Page 53 of Her Heart's Rightful Earl
“You are not well, Lady Wellwood. Such a burden should not be placed upon your shoulders.”
“Who else is there to oversee?” Margaret seemed to have risen in her chair, looking stronger and more vital than in recent days. As she saw Arabella notice it, she shrank back down in her chair and stifled a low moan, betraying some pain she was enduring.
“I fear …” Margaret muttered, but broke off and shook her head, unable to continue.
“You fear … what?” Arabella reached out to console Margaret. “Have you seen something alarming in the accounts?”
“The money, truly, is the least of my worries …” Margaret looked down at the ledger pitifully.
“Are you worried for Alexander? I know that you begged me not to speak of him, but I confess I can think of little else–” Arabella urged.
“I understand, dear girl. This revelation has been a shock for you. And yes, I am concerned for Alexander, greatly so. But there is something I must confess–’
“What is it?”
“I saw something terrible the night my husband died …” Margaret fixed Arabella with sharp, frightened eyes. Arabella drew back slightly, afraid of what she might hear.
“My son, Marcus. In his bedroom, I found bloodied clothes …” Margaret snapped her eyes shut as if trying to unsee it. Arabella’s hand flew to her mouth in shock.
“He had been hunting!” Margaret promptly justified. “Sometimes blood from the animal could appear upon the hunter’s garments …” Her words faded away. “This is what I told myself.” Margaret allowed a sob to escape her lips as her head bowed.
“I could not bear to consider the alternative!” Margaret told Arabella in a desperate whisper. “I have never told anybody! I should have done! My weakness in sheltering myself from such ahorrific deed has meant that I have essentially lost both my sons! I did not protect either of them in the way I should have done!”
Arabella scrambled to hold Margaret’s hand in comfort.
“In avoiding Marcus’s potential involvement, I was inadvertently supporting Alexander’s exile, and now Marcus is losing his mind. I must bear the culpability for both their downfalls,” Margaret muttered.
“Lady Wellwood, I must contest. You have not exhibited weakness. Both your sons love and respect you. If you believe Marcus to be responsible for some unthinkable crime, the liability sits with him and not you!”
Margaret blinked gratefully at Arabella for a few moments before moving to dislodge something that sat on her lap, below the heavy ledger. She slowly revealed a small, leather-bound notebook and, upon opening it, revealed pages of handwriting that Arabella recognized as Margaret’s hand.
As Margaret flicked through the pages, it was clear to see that whilst the beginning of the book was neat and clearly maintained, the later pages were chaotic, scrawled with a feeble hand.
“I have been keeping a journal,” Margaret whispered, “documenting Marcus’s strange behaviours.”
“Oh,” Arabella responded, unsure how else to receive this news.
Margaret turned her attention to the journal and picked a page at random. Pointing a finger at a paragraph, she read. “Today, Marcus threw a stick at Jasmine, our oldest horse. I saw him as I watched from the window.”
She sighed and turned another page, pointing out some more text. “Potter, our longest-serving, most loyal butler, has reported that he is stepping down from his post because Marcus insists upon watching him work and insults him constantly as he goes about his duties.”
Margaret was fuelled as she quickly flicked through to find another entry. “Look here—Marcus has been absent from the estate for five days and four nights now. He did not announce his departure, and I am beginning to worry he may never return. And then an update:When Marcus did return, he stayed up all night, pacing the floor and talking to himself in agitated tones.”
She turned again, pointing. “Marcus met with a man on the lawn at midnight. The man was tall and adorned in a thick cloak, which enrobed his head so I could not identify him. Parcels were exchanged between the two men, and they briskly parted after only a few words.”
Margaret looked up, and as her eyes met Arabella’s, she shuddered.
***
Arabella’s head spun with Margaret’s revelation, as she trotted down the hallway, headed for her bedchamber, hoping Marcus would not be stalking the halls.
She jumped as she passed the kitchen door, and it flew open. Arabella’s hand flew to her chest in surprise, but she was relieved to see it was only Sally, the kitchen maid.
“Lady Spencer!” Sally whispered urgently. “Please!” She beckoned Arabella into the kitchen, and Arabella’s curiosity caused her to follow.
Entering the stone kitchen, where the orange glow of the fire illuminated the far end of the large room, Arabella shivered as her body reacted to the change in atmosphere from the draughty dark corridor.
Sally looked nervous and took a small envelope from her pocket, passing it to Arabella with a shaky hand. “Lady Spencer, I have been requested to pass this on to you.”
