A Final Rest Read online

  “If I have any more tea, I’ll burst,” the older woman said. Then, she noticed me coming through the door. “Who are you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, she shook her head. “I recognize you, Rose. You have grown since I last saw you.”

  My heart began to beat quickly. I looked around the room, but there was no sign of Alice anywhere, and even if Alice was nearby, I didn’t want to risk asking her for help. So, I stepped forward, a large smile spread across my face.

  “It has been a long time, hasn’t it?” I said, hoping the woman would reveal a useful piece of information.

  “Almost fifteen years,” she said with a curt nod. Then, she turned to her three daughters who were all standing in a quiet, tight line behind her, each of their shoulders touching. “And you remember Margaret, Anna, and Helen.”

  I nodded to the three girls, certain the woman in the middle was Anna, but being lost beyond that. Not only did the three women look unfamiliar, they all looked remarkably alike with medium-length brown hair twisted into a bun at the base of their necks, dark heavy brows, and slightly varying shades of the same pink sleeveless drop-waist dress.

  “Is there anything I can get you, Mrs. Blake?” Miss Brown asked.

  “We came here to spend time with family,” the woman, whose surname was apparently Blake, said. “And now that my niece has arrived, I’m sure she can take on the hosting duties.”

  Aunt. “Yes, absolutely, Aunt,” I said, turning then to the women behind her. “Cousins. Follow me. Catherine has been so busy this week, but I am so pleased to see you all. It has been far too long.”

  “I’d hoped to see you at the funeral for my brother,” Mrs. Blake said.

  “Oh, yes. I wish things had worked out differently. Unfortunately, due to the accident, I wasn’t in a good place to plan anything, so nothing was arranged aside from a quiet burial.”

  She pursed her lips and then shrugged. “William never was one for formalities, was he? I suppose he would enjoy a quiet burial. Though, to my understanding, there were not enough remains for an actual burial.”

  I nodded solemnly, surprised by the blunt way she referred to her brother’s gruesome death. “Correct. The grave marker is just there to mark their memory.”

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, there was a sharp bark of laughter. I jumped and turned to see one of the three daughters was laughing. “Rose, do you remember the prank we convinced you to pull during the Christmas dinner when you were only six or seven?”

  I stammered, hoping the woman would carry on with the story without any response from me, but it appeared that would not happen. “No, I actually can’t recall.”

  “Rose took part in a prank?” I turned to see Alice standing in the doorway. “I can’t imagine it. Is it true, Aunt Ruth?”

  Aunt Ruth. I committed the name to memory, grateful for Alice’s arrival already. Aunt Ruth nodded, though she didn’t look as pleased at the memory as her daughters did. “Rose was always a mischievous child. I warned William that he should take sharper control of her, but it seems she turned out fine despite him never taking my advice.”

  The same daughter who spoke before continued the story. “Everyone was gathered at Ashton House for Christmas dinner, and we snuck into the kitchen where Anna lifted Rose up to the counter—”

  “I thought it was Margaret,” Aunt Ruth said, looking to me.

  The daughter speaking, who I now knew had to be Helen, turned to me, as well. “Do you remember, Rose?”

  I pointed to the daughter sitting to the right of Helen, who I’d decided in the entryway was Anna. “I think Helen is right. It was Anna.”

  The sister to the left of Helen shifted nervously in her seat. “I’m Anna.”

  My face flamed, and I shook my head, laughing nervously. “I’m sorry. It has apparently been far too long. Of course, you are Anna.”

  I studied each of their faces, searching for the key differences that would help me tell them apart later, but I couldn’t find any. Were they identical triplets? So, I remembered their gowns. Anna wore the lightest shade of pink, Helen was in the darker shade, and Margaret’s perfectly matched the color of her skin and was quite unflattering. The trick would only last until the women changed their clothes, but it was better than nothing. I didn’t turn around, but I could feel Alice’s eyes on me. I wished she was the same silly young girl she’d been when I’d first arrived in the city. That Alice would have been too busy offering fashion advice and asking the women if they were married or had any suitors to pay attention to me.

  Helen waved her hands to dismiss the matter and carried on. “Either way, we lifted little Rose up to the counter and had her replace the sugar bowl with salt.”

  The three women all began laughing hysterically, grabbing onto one another like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard, and I did my best to join in.

  “What happened then?” Alice asked, smiling widely and moving to sit on the sofa next to me.

  The three women were still laughing, so Alice turned to me. I wanted to pick up the story and continue it the way Rose would. It was no doubt a family story that would be retold whenever family members got together. Even if Rose didn’t remember the act of doing it, she would have heard the tale. But I was drawing a blank. I’d never heard Rose tell the story or Mr. Beckingham mention it.

  Alice raised her eyebrows, encouraging me to continue, and I stared blankly back at her.

  “Well,” Helen finally said, controlling herself enough to speak. Alice mercifully turned her attention to her other cousin, and I sagged with relief. “The dish was taken out with tea service and everyone made their cup, but Uncle James, as I’m sure you know Alice, enjoys a lot of sugar in his tea.”

  Alice’s mouth opened wide, delighted. “He does. Mama says it is obscene.”

  “He put several spoonfuls of what he thought was sugar in his cup, and when he took a drink—” Helen fell into another fit of giggles, clutching her stomach, and Alice turned back to me.

  I looked helplessly at the three sisters, hoping one of them would break out of their laughter long enough to finish the story, but they were gone.

  “What happened?” Alice pleaded, smiling in anticipation.

  “He spit it everywhere,” Aunt Ruth said quickly. “He spit the drink out and drenched William. The part of the story the girls are all forgetting is that they spent the rest of the evening sitting in the corner instead of eating dessert.”

  Margaret wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled. “It was well worth it. Almost twenty years later, and I’m still laughing. I can’t believe you forgot, Rose. It is one of my favorite childhood memories.”

  “I remember more now that you explained it,” I said, lying completely. Then, I stood, smoothing down the front of my linen dress. “If you will all excuse me, though, I need to freshen up. I’ve been running around this morning.”

  Alice moved to follow me, no doubt eager to ask how my fictitious meeting with Achilles Prideaux went, but before she could, Aunt Ruth stopped her to ask brusquely about her time in New York City and whether it was educational.

  The moment I walked into my room, I pressed myself against the door and took a deep breath. I couldn’t decide if I was paranoid or if Alice truly was noticing something strange about my behavior. It didn’t help that every interaction felt like a test. Each new family member who walked through the doors of the Ashton household was a hurdle I had to overcome. Was I supposed to know them or not? Were they from my side of the family or Lady Ashton’s? The stress of it was piling on my shoulders, and I felt like I was being pushed further and further into the ground.

  Since making the decision to take on Rose Beckingham’s identity, I’d faced the possibility that I would one day have to tell her family—the people who I had come to view as my own beloved family—the truth about my deception. I did not imagine, however, that they would uncover my lie because of my own inability to maintain my disguise. It was a terrifying reality, a
nd one I was not sure I was ready to contemplate.

  I used the time in my room to change out of my walking clothes and into a green silk and chiffon dress, apply a bit more powder to the scar on my cheek—a lasting reminder of the bombing that began the entire mess, and regain my composure. Soon enough, everyone would be at Ridgewick Hall. The grounds of the family estate were expansive, and no one would notice if I slipped away during the day and spent more of my time alone. And if anyone did comment on my disappearances, I could explain that seeing so many family members together reminded me that my own parents would not ever arrive. It wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Playing the role of Rose Beckingham in front of so many relatives left me uneasy, guilt gnawing at me constantly.

  When I returned to the sitting room, Catherine and Lady Ashton had finished whatever wedding preparations they had been taking part in, so I was free to sit back and observe rather than take an active role in the conversation. It was a welcome change of pace. And when Lord Ashton arrived home from his club, he and Ruth spent the evening reminiscing about their childhood. Though, their reminiscences lacked the laughter and smiles one would expect. Together, they were direct and straightforward as though they were being interrogated about their memories.

  The next day, in an effort to avoid Aunt Ruth and her daughters, I begged Catherine to let me assist her with the wedding plans.

  “I can run an errand for you,” I offered, trying my best not to sound as desperate as I felt. “Anything you need done today, just tell me. I can handle it.”

  Catherine worried with her lower lip, biting the already red and raw skin. “I think everything is being handled, Rose.”

  When I’d walked in the room, I’d heard Catherine lament to Lady Ashton that there was no way everything would be done in time for the wedding. I narrowed my eyes at her. “We leave for Ridgewick tomorrow. This is your last day to finalize plans and pack. Are you certain you don’t need any help?”

  I could see the anxiety rising behind Catherine’s eyes. She was teetering on the precipice of another breakdown, and I was willing to nudge her closer to the fall if it meant I had an excuse to be away from the house.

  “Rose could buy new vases,” Lady Ashton said, her finger running down what looked to be a long list of tasks that still needed to be completed. “Miss Brown went to look for six more yesterday but could not find any replacements. So, we will need to buy twelve new ones.”

  Catherine turned and gave her mother a sharp look, but Lady Ashton waved away her daughter’s worries with a smile. “Rose can handle it. Can’t you, Rose?”

  “Absolutely,” I agreed, happy to have a task even if it was against Catherine’s wishes. “What should the vases look like?”

  The next ten minutes were passed listening to Catherine describe a white vase with flowers etched down the sides in excruciating detail. She even tried to convince me I needed to take one of the original vases she’d purchased in New York City with me as an example.

  “I can remember what it looks like,” I said, only slightly offended she had so little faith in me.

  As I left, I heard Lady Ashton comforting her daughter. “The vases are only for the garden party, dear. If they are wrong, at least it won’t affect the wedding.”

  I was tempted to come home with eleven black vases just as punishment for their bad faith, but my pride wouldn’t allow it. I may not have had the same kind of experience in planning parties and events as Lady Ashton and Catherine, but I could manage buying twelve vases.

  Alice caught me by the elbow on my way out of the house, her eyes wide and eager. “Where are you going? Can I come with you?”

  I knew if I denied her request outright, it would only increase her desire to go. So, I shrugged. “If you’d like. I am on a mission to buy vases for the wedding.”

  Her desire faded at once, her eyes and shoulders drooping. “Is this wedding all anyone can talk about? I’d rather stay here and listen to Aunt Ruth and father talk about stocks. They’ve been talking of nothing else all morning. So dull.”

  “I will offer you more lively company when I return?” I suggested.

  Alice grabbed my hand, made me swear I’d save her from the clutches of her dull aunt and strange cousins, and then sulked into the sitting room.

  I went to three different shops before I found the perfect vases. In fact, they were near replicas of the vases Catherine had purchased in New York City. Had it been my wedding, I would have deemed them a close enough approximation and only purchased six to replace the broken ones, but I knew there was no such thing as “close enough” when it came to Catherine and her wedding planning. Every detail had to be just right, including the vases that would hold the fresh cut flowers from the family’s well-kept garden.

  The shop owner was pleased to make such a large sale and promised me the vases would be wrapped, packaged carefully, and delivered to the Ashton household later that afternoon. I thanked him and then stepped out onto the street. I wanted to rush home to prove to Catherine that the task had not only been managed, but managed in a timely fashion. I’d found exactly what she wanted in less than two hours. However, I had other plans.

  The taxi let me out in front of Buckingham Palace. Visitors to London and locals were gathered around the exterior gates, eager for a glimpse of a member of the royal family or to see the changing of the guard. I walked in the opposite direction, however, towards the gates of St. James’s Park.

  The walking path was wide, small fences on either side keeping back the grass and foliage of the well-maintained garden. Trees hung over the path, offering shade even in the midday sun, and I did my best to keep my pace even, my stroll casual. I didn’t know where Achilles Prideaux would be.

  My note had been vague. Just a location and a place. Knowing the detective, he would show up early and watch from a distance in order to understand the circumstances of the meeting. After everything we’d been through, I could never blame him for being suspicious. Knowing that about him, I didn’t want to appear overeager or nervous. I wanted to look like a woman on her way to meet an old friend. No other motives or purpose.

  I dressed nicer than a day running errands for Catherine called for. My dusty rose dress was silk with a layer of dyed lace over the top. The dropped waist had crepe flowers on the hip, and I wore a matching lace headband with a flower over my left ear. Achilles noticed small details, and I wanted to give him plenty to notice.

  I had never worried about such things before, especially when it came to Achilles. Especially once he revealed he had known I was not truly Rose Beckingham from the day we met. I never had to pretend to be anyone or anything I was not with him, but after seeing him in New York City, my feelings had shifted. A nervousness I’d never felt around him or anyone else twisted my insides and made me feel light-headed.

  I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could actually be ill, but it certainly felt that way. As I walked deeper into the park, the walkway curving over to run alongside the water, I considered turning around and leaving. It would be simpler to go back to the Ashton house, leave with the family for Ridgewick Hall, and forget about Achilles Prideaux. But I knew that would do nothing to stop the thoughts I’d been having. If I wanted this issue resolved, I had to speak with Achilles. I had to understand what our relationship would look like moving forward. It was the only way I’d ever have any kind of closure.

  So, I claimed an empty bench near the edge of the water, a family of ducks and ducklings splashing along the bank, and waited.

  Every time anyone walked past the bench, I looked up. I told myself not to—that Achilles would find me when he was ready—but as minutes slipped by without any sign of him, I couldn’t stop myself. Perhaps, I should have given him a specific location within the park to meet me. Perhaps, I should have knocked on his door that morning I left the note and spoken to him in person instead. Maybe the note had slipped under a piece of furniture and he never received it. Or, just as likely, maybe he saw the note and decided not t
o come.

  I’d hoped we were close enough that he would send me a note telling me he would not be meeting me, but I couldn’t say for sure. And the longer I sat on the bench waiting for him, the less sure I became of everything.

  For a time, I tried to convince myself I had simply arrived early. I fed the ducks that came up onto the path to eat the small pieces of bread I’d brought with me and did my best not to focus on the time. However, when the clock tower rang noon, any lingering hopes I had were dashed.

  Achilles Prideaux was not coming.

  4

  When I arrived back at the Ashton household, the excited shop owner had just delivered the vases several hours earlier than he said and Catherine was cutting into the box to inspect them. She was so busy pulling back the lid and digging through the wrapping paper, that she didn’t hear me come in behind her. I held my breath as she pulled out one of the vases and held it up, studying it from every angle.

  “These will work fine,” she said, surprise obvious in her voice.

  I knew that was the most praise I’d receive, and it was good enough for me. Honestly, the vases and Catherine’s opinion of them meant less to me than they had that morning. As we gathered for lunch and listened to Catherine and Lady Ashton discuss everything left to prepare before we left for Ridgewick Hall, I couldn’t focus on anything other than Achilles Prideaux.

  Should I write him another letter asking why he hadn’t met me at the park? Should I go directly to his house so as not to give him the time to formulate a fictitious excuse? What had changed from New York City when he had been willing to assist me with a case to now when he wouldn’t even meet me?

  Apparently, my distraction was obvious because Catherine found me in my room after lunch. She knocked on the door, and I expected it to be Alice, eager to collect on my earlier promise of keeping her company.

  “Oh,” I said, surprised.

  “Expecting someone else?” she teased, pushing open the door and stepping inside. “Perhaps, the person who has made you so morose?”