Chapter 20
In his childhood, Alexander had never been one for hiding away from difficult situations.
If a bully had been unkind to his younger brother, he would confront them; if his father wished to admonish him for riding his horse too fast, he would attend promptly to face the discomfort, in a bid to move through it and onward.
Living in exile had conditioned him to hiding away, and it had become an unfortunate facet of his internal fabric. He stayed in the abandoned mill all day, ruminating over his failures.
Every other day since he had ventured back to England, Alexander had risen before the sun to launch into whatever mission the day proposed.
Today, though, he slept until well after the birds had begun to sing.
He was yet to splash his face with water or find something to eat. He simply sat and stared.
How wrong he had been. About everything. Alexander prided himself on being a well-adjusted, good citizen, a loyal son, and a supportive, nurturing soul, cultivating a young brother who would be the same.
Yet how far this particular rotten apple had fallen from the tree. Alexander battled with his participation in the matter, wondering what he might have done differently to secure a better outcome.
Did I protect him so much that he became entitled?
Was I too much in the good favour of our father, that Marcus’s jealousy caused him this unprecedented rage?
There were so many potential reasons Marcus had swayed so far from the orthodox compliant route, but Alexander could find none that justified the killing of his father and cousin.
Alexander paced up and down in the mill as he tried to reconcile where his source of rage lay.
Am I angrier at Marcus for committing such atrocities?
Or am I angrier at myself for defending him so long that I afforded him bounteous opportunities to commit further crimes?
Failing to answer any of the demands his tortured conscience threw at him, Alexander grabbed Edmund’s journal and sat down in the dust, where a slat in the wall of the mill shed a column of daylight so he was able to read from the book.
Opening at one of the later entries in Edmund’s handwriting, Alexander’s eyes lit upon words he had not read yesterday.
… Alexander’s dagger. The witness I shall not name—but who is a member of the household staff within the Wellwood residence—saw Marcus exiting his older brother’s bedroom on the day of my uncle’s murder, holding a long object within a sheath.
It appears to me that Marcus was framing his older brother, Alexander—the favourite son—to look as though it was he who killed his father, with the supposed motive of expediting his inheritance of the title of earl …
Tears of betrayal and rage filled Alexander’s eyes, clouding his vision so he could read no more.
***
When Thomas arrived to speak with Alexander that afternoon, he found his friend sitting upon the floor of the mill, poring over a leather-bound book.
‘What of the visit to Joseph Evans?’ Thomas asked as he sat tentatively beside Alexander, on a bale of hay. He sensed his friend was in some melancholy state and wanted to respect his low mood, whilst desperate to discover what had dampened his enthusiasm.
Alexander looked up at Thomas as though the visit to meet with Joseph Evans was an event from long ago and far away. It was true that so much had happened since then, and Alexander took a deep breath before recounting the trail of events.
‘Edmund left Evans with this journal—’ Alexander held it aloft. ‘And these musings by my cousin declare that Marcus murdered our father.’
Thomas’s mouth dropped agape. He had yet to hear his friend make such an admission.
‘It seems I owe you and Captain Morrison an apology,’ Alexander said, looking away, ashamed. ‘You were right, and I was blind to my brother’s faults, insistent that he was a victim.’
‘Friend …’ Thomas reached out to place a supportive hand on Alexander’s shoulder, but Alexander flinched out of the way.
‘No! I have been ignorant. You and the captain have worked tirelessly to uncover the truth, and my blind loyalty has stood in the way of you advancing this investigation to the point where an arrest can be made. In truth, you are helping to grant me back my freedom! And I have been nothing but an obstacle for you both!’
‘It is completely understandable that you should struggle to believe your brother could be guilty of such atrocities! We did not judge you in your reluctance to agree with our theory,’ Thomas consoled him.
Alexander took a moment to sit in the feeling of sadness before explaining to Thomas, ‘My brother not only killed my father, but he purposely framed me as the murderer …’
Thomas nodded a sympathetic understanding.
‘This had not occurred to me initially. That if he were the killer, how heinous a situation and horrendous a person he is, but that additional fact that he wanted to implicate me as the perpetrator, it cuts me deeply.’
‘It is awfully hurtful,’ Thomas agreed.
‘I have been trying to console myself with the idea that he bid me run. But if it had not been for my running to you, and your rescue mission in promptly sourcing help from Laird MacLeod to relocate me in Scotland, then I may well have been killed, just as his fabricated story suggested.’
Thomas dropped his eyes to the dusty, straw-laden floor. No words could assist his friend through this stark realization.
‘I am utterly betrayed. It feels devastating that the boy I helped to raise has turned on me, framed me as a murderer, saved me from the magistrate in theory, but done nothing in any effort to reach out to ascertain whether I survived, where I went, and what became of my life. He would have had me die in a ditch as an anonymous body.’
Thomas reached out to land a supportive hand of solidarity on Alexander’s shoulder. This time, Alexander did not flinch away.
‘At least now we know. The positive we must take from this devastation is that we have a clear picture of who actually killed your father and evidence,’ Thomas placed his hand on the journal, ‘to prove it. We must take some optimism for the future in this …’
‘But while I have been dawdling around unlikely alternative scenarios and wasting precious energy defending Marcus, the scoundrel has been free and likely weighing up who is to become his next victim!’
Thomas’s eyeline dropped to the floor, as he could not deny that this was likely the case.
‘I have endangered you, Captain Morrison, my mother, and dear Arabella! I feel certain he must be aware of our investigation and suspicions. And we know, Carrington, that he does not allow people to survive if they pose a threat to compromise his status and freedom!’
Thomas nodded sadly. ‘It is true. Then how do we plan on rectifying it?’
Alexander shrugged. ‘I know that we need to report him, but it is counterintuitive for me.’
Thomas nodded and sensitively added, ‘It is right that we bring him to justice.’
‘The problem with this justice is that it feels more as though I am destroying the last remnant of my family.’