Page 131 of Aurelia

He felt an almost crippling sense of relief that was instantly swamped with sorrow.

Christ! Arthur. His dearest brother—or so Roland had believed for more than three decades. It hurt as badly as his leg to think about his cousin and what he had done to Rebecca and Jane.

And what he had almost done to Aurelia.

***

Guustin returned to Crewe three days after Roland and Aurelia escaped the nightmare in the cave.

They sat down with Guustin his first evening home, after dinner, and told him the truth of what had happened that day.

“It is impossible to believe,” Guustin kept saying, shaking his head in wonder.

Aurelia knew what he meant. She had been there—had heard Arthur’s mad rambling—and had almost died because of him, but she still found it difficult to accept.

“He must have had a sickness in his mind for a long time,” Roland said. “I should have guessed there was something wrong.”

Aurelia shook her head. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened, Roland. He might have looked ill recently, but he did not look sick fifteen years ago when he killed your first wife, did he?”

Roland frowned but nodded. “You are right.”

“Do you think his sickness might have had something to do with the mercury or arsenic he used?” Guustin asked.

“I truly do not know,” Roland said. “Perhaps the sickness goes back even earlier. He was a reclusive and shy boy—very insecure—and my father was not kind to him.”

“Will you tell Celsa about him?” Guustin asked. “I mean, that he was her father?”

“I don’t know,” Roland admitted. “Aurelia told me that Arthur was the one who told Celsa she was not mine.”

Guustin nodded. “Yes, she flung the information into my face several years ago when I made the mistake of referring to her as my sister. I was shocked that Arthur had told her such a thing. I wondered if I should tell you about it, but I did not like to run and tattle on him, especially when he already disliked me so much.”

“I should have simply asked Celsa what was wrong,” Roland said. “Her behavior changed so fast—like night and day—I should have guessed there was something amiss.”

“There is no use in looking back on what you might have done,” Aurelia said, not just to Roland, but to Guustin, too, who was looking guilty. “Why would anyone guess that Arthur was so sick? I never saw it either.”

“Oh, there were glimpses—I see that now,” Roland said. “He could be so very… puritanical and often became extreme in his criticism of what he considered ungodly behavior.”

“Which is somewhat ironic given that he also fathered a child out of wedlock and passed it off as yours,” Guustin said wryly.

“I do not think he did it to hurt you, Roland. He seemed to feel your father deserved to have a cuckoo in his nest, as he termed it. I believe he saw his revenge as biblical in nature.” She shrugged. “But we could go mad ourselves trying to understand the thoughts of such a man.”

“You are right, my dear,” Roland said, taking her hand. He turned to Guustin and said, “You said something earlier—that Celsa told you she was not your sister?”

Guustin nodded.

“You must realize that she does not think of you as her brother?”

Guustin laughed. “I doubt there is a person on the island—or in Balcrewe—who is unaware of Celsa’s infatuation with me. But that is all it is, sir: an infatuation.” He sounded far more certain than Aurelia felt. “She will grow out of it.”

“One never knows with Celsa,” Roland said.

“I think you should tell her,” Aurelia said quietly.

“You mean tell her about what Arthur tried to do?” Roland asked, his eyebrows high.

“I do not think that is necessary. It would only hurt her. But she already knows you are not her father, Roland. It is cruel to keep the truth from her at this point.”

“I agree,” Guustin said.