☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
~~~
Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
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꧁ The Diary of Rose Sinclair ꧂
༺ 18th of May, 1925 ༻
A new house. But certainly not a home.
My goodness, what a difference a few days can make. I discover that a man has murdered my friend, and now I'm sitting on the settee in his parlor, writing in my diary. What have I gotten myself into?
Since coming downstairs, I've already had three different house maids approach me. Asking if I require directions, assistance, tea, a bath drawn, any host of things. I told them I was sorted. In all honesty, I get the impression that they just want to have a gawk at their employer's newest pet.
Speaking thusly, I have not seen hide nor hair of Mr. Mercer since his uncouth parting remark in my bedroom earlier. “Don't hesitate to come in and wake me.” Really! The gall! I wouldn't venture into his room to save him from a midnight stabbing.
I'm quite vexed that he couldn't be bothered to tell me he has a child. If I'm to live here, for any length of time, informing me of the other residents seems a simple enough courtesy. Particularly if one of them is a motherless toddler! Though Teddy seems darling. Such an adorable little boy. I've always wanted a child, and I have a feeling he and I shall be fast friends.
In regards to his missing mother, I studied the portrait at great length while coming down the stairs. Teddy is right: I do look like her. Frankly, it's unnerving. I wonder if Mr. Mercer has noticed.
Daphne is certainly wary of him. And of me working for him. Not that I don't understand why. Before I met August, my taste in men was a bit questionable. Spontaneous. A bit...well, whichever man my mother would most detest. My summer in the States with the magnetic Duke Ellington particularly comes to mind. A “Duke” in stage name only, he was one of the most talented, fascinating, and genuinely kind men I've ever met, but the brown of his skin would have caused my mother a heart attack. The fact that he is a jazz musician would have inspired her to douse me in hot oil and leave me for dead. Between his dark complexion and his chosen profession, I can't decide which “infraction” she would have found most abhorrent.
I've progressed, but I'm still the same person. I still relish in the idea of the prohibited. In regards to men, especially. And as such, if I allow myself to be governed by desire rather than reason, I could be besotted with Mr. Mercer before the week is out. He is exactly the kind of man my nineteen-year-old self would have fallen for: handsome features, boundless charisma, dangerous and forbidden. Thank heavens I've evolved.
It's nearly midnight. Tomorrow, beyond survival and avoiding embarrassment, I have two goals in mind:
One, find out more about Teddy.
And two, ascertain the whereabouts of his mother.
I wonder if Daphne is privy to any pertinent information. It wouldn't surprise me. I'll ask her when next we speak.
Rose
꧁ ༺ ~ ~ ~ ༻ ꧂
Rose set her diary aside and leaned her head back against the arm of the settee. This day had utterly exhausted her. She should wander back up to her room for a much needed night of rest, but the thought of climbing the stairs was unappealing.
With a sigh, she allowed her eyes to close and absently tugged her engagement ring back and forth on its chain. It would hurt nothing and no one if she rested here for a few minutes. The settee was plush and comfortable to her fatigued body, and she begrudgingly had to admit to herself that Mr. Mercer had excellent taste in furnishings and decor.
A sudden, shrill giggle sounded from the adjoining room, and the door to the parlor burst open. A young, ivory-complected maid flounced in, followed closely by one of the footmen who had carried Rose's trunk to her room earlier that evening.
Grinning, the footman caught the maid, encircled his arm around her waist, and pulled her close. Their lips met in a passionate kiss.
Rose bolted upright on the settee, and her diary went flying across the cushions. She expelled a little squeak of surprise just as the maid spotted her over the footman's shoulder.
“Oh!” the maid exclaimed. She wiggled out of the footman's embrace and shoved him away. “Beggin' your pardon, Miss!” she cried, her face turning a vivid shade of pink. “We thought everyone had already retired for the night!”
The footman looked down at the floor with a sheepish expression and ran a hand across the back of his neck.
“It's quite alright,” Rose assured the startled young woman. She'd seen many a pairing between household staff members in the past, both at Thornewood Park and her grandmother Violet's estate. This midnight dalliance was far from shocking. “I should retire. My apologies for frightening you, Miss..? I'm sorry, what was your name?”
“I'm Clara, Miss Rose,” the maid said. She squeezed the footman's elbow. “And this is Chester.”
“Clara and Chester,” Rose said with a nod. “Apologies. I will remember.” She got to her feet and smoothed down her skirt.
“Forgive me for askin', Miss Rose,” Chester said as he tentatively met her eye, “but I don't s'pose you'd consider not tellin' Mr. Mercer about…? Y'know.” He motioned to himself and Clara and raised his eyebrows.
“Tell Mr. Mercer about what?” Rose asked, blinking in feigned innocence. “I saw nothing untoward.”
Chester and Clara shared a smile of relief.
“Thank you, Miss Rose,” Clara chirped, dipping in a swift curtsy. “You're as kind as Eleanor said you were.”
“Not at all,” Rose replied, gracing the pair with a reassuring smile. “And not that it bears any relevance to anything going on here, but at my grandmother's estate in York, her under butler married her lady's maid. They're happy as clams at high tide. Just something to think about.”
With a parting wink, Rose slipped from the room. As the parlor door closed behind her, she heard Clara exclaim in hushed, gleeful tones, “You see? I told you it happens!”
Smiling to herself, Rose made her way back up the staircase and to her bedroom. Clara and Chester would sleep well tonight, even if she would not.
A tingle of warmth spread through Rose's chest. Not all was as dire as it seemed. There existed more than just secrets and misdeeds beneath the roof of Warwick Hall. Although scarce, happiness dwelled here, as well.
