Lord Renslow sighed. “It was a bad business, a very bad business.”
“I have to agree, Papa. The whole matter did not reflect creditably on the Council.”
“Will someone please tell me what happened,” hissed Dorothea through clenched teeth.
“As I recall,” began Lord Renslow, “Young Ashcombe took over from his father, who had fallen ill. He became High Warden.”
“And he was a good one, too,” mentioned Randolph, with a nod. “I think we can agree on that.”
“Up to a point,” said Renslow. “There was an incident. An accident involving several men, labourers on levels three and four, I think.”
Randolph nodded. “Two were killed. First time workers had perished. And Ashcombe was High Warden at the time. He took the blame. Announced that it was his fault, and that he would immediately vacate his seat as the High Warden.”
“He exiled himself,” added Lord Renslow. “It was of course the right thing to do.”
“Well, now, not really,” Lady Renslow interjected. “It came out later that the Council of Wardens had refused to enact his safety regulations, citing cost overruns, and ignored all the warnings. Thus, when concerns finally reached Ashcombe, he was helpless to remedy the situation becauseit was too late to do anything about it. Two engineers died.”
“Oh no.” Horrified, Dorothea could only stare at her mother.
“He did the gentlemanly thing, though. He immediately took responsibility for the tragedy and resigned. Then vanished.” Renslow shook his head. “It wasn’t until a couple of years later that the truth emerged, and by then the name of Ashcombe wasn’t mentioned very often. Over half the Council was formally asked to resign when the facts were revealed, and of course the scandal faded, as these things do. But nobody knew where Ashcombe had gone, and I suppose they never had the heart to elect a replacement for him. There’s been no High Warden since he left.”
Dorothea was stunned. “He took the blame for something that he couldn’t have prevented...”
“The mark of a true gentleman, dear.” Lady Renslow beamed. “And of course he’s still head of the Ashcombe estate...a pretty penny there too...”
“Mama.” Dorothea shot her a look of disgust. “Is that all you can think about?”
“It would be an excellent match, daughter. And heaven knows we’ve tried to find one for you often enough.”
“You’ve presented me with idiots and dolts. If you put all their brains together, they’d probably equal one temperamental three-year-old.” Her lip curled in disgust. “And you wonder at my refusals. Don’t youknowme?” She looked at both of her parents. “Don’t you even care about knowing what I want?”
“What you want is secondary to what your parents want for you. We must, of course, know best. We have the age and experience that will help us select the proper husband for you, Dorothea. Other interests must be of much lower priority.”
“But it seems that all will be well,” Lady Renslow clapped her hands together in delight. “Lord Ashcombe. Just think, Dorothea. It’s a very large estate, and will need much care, I’m sure. But you will make the perfect Lady Ashcombe and be a credit to your husband. I suppose he might find some of your odd fancies a little distressing, but overall? I think the two of you will deal together delightfully.” She straightened her skirts. “Now, when were you planning to wed?”
*~~*~~*
The private Council chamber had barely changed since the last time Silas had entered it, and how clearly he recalled that day. All those faces—the Wardens who knew the truth and the ones who didn’t—all staring at him as if he held all the answers in his hands.
In fact, they weren’t completely wrong. He had found out that an engine had failed. He had also discovered that safety regulations had been ignored, despite his recommendations. And he knew he was going to take the blame for it all.
Today, years later, to re-enter that chamber could only resurrect memories that still pained him. But now Gwyn Carstairs, Warden, was smiling at him and holding out his hand in welcome.
As Silas shook it once more, all the Wardens rose as one, and began to applaud. It shocked him rigid, and his instinct was to back away.
“Stay, Silas. It’s time to make things right.” Carstairs spoke quietly, but intently.
As the applause faded, one Warden remained standing. “Lord Ashcombe,” he began. “We are all glad to see you return to where you belong. And please note that there is no High Warden to deliver this little speech. We drew lots.” He turned to his fellow Wardens. “I lost.”
Surprised, Silas couldn’t resist a smile to accompany the muted laughter.
“We must address the matter that drove you away. And we are the first to acknowledge that we should have done this at the time, instead of letting years pass before making amends.”
There were more than a few “hear hear’s” after that comment.
“The accident that occurred on your watch was not of your doing,” he went on, “but the direct result of the actions of a few council members.” He took a breath.” The minutes and records of that year have been amended. The councillors responsible have been expunged from the Council Rolls.”
He paused. “History will not call them Wardens again.”
