Chapter Fifteen
Marcus stood before the window of his study, vaguely aware that shadows seemed to gather around him, despite the morning light, and matched his dark mood. His shoulders were rigid as he repeated the butler’s announcement over and over again in his mind.
Your Grace… There has been an accident… Mr. Morrison is dead…
He did not need to look to know that it was Thomas who closed the door behind him, nor was he upset about a private moment alone with his friend.
He was, however, at a loss for words in the moment, still trying to understand how something so horrible could have happened.
The tremor in his hands was more pronounced with his deadly grip on the window frame.
His reflection showed a face carved from granite, yet his emotions and thoughts were anything but stone.
Thomas approached cautiously with his hands clasped in front of him. He studied Marcus, undoubtedly seeing the barely contained horror and angst in his friend’s posture. Marcus was in discomfort from his illness, of course. But the news of his physician’s sudden death was all the more devastating.
“I am truly sorry for such a deep loss,” Thomas said awkwardly, looking up at Marcus with uncertainty. “It is shocking news, and I cannot imagine how difficult it must be for you to comprehend.”
Marcus chuckled bitterly, though no dry smirk reached his lips.
“It seems like rather convenient timing to me,” he said bitterly, sneering at his own reflection.
He thought about the deep concern in Mr. Morrison’s eyes as he tried to understand what illness plagued Marcus.
He had said he wished to visit him again as he believed he had the answer.
Now, he would never know for certain what the physician had suspected.
Nor could he forget the questions about Marcus’s food and drink preparation.
A strange dread began building within Marcus once more.
It seemed too odd to be a coincidence. Yet he could not make sense of the things he knew for certain.
It was as if he was constructing a puzzle that was missing all its vital pieces.
The air between Marcus and Thomas grew heavy as Marcus’s remark lingered. He wondered if Thomas thought he was going mad. Truthfully, part of him wondered it, as well.
“What do you mean?” Thomas asked, breaking the silence at last.
Marcus exhaled, the shock and grief making the act cumbersome on his lungs.
“Just yesterday, Mr. Morrison was confident that he knew what was making me so ill,” he said hoarsely.
“He said very little to me, but he was very concerned about my meals. He promised to return in a day or two to discuss it further and check my condition, as well as to bring a medicine that he said would confirm whatever he suspected. And now… this.”
Thomas fell silent. After a long pause in the conversation, Marcus dared to glance at his friend’s reflection beside his own in the window.
Thomas did not look as though he thought Marcus was mad.
Rather, he wore the same expression that Mr. Morrison had had when he left the previous day.
What was happening to Marcus? And why did it seem that everyone but him could figure it out?
***
Thomas failed to keep his features from betraying his unsettled state.
He had spent many sleepless nights trying to conjure all the possible afflictions that could have befallen his friend.
The outward effects of the malady had many potential causes, as Mr. Morrison had surely considered.
From what Thomas understood, he had been close to understanding what was wrong and how to help Marcus.
It was terribly unfortunate that the accident had occurred at all, but the timing was horrible.
Now, he would never have the opportunity to tell Marcus what he believed ailed him or how to treat it.
Edith was right, he thought as he tried to make sense of what he knew. The weather was lovely yesterday. A storm that had not occurred could not cause a fatal carriage accident.
Dread formed in Thomas’s stomach as a horrible thought came to him.
Someone had to deliver the message to Mr. Jenkins that a storm caused the accident.
Yet how could anyone know with certainty what had happened?
And who would have brought such a message to the Lochville estate before it reached the newspaper?
“What precisely did Mr. Morrison say before he left yesterday?” Thomas asked carefully, watching Marcus’s reaction.
Marcus shook his head, running a hand through his hair.
“He asked several odd questions about my meals,” he said. “He did not say anything other than he had some suspicions. He seemed rather agitated, however, like something was troubling him deeply.”
Thomas nodded slowly as his dread grew.
“Did anyone know what you told him?” he asked. He was reluctant to share his concern with his friend, as nothing made sense. However, something was amiss; Thomas could no longer deny that.
Marcus looked at him as if he were quite deranged.
“What is the matter with you?” he asked. “You sound just like Mr. Morrison now and frankly; the strange questions are growing tiresome.”
Thomas moved to put a hand on Marcus’s back, but Marcus recoiled. Thomas sighed, wondering how he could explain something that he did not understand himself.
Before he could give Marcus any answer, Augusta swept into the study. Her smile suggested that she either did not notice the tension between the two men or that she was ignoring it.
“We shall be departing for Sydney Gardens within the hour,” she said with cheerful determination. “The fresh air will do wonders for you, Marcus.”
Predictably, Marcus looked at his grandmother with disdain, though her tone brooked no argument.
“Grandmother, I have estate business to attend to,” he grunted, scowling darkly at Augusta. “I also must now begin the search for a new physician, since…” he trailed off, looking away from his grandmother.
Augusta shook her head, her smile unwavering.
“You shall join us, Marcus,” she said. “Remaining here and hiding will not get you well.”
Thomas watched the interaction with a worried expression, wondering if the dowager duchess might be wrong.
Marcus’s tremors had worsened, and his usual commanding presence seemed diminished by recent events.
He crossed his arms, the gesture seemingly one of trying to hide the severity of his tremors, rather than one of defiance.
Yet Augusta seemed to take it as a refusal of her expectation.
“I am making the preparations now, Marcus,” she said. “This will help us all, especially you. I expect to see you in the grand hall in fifteen minutes.”
Thomas saw Marcus drop his head, a picture of despair. At last, he nodded, silently relenting to his grandmother’s demand.
Thomas smiled at Augusta, even as he gave his friend a sympathetic look.
“I shall help him to the grand hall as soon as we have finished our conversation,” he said.
The dowager duchess smiled approvingly, nodding diplomatically.
“Very good, Thomas,” she said.
When Augusta departed, Thomas approached Marcus with eyes full of empathy.
“Please believe me when I say I am sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I can see that you are unwell, but Augusta is nothing if not persistent. I feared the strain of continuing a fruitless line of reasoning might overwhelm you before this excursion did.”
Marcus smirked weakly, though there was no humor in it. However, he gave Thomas a nod and a grateful glance.
“I know what you did for me,” he said. “Thank you, my friend.”
Thomas nodded, gesturing for them to exit the study to meet the women in the grand hall, as Augusta had demanded.
But as Marcus used his handkerchief to wipe his face, Thomas noticed Miss Potter hovering outside the study door.
Her eyes were fixed on Marcus, and her eyes were filled with something Thomas tried to analyze.
Was she concerned? If so, why did her expression appear to be so calculating?
How is it that she is always near when terrible things happen? He thought, watching to see what the maid might do. And now, it is not even just when Marcus is ill, but when he is upset and having private conversations.
Miss Potter was gone in the same instant it took Thomas to notice her presence.
It seemed to have lasted for several moments, but it was over so quickly that Thomas could not be sure that he was right with what he saw in her.
However, with all the other strange things that were happening, it stirred unease in Thomas’s mind.
The mystery illness was bad enough. Nevertheless, there were now too many unexplained things happening, and all of them seemed to center around Marcus.
How could he trust anyone other than Marcus?
***
The early summer sunshine bathed the grounds of Sydney Gardens in a vibrant cheerfulness.
It cast a facade of its delight upon their group as they walked along the gravel paths, but it was merely that: a deceptive attempt to claim joy in a day that had brought nothing but tragedy and worry.
Adelaide walked beside Edith, grateful to be with her dear friend and far behind the rest of their group.
As much as she longed to spend more time with the Duke, she was unsettled by recent events.
Besides, she was eager to express some of her concerns about the situation.
She watched the shadows cast by Edith’s and her parasols onto the gravel path for a moment, trying to choose her words carefully. She wanted to confide in her friend, but she did not wish to upset her any more than Adelaide knew she was.
“Are you well?” Adelaide asked, deciding to begin with light conversation.
Edith looked at her with a tired smile.
“I am well,” she said sadly. “As well as one might expect under the circumstance.”
Adelaide nodded, moving closer to her friend.
“It is very strange, is it not?” she asked, dropping her voice. “I cannot accept that someone could blame the weather for the accident when it was as clear as it is here today.”
Edith looked at Adelaide as if she were relieved the subject had been broached.
“It is odd, indeed,” she whispered. “I also do not understand how anyone could know such news when it has not yet reached the newspaper.”
Adelaide bit her lip and nodded.
“I considered the same thing,” she said. “I cannot make sense of any of it. There is so much strangeness of late and none of it explains anything.”
Edith nodded; her eyes wide.
“Thomas and I have talked a bit about Marcus’s condition,” she said. “He has been my one comfort in all this, in spite of my worry for Marcus.”
Adelaide nodded, thinking of the way the Duke made her feel. When she was with him, it was as if nothing was wrong. None of her past followed her, none of his past mattered, and the two of them could discuss poetry and kiss forever.
“It is wonderful that you have such comfort,” she said, smiling warmly at Edith.
Edith nodded, but her eyes grew sad.
“I have deep feelings for him,” she said.
“However, that is just the trouble. I know that my family would never approve of me marrying him. They expect me to marry a duke or an earl of great wealth and prestige. I want to believe that him being so close to the family for many years would help. I know it will not, however. To choose him would be to lose my family’s love and support.
He is so dear to me, but so are Grandmother and Marcus. ”
Adelaide’s heart ached for her friend. The raw emotion as Edith spoke about the choice she believed she faced between loyalty to her brother and family and the yearning of her heart made Adelaide’s chest tighten with sympathy.
She glanced up at the men with whom they were respectively smitten as she linked her arm through Edith’s.
The Duke strode ahead with Lord Thomas and the two of them were engaged in their own hushed conversation, ignoring the curious glances the duke drew.
The older women walked between the men and the younger ladies, keeping a sedate pace and talking with great animation about something regarding the improvements to the gardens.
Adelaide heard their voices carrying back to where she and Edith walked.
However, she could not concentrate on what they were discussing.
She had enough thoughts in her mind. She was glad that the older women were enjoying themselves, but her worry about the Duke could not be silenced.
She prayed that nothing bad happened while they were in the gardens.
But the dread in her stomach granted her no opinions of a successful afternoon in the beautiful gardens.