“You are Rosie Ketch,” I said gently.

The girl nodded shyly, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, and her hands clasped before her.

“I am Miss Austen, Rosie,” I told her. “I am come to bring you the love of your sister, who placed it in my charge when last I was at Scargrave. She is all benevolence on your behalf, and her concern has grown with the distance between you, and what I understand to be her husband's injunction of silence. May I assure her of your good health and steady spirits?”

“Tell Jenny as I am well,” she said carefully, in a clear, high voice, “though I fear for myself when my time comes, and would have her by me, if Ted can spare her.”

“I shall tell her so,” I said. “Are there yet many months to wait?”

“I can't say as I know rightly,” she said.

“And you have been here how long?”

At that, her eyes glanced to the door, which was even then opening to reveal Mrs. Hammond, ushering her latest visitor within. Imagine my shock upon discovering it to be a gentleman of my acquaintance — none other than Mr. George Hearst!

My surprise must have shown upon my face, or perhaps his own sensibility taught him to expect it; for he looked as confused as I. His intelligence quickly overcame his discomfiture, however, and he impeded my questions with a determined swiftness.

“My dear Miss Austen,” he cried, “what can have brought you here?”

“Mr. Hearst!” I exclaimed. “I might ask you as much!”

He coloured at that, but said nothing; and recovering himself swiftly, bent over my hand in greeting.

“You are acquainted with Mr. Hearst?” Mrs. Hammond said, looking from himself to me with a shrewd eye, as well she might; for I discerned that she had given him no knowledge of my presence, though knowing me only lately arrived from Scargrave, and more than likely to have encountered him there.

“Indeed,” Mr. Hearst said; “it has been my privilege.”

“Rosie,” Mrs. Hammond said briskly, “you must attend to the washing now; get along, girl. I'll be with you directly.”

At her charge's exit, she turned once more to me, and said, not without kindness, “You'll be wanting tea, miss, I expect. I'll fetch it and leave you to yourselves.”

As George Hearst clearly awaited my adoption of a seat, I chose the settee once more, and he assumed Mrs. Hammond's position opposite. He regarded me for the space of several seconds, and I, him. I may say that his countenance lacked his customary expression of melancholy; he appeared rather to be freed of some great weight, and at peace with what troubles he may have had.

“I know the confusion my presence in this house must cause you,” he began. “I will not pretend to mislead you, Miss Austen. Having found me out, you can expect nothing less than a full recital.”

“My own appearance must have similarly astonished you,” I rejoined. “/ am come at the behest of Jenny Barlow, but that she sent you on a similar errand, I must believe unlikely.”

“You would be correct,” the curate said, nodding. “I am here because of the letter I received of Mrs. Hammond Christmas Eve.”

“The day of the maid's murder — the day you made in haste for London.”

“I was called hither by Mrs. Hammond, who had only lately heard of the Earl's death,” he explained. “She felt certain that Rosie's circumstances should change as a result, and desired me to attend her with any news it might be in my power to convey.”

“But why should the lady enquire this of you? Had she not better have asked it of the present Earl?”

“As her grandmother, she is necessarily anxious on Rosie's behalf, and I am the man whose interest must decide the girl's fate.”

“Mrs. Hammond, Rosie's grandmother? She did not mention it.”

“Rosie's mother was a Hammond, and much beloved by her mother, though left behind at Scargrave when Fitzroy established Mrs. Hammond here.”

“Then the Earl is Mrs. Hammond's patron?” I remembered Harold Trowbridge's look of exultation, as he stood by the library fire talking of Fitzroy Payne's mistress. The grandmotherly woman even now preparing my tea was not at all what I should have expected. “It seems incredible!”

“That such a man should remember the affection of a nursemaid? I suppose it must seem so to you, who can have known him so little; but I assure you, Fitzroy is not without his goodness.”

“Nursemaid?” I cried, too late to stifle my astonishment; and at George Hearst's penetrating look, felt the colour enter my unfortunate cheeks.

“You thought her perhaps as having provided a nearer service?” he asked, in a rare moment of amusement; but at my confused dismay, he became sober once more. “No, Miss Austen, Mrs. Hammond is guilty of nothing more than having suckled the eighth Earl at her breast, and that, when he was hardly of an age to place an unpleasant construction upon it.”

Certain aspects of the situation readily became clear to me. It was not the late Earl, but the present one — Fitzroy Payne — who was responsible for Rosie's condition; she must be the mistress of whom Lord Harold spoke. Payne had sent her to the trustiest woman he knew for safekeeping, his former nursemaid, her grandmother. That the girl should be having a child was an added blow to Isobel's trust! Though one that Lord Harold, thankfully, had seen fit to keep from her — if, indeed, the rogue knew aught of it.

But what of George Hearst's heated argument over Rosie, the night of the late Earl's death? Perhaps the upright Mr. Hearst had discovered the matter, and betrayed Fitzroy Payne's confidence to his uncle — who had washed his hands of the girl, to the curate's dismay.

But this was hardly a motive for violent murder on George Hearst's part; and so my efforts to learn something to his disadvantage were all for nought.

“But could Fitzroy Payne be so depraved as to have seduced the granddaughter of his nursemaid,” I said aloud, all wonderment, “for whom he clearly felt continued affection, as evidenced by the comfort of such an establishment?”

“The Earl seduce Rosie Ketch?” George Hearst said. “Indeed he did not, Miss Austen. For that, I fear, you have to look no farther than myself.”

Whatever I had expected, it was hardly this; and I had so little mastery of myself at his disclosure, nor of the revulsion I could not help but feel, at the memory of the poor child's innocence — so ill-bestowed and so completely trodden under — that it was some moments before I could look on him with composure, or deign to offer any words. George Hearst is the very last man in whom I should expect to find his passion stronger than his virtue; and amazement warred with disapprobation for the first place in my thoughts.

That he felt all the weight of my contempt, I am certain by his aspect; and that he felt it of himself, and regretted his behaviour, was evident when I was capable of hearing him.

“I shall make no excuses for what I have done,” he said, when finally I met his eyes; “it is in every way reprehensible, and a lifetime of devotion to the duties of a clergyman cannot hope to remove the stain of my conduct. It was because of Rosie that I determined to take Holy Orders, Miss Austen, in an effort to repair my ways; and with the goal of winning forgiveness for the manner in which I have injured her, I shall work to my very last breath.”

The speech became him, in the force of conviction he threw behind it; but I was all amazement, and would know how it had occurred.

“I can only place the blame on myself,” he said, “in that I was ill-suited for the thwarting of my objectives and hopes. I had looked to my uncle for direction, and felt that in my father's absence, the Earl might be prevailed upon to make my fortune; that from him, if not from relations of my own name, I could hope for guidance in some profession. But he would have me manage the workings of his farm — a project for which, Miss Austen, I had little inclination and even less talent. In attempting to oversee the plantings, the harvests, and the tending of the beasts under Scargrave's care, however, I came much in contact with the Barlows; and with Rosie, who lived under their roof at that time in her life, having left the woman who oversaw her rearing some six years past.