A/N: Thanks to everyone for leaving reviews. They inspire me to continue. I particularly like the end of this chapter, I hope you do too. Here goes...

The journey across the Atlantic on the Golden Fleece had seemed the longest two weeks and a day of Rhett Butler's life. There had been a several hours delay in leaving, but they had made good time, and arrived on schedule in Galway, just a couple of days before Christmas. To Rhett, however, it had seemed an eternity.

Despite being a life-long lover of the sea and sailing, cabin fever had set in almost immediately and Rhett had struggled to be pleasant to those around him, preferring instead to keep his own company rather than mixing with the other passengers. He had too much on his mind, too many conflicting emotions warring within him. While a part of him could not wait for the journey to be over, he was also dreading what he might find once he arrived in Ireland. He feared that she was dead, but while he was still uncertain of Scarlett's and their baby's fates he could still harbour hope that things had turned out well. If he discovered that they had not survived, he might well prefer to have lived the rest of his life with the disquiet that comes of not knowing.

--

On disembarking the ship in Galway, Rhett had reclaimed his bags from a porter, hired a cab and made his way over to the local train station. He had received a reply to his cable shortly before the ship had sailed from Charleston, informing him he was expected at Morland Hall and that the baronet would be looking into finding Scarlett. Hopefully Rhett would know for sure what had become of her before the day was out.

He purchased a first class ticket for the first available train north to Trim and settled himself comfortably in one of the carriages. The day was cold and wet and Rhett wondered, as he often did when he found himself in Europe during the winter months, why it was that people made their homes in such inhospitable places if they had the choice to be elsewhere. It had barely been light when the ship had docked that morning and he feared it would be dark by the time he arrived at his destination. Of course Ireland, he knew, was a beautiful country, but like anywhere in northern Europe, it could be particularly unpleasant during the winter months when the early darkness set in. And when you threw interminable rain into the mix, it became doubly so. It did nothing to lighten his mood.

The journey would take several hours, and Rhett closed his eyes for a time as he waited for the train to pull out of the station. Proper sleep had eluded him since he had received her letter sixteen days earlier and he doubted he would get much relief now. He was too close to finding the answers he sought.

He had requested in his telegram informing John Morland he was coming to Ireland, that the baronet hire a man on Rhett's behalf to begin a search for one Katie Scarlett Butler, or O'Hara. He had not included her other married names as he doubted she would have resorted to using one of them. But if no luck was had with Butler or O'Hara, he would have to try those as well. Rhett didn't think she would have changed her name completely, but he wouldn't put it passed her since he knew she did not want to be found. If she was going by another name however, it would make things considerably more difficult for him.

When they finally got underway, he stared out of the rain-streaked window as the train chugged doggedly across the grey landscape. On its arrival in Trim, he would either be met, as he presumed, by the baronet's coach, or he would simply hire himself a horse. He hoped if that were necessary, there would be one to be had.

--

To Rhett's relief there was a carriage to meet the train when it arrived in Trim, and it took him directly along the bumpy country lanes to Morland Hall near Dunsany.

The estate, when it came into view, was a large stone hodge podge of building work that had been undertaken by its assorted owners over the last two centuries. It was not an unattractive residence however, the various additions having blended well with those that had come before.

As they pulled up to the house the large front doors opened and a man he presumed to be Sir John Morland appeared on the steps, accompanied by a pair of bloodhounds. The dogs ignored the carriage and its occupant and charged off into grounds of the estate, barking in the early evening gloom. They had probably been cooped up for too long. Rhett knew how they felt.

He climbed out of the carriage, hat in hand, as Morland came down the stairs to meet him. A warm welcoming smile split his face and Rhett tried not to read too much into it. He didn't want to raise his hopes up too high.

"Sir John. Rhett Butler. How do you do." He held out his hand to the other man.

The baronet was a slight English gentleman with sandy blond hair of around 40 years of age, who made Ireland his home for most of the year except when he was expected by his mother in London for the social season. His skills in that department, Rhett knew from Sally Brewton, left something to be desired. He was the sort of man who was ill at ease in the company of strangers and could have easily forgone the pleasures of high society in favour of remaining with his prize horses. His head was either in the clouds or the sand regarding most everything else.

"Mr Butler, a pleasure to meet you at last. Please call me Bart, all my friends do. And any friend of dear Sally's is a friend of mine."

"Thank you, I will." he said as Morland took hold of his hand and pumped it a little too vigorously than was necessary.

"Come inside, please. I have a wonderful blaze going in the drawing room. The weather can be beastly this time of year I'm afraid. You really ought to come over and visit during the summer months. It is quite lovely then. Almost makes me forget how much I hate it here in the wintertime." He laughed in a good-natured sort of way. "This way, please. My man will bring in your luggage and take it upstairs to your rooms."

"Thank you." Rhett followed him into the imposing house. The hallway was lit by a magnificent bespoke chandelier that hung from the ceiling several floors above. There was certainly nothing provincial about this place.

"You'll forgive me if I sound rude or impatient, but I must know. Have you done as I asked in my telegram?"

"I did as you requested, yes. I employed a detective on your behalf to look for the woman you sought."

"And? What did he find?" Morland hesitated for a moment. "I know I provided you with scant detail, but has he had any joy at all in locating Scarlett?"

"Come through to the warmth. We can have a drink and talk. You've had a long trip and I know you must be anxious." Rhett put a hand on his arm to stop him. The man seemed suddenly uncomfortable and Rhett didn't think it was his social unease that was to blame.

"What have you discovered? Please, I must know."

"I have news," he said awkwardly, "and, well, I'm afraid it isn't good." He found it difficult to meet Rhett's intense gaze. He was not looking forward to delivering the news of what he had discovered to this man. He lead the way into the drawing room and Rhett followed behind.

"What is it?" He was almost too afraid to ask, and his heart was rapidly sinking as his hope began to fade.

Bart went over to the drinks cabinet and removed a decanter of brandy and two glasses. He poured a couple of drinks and handed one to Rhett, then took a seat near the fire and gestured for Rhett to do the same. He could feel the man's dark eyes boring into him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and took a large gulp of his drink before he spoke. Rhett's, he noticed, remained untouched.

"As I said before, I hired a man as you requested to look for a Katie Scarlett Butler or O'Hara. He found no trace of anyone bearing the name of Butler, but he very quickly discovered a Katie Scarlett O'Hara." He took a deep breath. Best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Her date of death was entered in the church records as 31 October 1875." Rhett looked away. All the air had left his lungs. "She's buried in the graveyard in a village not too far from here called Ballyhara." Morland paused for a moment. "Does this information concur with what you were expecting?"

Rhett nodded. It did.

He couldn't breathe. He felt sick.

She was gone from his life forever.

"I'm very sorry," said Morland quietly. "I wish we could have met under happier circumstances. You are welcome to take the carriage or ride over to Ballyhara in the morning if you'd like. I am at your disposal." He didn't know what else to say. At least the other man appeared composed. Any displays of wild emotion would have sent him running from the room.

"Thank you."

"Not at all." He cleared his throat nervously. "Was she a relative?" He supposed she must have been, one way or the other. Of the two names he had been provided with, one must have been her married name, but which he wasn't sure. He knew very little about Rhett Butler as they had corresponded only recently and spoken mostly of business. Sally had written the introduction letters but not divulged much. He supposed it wasn't her place to be gossiping about a friend. Or perhaps there was nothing to tell. He did however know that Rhett was unmarried - he had said as much in one of his letters. "Were you close?"

"Yes, we were close." Rhett said quietly. "Did-" He swallowed hard. "Was there any mention of a baby?"

"A baby?" Morland frowned for a moment. "Why no. At least none that I'm aware of, but I haven't read the report personally. I've left it upstairs in your room, sealed for you to open. Perhaps it contains further information that I'm not aware of. The detective only informed me that the woman you sought had died." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Rhett rubbed his hand absently over his stubbled chin, then rose slowly. "If you'll excuse me I'm going to go up to my room for a while. Read through the notes the detective left. I, er-" he didn't know what else to say.

"By all means. You've had a long journey and on top of it an awful shock I fear. Please take your time." Morland stood up, went over to the wall and yanked the bell pull. "I'll have a servant show you to your rooms, and give you time to settle in. Dinner is at 8, but if you would prefer a tray in your room I would perfectly understand. If there is anything at all you need in the mean time, please don't hesitate to ring. I would like you to feel at home during your stay here."

"Thank you. I'll be down later." He bowed slightly, then turned and left the room.

--

Rhett followed a servant up the large staircase on leaden legs. He couldn't remember ever having felt so tired. The man showed him to his rooms, told him to please ring if there were anything he required, and then left, closing the door softly behind him. The room was large and richly furnished, yet at the same time had a warm, welcoming feel to it. His trunk had been opened, his belongings packed away, the bed was neatly turned down. Everything in its place.

Rhett sat down heavily in a large armchair by the fire and stared. He felt numb, but he knew the pain would make itself felt all to soon. He remembered what it had been like to lose her before. But she had not been dead then, only absent from his life. He had found that somehow bearable, knowing she was still a part of the world, even if she were no longer part of his world.

A decanter of brandy and a snifter sat on the gleaming mahogany table opposite him. It was tempting. It would lessen the pain when it came, if only for a short time. He stood up, poured himself a drink and tossed the amber liquid into his mouth with a practised flick of the wrist. It burned its way slowly down his throat. But it would take a lot more liquor than that to have any effect on him and he had promised himself he would not go down that road again.

Rhett had made the decision to stop drinking when he'd moved back to Charleston. The fact that the influences of Atlanta- Scarlett, the house of horrors filled with memories, good and bad- were no longer immediate in his life had made it easier. He still drank socially of course, but he no longer used alcohol to dull his senses or diminish his pain. He knew all too well from experience that it did not work, and that he was merely slowly poisoning himself in the process.

He remembered the pain of losing Bonnie, that knife to his heart when Dr Meade informed them her little neck was broken. He would never again see her smile, hear her laughter, dry her tears. And he could do none of those things for Scarlett now either.

That pain of losing a child was ever-present in his life, but over the months and years that had followed his beloved daughter's death he had somehow learned to live with it. It hadn't diminished, only become easier to accept. He was now able to allow himself the luxury of remembering the joy she had brought to his life, and not focus solely on the way her too short life had so tragically ended.

A lump formed in his throat that he could not swallow and his breathing became ragged. He had hoped against hope that Scarlett would survive, and she had not. She really was dead. And she had been buried here. He couldn't even take her body home and lay her to rest next to Bonnie or her parents. A shudder shook his large frame as the tears started to flow. He made no attempt to stop them.

He would feel this pain. He wanted to feel it. It overrode the guilt to some extent.

Damn his inabilty to control himself that day on the beach, damn that letter he had left her, damn him for not trying harder to find her after she disappeared. Perhaps it wouldn't have changed the final outcome, but at least he could have been with her, held her hand, wiped her tears, promised her everything would be all right, even when he knew that it would not.

Damn Scarlett for leaving him even though he had told her to. And goddamn Rosemary for her interference and deception. Should he feel guilt? He didn't know. Possibly not. There were too many contributing factors that had led him to this point, but he couldn't help feeling it just the same.

He swiped the back of his hand across his face to erase the tears that streaked his cheeks, yet more still fell to replace them. He inhaled deeply and looked over at the large envelope on the table next to his brandy that carried her fate inside it. He had to see. Had to know how it had ended.

With trembling fingers he picked up the package and broke the seal. Would it contain news of his baby? He was afraid to even think it. He slid his hand into the envelope and retrieved the pages inside. Copy of a death certificate. Hand-written note from the detective. He studied it for a moment, looking for any reference to a baby. There was none. Perhaps she had died without ever having had the child and they had been buried as one. There was precious little information, and he would have felt aggrieved indeed at having to pay this man for his work had he had the presence of mind to think of it.

--

The End.

Oh no, wait... TBC. If you're good and review I won't take too long to update. Thanks for reading. J.