Caroline sat in stunned silence, too taken aback to formulate a response. Alice. He had called her Alice. She could feel the bile gurgling within her stomach as realisation dawned. So worried and fixated upon the risk Alfred posed in exposing their mothers' beginnings; never for a moment had she considered his personal relationship with the woman. How could she have been so blind?
All the compliments he had made her; the steadfast looks and references to her mother. She had considered his constant remarks, the continued comparisons to her mother, as nothing more than a bid to ruffle her composure. Yet his true desire had been present for all to see if only she had looked properly. How conceited her behaviour. The position she was in was all her own doing, for she felt no one but herself capable of handling the situation. Her ego had led her to believe her looks and pretty smiles enough to tempt and pacify the man, but it was her very appearance which placed her in danger.
She had seen herself as in control of the situation, the puppet master orchestrating the fools around her, but she was the one being played. How foolish she had been to keep Cedric from all she knew. Too stubborn and filled with conceited pride to consider others to know better than herself.
Her mind began to race; replaying every conversation with Alfred, every little limited detail she knew from her mother's sordid past. To what extent had her mother suffered under the roof of that family? And what role did Alfred play? Alfred could only have been a boy, a couple of years younger than Alice herself, surely he was not so like the father at such an age?
She glanced across the carriage at Charles. Had she been wrong in keeping him in the dark for so long? If it came to pass that Alfred chose to expose their heritage and fixate upon their ruin, would her brother be angry at her for not sharing all she knew? Here he sat, conversing politely with a man whom he simply thought was paying his youngest sister unwanted advances. Charles' response to unpleasant situations; to take the moral high ground, for civility and good manners would always overcome. Her brother would never understand the man next to him.
But he was not only her brother, for he was just as much Alfred's brother as he was her own. The thought twisted unpleasantly in her stomach. Alfred did not deserve such a claim. In complexion and looks it was painfully obvious, their colouring so similar; but that was where the similarities ended. Alfred was severe in expression and dangerous in mind. Charles was all lightness. She had been a most horrid sister. Charles would never hurt her, inside him was no malice.
She could never allow her brother to know the darkness from which he came. As much as his naïve nature vexed her growing up, she could not risk altering his goodness by knowing the truth.
She had difficulty swallowing as nausea continued to claw at her throat. She pulled at the ridiculous neckline of the gown, breathing deeply. But the action did nothing to alleviate her discomfort. She felt her skin begin to itch under the thick navy fabric as a horrific thought came to mind. Was this dress once her mothers? She looked down at the offending item, the ill fit and dated style had never been intended for her person. What the devil was Alfred doing with this dress in his possession? Why would he wish her to wear it?
How stupid Caroline had been not to tell Montague that Alice Peters was to be found in London. When would she learn to stop being so pig-headed and seek the help of others. She had tried in vain yet again today to seek out Alice, but to no avail. The woman was clearly avoiding her. No one had seen her amongst the house staff, with Mrs Cockburn being even more prickly than usual. In growing desperation, Caroline had called upon her home address, though not a soul answered. Did Alice Peters know who Alfred was? Or worse yet, had he already spoken to Alice before Caroline had got the chance?
From across the carriage Alfred nodded politely as Charles prattled on about some fellow from the club. It took sheer will power not to roll his eyes heavenwards for he cared very little for such mindless small talk. That this should be his brother he still found a rather perplexing notion. Brothers by blood perhaps, but nothing more. In truth only those who judged his father upon his death knew the full extent of his father's infidelity. Who knew how many bastards Matthew Bingley had brought into this world. Charles was likely one of many. The two men may in complexion appear similar; but they could not have been more opposite in character and he had never desired a sibling of his own.
For Alfred, there was no real sport in destroying the reputation of a man so simple in nature. To think Charles was now the head of the Bingley fortune was almost amusing. He was lucky to be in position of such an overbearing sister, for he was certain to make a series of bad investments if left to his own folly. That the man could be so naive he found truly surprising.
By eighteen Alfred had removed his father from their home. His mothers heartache and shame fuelling his anger, only deepening his lasting hatred towards the man. He had schemed and double crossed his father until it was he who headed the family and controlled their funds.
At far too early an age he had witnessed his father's loose morals. The man had taken pride in his growing empire and had only been too happy to keep his son on hand. As a boy Alfred had been his father's shadow and like all good apprentices he had observed everything.
In truth everything that followed was all his father's mistake, for he had allowed his son to witness it all; he knew too much. Alfred soon began working alongside his fathers various business contacts, cutting his father out of deals and destroying what little reputation he had left. It had not taken him long, his father was not well liked in Scarbourgh. The whole manipulation had been so easy, and after the mess which followed the Alice girl, Alfred took great delight watching his father suffer as his son took it all away.
Primarily he had done it for his mother, too ashamed to be seen in public as their father grew careless hiding his obsession with young girls. Though it was not long before Alfred did it solely for the pleasure it gave him and the feeling of power which grew alongside his own portfolio.
Alice, where did one start when thinking of Alice Price? Two years older than he with a face, he would only realise in his later years, to be as near perfection as humanly possible. She had been kind to him in their youth, and he had helped her where he could. It had been through his friendship with Alice that he grew to understand the nature of his father. The difference between right and wrong. What should of left him with nothing but disgust towards his father's behaviour, however, quickly manipulated only to be felt as jealousy.
As a child he had not understood, he had followed his father blindly, led dutifully by his authority. But soon the jealousy grew. He now saw and understood his mother's pain and the truth in the scenes around him. His father was a monster who prayed on young girls. On his Alice.
Shortly after turning thirteen his father announced he intended to leave his mother for Alice Price. Of all the girls his father brought into their home he should have known better than to fixate upon Alice. His Alice.
He had tried to save her, told her he would hide her until he was old enough to buy a shop of his own. He was going to marry Alice Price, what more could a girl like her desire? When she had asked him to help her escape that night, he had believed she was coming to him. Of course he had helped her, she knew he would do anything for her. She should have been grateful, but no, she had ran off with his uncle. He had felt his father's fury but it was nothing compared to his own disappointment and seething jealousy.
Of course that jealously had been short lived. Alice had been but a boyish infatuation, quickly replaced by a hatred spurred on my a spiteful mother. His poor mother, his last promise to her so close to completion. To expose the Bingleys to the censure and ridicule they deserved. To ruin the bastard son and watch his family suffer just like his mother had suffered. To challenge his younger brothers rightful inheritance and finally stub out the last connection to his fathers sordid behaviour.
And such a scheme would have been so easy, for his bastard brother was indeed nothing more than a docile fool, if not for Caroline. The intensity of his desire for his cousin was overwhelming. The similarities to her mother bringing all his repressed boyish fantasies bubbling to the surface. Would that not be the ultimate coup? To possess the daughter where his father had failed.
"You seem distracted cousin," Alfred spoke, interrupting Charles' mindless conversation.
He gazed at Caroline intently, admiring her within the confines of her mother's dress. Who would have thought Alice Smyth would still be employed under the Bingleys care. He had rather enjoyed the fear in her expression the first time their paths crossed. He enjoyed her anxiety even more upon paying a visit to her home; watching her return from work to find him seated at her small worn table, her youngest girl upon his knee as he drank ale with her placid husband. Of course Alice's 'little sister' was to be found in possession of her old mistresses unwanted cast offs. He had taken ownership of it all. Three old day dresses and a plain enamel broach. The dark navy dress was dated and out of style but had been the better of the three. He was not disappointed. Caroline lacked her mother's presence, but he could teach her that in time.
She met his gaze as the carriage began to slow, signalling their arrival. She still felt nauseous. A night with the Matlock's was ordinarily something of a social boon, but tonight she could in no way enjoy such a fact. Was she really no better than Alfred? Constantly looking to improve her place in society by connecting herself with those whom she thought would serve her well? It was her another sobering realisation.
She alighted from the carriage taking Alfred's proffered hand.
"Do smile cousin," he all but whispered into her ear. "For you promised to act accordingly this evening and by that I wish you to focus your attention on my amusement only. For this evening there shall be no Mr Montague present to intervene if you displease me in public once again."
