by Amanda Deed
Was Mr King even inside? Was he well? Perhaps he slept soundly and didn’t hear her. He’d looked rather tired of late. No wonder with the late nights he’d been keeping. A smile tugged at Serena’s lips. She had enjoyed some of those evenings with him. Curious, she tried the door handle. It was unlocked, but did that hold any significance?
Serena only hesitated for a moment, then gently pushed the door open. This might be a foolish idea that would find her in deep trouble, or ...
She never finished the thought, for what she saw sent her mind spinning. Even though deep shadows met her eyes—not a single candle lit the room—it was plain to Serena that chaos ruled, and the breath caught in her throat. How long had it been since she visited Mr King here? Two weeks, perhaps. But what a change.
Collecting herself, Serena glanced around for the man, but he was nowhere in sight. His bedroom door stood ajar, and no sound came from within there either. She crept closer to see if there might be any movement, or at least the shape of Mr King asleep in his bed. A single floor board creak could mean discovery, and the improper nature of her visit would be exposed. Heat rose in Serena’s neck at the thought of being caught in his rooms, but every feeling convinced her he was not here. The bed remained empty, the dark bedroom and the hearth cold.
Serena released an unsteady breath as she turned and gazed over the adjoining apartment again. The air was stale, filled with the faint odour of uncleanliness. Several empty drinking glasses and the occasional plate were discarded haphazardly around the room. The floor was strewn with crumpled up pieces of paper, and items of clothing which were tossed carelessly. Why, even his desk was a mess: quills and wafers, open books and the remains of burnt-out candles were scattered over the surface. It seemed odd, in a house where the family kept everything in spotless order, that one room could be left in a state of disarray. Did Mr King not allow maids into his apartments?
With a frown, she approached the messy desk for a closer look. Strange. There was little evidence of architectural design in progress, unless it hid beneath everything else. She lifted a corner of parchment to see what might be underneath, but an open book in the centre of the desk weighed down the reams of paper. Serena moved to shift it when she recognised Mr King’s writing filled the pages, and dates headed the text. A journal?
Serena pressed her hand across her mouth to stifle a gasp as she recognised her own name on the page. She shouldn’t read it. It would be ill-mannered, not to mention intrusive and presumptuous. She ran a hand over the smooth pages engraved with the pen’s scratchings. Although intrigued over what Mr King might have written about her, Serena tore her eyes away from the book. It was a personal journal, and had she not already invaded his privacy simply by being there? With one final glance around the room, she returned to the door, closing it behind her.
She let out a long breath. What had happened to Mr King? And why did his apartments lie in such a mess? As she thought about it more, something seemed at odds. Mrs Jones insisted to the dressmakers that he was currently at work, and yet to Serena, it seemed he hadn’t been in there for days. The room was cold—not even an ember glowed in the grate—and no fresh candles laid anywhere. So, where was he? And how long had he been away? And why did his room resemble a frantic mind, rather than a meticulous genius?
Might that be the reason he hadn’t sought her out for days? He wasn’t home. Perhaps he had gone to spend a week or two in town, or even further away. But again, Mrs Jones had told their visitors he was working. Maybe he did work, but somewhere else altogether. That made sense to a certain extent, and perhaps it even explained the lack of architectural work on Mr King’s desk. And yet, Serena’s conclusions still did not convince her.
She needed to think. Serena was lost in her reasonings, chewing on her lip all the way to her room. As she perched herself on the edge of her bed, her mind continued to churn over details. The family usually discouraged Mr King’s outings. Why? And why would this occasion be any different? They constantly behaved protectively over him, even to the point of secrecy. But, why? So many questions remained and Serena knew that if she could just find Mr King, perhaps he could answer them. Unfortunately, she had no clue where to start.
Serena entered the dining room to an uproar the following morning. From outside the door, raised voices met her ears, and although hesitant to enter, she did so anyway. Mr Simon, red-faced and wearing and angry scowl, leaned over an open newspaper on the table. Mrs Jones’s face had drained of colour and Mr Xavier looked ashen, while Mr Jones wore a grim expression. Their voices ceased the instant she stepped into the room and all eyes focused on her.
Before she could ask what was the matter, Mr Simon rounded on her.
‘What did you do?’ Turning to his mother, he continued. ‘I knew she would be the ruin of him. Didn’t I tell you? But none of you listened.’
At a loss, Serena gaped at him. ‘What is it you think I have done?’ Coldness crept down her spine, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. Did they discover she’d been in Mr King’s room? Mr Simon seemed more agitated than the incident warranted though.
‘Simon.’ Mr Jones had the knack of pulling his son into line. With one word and a warning glance, the gardener pursed his lips together and stood stiffly aside.
Mr Jones then turned a softer gaze toward Serena. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Bellingham. We’ve just discovered some disturbing news.’ He glanced down at the newspaper and as if just deciding the matter, pushed the sheets across the table to her.
Serena locked eyes with him momentarily, trying to understand what terrible news lay in the print. All she could read in his expression was sadness. She let her gaze drop to the paper and searched the black and white maze for the terrible news. When she saw it, her stomach dropped. ‘Oh, dear. Oh, no.’
Genius or Lunatic? Was the title. That alone was enough to make her heart lurch.
The estimable Edward King has of late been seen in public, behaving in an odd manner. The Herald has been informed that he visits the streets of Sydney in the wee hours of the night. In one moment, he might be full of charm, purchasing extravagant gifts, and in the next, might fly into a rage, making irrational threats. Are these simply the actions of an eccentric, or are they symptoms of a mind slipping from reality? Investigations continue, and we assure the public that if Mr King is considered a danger to himself or society, our information shall be passed to the magistrate. Caleb Moncrief.
Serena felt the colour drain from her face to match that of Mrs Jones’s. ‘But how?’
‘How did Moncrief learn of this, you mean? That is a good question.’ Mr Jones studied her. Was that accusation in his eyes?
‘You think I did this?’
‘It is the obvious choice.’ Simon blurted out, his colour rising once again. ‘No one else in this house would have dared.’
‘But I didn’t! I swear!’ Serena shook her head. ‘Other people may have easily seen us in Sydney that night. Anyone might have recognised him. Mr King didn’t exactly hide his identity.’
Serena looked at Mr Jones again who continued to appraise her. After holding her gaze for a long moment, he seemed satisfied and shrugged. ‘That is a possibility, I cannot deny it.’
Mrs Jones rose and paced the room, wringing her hands. ‘What is to be done? What is to be done? We will be ruined.’
To Serena, ruin seemed an overreaction. ‘But it’s only a newspaper article. Everybody knows gossip and untruth fill the papers. And we know Mr Moncrief is a troublemaker. Why would anyone take any notice?’
She looked at each of them in turn, but they avoided her gaze, appearing awkward.
‘Unless ... oh.’ Serena sank into a chair herself, her voice only coming as a murmur. ‘Unless you think there is truth in it.’
At once it all made sense. Their protectiveness. Their secrecy. And now their devastation. They believed Mr King was unstable. Serena reflected on the moments
she’d spent with Mr King. Yes, there were odd moments, and strange behaviour, but was it so bad that this article spelt ruin for him?
‘He’s not ... unhinged ... is he?’
The family’s silence confirmed their belief.
All except Mr Simon, who glared at her again. ‘Don’t you ever speak of my uncle that way!’
Serena sucked back her breath. Clearly, Mr Simon still held her at fault and would not see otherwise any time soon. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s all right, Miss Bellingham,’ Mr Jones interrupted. ‘I suppose it’s time you heard the truth.’
‘Really, Father?’ Mr Simon balled his hands into fists at his side. ‘She is behind this.’
‘It’s time you went to work, son.’ Mr Jones took Mr Simon by the arm and led him grudgingly from the room.
Silence filled the dining room for a long moment while the four remaining people contemplated the heaviness that surrounded them.
‘Perhaps you should serve yourself breakfast, Miss Bellingham.’ Mr Xavier offered a grim smile, which did nothing to soften her drawn face.
‘I’m not sure I can eat now.’
‘You should try.’ Mr Xavier collected her plate and filled it with a pair of steaming eggs and warm, buttered bread before placing it before her and taking the chair beside her. It looked enticing, but even the aroma turned her stomach.
Mrs Jones cleared her throat and began. ‘We’ve tried to keep it a secret—not just from you, from everybody. The last thing we wish is for the magistrate to incarcerate him at Bedlam Point. He really is harmless, you know.’
‘How ... how long has he been, er, sick?’ Serena forked a small bite of egg into her mouth, but it was tasteless considering their conversation, the texture of cardboard on her tongue.
‘Since he was twenty-two. Off and on.’
Mr Xavier cleared his throat. ‘When his father died in a fall from a cliff ...’ His eyes swerved to Mrs Jones, whose face contorted with grief and she shook her head.
‘She need not know that, Xavier.’ A sharp edge grated her voice. ‘If it gets out—’
‘There’s no sense in hiding it from Miss Bellingham.’ Mr Jones squeezed his wife’s hand. ‘Now she knows about Ed, she might as well understand the truth.’ He nodded to Mr Xavier to continue.
‘The truth is Grandpapa insisted he could fly.’ He reached out and put a hand on his mother’s shoulder. ‘Isn’t that right?’
Mrs Jones swallowed hard and nodded again.
‘In the height of elation, he ran off the edge, hollering with delight. No one expected it. No one stopped him. Not that they could have, anyway.’
A single tear tipped over Mrs Jones’s eyelid and slid down her cheek.
Serena placed her fork on her plate. ‘His father suffered the same malady?’ She swallowed back rising nausea.
‘Yes. We didn’t realise Eddie carried it.’ Mr Jones offered a sad smile. ‘He was always such a bright lad, so smart. He is so full of creativity and enthusiasm and energy, we didn’t even see it coming. We have worked very hard to keep him calm and stable, but—’
‘But since I arrived, it has come undone. Is that what you intended to say?’ It all became clear to Serena—why Mr Simon blamed her, why they tried to keep her away from Mr King—her presence unbalanced his mind.
‘It’s not your fault, please, Miss Bellingham.’ Mr Xavier shook his head. ‘Uncle wanted you here, despite our fears.’ He looked away from her and murmured. ‘And who could blame him?’
Before Serena could respond, Mrs Jones interjected. ‘Unfortunately, his interest in you has agitated his mind considerably.’ Her gaze held a level of gravity Serena had not yet seen.
‘You don’t mean to blame it all on Miss Bellingham, do you, dear?’ Mr Jones seemed surprised.
Mrs Jones gaze faltered, and she stared at her hands. ‘Of course not. I’m sorry.’
Serena looked from one to the other. ‘But, you think I should leave?’
Mrs Jones let out a long breath. ‘I think it would be for the best.’
Serena clenched her hands, her thoughts spinning. ‘Are you aware that he swore to have my father imprisoned if I returned home?’
‘Your father?’ The couple said in unison, confusion marking their brows.
‘Mr King caught my father intending to steal one of his paintings.’
‘Devil, take me.’
‘Xavier, that language is unacceptable.’ Mrs Jones turned back to Serena. ‘I did not know this. But I can assure you, Eddie will not have your father imprisoned. I think you have well and truly paid your dues.’
‘If you’re certain. I shall leave tomorrow.’ Serena searched their faces. Strangely, she hoped they would beg her to stay, to say it was all a misunderstanding.
‘I’m sorry it has to be this way. And you must swear, by all you hold sacred, not to speak a word of this to anyone. Not even your family.’
Serena understood the gravity this time and she nodded. Then her gaze fell to the newspaper once again, fighting her way through mixed feelings. ‘But what will you do about this?’
‘Moncrief will have Eddie locked away if he can. We must stop him.’ Mrs Jones seemed sure about that fact.
‘Incarcerated?’
‘Yes. At the Gladesville Asylum.’
‘The asylum? Surely not.’ Horror crept up Serena’s spine.
‘That is why we must make him well as soon as possible.’
‘But where is Mr King?’
‘He is safe, my dear. That is all you need to know. Edward is safe.’
21
She couldn’t sleep. How was one supposed to sleep having just learned the man they had fallen in love with was in fact insane? For that is what she had started to believe—that she might be in love with Mr King, Edward. But in an instant, her fate had changed and she must leave, perhaps forever. It was a cruel irony. All she had desired since arriving at Aleron was returning to her father and sisters, to help them and care for them. When had her heart changed? Now she felt drawn to stay.
Edward was mad? It was hard to believe. Yes, sometimes he had behaved with definite eccentricity, but to label him unsound seemed exaggerated. Odd. Strange. Weren’t they terms strong enough to describe him? Why should anyone lock Edward up for being an oddity?
And what about the other times? His fervour, his passion for the artistic, his generosity and sensitivity. Surely, they weren’t the actions of a lunatic? Oh, what should she make of it all? If only she could give Edward the chance to defend himself, to help her form her own judgement. Now she possessed the truth, knowing the facts, she could make an informed assessment. She wanted so much for them to be wrong. Although, considering they had known him for much longer than she, there was little chance they were.
Serena threw back the covers with a groan. Her attempts to sleep were fruitless. She slipped her feet into her cold slippers and threw a robe around her shoulders. This time, she would search the whole house and by the saints she would find him. For a certainty, Edward was still somewhere in Aleron. If the family feared discovery, there was no way they would take him anywhere else. She grabbed a candle and headed out.
She knew he was not in his own apartments, so she began her search in the servants’ wing. Supposedly, this section of the house was empty as no servants resided there. Another detail that made sense at last. Servants with loose tongues would have brought Mr King’s illness to light many years ago, so they only allowed them in once per week. And Mr King never showed his face on those days. And his rooms were obviously never cleaned by them.
Careful to remain silent, Serena searched every room in the wing, softly calling for Mr King as she went. The servants’ quarters were cold and empty. Not a sign of life.
Not dissuaded, Serena began a search of the family’s wing. Here, she must be more careful
, for fear of waking them. She must not call out for Edward, and she could only search for rooms that might otherwise be empty. It proved to be difficult, and she eventually left the wing, unsure if she had missed him there somewhere.
If the family did not keep him near their quarters, then where would they put him? Serena stood still and closed her eyes to think. If Edward’s mind was truly disturbed, might he make tremendous and frightening noise? Her eyes shot open as she gasped in realisation. That scream she’d thought she heard so many days ago! Might it have been Edward? Yes, and if the family did not wish for people to hear such a blood-curdling sound, they must hide him somewhere away from listening ears. Deep in the earth would be safest. Serena drew in a sharp breath. The cellar.
With her slippers making little more than a breath of sound on the smooth floors, Serena tip-toed down the stairwell by the kitchen. As expected, she found the cellar door bolted, a great brass padlock ensuring it would not open easily. She pressed her ear to the door, her fingers splayed against the rough wood panelling as though she might sense his presence on the other side. Did she dare call out?
‘Edward?’ Not much above a whisper. ‘Are you in there?’
When no answer came, Serena swallowed her fears and tapped with her knuckles, raising her voice a little. ‘Mr King? It’s me. Serena.’
She turned her ear back to the door and this time heard a rustle, the shuffling of feet across the floor. Then a rattle as the door shook on its hinges. ‘Serena? Help me. Help me, please.’
His voice was feeble, scratchy, not his usual sound.
‘What can I do? The door is locked. I have no key.’
