“Oh, dear, that is indeed good news,” the Countess nodded, her benevolent face looking kindly upon both of them.
“But that is not all,” he added.
“No?” she wondered.
“He had been conspiring with another man, to steal children from their homes,” he continued explaining. “Unusual children, like Rosalie was,” he paused for a moment, swallowing heavily, searching for the right words to present the truth that lay on his heart. “Children like Madeline and Cecilia.”
Seconds ticked away loudly, even though there was no clock inside the parlor to announce the unusually slow passage of time. The Countess’ face frowned in confusion. She didn’t understand what he was referring to. So, he allowed her a few moments more.
Rosalie stood by his side. He wanted to take her by the hand, for comfort, for strength, but instead he felt the palm of her hand gently pressing on his back. His broken heart was finally healing, for more reasons than one, and he had her to thank for all of that.
“Why, you don’t mean…” the Countess started, her lips parted, her hand pressing on her chest, as if she was suddenly out of breath.
She quickly glanced around to sit somewhere. Edmund rushed over and helped her to the sofa.
“It was them who accosted George’s carriage, wasn’t it?” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with the appearance of tears, even though the dignified woman wasn’t crying.
“They were hoping that the girls would be traveling with them,” Edmund nodded. “Luckily, they were left behind, not feeling well enough for a visit.”
The Countess looked at him, as if she was truly seeing him for the first time.
“I thought you were paranoid, all this time,” she whispered weakly. “I believed the war had scared you, and you saw danger everywhere, but you were right. It was not an act of senseless violence.”
“Being right in this instance brings me no pleasure, Mother,” he reminded her gently.
“I am sorry,” she tried to smile, taking her son’s hand into her own. “I am so sorry I didn’t believe you, as a mother should have. Please, forgive me.”
Edmund’s eyes filled with tears, which he quickly wiped with his sleeve. He wrapped his hands around his mother’s frail old body, wondering how it could be that she had gotten so fragile. As a boy, he remembered her soft, but strong hugs, which would make him feel like his family and their home were the safest place on Earth. Now, it was his turn to create that feeling for the rest of his family.
Their hug was a bond of love, a promise of fidelity that seemed to have been forgotten under the heavy burden of tragedy. Overcome with emotion, they were all struck dumb for a few precious moments.
Suddenly, a knock was heard on the door. Everyone’s gaze was aimed in that direction. Edmund smiled, answering, and Hastings, the butler immediately appeared upon being called forth.
“My Lord,” he addressed Edmund, still standing in the doorway, “Mr. and Mrs. White are here.”
“Ah, yes!” Edmund exclaimed, brightening up for some reason. “Do let them in, Hastings.”
“Yes, My Lord,” Hastings replied obediently, closing the door behind him.
“Edmund,” the Countess wondered, their tender moment having gone, but the newfound love and forgiveness had remained. “Why wasn’t I informed that we were to have guests today? Who are these people?”
Edmund waited to reply, gazing at Rosalie so bright and cheerful. This whole day prophesied more and more affection, and Edmund anticipated even more in his enthusiasm. This home had once again been restored. It had become a place of love and he would never let tragedy knock on his door again. Instead, he would invite even more love in, and that was exactly what he had prepared.
“Oh, they are not your guests, Mother,” he informed her, still hiding the real purpose of the arrival of these two strangers. “They are actually Rosalie’s.”
“Mine!?” The fire of bewilderment emblazoned her cheeks a deep red, listening to Edmund’s impressive tone. “But I just arrived here… and I do not have the slightest idea as to who those people might be.”
The dreamy, befuddled look on her face was enough to keep Edmund entertained, but he did not wish to keep her in suspense too long. His passionate love for her fueled his being with vigor that implored him to keep her hand constantly in his. He wished for constant proof that she was near him, and that she would never leave his side again.
“So, will you explain this before these people arrive or do you intend on keeping us in the dark for your own amusement?” the Countess wondered, an unusual tone of teasing in her voice that had never sounded more motherly than at that very moment.
“I see you are not graced with much patience this morning, Mother,” Edmund chuckled. “But rest assured that these guests, although you do not know them, are very important.”
“How could that be?” the Countess was still frowning.
Rosalie was quiet. Calm, as usual. Her gaze was fixated on the door, waiting for the people whose name she didn’t recognize to appear. A second later, the same knock was heard on the door, but Edmund didn’t call Hastings inside this time. Instead, he opened the door himself.
There he found two baffled people, their faces humble and plain. The man had his flat-brimmed hat in his hands, while the woman crossed her hands before her. The woman was devoid of any jewelry. Her dress was simple, the fabric somewhat worn out. Her dress was a bedgown, and over it, she was wearing a patched petticoat with a neckerchief.
