Chapter 38

Captain Hamilton was summoned from his lodgings in Folkington and the Runner returned promptly the next day. He had a look of polite curiosity on his face, neither expecting to be amazed nor with mind closed to the prospect. Marcus showed him the painting that had been brought out of the attic and placed in the cold light of day in a drawing room, proving the existence of two sons. In the pale daylight, the resemblance the young Marcus bore to his older version was striking. And the similarity between mother and son was equally striking. Next, they showed him the diary entry pertaining to Marcus' exile. He nodded and noted. Finally, Marcus led the investigator into the attic to examine the carving on the beam. He noted down everything before finally replacing his pencil and notebook in his pocket.

"I think I have seen enough, Your Grace."

"Then you believe us?" Selina asked.

They were back in Marcus' study once more. Tea had been served. The journal of Marcus' mother lay on a table between them and the portrait stood next to the fireplace. Hamilton cast frequent looks from the painting to Marcus, as though testing the comparison between the two. Hamilton took a cup of tea, swallowing from it appreciatively.

"It is not for me to conclude whether you are telling the truth or not. Usually, it would be for the magistrate of Bow Street to decide, based on the evidence that I present him with. But, as I said, the Regent has a personal interest in this case. He will likely be the final judge."

With that, the Bow Street Runner took his leave of them as though he had simply popped in for a cup of tea and to pass the time of day. Selina was left stunned but Marcus seemed quietly confident. After the doors of Valebridge had closed behind Captain Hamilton, Marcus swept Selina from her feet in jubilation. They glided around the Great Hall to their very own phantom orchestra, Marcus holding Selina with her feet off the ground, his strength more than equal to the task. She giggled and laughed as they spun and flew around the hall, the huge room echoing to the sound of laughter. Finally, her feet touched the floor again and they were still. She stood with her arms about Marcus' neck.

"So, now we must convince the Regent," she said.

"Except, I have no intention of waiting for an invitation to attend him. We will go to London tonight and I will send a message to the Regent requesting an audience. It is an ancient duty of the monarch to adjudicate in disputes and while he is Regent, he is the monarch. This will appeal to George's ego, I'm sure that's why he has gotten himself involved already. I will request the chance to put my case to his judgment personally. It will impress him that I have not waited for his summons, make him feel important, I"d wager," Marcus said.

"Before we go, I want to speak to Arthur once more," Selina said.

Marcus seemed to sober. "That seems like a dream now. That night was certainly like a scene from a Midsummer Night's Dream. His appearance, that revelation…it was remarkable. I can hardly credit it."

"But a happy surprise, no?" Selina said, "you have rediscovered your brother. The two of you can make amends for the wars you were made to fight as children. Get to know each other again."

"There is still the matter of our mother. He had her incarcerated in an asylum," Marcus said, "I cannot think of any world in which that would be construed as the behavior of a loyal and devoted son. In all the excitement of that night, I forgot to ask him about it. But, it disturbs me greatly."

"Then let us find him and make peace with him. Perhaps, this is why he gave up the dukedom and took on the role of Dai. To make amends for past wrongs," Selina said.

Marcus nodded. "Perhaps. But I would like some answers. He mentioned Wilmington. The only person I knew who lived there was your grandmother. It was your visits to her that led you to meeting me…" he blushed and grinned boyishly, "I'm sorry, old habits die hard. I meant Arthur, of course."

They rode out within the hour, choosing to take a trap rather than individual horses. The journey to Wilmington was uneventful and with no further sign of Maximilien Voss or his staff. Selina had not expected her father to give up so easily and she couldn't help but wonder what he intended to do next. Marcus saw her pensive attitude and read her mind perfectly.

"He cannot hurt you now. With the support of the Regent, there will be none who question my right to claim the dukedom. If your father persists, I can have him shunned by the ton and the county set, ostracized. Even reprimanded by the Regent himself."

The rolling country of the South Downs flowed by them as Marcus drove with skill along the narrow lanes. Selina was navigator, however, knowing these roads far more intimately than Marcus, remembering hundreds of walks and rides in her girlhood. Presently, they were nearing the village of Wilmington. They passed a mill on the river that flowed by the village to the north. Beyond that was a cottage in its own acre of land. Selina remembered it well but it had changed since the last time she had seen it. The garden at the front of the cottage had been ripped up and cultivated. It was broken up into beds of bare soil, each full of sprouting seedlings.

"Someone is living here," Selina said, surprised.

"Perhaps your grandmother sold it," Marcus suggested.

"I was told that she leased it, that there was no property in her name to leave to her daughter, my mother, or to me," Selina said.

Marcus had halted the trap before it and now dismounted, reaching up to help Selina down. She didn't know how precisely she felt about the changes wrought to her grandmother's house. The front garden had always been a rose garden. She didn't know what was being grown now but it looked like vegetables. The house had been given a new lick of paint and the thatch roof had been cleaned and repaired. She remembered the shambolic state of the house during which the last few times that she had visited. The kindly old woman had been in no condition to tend to the roof or to the garden, both had been slowly growing out of her control. Now, it was clear that someone was tending it all and tending it well.

As they neared the front door, it opened to reveal Arthur. He wore shirtsleeves, braces, and boots, looking more like a farmer than a hunter and poacher. He beamed at them.

"About time you came to see me!" he boomed, chuckling.

"Arthur? Why are you in my grandmother's house?" Selina demanded.

"She left it to me," he said, "but come inside and hear the tale, the kettle is just boiling.

With that, Arthur disappeared back into the house. Selina followed and stepped straight back into her childhood. The main room of the cottage looked exactly like it had, even down to the position of the furniture. The ceiling was of low, black beams. The stone walls were painted white. A stove stood at one side of the room and its fire also served to heat the house, reaching into other rooms via makeshift metal pipes radiating outwards and upwards from the stove. A rocking chair stood to one side of the stove and a patched and frayed armchair stood opposite. It had been her grandmother's favorite for sitting and doing her knitting or darning. The rocking chair was supposed to be her favorite but Selina had commandeered it as a young child and her grandmother had graciously conceded, just to please Selina.

Arthur was dragging an old tea chest between the two chairs and placing a cushion on it.

"I don't have visitors. At least not more than one at a time. Sorry for the crude quarters," he said to Marcus, who looked at the tea chest bemusedly.

Arthur took the armchair with a wink to Selina and a nod towards the rocking chair. Selina sat, instantly transported back to those endless summers spent in Wilmington as a child.

"How do you come to be living here?" Marcus asked.

"The old lady that owned the cottage before me was a friend of mine. Helped me through some difficult times when the poppy juice had me by the throat."

"My grandmother did that?" Selina said incredulously.

"She did. It was her who put me in touch with the good folks at the asylum where I got my cure. She was once a benefactor. You didn't know that about her?"

He was looking at Selina, an eyebrow raised.

"I remember a kindly old woman who let me steal her favorite chair and made me scones. I know that she was from my mother's side of the family and they weren't as wealthy as my father but that there was some money. But that it had been foolishly squandered."

Arthur chuckled. "I suspect that is Voss talking. She was not a wastrel. Her money went to good causes and the Streatham Sanitorium and Asylum was the principle."

"That was the asylum that you were incarcerated in," Marcus said.

"It was. And where the clutch opium had on me was finally broken. It was also where our dear mother died a year ago. I believe you have discovered as much," Arthur said, "When I was released, I wanted to help them to continue helping others like me. I put all of my inheritance into it, giving away every penny I owned. It was all tainted anyway. I couldn't keep anything that came from our father."

"What of our mother?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Father and I drove her mad," Arthur replied.

A silence fell into the room with the force of a ship's anchor. Arthur watched Marcus keenly, eyes bright from beneath his shock of white hair. Then he spoke.

"When you were sent into exile, she invested her heart and soul in me. And she gave me as happy a youth as I could wish for, allowing for the cruelty of our father. But, by that time he absented himself from the house for much of the time anyway, preferring to whore or gamble in London. However, as I grew into a young man, I could not come to terms with the life I had lived as a child. It ate away at me like a canker. First came strong drink, then came the poppy. Having lost both of her sons, our mother then lost her mind. When I came out of the sanitorium at Streatham, I realized how bad she had gotten in my absence. I had her incarcerated for her own protection, Marcus. Not as an act of cruelty or to wash my hands of her. I visited her there as often as I could and they worked the same miracle on her as they did on me. But she had no desire to return to Valebridge any more than I did. So, she stayed at Streatham, caring for others. Until the day she died."

Arthur rose and knelt beside his brother, whose head was bowed. He put his arms about Marcus, just as Selina had done.

"I thought that I had abandoned her. When I found out where she had died, I thought that I should have come for her earlier, made her leave him," Marcus said brokenly.

"She died doing what she loved. She was happy. She had a man to take care of her. She couldn't marry him but all who knew him thought of him as her husband. No one in Streatham thought of her as a Duchess. I'm not even sure they knew. Had you ridden in on your white charger, she'd have told you to ride out again and done it in the slang of the Londoner," Arthur chuckled.

Selina saw the change in Marcus then. The last burden lifting from his shoulders. He had carried that guilt for a long time and it had become much harder to bear when he had learned of the asylum. But now, it was gone.