexander stood, with his head bent low, for he, too, remembered Joseph, which meant Joseph may also be able to identify him.
“Who is this …?” Joseph pointed a shaking finger towards Alexander.
“My servant,” Arabella replied promptly and positioned herself to obstruct his view.
“What I must reveal is highly sensitive, Lady Spencer …”
“My servant is loyal, and I am happy for him to hear whatever you have to say, Joseph. Please proceed.”
There followed a racking cough that appeared to leach all Joseph’s energy for a moment. He closed his eyes to compose himself and launched, with considerable effort, into his explanation.
“Mr Spencer was carrying out an investigation in the weeks before he died. He was determined to clear the name of his cousin, Alexander Hartwell, over the murder of the late Earl of Wellwood. I fear he may have got too close to the truth …”
“The truth?” Arabella prompted.
“My master suspected danger in his final weeks, and the night before he died, he confided an overwhelming sense of his own peril.”
Arabella dropped her head in grief. “How could I have not seen it? Poor Edmund was in turmoil, and I was oblivious!”
“No … Lady Spencer.” Joseph reached tentatively out to her and drew back, understanding it may not be appropriate. Arabella took his hand in hers, empathizing over their shared tragedy. “You were devoted to Mr Spencer and grieved him faithfully,” he assured her.
Arabella raised her eyes sadly to Joseph’s and nodded her thanks. “Please—do continue …”
“Mr Spencer entrusted me with a leather journal wrapped in oiled cloth and made me swear a solemn oath to hide it until the truth could safely emerge without costing more lives.”
“A journal?” Arabella’s hand flew to her chest. She knew that Captain Morrison had uncovered a logbook, which revealed facts and ruminations about Edmund’s investigatory works, but she considered a journal might expose more personal details regarding the people involved and surrounding Edmund’s personal conclusions.
And surely, she countered, Edmund’s suspicions must have been true, or he would not have ended up dead.
“Yes. And it is time for me to pass it on.”
Joseph reached inside his yellowed shirt, which was rank with perspiration and clinging to his distressed body, and pulled out a key.
“I apologize for the burden that accompanies it …” Joseph told her as he pressed the key into Arabella’s hand.
“In Mr Spencer’s study on the Wellwood estate, beneath the casement window is a loose floorboard. Dislodge the board, and you will find a steel box, which can be unlocked using this key. Inside the box, you will find your deceased husband’s journal.”
Arabella scarcely knew what to say, but hurriedly thanked Joseph for his pains, bid him a fond farewell, and rushed from the infirmary with Alexander quietly behind her, hurrying to emerge and hide again before the dawn light.
***
Arabella and Alexander had become so accustomed to stealthily sneaking about in the shadows of darkness that entering the Wellwood residence while the household still slept was, fortunately, uneventful.
Edmund’s study had been abandoned since his death, out of respect and grief.
As Arabella quietly turned the ever-present key in the lock to enter, she realized that it was likely one of the household staff had entered recently to procure the logbook covertly passed on to Captain Morrison to aid him in his investigation.
But as she stepped across the threshold, with Alexander close behind her, it was clear to see the room had scarcely been touched since Edmund’s passing. Dust lay upon undisturbed books on his desk, and the space smelled musty.
Arabella paused just inside the doorway as the rush of a memory hit her. Seeing Edmund sitting at his desk, industriously focused on paperwork in front of him.
She had entered to ask if he would like to take a walk into town, but he had seemed distracted and nervous, so she had pretended instead that she had another rather inconsequential question for him.
She never liked him to feel obliged; her presence alone was something she felt indebted to him for, and she did not want him to feel as though he should participate in a walk if he had more important business to attend to.
Her thought process seemed so petty as she recalled it now. Especially when she realized that the paperwork he so rigorously reviewed was probably related to the murder of his uncle.
“Arabella?” Alexander whispered, prompting her into the room so that he could hastily follow and lock the door behind them. They did so and quickly found the loose floorboard to which Joseph had alluded.
As they bent to the floor to remove the board and retrieve the promised box, their eyes met.
Alexander’s burned with trepidation, and Arabella realized how his whole future was dependent on what was revealed in this journal.
She attempted a small smile of comfort, and Alexander swallowed hard, lifting the floorboard and reaching into the floor cavity to retrieve the steel box.
All that could be heard in the silent room was their breathing as, together, they lifted the box and placed it carefully on the floor, cautious not to make any unnecessary noise.
They were fortunate that the study was on the ground floor, away from their sleeping family members and at the front of the house, away from the sleeping quarters of any remaining household staff, but they still needed to exercise sensibility.
Arabella handed Alexander the key, and they locked eyes over it.
His upturned palm was warm, and her hand rested there a moment without her snatching it away.
An authentic vulnerability in Alexander’s eyes made her want to take the pain away, but they needed to live through this to reach whatever might wait on the other side.
Stealing his eyes reluctantly away from Arabella’s face, Alexander concentrated on fitting the key into the lock on the tarnished box and turned it. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the lid, and it yawned open, revealing a brown leather book, wrapped in oiled cloth.
Arabella leaned over him as he delicately unwrapped the leather-bound volume and turned to the first page.
As Alexander leafed through the pages, they silently absorbed random paragraphs as they went, and Edmund’s writing revealed a story that darkened as the pages progressed.
Alexander paused at a page that was headed with Arabella’s name. They both devoured it with their eyes.
This beautiful, sweet soul, who should have been my good cousin, Alexander’s wife. How I will cherish her in his honour. Though how I simultaneously wish she would not feel the consistent need to please me. She is compliant to the point of making herself invisible, and it is saddening to see.
I am aware she feels indebted to me, when in truth, she has no obligation to do so. We share a respect and fondness, and I know she harbours a guilt that she cannot give me more. However, I have no expectation of her love; we keep each other safe and shelter one another.
My fear is that I will not be able to rescue her from the malignancy that is the man who killed my uncle. I pray that when the time comes, sweet Arabella can be salvaged from this rotten mess.
When they had both read the page, their eyes lifted to meet one another’s. Arabella’s eyes overspilled with silent tears, and Alexander’s were red with unspent anguish. Arabella breathed deeply and released a shuddering breath.
They returned their focus to the journal, and as they reached the end pages, where the book turned inevitably and devastatingly blank, the content darkened considerably.