Page 48 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
Thomas nodded his agreement.
“No!” Alexander insisted, fiercely protective. “We need to find therealkiller and free both of us brothers from this nightmare! Marcus is another victim here, not the perpetrator!”
“Wellwood,” the captain softened his voice, showing a compassionate side to his nature. “I understand your misgivings and passionate insistence on your brother’s innocence; however, my sources say Marcus is growing increasingly erratic, possibly dangerous. I have been told many household staff have deserted their positions at the Wellwood residence due to fear …”
“Admittedly, I have heard, too, of Marcus’s unpredictable behaviour. But an unfit mind does not a murderer make. I should wager the staff are worried for his health and concerned that he is receiving no support or treatment …”
Thomas regarded his friend with a look of pity.
Brushing it off, Alexander appealed to the captain.
“I beseech you, Captain Morrison. Please. Before you condemn my brother to your assumption of guilt, consider this fact that I know. Our great uncle suffered a malady that caused mental afflictions. It is widely felt that this condition is hereditary and that poor Marcus has contracted it. By all accounts, he seems to be displaying symptoms of it similar to my great uncle, who ended his days in an asylum.”
Captain Morrison nodded in sympathy.
“I fear my brother may be experiencing a complete mental collapse under the weight of all the threats and pressure. Will you please obtain medical reports on his health before you hold him accountable for these heinous crimes?”
Alexander’s complexion had become flushed, and his forehead sheened with the exertion of his perplexity.
The captain regarded his anguish and nodded curtly, once, before turning to walk back through the woods.
Chapter 15
Margaret leaned on Arabella as they took their daily stroll around the grounds. It was always a slow walk, but both parties enjoyed each other’s company.
“The poppies have sprung early!” Margaret croaked as she pointed a trembling finger at the floral divide bordering the path. Arabella kicked away some trailing plants that could potentially trip the countess. In previous summers, these borders were neatly maintained and trimmed back, but it seemed that either the gardener had departed, or Marcus had not instructed him to complete such work.
“I think the gardens could do with a little weeding …” Arabella observed. “I should hate you to fall.”
“Many people consider poppies to be weeds, but I enjoy their happy little faces.” Margaret gave a rare smile.
“I rather like them too,” Arabella agreed.
“Look how tall these lupines have grown!” Margaret declared, her eyes sparkling as she appraised the long lilac spires thrusting out from the grasses.
“A beautiful colour,” Arabella observed.
They turned to enter the conservatory to review the plants inside.
“Oh, such shame! These peonies have leaf blotch!” Margaret cried, taking the gentle pink petals between her fingers and demonstrating the red spots to Arabella.
“How has that happened?” Arabella asked, looking around to check if any other plants had been affected.
“They need to be outside in the garden. There is insufficient air circulation in here. And let us remove some of the dead petals to relieve it …” Margaret began pulling at some of the petals.
“You enjoy your gardening.” Arabella smiled, noticing how avidly involved and animated Margaret had become since her difficult walking, only moments before. “Do you miss spending time in the garden?”
“I do. Though I confess there was more joy in it when the garden was maintained well. How beautiful it looked when my husband was alive, God rest his soul. Marcus seems incapable of keeping up …”
It was not said with sympathy, Arabella recognized, but with a more chiding tone.
“He is deteriorating, Arabella. Do you see it?” Margaret turned to Arabella with her eyes wet and fearful. “The secrets he keeps, the pacing I hear late at night …” Margaret plucked some more diseased petals, discarding the bad ones in the hope they would not infect the others.
“I always feared one of my sons might inherit their great uncle’s affliction. In truth, I suppose I always anticipated it would be Marcus.” Margaret eyed Arabella knowingly.
“Alexander was a steady child, level-headed, and astute. Marcus was the sensitive one. Always reacting dramatically, constantly throwing tantrums. He suffered with nightmares, rarely slept as a child, fitful and—dare I say—bedwetting until he was a fully grown boy,” Margaret confessed, whispering this scandalous admission.
Arabella widened her eyes, showing interest. Though Margaret’s voice was weak, her resolve to confide in Arabella was sharp.
