Rose straightened her skirt and apron and moved her hand up to check no hairs had escaped her bun. Her auburn bangs were flying around freely in the sea wind and even her neater black Sunday dress was old and worn, but she tried to fix what she could before knocking on the pretentiously fancy front door. She probably looked terribly out of place here but Rose was desperate enough to try any crazy opportunity. When she had responded to the ad, she had not even expected a reply. She had been surprised that Mr. Meijer actually asked her to come over. Surprised but hopeful. It wasn’t easy for anyone from her family to get a position in Whitby and Rose had been sent away without references too. But if this gentleman had invited her, maybe that was a sign that some luck was ahead at last. Rose was determined to give the best impression she could. Her round face was flustered as she waited for someone to open the door.

[CW: Some slut-shaming.]

He had let the butler off for an impromptu day off, if only so he could not see his face. He wore a plain black suit that had not seen daylight since Great Uncle Ephraim’s funeral.

His fingers had brushed over a radiant turquoise suit he used to wear back when Simon was still … whatever he was. Writing him? Making plans with him and a thousand other paramours that he might have stabbed after a few too many drinks?

It was years later, and he still changed his mind about Simon every time he smelled the sea. Beautiful man. Hideous liar. Bold, mesmerizing fellow. Good-for-nothing tramp.

Sometimes he forgot … and then he came back to Whitby.

Whitby had been a nice town before both Simon and their mutual friend’s treachery, and it was a nice town three years after. He might have chosen a different summer home each year, as though a change of scenery could make the locale any less Simon’s. It could, and it would, and Zechariah would keep coming back until his pain was finally swept away under the sea with all the rest of the wreckage.

When Zechariah opened the door, there was an uncomfortable pause as he stared down at her.

Rose blushed deeper when the door was opened. It was a strange suit for a butler, but black alright. Perhaps mr. Meijer was so well off even the servants were expected to look refined? In that case, she was wasting her time. But Rose swallowed and forced a smile on her face. "Good afternoon, ser. I'm 'ere to see Mr. Meijer. It's Rose Ward, ser."

“You need only blink,” he said dryly. “No relation to the murderer Ward,” he added with a strange sort of certainty.

The certainty a man got when he had an alibi rehearsed.

Damn them both. He had had not even the chance to come to terms with who he was angrier with before both the sods were dead and gone.

Zechariah stepped aside and gestured in.

“You have your work cut out for you,” he sighed. “Let me give you the tour.”

"I..." Rose was confused, but used the fact that the butler continued to speak as an excuse not to answer that rhetorical question. It wasn't the smell of fish that primarily discouraged people from hiring her.

Do ye mean I'm hired, ser?" She asked, surprised, as she stepped in. No interview? No awkward questions to answer? Was this a dream?

He wrinkled his nose. That smell. God. The things he had tolerated for sub-par company back then.

“You will stop fishing – correct?”

Rose too wrinkled her nose - in exactly the way some of her siblings did... - and frowned. It was none of the butler's business. It was Mr. Meijer she should be talking to. "I don't fish, ser. 'S me brother's job." She said, the words coming out sharper than intended.

Simon used to do that. It was like a punch to the gut. There was the faintest flicker in his confidence – a quick, guilty glance away before he crossed his arms and looked back down at her.

The sting was sharp enough that he merely turned without rebuke, as though she had not said a word.

“The parlor,” he drawled.

It seemed to contain enough dust to create an actual bunny.

Rose's mouth opened for a moment. Then it closed. Was there no other staff? Honestly, in that case this butler should have done something. Rose already disliked him. "'F ye don't mind me asking, ser. 'Ow many members of staff are there?"

“I mind,” he answered flatly, but then: “The butler and the cook.”