Chapter Eighteen #3
As Mrs. Blythe turned to go, Rose called after her. “Mrs. Blythe?” The older woman paused. “After Mother died, when I was so grief-stricken, you took care of me. I’ve never forgotten that kindness.”
Mrs. Blythe’s eyes grew bright. “It has been my honor.” She hesitated at the threshold. “Don’t give up hope just yet.”
“I won’t,” Rose promised, though her voice wavered.
Alone again, Rose took a steadying breath and smoothed her skirts. Whatever news the constable brought, she would face it. What other choice did she have?
*
Rose hesitated just outside the drawing room door, pressing her palms against her skirts to steady herself before stepping inside.
Afternoon sunlight slanted through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the Persian carpet. Constable Stephens stood near the hearth with his hat tucked under his arm, his weathered face grave. He turned at the sound of her entrance, bobbing his head in polite acknowledgment.
“My lady.”
She forced a smile, crossing the room on unsteady legs. “Please sit with me. May I offer tea?”
“No, thank you. I wanted to come out as soon as I could, knowing you must be feeling a great sense of uncertainty.”
She settled onto the sofa, motioning for him to take the chair opposite. The leather creaked as he sat. “Yes, unfortunately this is true.”
“I’ve taken it upon myself to take care of a few details,” Stephens said, his fingers working the brim of his hat. “I hope I’ve not overstepped.”
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Any help is welcome, Constable. I’m quite overwhelmed. Please, go on.”
He met her gaze steadily. “Baron White has been transferred to London. He’ll stand trial there for his crimes.”
A shiver went through her. He was truly gone from her life now, locked away where he could no longer hurt anyone. The relief was so sudden and overwhelming that her vision blurred for a moment.
“How long?” Rose managed.
“Hard to say. Could be months before trial, then…” Stephens shook his head. “Given what we’ve uncovered, he’ll likely never see freedom again.”
Rose exhaled slowly, her shoulders sagging as tension she’d carried for months began to ease. He had no more power over her life.
“There is another matter that must be addressed, my lady.” The constable’s tone grew more serious.
She straightened, wariness creeping back. “Yes?”
He seemed to choose his words carefully. “The investigation into your father’s smuggling operation has uncovered the full extent of his crimes. The scale of it is far larger than we suspected.”
Rose’s stomach dropped. “How much larger?”
Stephens rubbed his jaw, looking suddenly older.
“French brandy, arms dealing, counterfeit coinage. The docks down in Hastings have been running shipments for him for years, but we’ve now identified smaller operations stretching as far as Liverpool and Bristol.
He wasn’t only smuggling goods but arranging for stolen cargo to be ‘laundered’ through legitimate businesses. ”
Her knuckles went white where she gripped the sofa’s arm. Each revelation felt like another blow. “What does this mean for the estate?”
The constable’s pause stretched too long. When he finally spoke, his voice was gentle but firm. “That depends. If it’s discovered that your father funneled his criminal earnings into the estate—if the manor itself was bought or maintained with tainted funds—the Crown could seize portions of it.”
The words hit her like a physical force. Rose felt the blood drain from her face, the room tilting sickeningly around her. “Seized?” The word came out as barely a whisper.
“If there’s proof that his wealth was gained illegally, yes. But it will take time for the courts to determine. Months, perhaps years. And even then, they may not seek to claim the estate itself—only the profits from it.”
Rose pressed a hand to her chest, her breathing shallow.
Everything, the only home she’d ever known, her mother’s memory embedded in every room, could all be stripped away.
She forced herself to focus on the constable’s weathered face, using it as an anchor against the panic threatening to pull her under.
“My lady,” he said, his voice gentler now. “I tell you this not to frighten you, but to prepare you. There are men who profited from his schemes, men who may yet come forward to try and claim what they believe is theirs.”
Rose closed her eyes briefly, summoning what remained of her courage. When she opened them again, her voice was steadier. “So what must be done?”
“For now, you must be cautious. The law will take its course, and those involved in the smuggling operation will be held accountable. But in the meantime, you should have someone you trust overseeing the estate’s affairs.”
“Mr. Hale has my full trust.”
“He’s a good man and will do well by you. It was a brave thing—coming to me as he did.”
Rose nodded, her throat tight. “You are correct. He will always have a place with me.” She paused, the qualifier catching in her throat. “If I have a place, that is.”
The constable leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry it took such a long time for justice, my lady.”
She sat quietly for a moment, letting the implications settle over her like dust after an explosion. Then, almost afraid to hope, she asked, “What will happen to Sebastian Ashford? Do you have any idea?”
“It depends on the mercy of the Crown, but I suspect his title will be restored and perhaps some of the wealth. Though it’s hard to say for certain.” Stephens studied her face. “He means a great deal to you, doesn’t he?”
Rose felt heat rise in her cheeks. “He does. Despite how we came together.”
“Don’t let your father take him from you, my lady. He mustn’t win from the grave.”
“Thank you for your counsel.”
“Indeed. And I must tell you—after asking around and speaking with your servants about the late Lord Ashford—by all accounts, he was a truly noble and benevolent man. Sebastian seems to have inherited the same qualities. All of which bodes well for the Ashford’s good name and the restoration of their wealth. ”
“I hope you’re right. He and his siblings have suffered greatly. Because of my father.” Her voice caught. “If I were in a position to make it right, I certainly would.”
Stephens smiled, his brown eyes warm. “These things have a way of working themselves out, one way or the other. One must not lose faith that good will come to the pure of heart.”
Rose blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his kindness. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, including the arrangements about my father. I feel so uncertain about everything.”
“I do beg your pardon, my lady, but there’s nothing uncertain about your character. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
“You’re too kind.”
Stephens rose, settling his hat back on his head. “If there is anything further, I will let you know. In the meantime, keep your wits about you.”
He turned to leave, pausing just before the door. “And if anyone comes asking questions about what your father left behind, send for me. Do not hesitate. Day or night.”
Rose remained on the sofa long after his footsteps faded, watching the afternoon light creep across the floor, and thinking about Sebastian.
*
Rose sat at the window seat in her room, almost numb. So much had transpired in the last few days it was hard to comprehend how drastically her life was about to change.
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts.
“Come in,” she called, expecting Prudence.
Instead, Mary stepped inside, her face pale and her hands twisted in her apron. The young maid had been with the household for years, but Rose had never seen her look so distressed.
“Lady Rose,” Mary began, then faltered. “I… I wondered if I might have a word?”
“Of course. What can I do for you?”
Mary perched on the edge of the chair by the window, her back rigid. For a long moment, she stared at her hands before finally meeting Rose’s eyes.
“Mrs. Blythe says you remember everything now. About… about that night.”
Rose’s chest tightened. “Yes.”
Mary’s face crumpled. “Can you ever forgive me, Lady Rose? I’m the one who told you to forget.”
The anguish in Mary’s voice made Rose’s heart ache. She took Mary’s cold hands in hers.
“Mary, we were both children. Very frightened ones at that.”
“But I should have done better.”
“But how?” Rose asked gently. “Spoken up? Who would have listened to us back then? Not with Constable Morrison in charge.”
Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “I heard it all. Every terrible sound. And when I found you…” She shuddered. “You were so small, so terrified. I thought if I could just get you to forget, maybe you could heal. Maybe you could be safe.”
“You were trying to protect me.”
“I was trying to protect myself too,” Mary whispered. “I was so afraid he’d come for me if he knew I’d heard.”
Rose squeezed her hands. “Of course you were afraid. You were barely older than I was.”
“I’ve carried it all these years, my lady. Knowing what really happened, watching you struggle with those nightmares, wondering if I’d done the right thing.” Mary’s voice broke. “When Mrs. Blythe said you finally remembered, I thought you’d hate me for making you forget.”
“Oh, Mary.” Rose felt tears prick her own eyes. “I could never hate you. You tucked me into bed that night when I was falling apart. You stayed with me until I stopped shaking. You showed me kindness when I desperately needed it.”
“But if I’d spoken up sooner, maybe everything would be different.”
“Then we both might have ended up dead,” Rose said firmly. “You made the best choice you could with what you knew then. And now, finally, the truth has come out anyway.”
Mary searched Rose’s face as if looking for any trace of deception. “You truly don’t blame me?”
“Not for a single moment.” Rose smiled through her tears. “Thank you for taking care of eight-year-old me. And thank you for finding the courage to speak to Constable Stephens when the time was right. Also, thank you for moving the rug. It was you, wasn’t it?”