by Blythe Baker
“Am I morose?” I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed, fingering the delicate fabric of my dress.
Catherine nodded. “All afternoon. I’ve been distracted lately, but we have become friends over these last few months, and I couldn’t allow you to be sad over what is supposed to be a happy weekend.”
She moved to sit next to me on the bed and laid her hand over mine. “What is wrong?”
If the wound hadn’t been so fresh, I may have resisted. I may have kept the hurt to myself so as not to dampen Catherine’s own happiness in any way. But as it was, I told her immediately. I explained my meeting with Achilles Prideaux in New York City. I told her about our friendship—leaving out the part about him knowing my true identity—and explained that, for me, it had grown into something more.
“Clearly, he does not feel the same way,” I said, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It is silly to be upset over something like this, but—”
“Silly?” Catherine shook her head. “Love is one of the only reasons to be upset, cousin. If I’ve learned anything over the last year, it is that love is what matters. Love for your family, your friends…romantic love. Everything else is fleeting, but love remains.”
“How poetic of you,” I teased, managing a small smile.
Catherine nudged me with her shoulder. “It is true. If you love this man, then you have every right to be upset.” She got quiet and pulled her hand away from mine, setting it on her own lap instead. “But would you really want to marry a detective, anyway?”
The idea of marrying Achilles had never crossed my mind, and suddenly it all sounded quite ridiculous. The two of us married? I couldn’t think of a more ridiculous image. And yet, I could still see it. I would wear a lace dress. White, of course.
“I’m not sure about marriage,” I said. “But I do like him.”
Catherine shrugged. “It is just that you two would be so similar. Charles and I work well because we are very different. You may not have noticed, but he is softer than I am. Gentler.”
I had, in fact, noticed, but I didn’t know how to say so without offending Catherine. “So, you think I need a gentle man? One like Charles?”
“I won’t claim to know what you need.”
I turned to her with my eyebrow arched. “That is the most surprising string of words I think I’ve ever heard.”
She nudged me again, pursing her lips to hide a laugh. “I only mean that if this Achilles Prideaux would make you happy, then I do not wish to discourage it. I just think it would be wise to test your love before committing to the idea of him. Sometimes, we want things that are not good for us. After everything you have been through, I only want you to have what is good for you.”
Between the disappointment of my failed meeting with Monsieur Prideaux and Catherine’s kindness, my well of emotions was overflowing. Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, and I swallowed back against the display of emotions.
In a way, it was easier when Catherine disliked me. It made my deception easier to bear. As the family has warmed to me, though, their kindness had increased my guilt several fold. When Catherine was kind to me, I couldn’t help but wonder if she would extend the same kindness if she knew the truth. If she knew that I was not truly her cousin. Would she still only want what was good for me? I wagered not.
Luckily, before Catherine could catch on to my emotional display, the door to my room burst open and Alice rushed in, looking near tears herself.
“Alice!” Catherine reprimanded, pressing a hand to her chest. “You shouldn’t barge into rooms like that. Do you want to frighten me to death before my wedding?”
“You two never include me,” Alice said, crossing her arms. She turned to me, her brown eyes narrowed. “I’ve asked you about Achilles several times, and you never opened up to me. I might be younger than you, but I have enough experience to listen and offer advice. Unlike Catherine, I think you should go straight to Achilles’ house now. You should ask him why he did not show up to your meeting.”
“Alice.” Catherine stood up, arms crossed like a blond, mirror image of her younger sister. “Just because you think you ought to be privy to the private details of everyone else’s life does not give you any right to go skulking around the house with your ear pressed to the door.”
Alice’s cheeks flushed. “I didn’t have to press my ear to the door.”
“Regardless,” Catherine said. “You cannot behave this way during my wedding. We will have guests staying at the country estate with us, and I don’t want them to worry that their private affairs will be made public.”
“Oh, I don’t care about the private matters of Aunt Ruth and her daughters. They are so dull,” she said. “But I shouldn’t have had to listen outside the door, anyway. Rose promised she would talk to me about everything when she returned, but she didn’t.”
Catherine opened her mouth to reprimand her sister further, but I stood up and crossed the room before she could, taking Alice by the hands and pulling her towards the bed. “You are right, Alice. I should have kept my promise. The truth is, I’d hoped to come to you with better news about my meeting, but when Achilles didn’t show up, I was embarrassed. I didn’t plan to tell anyone about it, but Catherine got the truth out of me.”
Alice’s lips twisted to the side as she sat on the bed next to me, Catherine on my other side. “If it helps at all, I think Achilles Prideaux must be a remarkably dumb man. No intelligent man would leave Rose Beckingham waiting.”
A rush of guilt rose up in me like the ocean against a sea wall, and I had to fight to remain steady. To keep hold of my identity as Rose Beckingham.
“Thank you, Alice. Unfortunately, he is a very intelligent man, though I appreciate the sentiment.” I squeezed her hand and then turned to Catherine. “But enough about my disappointment. Your wedding is days away, Catherine. Are you excited?”
Catherine smiled, though it was weary. “Is it wrong to admit I’m most anxious about being done with the planning?”
“No,” Alice said quickly. “I can’t wait to have my room back.”
Catherine rolled her eyes and continued. “I have loved being back in London, but I’m anxious to return to our life in New York. And I know Charles is, as well. He misses his friends and his work. I’ve been so busy with the wedding that we have hardly seen one another since we’ve returned.”
“You will have more than enough time to see one another once you are married,” I reminded her. “A lifetime.”
Alice made a kind of gagging noise in the back of her throat, but pretended it was a cough when Catherine shot her a violent look.
“I never would have thought I’d live in New York City,” she said thoughtfully. “I always imagined I’d stay in London forever. And now, here I sit, anxious to return to America. Life can be funny, can’t it?”
I wanted to express to Catherine exactly how much I understood her. One event had set my life on an entirely new path I never would have dreamed of. Without the bombing and claiming Rose’s identity, I never would have met Catherine and Alice. I never would have met Achilles, either. I’d probably still be in India, working for another family as a household servant.
“You wouldn’t have even met Charles had it not been for Edward,” Alice said.
Immediately, Catherine stilled next to me. Alice pressed her lips together nervously, realizing what she had said. There was no rule against mentioning Edward, but it was rarely done. It had been many months since his crime and subsequent murder in prison, but the wounds were still fresh for his family. His absence was felt keenly, especially now that everyone was together under the same roof again.
“Sorry,” Alice mumbled. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s all right,” Catherine said, giving her younger sister a small smile. “You are right. Had Edward not…done what he did…we never would have gone to New York City to stay with Aunt Sarah, and I never would have met Charles. Good or bad, life finds a way to work out.”
We we
re all quiet for a moment, and then Alice sighed. “It will be strange to return to Ridgewick without Edward. We’ve never gone without him before.”
Catherine nodded in agreement. “Strange, indeed.”
I sat between them, still and quiet, unsure what to say or whether I needed to say anything at all. I’d hardly known Edward, and our time together had not been pleasant in the least. Thankfully, the mood shifted back to happier thoughts without my assistance when Alice brought up that Charles Barry would be at the wedding.
“He was so in love with you last time we visited he could hardly stand it,” Alice teased, leaning around me to pinch her sister’s arm.
Catherine blushed. “I’m about to be a married woman, Alice.”
“I know,” Alice said, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “Perhaps, he will settle for the younger Beckingham.”
Catherine snorted. “If you can pull him from the company of his sister long enough for him to notice you, that is. Those two are stitched at the hip.”
Soon, the conversation devolved into fits of laughter about the guests and the festivities to come, and Edward and Achilles slipped from our minds entirely.
5
Moving the entire family, staff, and necessary supplies for Catherine’s wedding from London to Ridgewick was a grueling experience. Miss Brown and George, the driver, oversaw the packing, but Catherine was so concerned about her dress being ruined or the decorations being crushed that she personally walked each box of supplies from the house to the car. Lady Ashton tried in vain to settle her eldest daughter, and the only thing that would calm Catherine was calling on Charles Cresswell, her betrothed, to come to the house and sit with her while things were loaded and prepared.
My duty was to keep Alice away from Catherine. Though the two shared a moment of sisterly bonding the day before, the stress of moving to the country estate set them on one another. Each time Catherine would pass by Alice’s perch on the stairs, Alice would make some comment under her breath about the horrible demise that was sure to befall the entire wedding if Catherine didn’t personally oversee every single incompetent servant. By the third trip, Catherine was angry enough to forget all propriety and kick Alice, nearly knocking her down the stairs. So, to avoid another murder in the family, I kept Alice busy with gossip about the boys she’d met since returning to London and (mostly fictional) tales of my own romantic escapades in India.
Once the party made it to Ridgewick Hall, everyone was so busy unloading the cars, preparing the house, and greeting the guests who managed to arrive at the estate before Lord and Lady Ashton much to Lady Ashton’s dismay that there was no time for Alice and Catherine to fight or for me to keep them apart even if I wanted to.
“Rose,” Lady Ashton asked, pulling me aside soon after our arrival. “Would you kindly keep Aunt Augusta company?”
I frowned, looking around to decide which of the guests milling the grounds was Aunt Augusta, but Lady Ashton mistook my expression for disappointment.
“I know, she is a horrible woman,” she said. I’d rarely heard Lady Ashton say an unkind word about anyone. “But keeping Catherine from worrying herself to death is a full-time chore, and I can’t trust Alice not to say something inappropriate, and Miss Brown—”
“I am glad to do it,” I said, interrupting my aunt’s tirade.
She sighed in relief, pulled me into a quick hug, and hurried off to stop Catherine from carrying in the large box of vases by herself.
Servants and distant relations were scattered across the large front garden of Ridgewick Hall, admiring the architecture of the three-story stone building and the landscaping, and not one of them looked familiar to me. There was an elderly man with a bald spot on the back of his head and the rest of his hair swirling around it like a gray bird’s nest, who I could firmly rule out as being an aunt, but otherwise, there were no clues. So, I walked up the wide, shallow stairs that led to the front porch and waited for the woman to make herself known. After fifteen minutes of that, I gave up and pulled Alice aside.
“Where is Aunt Augusta?” I whispered. “Your mother wants me to keep her busy, but I don’t recall who she is.”
“I don’t see how it could be possible to forget her,” Alice groaned, adjusting the lace collar of her pale pink dress. “Miserable old woman. I haven’t seen her yet, but I can help you find her.”
Lady Ashton seemed to think it would be wise to keep Alice away from Aunt Augusta, but if she was truly as horrible as everyone claimed, perhaps Alice’s company would help. So, Alice linked her arm through mine and we walked down the stone path that ran the perimeter of the estate.
The house was a beautiful, yet imposing structure. It seemed to hulk over everything, casting long shadows across the grass, but the delicate vine and flower details carved into the stone around the windows and the doors offset its domineering structure slightly. The ground had the same dichotomy. Ancient trees towered over the home and shaded large portions of the grass, but sunlight shone through the leaves and branches, creating a lacework of light across the ground. Everything was dappled in delicate sunshine.
As we rounded the back corner of the estate, the pathway moved east, cut through an outcrop of trees, and wrapped around the far end of the property. A well-manicured garden blooming with thick hydrangea bushes and lavender surrounded a circular pond. There, next to the pond, stood a broad-shouldered man with dark hair peeking from beneath his derby hat. Next to him was an elderly woman with a severe slash of white hair on her head and an angular, skeletal face. Alice stopped walking and grabbed my hand, jerking me backwards.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing to the pair.
“That is why I brought you,” I said. “I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Well, the woman is Aunt Augusta, obviously,” she said. “But the man next to her. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Then, I don’t know why you expected me to recognize him,” I teased, but Alice was too far lost in her admiration of the young man to notice.
I followed her gaze and had to admit he was handsome. Heavy, thoughtful brows, a straight nose, and plump lips visible even from a distance. He could easily have been mistaken for a lifelike statue rather than a real man, which was precisely why I did not appreciate him the way Alice did. He was almost too handsome.
Sensing our appraisal, the man looked over, and Alice jumped behind me to shield herself.
I pulled my cousin’s arm and brought her to my side once again. “We have to go over there. He has seen us staring, and now it will be rude if we do not make introductions.”
Alice’s face went pale. “Perhaps, I should go and assist Catherine. She will be wanting my help.”
“Catherine wants no such thing,” I said, gripping her hand tightly, refusing to let her flee. She pulled so hard against my restraint that her cloche hat went askew. “This man is likely a relative of yours, and you are being rude.”
This revelation stilled her struggles to escape. “Do you think he is a relative?”
“Everyone here is a relative,” I reminded her. “It is a family wedding.”
I could not tell if this information calmed or upset her, but it made her thoughtful enough that I was able to cross the lawn and approach the unlikely pair.
“Aunt Augusta,” I said, greeting the old woman as if I knew her at once. “It is so wonderful to see you.”
The old woman turned to me, her thin upper lip tensed in obvious displeasure, and said nothing. She wore a dark navy dress with long sleeves and stockings. She had to be sweltering in the heat, though there was no sign of sweat gathering on her forehead or anywhere else.
I blinked several times, waiting for someone to say something to end the silence, but Alice was frozen at my side, staring at the man next to Aunt Augusta, and Aunt Augusta was staring at me. Desperately, I turned to the man at her side and smiled.
“I’m sorry. I’m not sure if we have ever met. I am Rose Beckingham.” I extended a hand which he gra
bbed at once. “And this is my cousin, Alice. The younger sister of the bride.”
Alice’s hand seemed to float away from her body, and her eyes went wide when the man took her hand and shook it.
“I recognize your names, though not the faces,” he said warmly. “We are so happy to be here for such a joyous occasion.”
Aunt Augusta sniffed suddenly in such a way that I could not tell if she was ill or snorting in disagreement. Everyone chose to ignore her.
“And who are you?” Alice asked, finally finding her voice.
“Nicholas,” he said. “Nicholas Whitlock.”
“My grandson,” Aunt Augusta said coldly, her voice faint and hoarse. She paired her unfriendly words with a familiar squeeze of Nicholas’ arm.
“Grandson,” Alice repeated. I could see her drawing the family tree in her head, trying to see what that made Nicholas to her.
“He is your second cousin,” I offered helpfully. “On Lady Ashton’s side, I suspect?”
Nicholas nodded. “Are you part of the Whitlock side, or—?”
“No, my father was Lord Ashton’s brother.”
“So, the two of you are not related?” Alice said, glaring up at me with an intense jealousy.
I laughed awkwardly. “We are all family this weekend. It is wonderful to meet you, Nicholas.”
“Your parents died,” Aunt Augusta said, narrowing her milky eyes at me. His skin was pale and papery. I expected it to tear when a gentle breeze blew over the grounds. “The bombing. Remember, Nicholas?”
Nicholas’ jaw clenched, and he smiled down at his grandmother. “Yes, I do remember hearing about that.” He turned to me, eyes apologetic. “Terrible tragedy. My condolences.”
I smiled and tipped my head, fearing I would be discussing the tragedy that had befallen the Beckingham family repeatedly over the course of the weekend.
“That is where you got the scar.” Aunt Augusta continued, pointing to her own cheek with a shaky hand. It was not a question, simply a statement.