Chapter Sixteen
“Where in the coggleblasted hell have you been, Dorothea?” The Duke of Renslow bore down on his daughter like a runaway steam engine with its throttle stuck on full speed.
“You’ve worried your mother sick, girl, do you understand?
This behaviour is unforgivable. Completely unforgivable.
Can you even begin to comprehend the damage you’ve done to the Renslow name? ”
He was about to seize her shoulders and give her a good shake. She recognised the signs and braced herself.
“Renslow, Renslow, wait...” Lady Renslow almost collided with her husband as she ran to his side.
Dorothea blinked. She hadn’t seen her mother move that fast in a good many years.
“Wait? For what, woman? For her to vanish again, go to God knows where with God knows whom...make a disgusting display of herself in public...”
“Renslow,” hissed Lady Renslow. “Ashcombe. Lord Ashcombe.”
“What?” He frowned at his wife. “What about him?”
“She was just kissing him, you idiot.”
“What?”
“What?” Dorothea’s mouth fell open.
A small crowd of onlookers laughed at the exchange and folded their arms in anticipation of more entertainment. They were, however, disappointed, since Lady Renslow hustled both husband and daughter off the platform and down the path to Renslow House.
The snow was starting to glisten everywhere, and Dorothea would rather have stayed to see it, but at this point, she knew only too well that she had no choice but to follow her parents.
She straightened her spine. She’d be coggleblasted if she showed any sort of repentance. And if they’d not learned by now who and what she was? She’d be on the first Trammelbuggy back to the Undercroft.
Her father almost toppled her over the threshold of Renslow House, and she did indeed trip on the doormat as he thrust her inside, ignoring his wife’s pleas and her tugs on his sleeve.
At last, having burst into the large parlour with somewhat less than their usual ceremony, Lord and Lady Renslow stared at their daughter. Who stared back, chin up and shoulders square.
A momentary thought flashed through her mind. This must have been what it was like to face a firing squad.
But before the first rifle could be fired—and that would be her father’s—Lady Renslow once again grabbed her husband’s arm. “Stop. Renslow, stop this. Didn’t you see? Your daughter and Lord Ashcombe?”
Dorothea tried to recall where she’d heard the name. “Mama, that wasn’t any lord. That was the Forge-Marshal, Silas Gray.”
“Well, dear, that may be the name he gave you, but I can assure you that he’s Lord Silas Ashcombe.”
“But...” Dorothea walked to a chair and dropped into it, at a complete loss.
“How did you meet him, dear?”
Shooting her mother a sideways glance, Dorothea narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
“Well, because, you foolish girl, he’s the heir to one of the largest fortunes in Arcvale. Haven’t you ever heard of the Ashcombe Grove estates?”
“No.”
Lady Renslow rolled her eyes. “It’s huge. Twice the size of anyone else’s.”
“That’s nice for them. But they’ve got nothing to do with Silas.”
Lord Renslow sighed. Loud enough to attract the attention of his wife and daughter. “She’s right, Dorothea. The Ashcombe family fortune is...substantial.”
Dorothea stared at him. “More substantial than ours?”
“At least double,” he replied.
“Oh.” She stood and paced the length of the room and back again. “I didn’t know.”
“Why would you? The scandal is five or six years old now, and steps were taken to make sure it was quickly forgotten.”
“What scandal?”
“Dorothea...” Randolph Renslow burst into the room. “You’re back. Where the...”
“Randolph.” His mother stopped him in mid-sentence. “We’ve done all that. You’re much too late to bestow any kind of reprimand. And instead, you should be congratulating her. The clever thing is going to wed Lord Silas Ashcombe.”
“Now just a minute,” Dorothea leapt to her feet, but was quickly pushed back down into her chair by her father’s firm hand.
“You truly did not know that man you were...er...behaving quite inappropriately with is Lord Ashcombe?”
She shook her head. “To me, he’s Silas Gray, Forge-Marshal.”
“Then you’re unaware of the scandal attached to his name.”
“Papa,” said Dorothea, shocked. “No, that’s impossible. Not Silas.”
Randolph seated himself nearby. “I’m afraid it is quite possible, sister. Silas Ashcombe is the son of Lord Sylvester Ashcombe, who was...let me think, High Warden for close on fifteen years.”
“I don’t ever remember that...” She shook her head.
“You were too young, darling,” smiled her mother. “Far too busy with your schooling and your friends to pay attention to such matters.”
“Ah.” Dorothea hadn’t, of course. But she had been very busy learning all she could about the workings of mechanicals. However, she saw no need to enlighten her Mama at this point in time. “So, what happened?”
Lord Renslow sighed. “It was a bad business, a very bad business.”
“I have to agree, Papa. The whole matter did not reflect creditably on the Council.”
“Will someone please tell me what happened,” hissed Dorothea through clenched teeth.
“As I recall,” began Lord Renslow, “Young Ashcombe took over from his father, who had fallen ill. He became High Warden.”
“And he was a good one, too,” mentioned Randolph, with a nod. “I think we can agree on that.”
“Up to a point,” said Renslow. “There was an incident. An accident involving several men, labourers on levels three and four, I think.”
Randolph nodded. “Two were killed. First time workers had perished. And Ashcombe was High Warden at the time. He took the blame. Announced that it was his fault, and that he would immediately vacate his seat as the High Warden.”
“He exiled himself,” added Lord Renslow. “It was of course the right thing to do.”
“Well, now, not really,” Lady Renslow interjected.
“It came out later that the Council of Wardens had refused to enact his safety regulations, citing cost overruns, and ignored all the warnings. Thus, when concerns finally reached Ashcombe, he was helpless to remedy the situation because it was too late to do anything about it. Two engineers died.”
“Oh no.” Horrified, Dorothea could only stare at her mother.
“He did the gentlemanly thing, though. He immediately took responsibility for the tragedy and resigned. Then vanished.” Renslow shook his head.
“It wasn’t until a couple of years later that the truth emerged, and by then the name of Ashcombe wasn’t mentioned very often.
Over half the Council was formally asked to resign when the facts were revealed, and of course the scandal faded, as these things do.
But nobody knew where Ashcombe had gone, and I suppose they never had the heart to elect a replacement for him.
There’s been no High Warden since he left. ”
Dorothea was stunned. “He took the blame for something that he couldn’t have prevented...”
“The mark of a true gentleman, dear.” Lady Renslow beamed. “And of course he’s still head of the Ashcombe estate...a pretty penny there too...”
“Mama.” Dorothea shot her a look of disgust. “Is that all you can think about?”
“It would be an excellent match, daughter. And heaven knows we’ve tried to find one for you often enough.”
“You’ve presented me with idiots and dolts.
If you put all their brains together, they’d probably equal one temperamental three-year-old.
” Her lip curled in disgust. “And you wonder at my refusals. Don’t you know me?
” She looked at both of her parents. “Don’t you even care about knowing what I want? ”
“What you want is secondary to what your parents want for you. We must, of course, know best. We have the age and experience that will help us select the proper husband for you, Dorothea. Other interests must be of much lower priority.”
“But it seems that all will be well,” Lady Renslow clapped her hands together in delight.
“Lord Ashcombe. Just think, Dorothea. It’s a very large estate, and will need much care, I’m sure.
But you will make the perfect Lady Ashcombe and be a credit to your husband.
I suppose he might find some of your odd fancies a little distressing, but overall?
I think the two of you will deal together delightfully.
” She straightened her skirts. “Now, when were you planning to wed?”
*~~*~~*
The private Council chamber had barely changed since the last time Silas had entered it, and how clearly he recalled that day. All those faces—the Wardens who knew the truth and the ones who didn’t—all staring at him as if he held all the answers in his hands.
In fact, they weren’t completely wrong. He had found out that an engine had failed. He had also discovered that safety regulations had been ignored, despite his recommendations. And he knew he was going to take the blame for it all.
Today, years later, to re-enter that chamber could only resurrect memories that still pained him. But now Gwyn Carstairs, Warden, was smiling at him and holding out his hand in welcome.
As Silas shook it once more, all the Wardens rose as one, and began to applaud. It shocked him rigid, and his instinct was to back away.
“Stay, Silas. It’s time to make things right.” Carstairs spoke quietly, but intently.
As the applause faded, one Warden remained standing. “Lord Ashcombe,” he began. “We are all glad to see you return to where you belong. And please note that there is no High Warden to deliver this little speech. We drew lots.” He turned to his fellow Wardens. “I lost.”
Surprised, Silas couldn’t resist a smile to accompany the muted laughter.
“We must address the matter that drove you away. And we are the first to acknowledge that we should have done this at the time, instead of letting years pass before making amends.”
There were more than a few “hear hear’s” after that comment.
“The accident that occurred on your watch was not of your doing,” he went on, “but the direct result of the actions of a few council members.” He took a breath.” The minutes and records of that year have been amended. The councillors responsible have been expunged from the Council Rolls.”
He paused. “History will not call them Wardens again.”
Silas went very still. For a long moment, the only sound in the chamber was the distant hiss of the Atrium engines and the faint rhythmic thump of the two mechanicals turning out their green. His hand tightened, just once, on the back of the nearest chair.
“You took your time,” he said quietly. “But I suppose even a slow machine can correct its course.”
It was as if the entire room let out a breath of relief, and more applause broke out, but this time it came along with laughter, smiles, councillors getting up, wandering, shaking hands, and slapping each other on their backs.
Silas received most of the slaps, and was just about to complain about getting bruises when Councillor Carstairs walked up to his side, grinning widely.
“Welcome home, Silas. It’s past time we had a High Warden again.”
“Whoa, wait a minute,” Silas held up his hand. “I’ve got a few thoughts about that I’d like to run by everyone here.” He looked around. “Do you think this is a good time?”
“Since we’ve all just shed a weight that’s been on our shoulders for years, then I’d say yes, this is absolutely the perfect moment.”
“All right then.” Silas, his heart still beating fast, walked to the large brass gong and tapped it with one finger. The manufacturer had achieved a miracle with this design, since one touch and the brass shimmered into a sweet, pure tone that summoned everyone back to their seats.
“Gentlemen,” he began, once everyone was sitting. “I can’t help but tell you it’s good to be...home.”
That comment brought plenty of applause.
“Don’t get too complacent though. I have some suggestions I’d like to put forward, in the hope that they’ll be enacted as soon as possible.” He took a breath and leaned on the nearby podium. “Here’s what I have in mind...”