“I can see that. Enjoying a book, old chum? Better not let anyone catch you, lest you get a reputation for being a bookworm, rather than a dandy.”
“Now that we can’t have! Alistair Mavis caught reading? It would be a scandal worthy of being anon-dit!Yes, I say I’d be talked about day and night and our dear Beau Brummel would be mortified!”
Alistair winked at him and placed the book, Gulliver’s Travels, on his lap as Daniel took a seat across from him.
“Why is it you never allow anyone to see this side of you, old chum?”
“Never! What would thetonthink? I’ve worked hard building a reputation of a dandy, someone known for his ability to bring life to any celebration, someone who can dance the night away and drink with the best of them.”
Daniel shook his head. “Surely it would not damage that reputation if people knew you are also an avid reader and an accomplished violinist.”
Alistair grimaced. It was of course the truth; he was a keen reader and read one novel a week with ease. He was also gifted when it came to the violin. However, neither was public knowledge, and his friend preferred it that way.
“I find it beneficial to keep these things to myself. I rather enjoy when people underestimate me. I feel it will help me once I am called to take up the mantle of Baron. I will be in a much stronger position if people think me a fool, only concerned with where the next ball will be held. You know the saying. There is no greater danger than underestimating your opponent. That is true in business as it is in society.”
“Is that an Alistair Mavis original conclusion?”
“That, my dear friend, is Lao-Tze.”
“Of course, it is.” Daniel smiled. He loved this quieter, contemplative side of his friend. It was a side nobody saw outside of his own family, of which Daniel considered himself a part. The quiet, deep side of Alistair was as unknown to outsiders as Daniel’s habit of sleep-walking and nightmares were.
“Would you like me to depart? Have you need of the library? I see you brought reading of your own.” He looked at the letters in Daniel’s hand.
He sighed. “Correspondence between my father and his steward. Mr. Percival brought them with him. I am of two minds if I ought to read them.”
Alistair frowned. “Are you? But have you not always told me how much you regret not knowing your father better? There is your chance. Perhaps it will give you some insight into what drove him to commit the acts he engaged in. Maybe it will bring you some peace of mind.”
Daniel nodded, turning the letters over and over in his hand as he thought about this. Surely, Alistair was right. This could be all he had ever wanted. Maybe he’d read the letters and find that his father’s moods were not what drove him into killing his mother. Maybe it would reveal other reasons. Maybe the letters were full of the thoughts of an even-tempered man overcome momentarily by a temporary madness.
“But what if they do not? What if they show me that I am destined to repeat his mistakes?”
Alistair shook his head. “Nobody is destined to do or be anything. I have always believed you are mistaken about your fear of being like your father. I’ve never seen any indication of it in you.”
Daniel smirked at this. Of course, his friend had not. Thus far, he’d hardly ever experienced such surges of rage. No, those had only manifested since Alistair made his interest in Penelope known.
He leaned back in his seat as Alistair got up. “I believe what is needed here is quiet contemplation and that is best achieved when alone. I shall take myself and Mr. Swift’s tome here to my bedchamber and leave you to ponder your next step.”
He got up and left Daniel alone. For some time he sat quietly, looking at the papers in his hand. Then, when the clock struck eleven, he pulled one of the letters out and opened it. He found himself disappointed when at first, he saw nothing of the intimate sort he’d expected. The first few letters were correspondence related to the estate, famers complaining about their rents and what to do about it, and an offer to purchase part of a neighboring farm.
He was about to give up for the night when he came upon another letter. The handwriting was the same but much sloppier. The ink was smeared in parts making it difficult to read. He sat forward, clutching the faded letter with both hands.
“I love her so. I cannot imagine life without her. What am I to do if I lose her? She is all that keeps me safe and sane. Oh Scott. This is a travesty. A tragedy. I cannot lose her. All of my life I longed to be with her and only her. She silences the thoughts in my mind: the racing, spinning thoughts that never cease otherwise. I must fight for her, for without her love, I am lost. Without her love, my mind never leaves me be. Without her, I will be lost to this world, and to all who care for me. What kind of a father would I be to Daniel if I did not have her steadying hand; her reassuring presence? No father at all. So it is a loss, either way. For me. For him. For us all. Scott, Scott… What am I to do?
The letter carried on in the same vain for some time and suddenly stopped. It was not signed, but he knew it was his father’s writing. Daniel sat back and frowned. Did his father really rely on his mother to keep him sane? And she was getting ready to leave him? Is that why he lost his mind?
He got up and paced the room. Certainly, that was the meaning of these lines. His mother was going to leave his father and he feared what would become of him. But why? Why would she leave? Surely, she would not have left him behind as well?
He sat and immediately rose once more, unable to settle. His father’s letter utterly confused him. If what he said was true, then it was the love of a lady that kept him sane and the perceived loss of her that drove him insane. In the back of his mind, he thought of Penelope again. Could she keep him sane? He shook his head.
No. No matter how much his mother’s presence soothed his father, in the end, the threat of losing her had driven him to kill her and himself. But what if she’d never left? What if they had been happy ever after? What if he could be happy ever after and not lose the one person who could soothe him?
Daniel sat in the chair, his head pounding. There was no clear answer. The outcome was filled with uncertainties. He glared at the letter. It had done nothing to help him. The reverse was true. It had made it worse. Much worse.
“Father, how I hoped you could help me understand you, but you’ve done nothing but muddle my mind further and cause me more turmoil, even from the grave.”
He glared at the remaining stack of letters. They would bring him nothing but more heartache. Reading them would do no good, of that he was sure.
With desperation surging through his every vein, he jumped up, grabbed the papers, and threw them into the fire where the flames rose up and hungrily devoured the only insight he ever had into the mind of his mad father.
