Chapter 26
Alexander rapidly unlocked the sitting room door with a swift turn of the large brass key, and the moment it clicked, Thomas flew through the doorway as if he had been leaning against it.
Only as the feminine waft of Charlotte’s skirts whisked past him was Alexander hit by the sudden fear of discovery.
For weeks now, he had covertly navigated spaces where familiar people resided, managing to retain anonymity and now, here he was, in a moment of extreme panic, revealing himself to Arabella’s sister without having given any thought to the risk this may potentially pose to her safety.
However, the alarm with which the young couple entered suggested strongly to Alexander that the situation had escalated somewhat, and he countered that it was probable Charlotte would inevitably discover his survival.
Thomas and Charlotte invaded the room with such energy that they had already passed him and begun the approach to where Lady Wellwood sat before they turned to see where Alexander stood at the door.
Charlotte released a squeal of shock as her wild eyes set upon him.
Understanding the impact of this visual revelation, Alexander stepped forward, his palm outstretched to placate her.
‘Miss Charlotte! I am not a ghost! Do not fear!’
Thomas weighed up the importance of his mission versus his need to comfort Charlotte, looking between the two of them. He placed an urgent arm around Charlotte in case she should faint and gently extricated the sealed envelope from her hand, holding it out to Alexander.
‘This letter is for you.’
Alexander took it, a concerned frown worrying his brow.
No letters should address him since all believed him to be dead.
He quickly tore the envelope to reveal the letter inside and immediately recognized the familiar tilt of the writing he had coached and supported through years of their childhood.
Before Alexander could commit his eyes to the words on the page, he was terrified to hear Charlotte’s voice, shrill and ringing out.
‘They took Arabella! The men …! They had guns!’
‘What?’ Alexander’s head snapped up to look at Charlotte, only to see her eyes red-rimmed and her face wet with tears.
Her usually immaculate blonde hair had come loose from where it would normally be scraped up and bundled on top of her head.
Her complexion was flushed red, and her body trembled in fear and shock.
‘They stopped our carriage!’ Charlotte looked between Lady Wellwood and Alexander as she re-told the events she had already recounted to Thomas. ‘They insisted I bring Thomas this note, and they stole Arabella away …’ Charlotte dissolved into sobs as Thomas held her closely.
Lady Wellwood covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide in anguish, and realizing there would likely be instructions within, Alexander grappled with the letter, reading aloud.
‘Brother Alexander.
How smart you are, that it only took you four long years to deduce the truth.
You should never have returned.
I am holding your love, Arabella, at a deserted house in the woods—I have sketched a map below for you to find us.
You will attend within two hours of receiving this letter, or she will die.
Do not inform the authorities, or she will die.
Do not attempt to rescue her, or she will die.
Your surrender in exchange for her life.
I know that you will come because I know that you love her.
Your sentimentality will be the death of you. Do not make foolishness the death of both of you.
Your expectant brother, Marcus.’
The room fell silent, though the clamour of tension buzzing in the air was almost audible.
‘Oh!’ Charlotte collapsed to the floor in distress. Thomas knelt beside her in concern.
‘I should have fought those men!’ Charlotte yelped. ‘I should not have allowed Timpkin to return me home without fighting for her!’
‘This is not your fault, Charlotte!’ Thomas consoled her.
‘It is not,’ Alexander agreed. ‘The responsibility lies solely with my despicable brother.’
Alexander’s eyes zipped cautiously to Lady Wellwood.
‘Mother, I apologize.’
Margaret nodded sadly, tears now streaming down her face. She understood that his apology was not for his harsh words, but for what he must now do.
‘I have only just regained you, my beautiful son!’ Margaret sobbed, and Alexander went to her, taking her hand and kissing it.
‘I must rescue Arabella, Mother, no matter what price I have to pay,’ Alexander told her with panic in his voice.
‘Of course you must,’ agreed Margaret as she held Alexander’s hand to her cheek, leaned her face against his hand, and closed her eyes, as if saying goodbye.
‘Take a gun, Alexander,’ Margaret insisted.
All three there assembled looked to her in shock.
‘Conceal it, of course, but do not go in unarmed,’ she continued.
‘Mother, this is Marcus–’ Alexander contested.
‘Yes, and he is a monstrosity.’ Margaret openly wept. ‘He is willing to kill his father, his cousin, and now his beloved brother! He may be my son, but I cannot be instrumental in protecting him any longer. If it is you or him that must die, let it be him.’
Margaret buried her face into a white cotton handkerchief, and Alexander squeezed her hand once more before striding towards the door.
‘Please save her, Alexander!’ Charlotte appealed to him as he passed her. He paused for a moment and looked down at the couple, kneeling together on the ground in desolation.
Thomas fixed him with an expression of grim determination. ‘God speed, my friend,’ he asserted, and Alexander fled the room.
***
As Alexander ran through the main door of the Wellwood residence, it was not lost on him that now he was allowing himself to be publicly seen.
Whether Marcus killed him or the magistrate came after him, his dastardly fate seemed to indicate death.
He had nothing to lose but Arabella, and so he threw every ounce of his being into this rescue.
He left awestruck servants in his wake—one poor housemaid collapsed upon seeing him march through the hallway, most likely believing she was witnessing her old master’s ghost. There was no time to rectify such misgivings.
Alexander charged up to the carriage that had just dropped off Miss Charlotte.
Timpkin sat at the helm, looking pale and shaken.
Hearing urgent footsteps upon the gravel drive, he pulled his wild eyes from the horse to look upon his arrival.
When he saw Alexander, he shrunk back with a horrified gasp.
‘Timpkin! Yes, it is I. Please do not be alarmed! I did not die. There will be time to explain all, but now I need you to take me to Lady Spencer! You saw the men who took her?’
Timpkin nodded silently, his mouth slack and his eyes fearful.
‘I need you to take me here–’ Alexander held out the map Marcus had sketched at the bottom of his letter.
Timpkin took it with a shaky hand and narrowed his eyes at the paper. His reactions were slow; partially due to age, but mostly, Alexander suspected, from shock.
‘No matter,’ Alexander grabbed the letter back from Timpkin, shoved it into his pocket, and cautiously approached the horse.
‘Mannerton, isn’t it?’ Alexander asked Timpkin, looking briskly between the driver and the horse, as he tentatively reached a hand to the horse’s flank to calm him and his other hand to the horse’s nose so that the beast could smell his familiar scent.
‘The horse? Mannerton, yes …’ Timpkin muttered shakily.
‘Right, Mannerton,’ Alexander gently spoke to the horse as he removed his reins and the bit from his mouth. ‘You and I are going on a little journey …’
‘Jump down, Timpkin, and secure the carriage.’ Timpkin did as instructed, as Alexander unbuckled the traces from the horse’s harness and carefully backed him away.
‘Do you need me to tack him up, Your Lordship?’ Timpkin looked on earnestly.
For a moment, Alexander stood, awestruck at being addressed in such formal tones after so many years as plain James Macleod.
‘No, Timpkin. No time.’ Alexander catapulted himself up onto Mannerton’s bare back and took a fistful of the horse’s mane to hold onto. ‘Thank you for the ride,’ Alexander threw back at Timpkin as he prompted Mannerton forward with his heels at the beast’s ribs.
Mannerton launched into a canter out towards the gates of the estate, and Alexander felt grateful to his years working the farm in Scotland, where he learned how to tend horses, carriages, and to ride bareback.
He steered the horse by its mane, and as the landscape flew past them, Alexander reconciled what this situation meant for him.
The woman I love faces death because she chose to help me. Every moment we delay brings her closer to murder.
He hoped desperately that he would find the house within Marcus’s given timeline.
Certainly, Charlotte would have returned to the house immediately, and so he should still be in good time.
But what if they had hurt Arabella during the wait?
Alexander panicked. He dug his heels firmer to further accelerate Mannerton’s pace.
He thought of his mother.
She once protected both her sons; now she chooses to save the innocent over the guilty, though it shatters her heart completely to do so.
It killed Alexander to even think of having to hurt his brother—though he would, to save Arabella. For his mother, having to choose between her sons must be the most painful scenario known to womankind.
Alexander slowed the horse as they entered the woodland, where they would need to negotiate their way around trees.
They were almost there.