Could this be why? Could Rose’s letter have been nothing more than a ruse to get her to go to St. Giles? Was it so she could be kidnapped and a ransom demand made? But it makes no sense, she has been missing for two weeks and I’ve received nothing. Nothing at all. Rogers is in charge of my correspondence, and he is ever so diligent about it.
He dismissed the thought and wandered through his sister’s dressing room. The armoire at the end of the room creaked as he opened the doors.
“By Jove,” he muttered at the sight of no less than two dozen pairs of shoes and assorted hats, caps, and bonnets. He found no less than three different redingotes of the same design in a second armoire but in different colors, while five spencers and three pelisses hung up on a rack. He didn’t bother to count the gowns.
On a table at the end of the room sat an assortment of pots and patch boxes. These contained what Rose liked to call her ‘products’, tinctures, makeup, and other things Seth knew nothing about. They, according to his sister, aided her quest to remain eternally beautiful. Seth smiled to himself. She was a great beauty, his sister. She got that from their mother, who was so beautiful even Cleopatra might have grown envious when looking upon her.
“Oh, Mother. Why did you have to fall ill at so young an age? Why could you not have stayed with us? David might still be living if you hadn’t died in such a cruel away. Father might be still alive, too, for I am sure he died of a broken heart.”
Suddenly, painfully aware of the fact he wasn’t alone, Seth stopped talking. He developed the peculiar habit of speaking to himself out loud after the death of David. Up until then, David was the one he’d talk to whenever a thought came to his mind. With him gone, there was simply nobody he could speak to with such ease.
He stepped back into his sister’s chamber and stopped in his tracks.
There, on the chaise, was Winnifred. Her head rested against the pillow he’d used himself only minutes before. She was on her side, positioned in such a way Seth’s eyes were drawn directly to her chest again. Certainly, she’d be mortified at sleeping in so vulnerable a position. He rushed to Rose’s bed and retrieved a wool blanket his sister never used.
Quietly, he returned to the chaise and spread the blanket over Winnie. She shifted as he covered her and the sweet scent that always enveloped her wafted into his nose. She didn’t wake. Good. He didn’t want her to push herself too much—the guilt over chastising her early haunted him, now that he saw how exhausted she was.
He removed the diary from her hand with great care and sat on the floor beside her—another of his odd habits. As he flicked through the journal, he noted this one was from last year. Almost every day was filled with events, even during the months outside of the Season. Despite the lack of social events, his sister found ways to remain active even then. How one person could be quite so busy, he didn’t understand—until he flicked the page and it became painfully clear.
There, on the page titled September 25th, Rose has written only four words.David. I love you.
She stayed busy so she didn’t have to think about David. The realization struck him at his core. While he shut himself off, Rose submerged her grief in a flurry of activity.
Seth struggled against the tears that fought their way into his eyes but lost the battle. He tossed the diary on the table and buried his face in between his knees as sobs consumed him. Why did she have the be so sentimental? Why couldn’t she be like him, removed and stoic? Would that not be preferable? Unquestionably, it would. He knew it was the only way he managed and—
The sensation came out of nowhere and caused him to jerk forward.
“I am sorry,” her voice was drunk on sleep, and her eyes blinked rapidly to drive the fatigue out. “What happened? Have you found anything of…”
“No.” he jumped up, freeing himself from the gentle touch of her hand upon his back. He rubbed the back of his hand across his face to hide the tears but failed. She’d already seen. She already knew something was the matter.
“Seth, I…”
“My sister and I are so different. She wears her heart on her sleeve, Winnifred. I kept it locked up. And for good reason.” He stopped and looked up at the painting. He picked up the diary with a deep sigh, still open on September 25th, and handed it to Winnie. She glanced at it, then at him, and then at the painting.
“His birthday? No. He…you were twins, so his birthday is yours. April 12th.”
“The date he died,” he said quietly. There were no more tears; somehow her touch so startled him, it chased away the desire to cry. “Winnie, I haven’t told anyone about this. Leo knows I had a brother and that he died. He knows I do not talk about it, but I suppose I ought to tell you. I was unkind when you asked to help me investigate this case. And the reason I gave you was not entirely the truth.”
He sat beside her on the chaise as she cast her eyes at him. The green appeared much brighter than he’d previously noticed, almost like a jade stone.
“It is in part because of David. He and I were like you and Leo, so close. We were twins, of course, so there’s that to consider. But we always did everything together. He was my best friend; we were always kicking up a lark together.” He chuckled as he remembered some of their more boisterous moments. “I never really did anything without him until he died. Ever since then, I haven’t been able to allow myself to become close to anyone genuinely. It’s why Rose and I aren’t that close, and it’s why Leo will call me his best friend, but I never do. I’ve been on my own in many ways since David died, it’s easier that way. No attachments, no…” he shrugged as he looked at her. “I suppose I’m so used to it the idea of sharing this investigation with you scared me.”
She said nothing for a long time, but when she did, her words struck him at his core, even though he’d expected them.
“What happened to him?”
Her voice was so gentle, so quiet, that while her words, her question, wounded him, they soothed him at the same time.
“I was foolish. I had ridden out in bad weather, and a storm came upon me with some ferocity. I managed to return to our estate—Hartford House, in Derbyshire—but when I dismounted, my horse bolted. I adored my horse as he was a beautiful steed and a gift from my late mother. I decided to go after him. David called me a fool for going out in the bad weather, but I could see my horse just up ahead, by a tree. He’d come to a stop. So I went. David warned me to be careful, and I was. Or so I thought. However, as I reached the horse, thunder struck, and he bolted once more. I was rushing after him when lightning struck the tree. I recall the horrid smell. I was far enough from the tree to not suffer terrible injuries but David… You see, he’d followed to help me after all. I didn’t know it, but when the lightning bolt hit the tree, it cracked it and split it down the middle. One half crashed down and…” The words would not come. They would not form. He knew the words ‘the tree fell and crushed David as I watched’yet they refused to cross his lips.
They didn’t need to. Beside him, Winnifred moved closer and placed one hand on top of his. Her long, slim fingers wrapped around his, and they sat this way together for a long time. Neither spoke. Outside, the sun set and the moon rose. Rose’s chamber darkened more and more with each passing minute until, at last, the veil of night settled upon them.
It wasn’t until Rogers, the butler, passed by outside on the landing and lit the many beeswax candles along the hall that Seth removed his hand from Winnifred’s. He looked at her, a smile on his face.
“Thank you.”
“I’ve done nothing.”
