A Final Rest Read online

  “A walk,” I said quickly. “There is so little time for it during the day, and I haven’t been out of doors as much as I’d like.”

  “I will come with you,” Alice said at once, turning to run up the stairs. “I just need to change into my walking skirt and grab a hat.”

  “No.” The word was harsh, and Alice stopped and turned, looking at me in confusion much as she had the day before. “You do not want my company?”

  Alice was sensitive, never more so than in the last few days when so much of everyone’s time and attention had been turned to Catherine. She felt left out by the others, and she would never forgive me if I did the same to her.

  “It is not that,” I said, scrambling to think of the proper excuse that would keep Alice from joining me and wouldn’t incur any additional scrutiny.

  Her eyes narrowed further, her head tilting to the side. “Are you meeting a man?”

  I shook my head. “I am quite done with men for the moment.”

  Alice frowned sympathetically, nodding in understanding. The last man I’d kept in my company had proven to be a murderer and a liar. Alice felt the sting of his deception, as well, since she had taken a quick liking to him. The experience had had no effect on her feelings towards men, though.

  “Then I do not see why I shouldn’t come with you. I would also like to get out of the house, and if you aren’t meeting a man, then there is no reason for privacy,” she said, turning to move up the stairs.

  Truly, I didn’t know where I was going, but I wanted to be alone. Pretending to be Rose Beckingham had become easier over the last year, but it could still be taxing, and I knew the next days and weeks would only be more so. I needed time to myself.

  “I am meeting a man,” I lied, sagging my shoulders as though Alice had caught me in a lie.

  She turned and let out a sharp laugh like she knew all along and had caught me. “I knew it. Who? Is it the detective?”

  I almost forgot Alice and Catherine knew about my friendship with Achilles Prideaux. Neither knew that I had met with him twice in New York City, but they knew we had left together to work in Morocco. They also knew that I left him there to return to India. So, why Alice thought I would be going to meet him was a mystery. Probably, it was just that he was the only man she knew I was connected to.

  “Yes,” I said, deciding Achilles was better than creating some fictional man.

  Her eyes lit up. “I will allow you to go alone if you promise to tell me everything about your meeting when you return.”

  I agreed to her conditions three times before she finally let me leave.

  Summer mornings in London were brisk. The rising sun was still burning off the dew and fog, and the streets were free of people and cars. In direct opposition to the Ashton household, everything was quiet, which allowed me time to think about things I had not thought about since returning. And people.

  The mention of Achilles Prideaux seemed to bring to life the part of my mind that had once fixated upon him. Seeing him in New York City, especially so unexpectedly, had been a shock. But a pleasant one. Time and distance had allowed me to mold my memory of him into an unflattering picture. I’d made his face sharper, his eyebrows more arched, and his personality harsher. Before seeing him, I’d assumed my memory served correct, but now that we had been reunited, and he had even gone so far as to help me uncover information about a case, I realized that I had been unkind to him.

  Achilles’ face was not rodentlike or sneaking. His cheeks had a pleasant, warm roundness, and the tan in his skin bespoke his world travels. His dark, thin mustache, which had once bothered me, seemed to suit his face well. His height should have made him gangly, but he was well-proportioned and moved with an air of grace most people could not emulate. And more than any of that, he was kind. After the way I’d left him so suddenly with no warning or explanation, Achilles should have never spoken to me again. He would have been well within his rights to turn up his nose at me and refuse to offer me any assistance. But not only did he go out of his way to assist me, he also warned me about my travelling companion before I ever suspected him of any wrongdoing. Despite everything I had done, Achilles still cared enough about my safety to keep a watchful eye on my movements and the company I kept. Surely, that meant part of him still cared for me the way he once had.

  Inspired with hope, I stopped in a bank whose doors were open earlier than most and borrowed a pencil and scrap of paper from the teller. I scribbled a hasty note, thanked the woman, and then hurried down the street with a new sense of purpose.

  Achilles’ flat was not far from the Ashton’s home, and I had made the trek often enough during my time in the city that I remembered it without hesitation. It was too early to knock on his door and demand his company. Besides, though I had found the courage to write him the note, I was not yet ready to address him face-to-face. I didn’t know what I wanted to say or how I wanted to say it. I needed more time to think and plan, but one thing was certain: Achilles and I had unfinished business. So, I dropped the note through his mail slot and then hurried away before he could hear the noise and come to investigate.

  Meet me at St. James’s Park on Friday at 11. -Rose

  I walked the streets aimlessly for the rest of the morning—no destination in mind except that I did not want to return to the Ashton home—until another fit of inspiration spurred me to hail a taxi and head to the North side of the city.

  The morning was still new, but not too early for visitors, and certainly not too early for an old friend. And that was precisely what Mr. and Mrs. Worthing were to me after our adventures and correspondence together. Even when my travels took me from Morocco to India to America, I wrote to Mrs. Worthing and received letters from her frequently. When we disembarked from the ship that delivered us from Bombay to London almost a year before, I had no intentions of ever seeing the couple again, but I was surprised to realize what a large part of my life they had become. In truth, they were two of my only friends beyond my family and Achilles Prideaux—though his friendship had yet to be formally verified by the man himself.

  When I knocked on Mr. and Mrs. Worthing’s door, none other than Aseem opened the door. The young Indian boy who had worked briefly as a servant in my own home had grown significantly in the last year. He seemed to be almost an entire head taller, now closer to my own height, and the softness of his chin had become squarer.

  “Aseem,” I said, both in delight and surprise before he could say anything.

  His eyes widened before he regained composure of himself. “Miss Rose. What a surprise. Mrs. Worthing will be delighted by your visit.” His voice was neutral, but his cheeks were rosy. It was nice to see that not everything had changed. He was still as quiet and outwardly unemotional as when I’d left.

  “I’m here to see you, as well,” I said, giving the young man a smile.

  He stood a little taller at that and stepped aside, ushering me into a dark entryway.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they did, I saw Aseem dashing up the stairs, and moments later, a scream. For a second, I worried something had happened. Perhaps, a fall or a scare, but then I heard rapid footsteps and Mrs. Worthing appeared on the landing at the top of the stairs, arms outstretched for a hug even though we were an entire flight of stairs away from one another.

  “Rose Beckingham,” she said, her voice echoing off the marble floors. Aseem held out an arm to assist her, and Mrs. Worthing wrapped her arm through his, patting his forearm affectionately. Clearly, he had settled into their home well. “I did not know if you would ever find yourself in this part of the world again. I hoped, of course, but now, here you are.”

  I stepped forward and met her at the bottom of the stairs. Aseem moved aside and folded his hands behind his back patiently while Mrs. Worthing wrapped her arms around me and rocked us both slowly side to side while she hummed her enthusiasm.

  “Dear, do not strangle the poor girl.”

  I opened my ey
es, looking over Mrs. Worthing’s shoulder to see Mr. Worthing at the top of the stairs. He had on trousers and a button-down shirt, but he was still in a housecoat and slippers, a cigar between his fingers.

  “I won’t,” Mrs. Worthing replied, rolling her eyes. “But your cigar smoke might.”

  Mr. Worthing laughed like he was used to this joke and waved at me. “Good to see you again, Rose. Last we heard you were in New York City. What brings you back to London?”

  Mrs. Worthing waved her arms to stop me from speaking. “We cannot talk in the doorway, Mr. Worthing. Rose, would you care to sit? Aseem makes a wonderful cup of spiced tea. A trick he learned in India, I have no doubt.”

  “I would love that,” I said, smiling at the young boy who rushed off, happy to have a task to complete.

  The sitting room was just as dark as the entryway, all of the blinds pulled despite the blue skies outside. The lamps cast the room in a yellow glow, and the fireplace was lit, the air warm and stuffy. It would have been a cozy space in the middle of winter, but it was a little overbearing for the summer. I took up the tufted armchair furthest from the flames.

  “So,” Mrs. Worthing said once she’d settled herself into the sofa and adjusted her throw pillows. “What brings you back to London, Rose? Last we heard, you were in New York City with your cousins. Awful news about their brother and his downfall in prison. I’m sure the time away from the city and the news was good for them.”

  Mr. Worthing elbowed his wife to caution her about her topic of choice, but she ignored him and gave me sad eyes, her lower lip pouting out. I almost smiled because the couple was exactly as I remembered them.

  “I actually travelled back with Catherine and Alice, along with Catherine’s fiancé,” I said, grinning with the announcement. “Catherine’s time in America was spent securing herself a husband.”

  Mrs. Worthing squealed and clapped her hands. “She is such a beautiful girl. Though, I am surprised you are not the one getting married, Rose. Catherine is lovely, but you have beauty and a personality to match. Not to say Catherine is not a nice girl, she is. It is just—”

  “She can be intimidating,” I said, cutting Mrs. Worthing off before she could say something she would regret.

  “Exactly,” she said, pointing at me. “Catherine can be intimidating, but you are such a dear. Do you think you will be married soon?”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said before thinking better of it. “Actually, to be frank, I’m not afraid. I’m not searching for love at all. Though, neither was Catherine and it found her, anyway.”

  My mind flickered back to the note I’d left in Achilles’ mailbox only an hour before. That wasn’t searching for love, though. A note didn’t mean I loved him. It only meant I wanted to see him while I was back in the city. A friend calling upon a friend. Simple as that.

  “That is a shame,” Mrs. Worthing said. “Only because I do love attending a wedding.”

  “I haven’t been to many,” I admitted.

  “Oh, they are wonderful,” she said, reaching out to grab Mr. Worthing’s hand. “Our wedding day was gorgeous. I’ve never felt as beautiful as I did wearing my dress.”

  She looked at her husband, eyes starry for a moment before they narrowed. I saw her softly nudge him. Mr. Worthing looked confused for a moment before he realized what he was supposed to say. “Oh no, dear. You’ve only grown more beautiful over the years.”

  Mrs. Worthing beamed, winked at her husband, and then turned back to me. “They are such enjoyable events, too. Reuniting with family and friends you haven’t seen in awhile. Even meeting new friends.”

  “Catherine’s wedding certainly seems like it will be an affair to remember.” I began to explain the weeks of planning involved and the ever-increasing number of people who had been showing up to make the day run smoothly. “That is part of the reason I’m here, actually. I’m useless at this sort of thing, so it is better for me to be out of the house altogether.”

  “I’m sure that is not true,” Mrs. Worthing said.

  “I assure you it is.” I laughed.

  “Will the wedding be here in the city?” she asked.

  “No, it will be in Somerset, actually.”

  Her smile faltered. “At the country house where we stayed for the weekend?”

  I could see the unspoken part of the question in her eyes. In the same house where a man was murdered in his sleep?

  “There will be a kind of celebration garden party in the garden there, but the ceremony itself will be held in the nearby village abbey.”

  She nodded and sighed in relief. “That sounds lovely. Lady Ashton has wonderful taste and is a fine host, so I’m sure it will be an affair to remember.”

  There was a hint of longing in her voice, and I knew what Mrs. Worthing wanted. More than anything, she liked to be included. Especially if the activity in question was any kind of party or celebration with a high-class crowd.

  “Yes, it should be very nice,” I said.

  Thankfully, Aseem came in with a tray of tea and pastries just then, which served as a wonderful distraction. Mr. Worthing finally stubbed out his cigar in favor of a steaming cup of tea, and Mrs. Worthing insisted I take two pastries.

  “You look so thin, Rose. All this travel has been hard on you, I think.”

  “I did not eat as well as I should have on the ship,” I admitted.

  “Will you be on another ship soon?” she asked. “It seems you’ve spent the better part of the last year on one voyage or another.”

  “I’m not sure what my plan is next.” This was true. I didn’t have a plan. So far, the plans I’d made had fallen through in spectacular fashion, so it seemed more sensible to grab hold of whatever opportunities presented themselves and not think too far ahead at all. “I may be in London for awhile unless something else arises.”

  “I know I do not have a say in this, but I hope you’ll stay for a time,” Mrs. Worthing said. “I know we would all love your company. Aseem’s reading has improved dramatically since you started writing to us. He reads every letter several times. He looks forward to your correspondence.”

  I turned to find Aseem blushing in the doorway, his eyes on the floor.

  “I’m so glad to see your home has been a wonderful fit for Aseem. I hated the idea of leaving him without employment, so I’m overjoyed things have worked out so well.”

  “They have more than worked out,” Mr. Worthing said. “In fact, if you do move back to the city, we may fight you over Aseem. I can’t imagine our house running without him.”

  “I don’t see that being a problem. I’m in no place to have another home here in the city anytime soon. Especially now that Catherine is getting married and moving back to New York, there will be plenty of room for me to take up my old room in my aunt and uncle’s house.”

  “The country estate has plenty of space, too,” Mrs. Worthing said. “If the house here in the city ever became full. How many guests will be staying there for the wedding? I wager there will still be empty rooms available. It is a lavish estate.”

  Mr. Worthing was too busy enjoying his tea to give his wife the usual warning nudge.

  “Actually, I believe it is full,” I said. “Alice is devastated because she won’t be able to invite a friend of hers to the wedding because there will be nowhere for him to stay.”

  Mrs. Worthing frowned and sighed. “I see.”

  Over the next hour, Mr. Worthing discussed the joys of retirement and Mrs. Worthing made three more references to being invited to the wedding.

  “No offense towards Catherine or her intended, but after our last trip to Ridgewick Hall, I have no intention of ever returning,” Mr. Worthing said.

  Mrs. Worthing shot her husband an incredulous look. “Why do you say that?”

  “A man died there,” he pointed out. “We were unable to leave due to the investigation, and I still have nightmares about all of it. I’m happy to stay in the confines of my own home.”

  Based on
the drawn curtains and musty air, I believed him wholeheartedly. I almost wished I could invite the Worthings just to spare them from their slightly oppressive house for a few days. But alas, I was in no position to be adding guests to Catherine’s invite list, and truthfully, she would probably strangle me if she found out I was complicating the catering in any way.

  Mrs. Worthing let the matter drop until we were once again standing in the entryway, preparing our goodbyes.

  “Do not hesitate to drop in anytime,” Mr. Worthing said warmly. “We welcome the company.”

  “Absolutely,” Mrs. Worthing agreed. “We love company and parties and celebrations. We may look old, but we still have many good years of fun ahead of us.”

  Aseem made no move to step forward or wish me well, but he lifted his hand in a wave, and I smiled at him, confident the Worthings were a good fit. If there was anything I’d learned about Aseem during our time spent together, it was that he was as good at sneaking around as anyone I’d ever known. And the Worthings were hardly observant. My guess was that he found plenty of opportunities to sneak out of the stuffy old house and do as he wished without Mr. or Mrs. Worthing ever being the wiser.

  “Certainly,” I agreed. “I will visit again, hopefully with a good report from Catherine’s wedding. I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.”

  Mrs. Worthing smiled, but I could see the disappointment in the sinking of her shoulders. Before she could grow even bolder and ask for an invitation outright, I bid them all farewell and left.

  3

  When I returned to the Ashton’s house after lunch, new family members had arrived: an older woman with the same square face and tan complexion as Lord Ashton and Mr. Beckingham and her three similar-looking daughters. The group of them ambushed me in the entryway as soon as I walked through the door, Miss Brown not far behind them.

  “Lady Ashton will be back momentarily,” Miss Brown said, looking frazzled. “She had to leave to help Miss Catherine with a wedding detail. But you are welcome to more tea.”