Chapter 24
Thomas had successfully secured Alexander’s passage into the Wellwood residence by distracting the household staff with various requests that diverted them from the east wing, where Thomas then whisked Alexander discreetly in.
Alexander quickly opened the door to the sitting room without knocking, closed it promptly, and locked it before turning to see his mother sitting across the room in a rocking chair, with a crocheted powder blue blanket slung over her lap.
Alexander felt a compassionate twinge of pity as he looked at his frail mother. Her eyes alighted on her son, standing in the room as though he had burst back into life from the place he existed only in her memory.
To Alexander’s distinct surprise, Margaret stood directly; the blanket falling unbidden to the floor. She stepped over it in a spritely manner and approached him with shocking vitality, and Alexander stepped back in awe.
‘Alexander! My beautiful son!’ Margaret came to him and embraced him with the strength of a woman twenty years younger and fitter.
‘Mother!’ Alexander greeted her, pulling her closely, but cautiously, to him. Her frame felt as thin and frail as she looked, but when she pulled away to look up into his face, her eyes were bright and curious.
‘Mother, you should stay seated … you are not well …’ Alexander stammered.
‘Oh, I am as fit as a fiddle!’
‘What?’ Alexander asked in consternation.
‘I wanted to explain to you that first evening you appeared here, but then Arabella discovered you, and it all fell apart …’
‘I do not understand–’
‘I am medically sound, Alexander. I have no pain nor ailment.’
‘But I attended solely to see you again, believing you to be on your deathbed. Thomas told me–’
‘And Thomas was being honest, for that was what I told him! I had to maintain the lie that I was dying to ensure Thomas would send for you!’
‘You knew that I would come?’
‘Of course, my dear boy.’ Margaret’s papery soft hand smoothed over Alexander’s cheek affectionately. ‘We were always close, weren’t we?’
Alexander nodded sadly.
‘I knew you would not be able to stay away if you heard I was sick. I apologize for my dishonesty and manipulation—I would not have used such malicious means had I not considered it essential. I had to bring you home, Alexander. Things have gone too far …’
Margaret took her son’s hand in her own and crossed the room, returning to her chair. She indicated Alexander should pull up the upholstered, fringe-trimmed stool next to her, and he did so, intent on hearing what she had to say.
‘In my shock the other evening when you first appeared, I did not have the opportunity to tell you what I have learnt and what I regrettably have come to believe.’
‘Alexander took a deep breath. ‘Tell me.’
‘About your brother.’ Margaret dropped her eyes sadly.
Alexander nodded. ‘What is it you believe, Mother?’
‘On the night your father was killed, I found blood on some garments in Marcus’s room.’
Alexander drew back in shock. Whilst the captain and Thomas had gathered speculative evidence, bloodied garments were solid proof that could not be denied.
‘I told myself it was an animal’s blood from a hunting trip.
But he started acting erratically,’ Margaret continued.
‘Fearing the downfall of our estate, I decided to look over the finances to ensure he was taking care of things the way your father would have wished and the way that I know you would have done, had you been granted your rightful status as earl.’
Alexander looked down at their linked hands and gave her palm a tentative squeeze.
‘There were terrible inconsistencies, and it was clear that Marcus was being irresponsible with the accounts. Even then, I told myself it was because he never wanted to be earl, and these duties weighed too heavily on him. He was frivolous because, although an academic, he never excelled at applying logic in practicality. I blamed his naivety for so long …’
Alexander silently nodded, encouraging his mother on.
‘Then there were strange visitations in the night—men attending the house to meet with Marcus when he should be sleeping. I would hear arguments and sharp whispered words as I stood on the landing listening to them muttering under their voices in the hallway.’
Alexander narrowed his eyes as he listened to this account.
‘In short, Alexander, I believe that Marcus caught himself up in some dark business dealings with unsavoury characters and began gambling to pay them back. One knows never to gamble money that is not your own, but Marcus always had such an entitled way about him.
Your father questioned him on the discrepancies on the accounts and—knowing he was in trouble, not only with his father, but potentially also with the law—Marcus killed my poor husband in a desperate act of violence.’
A sob of anguish broke free from Margaret’s mouth.
Alexander realized this might possibly be the first time she had ever expressed this belief verbally.
He reached for a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to his mother, who buried her face in it for a moment, her shoulders bobbing rhythmically with the emotion of venting it all.
She took a few deep breaths and raised her head.
‘He framed you, Alexander, and—strangely— this may be the part that hurt the most. It is inexcusable and unforgivable that he killed his own father, but to blame you and have you exiled from your home and your family during our season of the utmost calamity and grief was beyond cruel. And to tell us all that you, too, had died!’
‘But you knew I survived my escape?’
‘Thomas kindly told me. Marcus still thinks I believe you are dead. His heart is so cruel that he could inflict the devastation of two deaths upon his mother, even when he knows one of those is false. Kind Thomas, I must confess he is more of a son to me than Marcus has been.’
‘It has been such a shock to me, Mother, to discover my sweet younger brother could execute such atrocities, but I must apologize that there is more barbarism to reveal–’
‘More?’ Margaret’s brow knitted together in concern.
‘Edmund.’
With that one word, the stark reality of Alexander’s insinuation hit Margaret, and she let out a single cry of distress, covering her face with the handkerchief.
‘I am so sorry, Mother, to be the one to tell you. But Edmund was investigating who could have killed father—my faithful cousin believed in my innocence—he kept a journal and notebooks documenting his findings.
It is apparent from the books Edmund left behind that he had come too close to exposing Marcus’s crimes. In his final journal entry, he wrote that Marcus was coming to visit. And the physician has now ruled that Edmund’s death was a poisoning.’
‘No!’ Margaret’s eyes were wet and pleading as she peered over the handkerchief. ‘Poor, sweet Edmund …’
Alexander embraced his mother and held her while she sobbed. As her breathing calmed down, she extricated herself and reached inside her shawl. She brought out a leather-bound notebook and placed it in her lap decisively.
‘What is this, Mother?’
‘My journal. I keep it with me always, tucked about my clothing. For it to fall into the wrong hands would be disastrous. But I would like to share the contents of it with you, Alexander.’
Margaret lifted the book and opened it, pointing out a passage.
‘Just as Edmund did, I suppose, I have been keeping a journal, documenting the erratic behaviour of my youngest son.’
‘You have?’ Alexander leaned in. ‘I hear from Arabella that he has been aggressive and enthusiastic within the same beat; that he has dismissed servants, and I bear witness myself to the neglect with which he has mistreated the Wellwood estate.’
‘Yes.’ Margaret nodded mournfully. ‘It is all here. The time he brought a live rabbit into the sitting room, announcing we should all meet him before the cook killed him for supper!’
‘Really?’ Alexander flinched.
‘Oh, yes. And the time he set a fire on the front lawn in the middle of the night, for no reason at all.’
‘Mother, he sounds absolutely mad!’
Margaret could only agree.
‘How has this fiendishness become of my little brother?’ Alexander swallowed down the swell of emotion in his throat.
‘Your uncle’s madness, Alexander. I fear it is hereditary. I thank the Lord you have been spared, but it has taken Marcus over entirely.’
The mother and son bent their heads low, together, in grief. It dawned on Alexander at that moment that they had never been blessed with the opportunity to mourn the death of his father together, nor the passing of Edmund. So much pent-up sadness hung in the air between them.
‘Alexander, I must warn you–’ Margaret muttered. ‘The most recent of nightly visitations Marcus has received was just last night. I overheard a little of the conversation.’
‘Who was it?’
‘A ruffian. Not a man I recognized. It was very late.’
‘What did they say?’ Alexander was keen to know.
‘I regret to inform you that your name was mentioned …’
‘My name?’ Alexander stood in shock. He had taken such strict precautions to ensure he was not seen, nor followed. If a man was reporting to Marcus about Alexander, it seemed certain that his presence had been detected.
Alexander paced, running his hands through his hair, and turned to Margaret in anguish. ‘What did they say about me, Mother?’
‘I could not hear all the words. As I mentioned, I heard your name, though no context to support it. The only full sentence I heard was from Marcus himself and-oh!’ Margaret began to openly weep.
Alexander ran to her side, kneeling beside her. ‘What is it, Mother?’
‘It is too horrible!’ she cried. ‘It is the most damning of all.’
Alexander steeled himself. ‘Tell me, Mother.’
Margaret took a deep breath. ‘Marcus said the words ‘systematic clean up, leaving no witnesses alive’.’
Alexander drew in a loud breath of shock as his mind whirled with the mess of how many people that category encapsulated, and he realized all those he loved could now be considered witnesses.
Suddenly, loud running footsteps could be heard outside in the hallway, and as Margaret and Alexander turned their heads quickly to the locked door, there began an urgent, loud, panicked knocking.
‘Lady Wellwood!’ Thomas’s voice shouted from the hallway.
‘Please! Help!’ Charlotte yelled as the knocks became louder. Alexander bolted towards the door.