Chapter 101

After two weeks of working there, Ruth Collins already understood how Ashford House was run.

It was a large household, and like most large aristocratic households, it possessed detailed routines of its own.

Morning brought a flurry of activity in the servants’ quarters, followed by the quieter work of restoring the house to order every evening.

Fires were kept tended, rooms aired and made ready, silver polished until it shone, linens carried from one floor to another, and meals prepared according to the family’s varying schedules and demands.

Ruth soon learned the household’s routines: where she was expected to be and at what hours, which parts of the house were busiest, which rooms were seldom used, and which servants were more willing than others to share what they knew.

She also learned how a person could blend easily into such a household.

That was precisely what she wanted.

She stood near her assigned station that afternoon, sorting freshly laundered linens while two other maids spoke quietly nearby.

Ruth listened discreetly in case they mentioned something worth noting.

They had begun treating her as one of their own, which pleased her. Familiarity was useful. The more ordinary she became in their eyes, the less critical they would be of her.

The steward strode towards them briskly and his presence was such a shock, it startled the other maids into attention.

He stopped and surveyed the handful of maids gathered there, apparently considering whom to send on some errand. His gaze passed over them before settling on Ruth.

"His lordship has a guest. Take refreshments to the study."

"Of course, sir. Right away." Ruth said, already abandoning her current task. The steward was an impatient man who ran the household with an iron fist. Once he issued an order, he expected everyone to spring to action and carry out his bidding without delay.

Even without glancing back, Ruth already knew that one of the maids would finish up from where she left off.

The kitchen was her next destination. There she was handed a silver tray that contained everything she had to deliver.

A pot of freshly brewed tea, cups, a small pot of cream, sugar and a plate of honeyed pastries. She balanced the tray carefully and began making her way toward Nathaniel’s study.

She had merely taken a turn down another corridor when someone almost barreled into her.

Ruth halted abruptly to prevent the collision.

The edge of the tray tilted precariously. Instinct kicked in at the nick of time and she quickly steadied the tipping tray with both hands before the teapot could slide and splash hot liquid on her.

Heaving a relieved sigh, she glanced up to find Edmund Ashford watching her with a narrow eyed-stare.

He was the one who had barreled into her, nearly causing her to be scalded, yet he had the audacity to look annoyed and irritated with her.

It mattered little who was truly at fault. He was the master’s son, while she was a servant far beneath his notice. A servant was simply the easier person to blame.

Ruth lowered her eyes at once, bowing her head in supplication.

"My apologies, my lord. I should have been more careful." she said, sounding chastened.

Edmund gave her a contemptuous look but said nothing. Apparently, she wasn’t even worth the time it would take to chastise her.

He walked past her briskly, his shoulder almost brushing hers as he went.

Ruth waited until he had disappeared before continuing on her way.

She reached the study a moment later and found the door slightly ajar.

Ruth knocked lightly before entering.

Nathaniel was seated behind his desk, while his visitor occupied one of the chairs opposite. Ruth took in the man in a single glance as she walked inside.

He was perhaps in his forties like her. He dressed neatly though his attire was rather plain, with a dark travelling coat that was slightly worn along the hem.

His boots were a bit dusty, suggesting that he had spent some time outdoors before coming to the house. A leather portfolio rested beside his chair, and his hands bore faint ink stains.

Nathaniel scarcely acknowledged her presence, merely gesturing for her to place the tray beside the half-full crystal decanter on the small round table at his right.

She poured the tea, set a cup before each man, bowed respectively and left the study with the same unobtrusive manner she used in her previous place of employment.

Once outside, however, she did not continue down the corridor.

She walked a little farther before pausing to glance around, making certain no one was nearby. Once she was satisfied that the coast was clear, she edged closer to the door and strained to hear their conversation.

What she was doing was exceedingly dangerous. At any moment, someone could come upon her and catch her eavesdropping. So she remained on high alert, listening intently for the slightest sound of approaching footsteps.

Nathaniel’s voice became audible from inside the study. "Are you certain it’s him?"

It didn’t take long for the visitor to respond.

"Yes, my lord. I am certain it’s him. His name is Adam Dawson and he worked in your colliery when the tunnel collapsed. The lone survivor."

The name meant nothing to Ruth at first. Then the man’s next words painted a clearer image.

She listened closely as Nathaniel proceeded with his questioning. He asked for Adam Dawson’s current location.

The visitor— who Ruth now understood was an investigator of sorts—explained that Adam Dawson had been difficult to trace at first, but his inquiries eventually led him to where the man had been receiving health care for his disabilities.

Nathaniel grunted, "I paid an exorbitant sum to cover it up and to make sure no one ever suspected what happened ten years ago. The fact that there is a survivor puts everything I’ve done at risk. It puts me at risk. I’m sure you understand the magnitude of this situation."

"Of course, my lord. It is my top priority. The matter will be handled as quickly as possible."

The Ashford mining accident.

She knew of it, as did most people in Caldor. It was one of those tragedies that was hard to forget.

She remembered reading about it in a newspaper that detailed the tunnel’s collapse and dozens of men trapped beneath the earth. The public account had always described it as a terrible accident, an unforeseen failure in the mine.

But Nathaniel’s sudden interest in the sole survivor made it more sinister.

"Who is paying for his care?" Nathaniel asked.

"John Ravenshire, my lord."

Nathaniel followed up by asking how long John had been supporting Adam.

"Just over a year," was the investigator’s answer.

"What have you deduced? Does this Mr Dawson know anything that could be a threat to me?"

"It’s still unclear for now. I would have to get closer and interrogate him to know for sure."

Nathaniel was silent.

Ruth could almost feel the weight of that silence through the door.

If Adam Dawson could reveal what had happened before the tunnel collapsed, then his existence was far more than an inconvenience. He was a living witness to a secret Nathaniel had spent the past decade making certain would never see the light of day.

The investigator continued, explaining that he had looked into Dawson’s circumstances as thoroughly as possible. The man had very little money of his own and depended upon the care being provided for him.

John Ravenshire had taken responsibility for the expense and appeared determined to keep him under his protection.

Nathaniel asked several more questions, each more precise than the last.

Where had Dawson lived before John found him? Who else knew about him?

Ruth listened to each answer carefully.

Nathaniel was not merely curious. He was preparing himself for something, reinforcing his arsenal.

Whatever John knew, Nathaniel had decided that he could not afford to wait and see what the man intended to do with it.

Ruth’s mind raced as she calculated her next move and considered what she could do with this information. But a testimony without solid evidence would be nearly useless in her position.

It would simply be her word against that of a Count, and she would be challenging a peer of the realm. Not that such a distinction had stopped her before. Still, she needed more—something concrete, something that would give weight to her accusations and prove his wrongdoings beyond all reasonable doubt.