Bea and Mandie had both gone to rest after finishing preparations for supper, and even the men were taking a break after the long hard days of haying. Enoch had gone out to the barn, Robert to the study to answer correspondence, and Thomas had claimed the great room with whatever novel captured his attention this week.
She turned the page in the journal, hungry for more glimpses of that golden time.
April 2nd - Rose has been helping Mrs. Wang in the kitchen again today. The dear woman is so patient with her, teaching her to knead bread and roll pastry. Rose takes such pride in her work, and I confess it brings me joy to see her learning skills that will serve her well. Though I pray she will never need to earn her living by them.
The irony of those last words cut deep. If only Mama could see her now—twenty years old and finally free of Vincent’s control. She was more than grateful to be back on the ranch, working once again with Mrs. Wang in the kitchen.
Another entry, dated two weeks later:
Rose asked me today why we cannot stay here forever. Such a difficult question from one so young. How can I explain that our place in this household depends entirely on the Balfours’ continued goodwill? That we are servants, no matter how kindly we are treated? She sees only the love they show her, the way young Master James includes her in everything. She does not understand that we live here by their grace alone, and grace can be withdrawn.
The words stung, even after all these years. Had Mama really believed they were only tolerated? She’d felt so completely part of the family, racing through the house with Thomas, helping Mrs. Wang in the kitchen, sitting by the fire while Enoch read aloud from adventure books. Had it all been an illusion?
May 3rd – I met a gentleman in town today, Mr. Vincent Dunhill. He was most courteous, holding the door at the mercantile and carrying my parcels to the wagon. He has recently arrived from back east and spoke of business opportunities in Virginia City. Such refined manners and conversation—quite unlike the rough miners we typically encounter.
Rose’s stomach clenched. So this was how it had started. A chance meeting. Polite gestures. The same charm Vincent had wielded like a weapon for as long as she’d known him.
May 17th - Mr. Dunhill called at the ranch today with flowers for Lady Balfour and myself. Such a thoughtful gesture. He stayed for tea and entertained us with stories of his travels. Lady Balfour was polite, but she seemed reserved. Perhaps she is unused to receiving callers in this wilderness. Certainly she’s not embarrassed of this magnificent home.
May 24th - Vincent (he insists I call him by his Christian name) has been calling twice weekly now. He brings such interesting conversation and has expressed great interest in my singing. He says I have a natural talent that shouldn’t be hidden away on a ranch. Lady Balfour spoke to me after his last visit, cautioning me to be careful. She says something about him troubles her, though she couldn’t say exactly what. I assured her Vincent is a perfect gentleman.
Rose’s throat tightened. Lady Balfour had seen through him even then. Had tried to warn her mother. But Mama had been too smitten to listen.
June 1st - Lady Balfour spoke to me again today about Vincent. She was more direct this time, saying she fears he’s only interested in what he might gain—that he seems the type to always be looking for easy money or advantage. Her words stung, I confess. Why does she think he isn’t visiting simply because he appreciates my company? He has been nothing but kind and attentive. I told her she doesn’t know him as well as I do, that beneath his polished exterior is a man of genuine feeling.
June 8th - Vincent asked permission to court me properly. My heart soared. But when I mentioned it to Lady Balfour, she became worried. She took my hands and begged me to wait, to take more time before making any commitments. She says there’s something not right about a man who appears so suddenly and moves so quickly.
The entries that followed grew shorter, more distant, as though Mama had stopped confiding fully in her journal—or perhaps had been too busy with Vincent’s attentions to write as much.
June 15th - Lady Balfour grows weaker each day. The doctor says there is nothing more to be done. I see the fear in the boys’ eyes, though they try to be brave. Rose has been reading to her ladyship in the afternoons, her sweet voice bringing the only smiles we see anymore. Vincent has been so supportive during this difficult time, bringing medicine he says might help. I pray…
The entry ended there, the ink trailing off like Mama had been interrupted. She stared at the incomplete sentence, wishing desperately that she could know what prayer had been on her mother’s heart in that moment.
And those other words… Bringing medicine he says might help.
The words seemed to pulse on the page, innocent on the surface but laden with terrible meaning now that she knew the truth. Had that been when it started? When Vincent had begun poisoning Lady Balfour under the guise of helping?
She flipped through several more pages, most containing brief notes about Lady Balfour’s declining health, until she found another entry that brought the burn of tears to her eyes.
July 10th - Lady Balfour passed peacefully this morning. The boys are devastated, especially young William, who feels the weight of being eldest so keenly. Enoch holds his grief stoically, but James is just the opposite. Rose has not left his side all day, holding his hand while they both weep. Robert and Thomas are so young, I’m not sure they know why they’re crying. Only that there is such grief here, it weighs thick in the air.
I fear what this means for our future here. Lord Balfour has not yet arrived from England, though he left when we first realized Lady Balfour’s illness had begun to worsen. Will he take the boys back with him? Where will that leave Rose and me? I have only ever been a lady’s maid, but I no longer have a lady to serve.
Rose’s throat tightened as she remembered that terrible day—the hushed voices, the black crepe draped over mirrors, James’s red-rimmed eyes as they sat together on the porch steps. She’d been so focused on comforting him that she hadn’t understood the precariousness of her own situation.
She turned the page, desperate for more of her mother’s voice, for more understanding of what had driven them away from the only home she’d ever truly known.
July 25th - Lord Balfour finally arrived today. He is a stern man, though I can see the grief carved into every line of his face. He spoke briefly with me about the household arrangements. I am to remain on to help Mrs. Wang until other plans are made. Rose may continue her lessons with the boys’ tutor. Nothing permanent, he made clear, but we are not to be turned out immediately.
Relief flooded through Rose, even knowing how the story would end. At least there had been those few extra months, that precious time when she’d still believed the ranch would always be her home…that James would always be her best friend.
Voices downstairs pulled her focus from the page, though it took a minute longer for her middle to uncoil from the reminders of how Vincent had charmed his way into controlling Mama. He’d been a viper who concealed his true purpose until Margaret Prescott had committed her life to him before God and man. Then he’d exploited her singing abilities any and every chance he could—including blackmail.
One of the voices downstairs carried the deeper timbre of James, so she set the book aside. Maybe he brought news from Lord Balfour.
She made her way down the stairs, one hand trailing along the banister she’d polished yesterday. The afternoon light streaming through the tall windows had taken on that golden quality that spoke of evening approaching, casting long shadows across the wooden floors.
In the great room, James stood near the fireplace with a paper in his hands. His brothers crowded around, peering at the document.
