Alfred keeps his back to Marcus in the minute it takes him to snipe Damian down, curt, offended assurances that he'll be taking care of this just as well as he can. They do need to be back in the crowd, but as much for the crowd as for their own tempers. The men of the house bitterly, screechingly put their people faces back on to be herded out, not without last glances--especially from Damian, whose glare melts uncannily into a smile just before guests can see him through the door. Wait staff comes flowing back in immediately, frantic with empty trays.

Clearing his throat, Alfred's hand comes to Marcus' elbow again, as if this interlude hadn't occurred. "Come." A nod to the back door. "Out the back now, come along."

Not to the kitchen, but not to the door either. Through the kitchen. Alfred starts to lead Marcus up a darker set of stairs. "This family has never done well with lookers-in, for what I'll assume are obvious reasons." This comes drifting down, preempting a switching on of dim lights in the windowless third floor hall. "Master Timothy's exit and absence are no exception to their tendencies. May even be an exacerbation to them. I'm sure you understand." That's an apology.