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
