A/N. Well everyone's been updating like crazy lately while I'm nitpicking over words, so I don't feel too bad for the delay. I am working 7 - 11 at the moment and subsisting on 6 hours of sleep a night, so please be kind.

Sir John Morland attempted to stifle a yawn, but he was fighting a losing battle against the soporific effects of the drawing room fire. He planted his feet on the carpet in front of him and pushed firmly backwards, moving his chair a little further away from the heat. He doubted it would make much difference.

He wondered how his newly-arrived house guest was getting on upstairs. Rhett seemed a pleasant enough fellow, what he had seen of him thus far. His mind again replayed the events that had recently transpired in this room, but he was still unable to decide what to make of them. Morland stared up at the ornate ceiling above him, and wished he could see what was going on beyond. He didn't dare go up and enquire. He feared he might stumble upon a scene that would be embarrassing to more than just himself, and one that he was not at all equipped to deal with. He was not the type who could provide effective comfort to another, especially someone he had known for only a short time. A woman in tears would send him running for the hills, but a man… Bart shuddered at the thought.

Or perhaps he was letting his imagination run away with him.

Rhett's reaction to the news Bart had delivered him was puzzling. He had been upset certainly, but was it merely bitter disappointment at finding he had come all this way for nothing, or was more? Was it heart-break? Devastation? Despite appearing shaken, Rhett had not gone to pieces, although Morland suspected it was perhaps only pride and self control that had prevented him from falling apart in front of a man he had just met. He really didn't know Rhett well enough to be able to read the man's emotions.

More importantly, he was still not cognizant of all the facts. Rhett hadn't actually told him anything about this woman he had enlisted the baronet's help in finding, aside from her name. Who was this Scarlett to Rhett? Was she a friend, a relation? Had they been lovers?

Perhaps she wasn't anything to Rhett at all. Maybe he was trying to trace her on behalf of someone else and was now in the unpleasant position of having to deliver the bad news to them.

Whatever the case, there was little point in speculating when he knew none of the details. How could one unravel a mystery when you hadn't been presented with all the clues?

Bart was sure the story would be told eventually. The most sensible thing to do would be to ask when Rhett when he reappeared. And if it were none of his business, he was didn't doubt the other man would tell him so. He did however feel he was entitled to at least some explanation after having gone to the trouble of finding her.

He got up from his comfortable position by the fire and went over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a pre-dinner glass of sherry. It might put him to sleep altogether, but he wasn't expecting his company back downstairs any time soon, so it didn't matter. He replaced the stopper in the carafe and returned it to the cabinet. As he was settling back in his chair, he heard a door close followed by rapid footfalls on the stairs. Moments later the drawing room door opened and Rhett Butler entered the room.

He looked rather the worse for wear. There were dark shadows visible beneath his eyes even in the soft glow of the firelight, but that could simply have been the result of a long and tiring journey.

"Ah, Rhett, excellent," said Bart, rising again as the other man entered the room. "I wasn't sure when you would be joining me. How have you found everything? Is your room quite comfortable? The views out over the lake are incomparable in the summer months, if I do say so myself. It's my favourite of all in the guest quarters."

"Yes, yes. The room is fine, thank you."

"I'm glad. Well, do come in and sit down. What do you say to a glass of sherry before dinner? I think it might be just what the doctor ordered." Rhett seemed distracted, and Bart paused for a moment and studied him with concern. "Are you quite all right? I fear you had an unpleasant surprise earlier this evening." He was fishing for details, but Rhett didn't appear to notice. "It must have been quite a shock for you to find that she was dead."

"You traced the wrong person."

Rhett looked both relieved and agitated at the same time. His heart had soared when he had taken the time to study the information properly, through eyes unclouded by tears. There it had been, plain as day, date of birth April 25, 1775. Cause of death, old age. And no mention of a child.

This couldn't be his Scarlett. Not unless they had entered the information incorrectly, and he would not allow himself to entertain that thought. Not when there were such obvious discrepancies. He refused to believe she was dead, and the knowledge that she might not be had made him want to cry all over again, though this time from intense relief rather than despair.

"I beg your pardon?" asked Morland, a little taken aback.

"The man you hired found the wrong person," he repeated. "I could barely believe it myself when I looked at the copy of the death certificate. The name is the same, and the date of death fits exactly with what I feared, but this woman I believe would have been her grandmother. The birth date is wrong, not just the year, but all of it. And the cause of death." He gestured his point by waving the piece of paper at the baronet. "According to these records she was a hundred years old and died of natural causes. Old age."

Morland took the certificate from Rhett and glanced at it's contents.

"Well, Rhett, I must apologise. I fear I've given you a rather nasty, and as it turns out, quite unnecessary shock. I just assumed we had found the right person. It's hardly a common name." He handed the page back and sat down in his chair, running his fingers absently through his sandy coloured hair.

Rhett waved him off. "It's my own fault, really. I should have provided you with more details in my telegram. Scarlett was named for her father's mother, but I would never have dreamed the old lady could still be alive. How many people do you know of that have made their centenary?" He didn't give Morland time to answer as he paced before the fire. "She must have outlived most of her children. Scarlett's father has been dead nearly ten years." He was talking partly to himself and partly to his host, as he was tried to get his addled brain into working order once more. The knowledge that Scarlett was dead, erroneous though it had been, had rendered his mind all but useless.

"I say, what a frightful coincidence!"

"Quite," said Rhett, his voice laden with irony. His heart had shattered into a thousand pieces when he thought that she was lost to him forever.

"Well, I am pleased for you indeed." Bart pushed himself up out of his chair and made his way back to the liquor cabinet to retrieve the sherry. "This calls for a little celebration!" He poured a glass for Rhett and handed it over, before refilling his own.

"A toast," he said, and they clinked glasses, "to getting things wrong." He chuckled jovially at his own humour and Rhett couldn't help but smile back at him.

"I'll drink to that. It isn't always a bad thing." he said, his relief clearly evident, and put the glass to his lips. The weight that had settled on him two weeks ago was still heavy on his shoulders, but a fragile hope had returned as well. He now believed that if she were dead there would have been some evidence of it. Unless the detective had stopped looking too soon… no, he couldn't think that. He would somehow have known if she had died, he would have felt it.

The two men settled themselves back in front of the fire and sat in comfortable quiet for several minutes savouring their drinks, before Bart spoke.

"You'll forgive me for asking, Rhett, but I must know. If the Katie Scarlett O'Hara we traced is not the one you are looking for, then who is? You still haven't told me and your telegram provided only the name." Rhett leaned his head back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment, a slight wry smile appearing on his lips. He had known the questions would come eventually.

"You're right, I owe you an explanation after all the trouble you've been to." He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing. "The woman I'm looking for is my ex-wife."

Morland raised his eyebrows at this piece of information, but made no comment. Sally Brewton had painted Mr Butler as a colourful character, but divorce, particularly in the American South, was almost unheard of. But, he supposed, if it had been good enough for a king of England, why not Rhett Butler. At least he hadn't beheaded anyone. Well, not that Bart was aware of anyhow.

"I divorced her about 9 months ago, shortly after she disappeared. Well, she hadn't disappeared really, I was just lead to believe so by my sister's interference in the matter." He sighed heavily. "I won't give you the specifics, it's a long and exhausting story. Suffice it to say that when I decided I'd made a mistake and went after her, I couldn't find her. I searched everywhere I could think of, but kept running into dead ends. I eventually gave up after concluding that Scarlett was no longer interested.

"Our marriage had been complicated from the start. Probably a mistake even. I dare say I shouldn't have married her at all, but I loved her too much to allow her to slip through my fingers. After she left it wasn't hard for me to believe that, despite the fact that she had said she loved me, I was once again on the losing side." He stared darkly into the flames and Morland waited.

"Then about two and a half weeks ago, I received a very disturbing letter from her. It came completely out of the blue and I'm not even sure I was meant to see it. She was having a baby," he paused and swallowed hard, and Bart knew that it was not for effect, "my baby, and feared she would not survive the birth. She didn't go into detail, but things had obviously gone badly wrong or she wouldn't have felt the need to write such a letter." Bart felt his heart quickened at Rhett's words, but he said nothing. He was loath to interrupt the weaving of his tale.

"Clearly I had no idea she was expecting or I should never have divorced her. In fact I started to regret it almost as soon as the decree had become final. The reason I was unable to find her subsequently was that she had made sure to cover her tracks. My sister had led her to believe, again for reasons I shan't go into, that I had remarried after we'd divorced. Scarlett feared I would come and take the baby from her if I knew of its existence, and raise it with my new wife." It was a valid fear, he supposed. He had accused her more than once of being an unnatural mother to her children.

"As you can imagine, I've been on tenterhooks ever since I received her letter. There are too many unanswered questions surrounding the whole affair. Her cousin for example, should have delivered it, which he failed to do. Furthermore, I received it without any warning of what I was about to read or news confirming the fact that she had died. And nothing at all regarding the fate of the baby. I hope it was sent by mistake, but clearly I can't rest until I know.

"The only information I do have from her letter is that she came to Ireland and made a home for herself here. Where I do not know, but if her grandmother lived in," he briefly consulted the pages in his hand, "Ballyhara, then it is possible that she may be there as well. At least I hope she is," he finished quietly. He still loved her, baby or no, and he just prayed to God it wasn't too late for them.

What an extraordinary tale, thought Bart. Better by far than your average Penny Dreadful, that lurid sensationalist drivel all his servants liked to read. Well, the ones who could read at any rate.

"Why, Ballyhara town is not 10 miles from Dunsany," he said, and a look of hope sparked in Rhett's dark eyes.

"There's a dark history attached to the place, if memory serves. The last owner was hanged by his tenants in a tower near the Boyne more than thirty years ago. I forget why, but the town's been standing empty ever since. The locals maintain it's haunted of course, and that he can be seen some nights out walking the woods, the noose still around his neck and the rope dragging along behind." He smiled. "Delightfully quaint people, the Irish."

Rhett hoped it was not an omen for what he was to find.

"I'll take you there myself in the morning if you like, or at least point you in the right direction should you prefer to go alone. I'm afraid you find me shamefully ignorant of all but the nearest of my neighbours."

"Thank you."

"Not at all my dear fellow. As I said before, I am quite at your disposal." Bart shook his head in bemusement. "But really, what an remarkable coincidence! What are the odds that a woman of the same name should have died on the very night you feared that fate had befallen your baby and it's mother? A peculiar turn of events indeed. I hope for your sake you are right and it is the grandmother." Rhett made no answer, but he hoped it as well.

The two sat in companionable silence for several minutes with only the crackle and spit of the fire breaking the quiet.

"I must say," mused Bart, "that you've certainly provided me with a rather unusual sort of entertainment this evening!" He cleared his throat noisily as he realised what he had just said. "Not that your misfortune is entertaining in any way. I just meant, well-"

Rhett chuckled softly at the irony. "I perfectly understand. In fact I hope one day to be able to look on the events of the last two weeks with a certain sort of twisted fondness. They led me back to the woman I loved and thought was lost to me forever. I shouldn't tempt fate by saying this, but things can't possibly get worse for me than they were an hour ago." What was he saying, he made his own fate. At least he certainly hoped so.

He may still find that she had died. Both Scarlett and their baby. He sobered at the thought and the weight settled itself a little heavier on his shoulders. He could not rest until he knew for certain.

It was going to be a long night.

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Edited A/N. Pat yourselves on the back if you guessed right about grandma. Never figured I'd be fooling anyone, except poor Rhett, and I couldn't resist torturing him, even if only for a little while. Chapter 7 up in the next week, hopefully. Thanks for reading and reviewing. J.