Page 126 of Aurelia

“You have poisoned Celsa’s mind against Roland, haven’t you? You have encouraged her to torment her governesses and misbehave so that the two of them are always at odds with each other.”

Arthur did not deny the accusations. “Why should Celsa care about Crewe? I am her father.”

“I still don’t understand, Arthur. Why have you brought me here?” A revolting thought occurred to her. “Are—are—you do not think that you are in love with me?”

Arthur’s eyes widened. And then he laughed, his lungs rattling as his laughter turned into a horrible hacking cough. When he could finally catch his breath, he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth and looked up at her, his eyes burning. “I tried to save you from your own lustful wickedness. I even gave you more time to see the error of your ways when I sent Crewe away and encouraged Sir Gideon to court you. But a mere baronet wasn’t good enough for you. You want Crewe—just like so many other women over the years.”

“You aren’t making any sense, Arthur. You are ill, you need—”

“Rebecca loved me and we were going to marry!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the dank cavern. “We had planned it for years, but—but because of my birth I had nothing to offer her and her father would have cut her off without so much as a penny if she had disobeyed him.” He stared, his gaze feverish and distant. “I know that I could have persuaded Rebecca’s father to allow us to marry, but the earl had to ruin things for us.”

“Roland?”

“Not him. The old earl.” He scowled, his handsome face twisting with hatred. “He could make bastards by the score and yet he despised me.” The slyness returned. “But I showed him. I put my daughter into his beloved son’s nest. Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” he suddenly shrieked, and then laughed, but it quickly turned to wet coughing with blood. Lots of blood.

“Arthur, you need a doctor. Just release me from these manacles and we can leave together.” Aurelia glanced at the path. She could not see water yet but judging by the water lines on the walls—and the seaweed on Rebecca’s skeleton—that would change soon.

“No, Aurelia,” he said once he had caught his breath. “You are not going anywhere. And neither am I.” He gestured to his leg, which she only now noticed was lying at an odd angle. “You saw to that. So, we will keep each other company.”

“Give me the key, Arthur and I will help you walk out of here. I promise.”

He pointed to the collapsed cave entry. “I threw the key there; it is under tons of rock.”

Fear stabbed at her. “No,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Yes.”

“You are sick, Arthur—none of this is your fault. Please… you must help me.”

“I am sick,” he agreed with a smile that made her want to retch again. “But there is no help. For either of us.”

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice broke on a sob of frustration.

“Crewe cannot be allowed to marry—not again. I was fortunate the last time because Jane was an unnatural woman who took pains to prevent conception. Well,” he amended, “she avoided pregnancy at first, but she changed.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Jane. I had to get Jane out of the way.”

“You killed her? But… how?”

“I did not want to do it, but if anyone deserved to die—it was that whore.” Revulsion flickered over his face.

Aurelia recoiled at the venom in his voice. She could not believe this was the same man who had worried that she might catch a chill and had sent up a poultice.

“I went to America not realizing how I would do it,” Roland went on. “But I knew that it had to be done. Jane could not be allowed to continue bringing shame to the family name.” His face spasmed with disgust. “She would rut with anyone—two men at once, one night in her tent—and Crewe did not care! Of course he is no better,” he muttered angrily, meeting her gaze. “I am saving you from a great deal of pain, Aurelia. Because Crewe cannot be faithful. He needs women like most men need air. He is like his father in that way, a carnal creature whose lusts can never be slaked.”

His jaw worked and his eyes burned like a zealot’s. “I love Crewe, and he is like a brother to me, but I can see his faults clearly.” His face twitched. “Jane brought out the worst in him. She was a selfish, unnatural woman who was so mannish in her behavior that I never thought she would allow herself to fall pregnant. But then I saw her one day when we were on the expedition—bathing in a stream, naked and as bold as you please—with her belly already swelling. I doubt it was even Crewe’s child.”

“You murdered a pregnant woman.” Aurelia’s gaze slid to the skeleton and she recalled Roland’s words on Nesta’s Perch. “And you murdered Rebecca for the same reason. You have killed two of Roland’s wives and two of his children.”

Arthur did not seem to hear her. “It was so easy. Just a bit of blood sprinkled around her tent. We had seen panther scat and knew they were always prowling about the camp. I made sure Crewe’s gun was not loaded—just in case—nor Jane’s or her lovers.” His mouth suddenly turned down at the corners. “I never meant to hurt Crewe, but he had to try and save her!” His angelic features shifted into a mask of hatred. No, not a mask, but Arthur’s true face. A murderer’s face.

Aurelia suddenly remembered what Arthur had said earlier—about luring Roland away. “It was you who sent the letter to Roland about Rebecca being alive.”

His gaze sharpened slowly as he came back to himself. The look of revulsion he’d worn earlier talking about Jane was now aimed at her.

“Yes. It was me.” He regarded her with disgust. “I thought you were a well-bred virtuous woman, Aurelia. But then I saw you with Crewe in the library that night and I knew then that you were no better than any of his other whores.”