“Such as?” Marcus snapped, using anger as a shield.
“I cannot imagine. Yes, actually, I can. I am a solicitor and it is a part of my duty to assist my clients in whatever way they need. That is not always in the realm of laws, ledgers, and accounts. Your Grace has my utmost discretion.”
Marcus looked at him sharply. There was an insinuation in the man’s face. Something in the tone of his voice that was encouraging Marcus to confess a secret.
He believes I am hiding something shameful. An affair with a married woman or even a courtesan. A duel or black market dealing. Some knavery.
He could vehemently deny it, throw the weight of his rank behind it. But it might not quench Russell’s curiosity. Might lead him to go digging for answers. Could Marcus guarantee that there was not something left behind by Arthur or his father that wouldn’t incriminate him?
“You are under contract to act as solicitor to my family and all the confidentiality that goes with it,” Marcus said, carefully.
“Of course. A matter I take very seriously, ever since your father first retained my services. I was very grateful for the assistance so early in my legal career.”
There was a plan forming in Marcus’ mind, a way out of Russell’s suspicions and Baxter’s blackmail. But it would require a swallowing of pride for himself. It would require absorbing some of his brother’s crimes, taking them on as his own.
“My illness took the form of a…weakness for certain…substances,” Marcus began slowly, “you understand?”
Russell’s smile was beatific, as though having evidence that his employer was fallible was a source of great pleasure for him.
“I do indeed, Your Grace. No need to say more. Are we talking about a relapse into old ways?”
Marcus frowned, wondering at the particular phrasing of the question.
“What makes you say that?” he asked.
“Only that I did understand there was a…weakness…during the days before the old Duke passed away. Then a period of sobriety and clean living. Of course, I only have your father’s account to go on and those of the good doctor who oversaw your recovery.”
“Yes, yes. I remember him well,” Marcus said vaguely, “you needn’t worry. There has been no relapse of any kind.”
“Most gratifying, Your Grace. By all accounts, your treatment under Doctor Lynch’s care worked miracles. It was an asylum not far from here, was it not? Did I hear that correctly? Somewhere to the south.”
“Streatham,” Marcus said coldly, “where my mother was committed.”
“Ah yes, you would have come to know that place very well during your own stay,” Russell continued conversationally.
Did Arthur commit his own mother? Or was it our depraved father? I am glad I did not go in if Arthur is known to the staff there.
But despite that, he found that he still wanted to know what had become of his mother.
“I am maintaining the payments each month towards the running of the place and its upkeep,” Russell said, “as is detailed in the quarterly accounts I send you.”
Marcus had not been looking at them and was surprised to hear of a standing order concerning maintaining the asylum.
So, I am now paying for the asylum in which my brother was a guest and my mother may still be.
“I did wonder if you would wish to discontinue that given your mother’s death last year,” Russell continued.
Marcus froze. His stomach clenched and it felt as though an icy hand were clamped to the back of his neck. For a moment, he could only stare at Russell, who was pointing to a line of figures in the ledger that he had just reopened.
“As you can see, it is not a significant drain on your resources. A small amount really.”
“She is dead,” Marcus said softly.
Russell blinked and looked at Marcus askance. “You didn’t know? I wrote to you the same day to inform you. I arranged for the funeral and was executor for your mother’s estate.”
“Last year?” Marcus repeated, “she was alive until last year and I did not know?”
Russell sat back, a perplexed look on his face. “Did not know? You surely knew where your mother lived and worked. After all, it was you that put her there.”
