Ashes of Roses

by Melissa R. L. Simonin

  “Then there’s that too, for which to be thankful,” Jenny concluded, but she still sounded kind of grim. “Sir Edmund has a lot to learn.”

  “Who knows,” Annette remarked optimistically. “Maybe while Ashley gets her life on track, Sir Edmund will do the same. Someday, they might end up together, after all.”

  “Stranger things have happened,” I said.

  “Speaking of which, how in the world did Douglas and Evie end up together?” Annette exclaimed. “It sounded like he was starting to see his brother as competition, and feels challenged to gain Evie’s attention, so I can see him coming around. But what reason would she have?”

  “He’s been nothing but a jerk towards her,” Jenny frowned disapprovingly.

  “He has, and he’s got no business taking his feelings out on her,” I agreed firmly. “It’s awful what his parents did, and then to have Helen go along with it. We feel nothing but sympathy for him in that regard, but not in how he’s determined to make Evie the target of his scorn.”

  “Not that he succeeded,” Annette recalled. “But still, he tried, and Evie knows that. Did her parents force her to go through with marrying him?”

  “Could they do that?” Jenny worried.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “I don’t know if they ever knew about Douglas’ and Helen’s reunion. We haven’t seen Douglas’ confrontation with his parents, either. I’m sure there was one, I can’t imagine him holding back. I also don’t know what happened to Helen, after this. There’s a lot left to learn.”

  “Then why aren’t you back at the manor, taking a nap!” Jenny pretended to scold. Or maybe she wasn’t pretending. Annette and I laughed, anyway.

  “Believe me, if I could sleep at will, I’d be tempted!” I declared. “But, these broadcasts don’t air on demand. They happen when they happen. The next one may not pick up where we left off, either. They’ve been consistently chronological, though. They’re not random, and they do tell a story. I’ll be very surprised if we don’t find out how Evie ends up married to Douglas. Neither of them were inclined to cooperate, when we saw them last. I hope we find out how they came to be on civil terms.”

  “They must have,” Annette remarked. “Evie sounds happy in the letters we’ve discovered so far, and I don’t think she was pretending.”

  “I’m surprised there’s been no reference to her and Douglas’ rocky beginning,” Jenny commented. “It seems almost obligatory, seeing as Katharine knew how the relationship started out.”

  “Unless, there was a major shift in their attitude toward each other, while James and Katharine were still there to witness it,” Annette suggested.

  I considered the possibility, but that’s all I could do. There were a lot of pieces missing, and those we had weren’t enough to form a well-educated guess.

  “The boxes aren’t in chronological order,” I reminded my friends. “It’s possible you haven’t come across the first letter, yet.”

  “You’re right, we probably haven’t,” Jenny acknowledged. “The earliest we’ve found, was written in October of that year. But even that seems awfully quick for a turnaround of such magnitude.”

  “When I put myself in Evie’s place, I can’t imagine seeing him as anything other than a source of pain and rejection,” Annette stated.

  “I wonder whatever happened to Helen?” Jenny said with concern.

  “I can only guess, at this point,” I said. “If Evie does—or did, tell her parents that Douglas was in love with someone else, I don’t think she’d name Helen. I don’t think the grandmother would, either. So maybe Helen continued in her position as lady’s companion.”

  “If Helen found the opportunity to talk to Douglas, then he must have refused to give her another chance,” Annette hypothesized. “Helen did want one, didn’t she?”

  “The last time we saw her, she would’ve taken it, if offered,” I answered. “Whether she would encourage him to give her one, I don’t know. She was incredibly jealous of the way Douglas looked at Evie, though. I don’t think Helen factored in the possibility that Douglas might develop an interest in her. So maybe.”

  “That is so messed up,” Annette declared disapprovingly.

  “No kidding,” I agreed.

  “I think he’s coming around,” Jenny decided. “It’s possible that his encounter with Helen served to free him, in a way. His heart was once held prisoner by her memory, but her rejection of him changed that. Enter Evie, who’s not at all what he expected, and now he’s more interested in figuring her out, than he is in Helen.”

  “A little competition never hurt, either,” Annette said, then rethought her statement. “I guess that’s not true. What are the chances you’re witnessing this, in order to solve his brother’s murder?”

  “No offense to Daniel, but if he was killed, I don’t think it would serve any useful purpose to discover that,” I replied. “Not now, over a hundred years later. The present day Carlisles don’t seem to know much about their history, but I think they’d remember that.”

  “Maybe Helen was framed for it,” Jenny suggested.

  “So Douglas had his revenge against them both,” Annette contemplated.

  I raised an eyebrow.

  “I can’t say for certain that didn’t happen. I can’t say for certain that Evie wasn’t the one responsible. Last we saw, she was far more disgusted with Daniel than Douglas was. Or maybe her parents did away with his, when they found out. The grandmother’s pretty feisty, perhaps she led the charge. Miles did say this reminded him of a soap opera. So why not.”

  “Alright, alright,” Jenny conceded. “So you’re not solving another century old murder. Yet.”

  “I can picture Evie with Daniel, easier than I can Douglas,” Annette said. “He did defend her to his brother, and seems to think highly of her.”

  “It’s too bad he jerked her around by pretending to be Douglas, in the letters he wrote,” Jenny said dryly. “That’s as bad as using a fake identity to form an online relationship, and just as damaging. If I were her, I’d want nothing to do with either of them. Although… she never includes her husband’s name in her letters to Katharine.”

  Her ominous tone made me laugh.

  “Forget baking and teaching. You girls excel at soap opera writing,” I declared.

  “Thank you,” Annette bowed dramatically. “The real credit belongs to our determination to find a solution that makes sense.”

  “Then forget it,” I said, with a wave of my hand. “What Douglas’ parents did, never will.”

  “Why are you seeing this, though?” Jenny frowned in concentration, as she asked the question stumping all of us.

  “I’ll text you when we figure it out,” I promised.

  “Maybe you should start spending the night there,” Annette suggested.

  “No!” I said firmly. “My determination to avoid bathing in rat water, is stronger than my curiosity.”

  “Now that, is strong,” Jenny declared, and we laughed.

  “Yes it is,” I said. “Much like the stays in this corset. Who could wear this thing!”

  Our attention returned to the task at hand; finding appropriate costumes for the ball. Despite, or maybe because of the extensive amount of clothing from which to choose, it wasn’t the easiest thing we’d ever done. First and foremost, the outfits had to be appropriately sized. That was non-negotiable! No matter how beautiful the dresses, and sharp the suits, there was no time for alterations. Second, the two had to complement each other. Maybe that wasn’t a manor requirement, but it was important to me!

  An hour later, having set aside several dress options, we were limping anaemically toward our goal. Finding a complete costume for Miles, was proving to be difficult.

  “Why not go Victorian?” Jenny suggested rather desperately. “Miles can wear his own clothes, and surely one of the gazillion Bannerman women had a greater than wasp-sized waist.”

  I started to laugh, then stopped to give that some thought.


  “At this point, I’d be willing to strap on a corset just to end this,” I admitted. “But Miles’ old clothes may not be any easier for him to get into. He was in shape when we met, but not like he is now.”

  Annette’s eyebrows knit.

  “What about his brother?”

  I grimaced slightly.

  “I’m not sure how he’d feel about wearing Delevan’s clothes, and besides, he was a couple of inches shorter than Miles.”

  “Not that brother, the other one,” Annette specified.

  “James!” Jenny exclaimed with excitement. “Yes! And you wear one of Katharine’s dresses! You remember what they wore to dinner, right?”

  “Well—yeah, but—”

  “What color was the dress?” Annette leaped wholeheartedly onboard.

  “Well, it was kind of purplish,” I recalled, and already those two were combing the Victorian section of the room. I couldn’t help laughing. “You girls really are determined to hurry the next broadcast.”

  “I suppose that does have something to do with it,” Jenny acknowledged.

  “I think we’re mostly anxious to succeed,” Annette added. “It’s beginning to feel like hunting for the perfect pair of jeans, in a mall that has no end.”

  “One that’s filled with high-waisted skinny jeans,” Jenny added, and we shuddered unanimously. Some people liked that style. We, did not.

  “Then fine,” I tacitly consented, although I was doubtful it would work, for more reasons than one. “As long as the dress fits, it isn’t too long, I don’t have to pad my bra, it doesn’t require wearing one of those awful health corsets, and if Miles is okay with it, then… that’s what we’ll do.”

  “Excellent!” Jenny declared with satisfaction.

  “The hunt needs to move to the Edwardian section, though,” I pointed out. “That’s the era in which James and Katharine visited the manor.”

  There was a knock at the door, and my friends jumped apprehensively, as we heard it swing open.

  “It’s the guys,” I assured them. “Only Miles could get through a locked door that easily.”

  “How does he do it, anyway?” Jenny asked curiously. “After all, he can’t see inside a lock…”

  I shrugged.

  “The same for changing stoplights, and arresting vocal chords. As long as he can see the device in question, he doesn’t have to see inside. I don’t know why things like that are different. But they are. He can’t feel what he’s doing in a physical sense, but on some other level, he does,” I did my best to explain. “Hey guys, we’re over here! On the Victorian, Edwardian border.”

  “Really,” Miles replied, as he, John, and Xander, joined us. “Have you chosen a side?”

  I hugged and kissed him, before answering.

  “The girls suggested I wear the dress Katharine wore to the dinner we observed earlier today, and that you wear what James wore.”

  “In hopes of hastening further broadcasts?” Miles questioned.

  “More because there are so many choices, and none of them are labeled by size,” I replied. “It’s overwhelming, and we just want to be done. We found a few dress options for me, but you’re surprisingly hard to shop for. And it’s not just a sizing issue, guy outfits had so many different elements. We have no idea how to piece together appropriate Regency era formal attire!”

  “Neither do I, so let’s simplify,” Miles suggested. “I know all there is to know about men’s fashion in Victorian times, plus, I have a complete wardrobe of my own from which to choose. My sister was a decade younger than I, but still within the era, when she was your age. There’s also the clothing left behind by several aunts and cousins, so you’ve plenty of options.”

  “But will that work?” I asked as I felt his bicep. “For you, I mean?”

  “The sleeves may be a bit snug, but I believe so,” Miles replied.

  “Oh my goodness, then that’s what we’re doing!” I exclaimed in relief.

  “Perfect!” Annette declared.

  “The baton has been passed,” Jenny announced, and figuratively offered it to Miles. He figuratively accepted.

  “Great!” Xander said, as Miles led the way deeper into the Victorian section. “As exciting as that was, I don’t suppose you’d like to hear what we dug up on Harry Price.”

  “Harry Price?” Jenny asked in surprise.

  “The guy who broke into our suite, was later impaled in the greenhouse, then buried under the rose clippings,” I quickly added, as my heart sped.

  “I thought you were playing basketball,” Annette recalled.

  “What, when there’s detecting to do?” John scoffed.

  “No way,” Xander declared.

  “We unanimously decided research was a better use of our time,” Miles said. “We spent the rest of the afternoon—or I suppose that would be morning, Glen Haven time, in Mission Control.”

  “That’s great,” I enthused. If he had any concern that I felt left out or disappointed, I was determined to alleviate it. I was nothing but glad, and anxious to hear what they discovered. “What did you find out?”

  “At the time of his death, Harry Price was thirty-five, single, and without steady employment,” Miles reported. “He was involved in an auto accident several years ago, and spent the intervening time on the UK version of disability.”

  My eyebrows knit at that.

  “He was receiving disability up until Wednesday, when he was killed?” I questioned, because that couldn’t be right!

  “He was,” Miles confirmed.

  “How was he disabled?” I frowned.

  “Good question,” Miles replied. “According to his neighbors, he had severe back pain, and could barely get around.”

  “He got around just fine when he slammed me into the armoire, then took off down the hall,” I said shortly.

  “Climbing out the window, and down the trellis, wasn’t the act of someone with severe mobility issues either,” Miles agreed.

  “The guy was faking it,” Xander declared.

  “That’s the prevailing opinion,” John said. “The police released his identity to the press several hours ago. There are a lot of news articles already.”

  “It wasn’t the only scam he had going,” Xander added.

  “Most of it would be considered petty, but the take-away is that Harry Price had a history of criminal activity,” Miles said.

  “Did you find anything that would link him to Historic Restoration?” I questioned.

  “No, nor the rose trade,” Miles replied.

  “He was after the seeds, though,” John said. “With his background, my guess is that he was hired to collect them.”

  “When he failed, he went to the greenhouse,” Annette deduced. “He wouldn’t know Finn left, and took everything hybrid-related, with him.”

  “Maybe on the way, he had a run-in with Gerald Abernathy,” Jenny suggested. “Neither would know the other wasn’t supposed to be there. Harry Price at least, would want to make sure no one knew he ever had been.”

  “Yeah, but…” Xander grimaced slightly, as he considered that theory. “Abernathy was killed after the officers searched the part of the garden where he was found, right?”

  “Right,” Miles confirmed. “But, it’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Price returned to that area after evading capture, and then encountered Abernathy.”

  “What’s very unlikely, is that he was killed elsewhere, then moved,” I said. “The only injury we saw was consistent with bashing his head against the stone on which it rested.”

  “Despite the rain, there was enough blood at the scene to know he died there,” Miles said.

  “Bleeding stops when the heart does,” I informed our friends. “So unless the person doing the moving acquired some blood to spill under the body before placing it, then Abernathy died there. That’s the truth.”

  “You heard that?” Jenny grimaced.

  “I’ve heard worse,” I shrugged.

&nbs
p; “Man, I can not imagine what it’s like to be you,” Xander shook his head in fascination.

  “That too, is the truth,” I said, and our friends laughed. “So what else did you learn about Harry Price?”

  “He didn’t take the ferry to the Isle of Camden the day he died,” John continued. “His last recorded ride was a month ago. His neighbors in Manchester recall seeing him just last week, so there must have been another means of transportation available to him.”

  “Maybe a private boat,” Xander said.

  “So Harry Price could’ve been on the Isle all week, or arrived just that evening,” I pondered. “I don’t guess it matters, although it would be nice to question his ride, and see if they knew his purpose in being there. How about Abernathy? Did he take the ferry?”

  “Abernathy owned a boat, which the inspector discovered upon searching the harbor,” Miles replied. “What he found inside, if anything, we don’t know. Whether or not anyone saw him arrive, we don’t know either.”

  “I would bet Harry Price was hired,” John said. “Either by Delacroix, or the grower Finn chased off that morning. Have you heard from your sister?”

  “Not yet,” I answered. “What time is it here, nine or ten?”

  “Ten-fifteen,” Jenny answered.

  “Then she’s been researching the better part of the past six hours,” Miles calculated. “Unless your Mom had other ideas about how Doreen should spend her snow day, otherwise, I expect she’ll be checking in soon.”

  “Speaking of your mom, has she found anything useful in Katharine’s diary?” Annette asked.

  “If she has, she’s keeping it to herself,” I replied. “I haven’t heard from her since last night, or—it was night for us, anyway, when I texted and asked her to read it.”

  “She took possession around three o’clock in the afternoon, Glen Haven time,” Miles said.

  “Then if there’s anything very exciting or enlightening, we’ll hear from her soon,” I said with confidence.

  “Delacroix knew you had the seeds,” Xander suddenly interjected. “How would the grower guy know that, or what room they were in?”