Chapter Twenty-Five
The adored only child of Lord Stuart and Lady Lucile Chesterfield-Bishop, Rosie, as she was known to friends, family, and her half-million social media followers, was a close friend of Princess Mary and beloved by the entire royal family.
She is survived by her parents, her grandfather, Alastair Chesterfield-Bishop, the Earl of Brodrick, aunts Lady Susanne Nellsworth and Lady Julianne Humphrey, and her faithful companion, rescue dog Snickers.
The private funeral takes place today, and family has asked that in lieu of flowers, donations be made to Canine Chums Charity of Surrey.
Rosie’s funeral is held at the church where she was christened, just outside of London. It’s a beautiful building with stained glass windows and enough seating for hundreds, but every guest has already been ushered inside by the time our fleet of Range Rovers arrives.
There’s a small but determined group of paparazzi in a roped-off section near the entrance to the church, and none of us—not even Thaddeus—glances their way as we all head inside. It’s too much to hope for that they might be respectful, and instead they call out as we pass.
“Mary! Is it true? Were you fighting when she died?”
“Do you know what happened, Mary?”
“Helene, how do you feel knowing it could’ve been your daughter?”
“Christopher, is it true you two dated? Did it end badly?”
“Mary, will you miss your former best friend? Or are you glad she’s gone?”
It’s heinous, and I nearly break just to tell them to eat shit. But my arm is linked with Kit’s, and I can feel the tension in his grip as we approach the entrance. If I break, so will he, and considering the way color floods his cheeks, he might have more than just a few choice words for them.
We all hold it together until the church doors close behind us, and only then do I hear my sister release a soft sob. Gia is beside her in an instant and holding her close, and the pair stand wrapped together as Maisie cries into her shoulder.
“They’re waiting for us,” says Helene after nearly a full minute, and she dabs her eyes with her handkerchief. “We shouldn’t hold them up longer than we already have.”
Gia helps Maisie fix her smeared mascara before we venture into the main body of the church, where a man and a woman stand at the foot of the aisle, waiting for us.
They’re both dressed in black, and while the tall man is older and washed out, with only a few wisps of hair left, the much younger woman resembles Rosie so closely that there’s no mistaking them for anything other than mother and daughter.
“Your Majesty.” The woman curtsies to Helene, who quickly reaches out to take her elbows and guide her to rise.
“Not today, Lucy,” she says before embracing her. “I am so, so very sorry for your loss.”
“Th-thank…” Lucy’s voice hitches, and her eyes flutter shut as she clearly tries to compose herself.
I turn away, hugging Kit’s arm and glancing around the crowded church instead.
Every single pew is full, except for the first row, and my stomach drops.
I don’t know what I expected—to hide in the back, maybe, and pay my respects from a distance—but sitting front row at Rosie’s funeral knowing I’m the reason she’s dead is a form of karmic punishment I wasn’t prepared for.
I force down the nausea, however, as we all offer our condolences to Lord and Lady Chesterfield-Bishop one by one.
They greet me and Kit as warmly as they do Maisie and Helene, and I’m instantly aware that no one’s told them we were there that night, or about the series of events that led up to Rosie’s death.
But we know—we all know—and even Kit seems to want to keep his distance as we follow everyone up to the front pew, within feet of the white casket that’s covered in pink roses.
He trails Thaddeus to the very end of the row, next to a woman who’s holding Snickers in her lap.
“Hey, boy,” I say softly, scratching him behind his ear. He wags his tail morosely and, without hesitation, climbs into my lap instead. The woman looks vaguely relieved.
“You’ve got him, then?” she whispers, and I nod. “Good. Lady Lucy wanted to take him, but he gave her a sneezing fit, so I volunteered to come along and watch him. But I really don’t like dogs.”
“We’ve got him,” confirms Kit in a low rumble as the priest—preacher?—bishop?—climbs to the pulpit at the front.
The funeral is long but beautiful, with her mother giving a tear-filled eulogy and several of Rosie’s relatives and friends coming up to speak.
Gia goes to the pulpit as well, regaling the audience with a few sweet stories from when the three of them were children, and later, as teens, that show how close they were.
But it’s when Maisie stands, her hands shaking and her face so pale I think she might faint, that a heavy hush falls over the crowd.
“Rosie…” Maisie clears her throat, but it does little to dislodge the sorrow from her voice.
“Rosie was my best friend. Will always be my best friend. Her presence was a shining star, the kind that brought light to all who knew her, and we were incredibly lucky to have her for as long as we did. We just didn’t know to cherish it at the time. ”
From my lap, Snickers barks, and Maisie’s gaze snaps to me, her eyes welling with tears.
“She deserved better,” she says, seemingly barely able to get enough air into her lungs to speak.
“From me, from the world—from…from everything life threw at us. She brought so much happiness to everyone who knew her, and yet all she wanted was to be loved in return. How hard is that?” Her voice cracks, and she hastily wipes her cheek.
“How hard is it to love someone who’s nothing but sunshine?
It shouldn’t be. Yet so many of you took her for granted.
I took her for granted. I thought she would always be here, like the sunshine she was.
But now it’s midnight, and it feels like the sun might never rise again. ”
Snickers wiggles in my lap, and before I can stop him, he hops onto the ground and scurries up the steps to the dais. Maisie bends down and scoops him up, and she buries her damp face in his fur, seemingly unaware—or not caring—that she’s crying in front of hundreds now.
“But—even on the darkest of days,” she continues, her words trembling, “we remember the sun’s warmth, and how it made us feel.
We remember those happiest of times, and we look forward to the moment we meet again.
And we will,” she adds brokenly. “Rosie is as much a part of me as everyone I’ve ever loved and ever will love, and I will carry her with me—we will all carry her with us as a little bit of sunshine to remind us that night will not always be so dark, and that the morning will come again, in this life or the next.
That’s the gift Rosie gave us—to never fear what comes next.
To live like the sun is shining on us, because she is, and she always will be. ”
When she steps down, Gia envelops her in her arms once more, with Snickers sandwiched between them. Their embrace lingers until the priest—preacher—officiate returns, and only then does Gia take Maisie’s free hand and lead her back to the pew.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but glance at Thaddeus, who seems completely unperturbed by this public display of something more than friendship. After a split second, his gaze meets mine, and he offers me a lazy half smile.
“It’s cool,” he whispers, leaning in so only I can hear him. “I know she was never really into me. But we both got what we wanted, so no complaints.”
I frown. “What did you…?” I say so quietly that I practically mouth it.
Thaddeus’s smile grows. “No matter what happens, I’ll always get to say I dated the future Queen of England.”
Despite the grief that weighs heavily over the room, I almost—almost laugh. I bite my cheek instead, and though Kit’s fingers are already laced in mine, he shifts closer and presses a kiss to my hair, letting me know he also heard.
A Spice Girls song plays as the coffin is carried out by the pallbearers, two of whom are Kit and Nicholas, and it seems like an absurdly fitting way for Rosie to say her final goodbyes.
But all I focus on is the way Maisie and Gia are locked together, seemingly caring for Snickers, but the touches between them, the way they look at each other, the words they whisper—it gives me hope that maybe, despite everything they’ve both been through, they really will have each other now.
And maybe my sister will finally find some peace.
—
Later that afternoon, once we’ve all returned to Windsor, a subdued Jenkins leads us to the conference room on one of the upper floors, where Alexander and Singh are waiting.
Half a dozen files are placed neatly around the table, and Kit, Maisie, Gia, and I all take our seats, each in front of a red folder. No one touches theirs.
“The Director General of MI5 has granted me permission to share these with you today,” says Singh as I fiddle with Guy’s puzzle. “With the understanding that the contents of these files are classified, and nothing here leaves this room. Is that clear?”
Maisie, who is still holding Snickers in her lap, bristles at being spoken to like she wasn’t born with a silver spoon up her arse, but the rest of us—even my father, who sits at the head of the table—nod.
“I’ll be sure to ring Belinda and thank her,” he says as he picks up the first file and flicks through it.
I tuck the puzzle into my pocket and do the same, laying the contents out on the table.
They’re documents pertaining to Rosie’s death, including pictures of her townhouse, with police tape and evidence numbers everywhere.
I quickly cover up the ones of her bloodstained bedroom carpet.