A Bouquet of Thorns (12 page)

Where would it end?

‘H
e were flogged,' Florrie said gently, and she watched anxiously as Rose twisted her head excruciatingly on her neck as if she would cast aside the torturing knowledge. ‘A few weeks ago. But 'tweren't as bad as 'twas supposed to be. Dr Power, he said . . . he said he had to be cruel to be kind, whatever that do mean. He said . . . he only got eleven lashes, when 'twas meant to be the full thirty-six.'

The groan that came from deep in Rose's throat was like that of a wounded animal, and her hands literally tore at the tangled mass of her hair that tumbled about her in disarray. ‘But they'll give him the rest some time,' she squealed, forcing the breath from her lungs. ‘Oh, Florrie, I can't bear—'

‘No, they won't,' she told Rose firmly. ‘Or at least, 'tis highly unlikely. Dr Power has strongly recommended against it cuz of his chest.'

‘He's still ill, then?'

‘No. Not really. He's still in the hospital but he's nearly better. He'll be put back to work fairly soon. Summat within the prison, for he'll not be allowed on an outside work party again, not since he bolted. He weren't the one as fell to his death, so you can stop worrying and forget all about him now.'

‘
Forget?
' Rose's voice was high with horror. ‘How can I forget? Just being in that place is bad enough! The conditions they have to suffer, and then made to work like slaves—'

‘Which is no more than most of them deserve—'

‘But not Seth! Not when you're innocent!'

‘Well, that's as may be, but right now, young maid, you've a tiny babby and your own health to think about!'

Rose glared at her, her mouth screwed into a rebellious pout and her eyes cobalt with frustration. But then she let herself fall back on the bed with a distraught groan. ‘Oh, Florrie, I feel so helpless! I just don't know what to do! About Seth or Gospel. But I simply
must
think of something!'

‘Get yoursel' and babby Alice well, 'tis what! And then maybe, some time in the future,
then
you can see if there's ort to be done. And from what you've teld me, that fellow's a strong young man and he'll come to no harm.'

‘
Was
a strong man,' Rose protested dejectedly. ‘His health's been broken, and no one cares at the gaol if you live or die. All the warders want is to keep the convicts under control, and they don't care how cruel they have to be to do so! And who can blame them? You know as well as I do that any so-called neglect of duty can mean instant dismissal, and the warder's family and their possessions can be turned out on to the street the same day. 'Tis almost as hard for the warders as 'tis for the convicts, so you can understand it. There aren't many like Molly's father, who try to get to know each prisoner and treat them accordingly.'

‘There you are, then!' Florrie humped up her ample bosom in triumph. ‘Mr Cartwright'll look out for him.'

Rose's shoulders jolted and a strange light found its way into her eyes. ‘Yes, of course! Oh, you're wonderful, Florrie! What would I do without you? When's Dr Seaton coming again?' she asked, her mind working furiously.

‘Monday, as I believe.'

‘Monday,' Rose repeated, unconsciously chewing on her thumbnail. ‘Three days. And if he says Alice and I can have visitors, I can send for Molly. And I can write Seth a letter for her father to give him. Officially, they're only allowed a letter every three months, aren't they? And that's only supposed to be from a relative, and they'd hardly allow a letter from
me
, would they, the person who helped him when he escaped! A visit, though, 'tis what I'd really like, but they certainly wouldn't allow that. And anyway, if Charles found out . . . But a letter. Just a note to tell him I've not forgotten. Oh, I can't wait for next week. And I can't wait to show Alice to Molly! Fetch her over to me, would you?'

Florrie's expression was humourless as she took the sleeping child from her cot, but the loveliness of the enchanted, devoted smile that illuminated Rose's face as she took the tiny bundle into the protective cradle of her arms drove the doubt from the older woman's heart. For though Florrie disapproved of Rose's association with the convict, she had accepted long ago that Rose did everything with passion. And that included being a mother.

Patsy dipped a curtsey as she finished showing the elderly gentleman into the drawing room, and Mr Frean, proprietor of the gunpowder mills and Henry Maddiford's good friend when he had been alive, stepped across the carpet, his hand held out in greeting and a broad grin on his ruddy face.

‘Rose, my dear girl! No, don't get up. You need your rest and I'm sure we know each other well enough not to need to stand on ceremony. I was visiting the powder mills and they told me the happy news, so I thought I would call in to meet the new member of the family.'

‘Oh, Mr Frean, how wonderful to see you! I trust both yourself and Mrs Frean are well?'

‘Indeed we are, thank you, but where is this little mite?'

‘She's up in the nursery while I'm supposed to be taking my afternoon nap.' Rose grinned up at him. ‘But I've had enough of being in bed so I thought I'd lie here on the couch instead. I'm sure Charles wouldn't approve but he's gone into Tavistock,' she admitted in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘So I'm delighted to see you. But if you pull the bell pull, I'll have Florrie bring Alice down. You're doing me a huge service as I can't bear to be apart from her for more than a moment!'

She watched, smiling at his back as he went over to tug at the tassel at the side of the fireplace, but inside her head, her thoughts were whirling. Dear, good Mr Frean. A link with the outside world. How could she make use of it without compromising him, for she'd had enough of involving innocent people in her schemes.

‘Alice?' he said with approving softness. ‘I believe that was your mother's name, wasn't it? I'm sure your dear father would have been touched.'

Rose lowered her eyes. Yes, Henry would have been thrilled. Her throat squeezed with sorrow. He had never known he was to become a grandfather. But she pushed her grief aside. Her father was dead. There was nothing more she could do for him now, but there were other matters she might be able to do something about.

‘Ah, Patsy,' she said as the young maid popped her head around the door, ‘would you please go up to the nursery and ask Florrie to bring Alice down? Tell her Mr Frean is here.'

‘Yes, of course, ma'am,' Patsy answered and disappeared again.

‘Won't you sit down next to me?' Rose went on, swinging her feet from the couch and on to the floor. ‘Then you can see Alice properly.'

‘I should be delighted.'

‘And will you take some refreshment?'

‘No, thank you. I won't stay. Mrs Frean has dinner guests this evening.'

‘Ah.' Rose nodded. She must think quickly if she was to take any advantage of the situation, but was it fair? She felt her heart pounding. She knew that Seth was alive, nearly recovered even. So perhaps, for now, she should wait. But what about Gospel?

‘And I hear you had a pretty hard time of it, and had some sort of fever afterwards?' George Frean was asking with a concerned frown. ‘Your friend Molly Tyler told me.'

‘Oh, yes, but 'tis as right as rain I am now,' she assured him. ‘Dr Seaton is allowing me visitors, and Molly came to see me yesterday. Ah, Florrie! You've brought my little darling down to see Mr Frean!' She held out her arms as Florrie came over to her and then, taking her tiny daughter, cradled the infant to her breast. ‘Don't you think she's beautiful?' she crooned, drawing the shawl from Alice's face so that her visitor could admire her newborn child better.

Mr Frean tipped his head with a serene sigh. ‘She certainly is. Just like her mother. And I wonder if she'll be as fine a horse woman?'

His innocent words speared through Rose's side, but it was the ideal opening. ‘I certainly hope so,' she replied, stroking her finger against Alice's warm cheek and trying to pretend she was totally besotted with her child. Which she was. Almost. At least, she wanted – needed – Mr Frean to believe that just now nothing else mattered to her. ‘But I'd never let her ride anything as headstrong as Gospel,' she went on a little quietly. ‘In fact, having Alice made me realize how silly it would be of me to go on riding him. What if anything happened to me because of him, and Alice was left without a mother? So Charles and I decided to sell him. Only I do miss him so much, and I'd love to know how he is. But he went to a dealer and we don't know who owns him now, so if you ever saw him, you would let me know, wouldn't you?'

She turned her most vivid, engaging smile on him, and then looked back wistfully at Alice, not wanting Mr Frean to see just how much it meant to her. She felt guilty at the deception, but really, as far as Gospel was concerned, she would do
anything
!

‘Well, my dear, I'll keep my eyes open, but I'm not sure he's the sort of animal one would see around Plymouth. He's more . . . I'm not a hunting man myself, as I believe you know—'

‘No, me neither.'

‘But why don't you contact local hunts? He's sure to be noticed, a fine animal like that.'

‘Oh, why didn't I think of that?' It was something she had already thought of, but if she admitted so, it might make her look overeager. Mr Frean might be suspicious and, though she knew the dear man would be sympathetic if he was aware of the truth, she didn't want him to know how things stood between her and Charles. ‘You clever soul! Thank you!' She beamed at him. But would she ever feel she could enlist his help over Seth? For the moment, she wasn't sure. It would perhaps be too much to ask.

‘I be that sorry,' Molly said almost shamefacedly as she held out the crumpled letter. ‘Father said 'twere more than his job were worth. But he said he'd have a word with him on the quiet. Tell him you'm still thinking of him.'

It was late July, and the weather in that exposed, bleak area of the moor was, for once, being kind. Rose was sitting outside under the shade of a canopy the gardener and his boy had rigged up for her between the only two trees that grew in the neatly tended garden. She was reclining on a wooden chair strewn with cushions, dressed in a simple but becoming light muslin gown that showed to perfection her regained, lithesome figure, her hair partly coiled on her head and partly tumbling down her back in a stunning balance of sophistication and rustic charm. She was propped on one elbow, gazing down quite entranced on the infant, a perfect miniature of herself, who lay on the blanket beside her, tiny legs free to kick in the warm air in jerky, uncontrolled movements, and her little starfish hands grasping at nothing. Her eyes, the exact lavender blue of her mother's, stared up at Rose as if some invisible thread were linked between them, and only Molly's arrival could distract Rose from doting over her daughter.

‘Oh, I do understand,' she answered, forcing a disappointed smile to her lips though her heart dropped down inside her like a stone. ‘'Twas good of you to take it over to him. But could you possibly take it home with you and destroy it for me? If Charles found it—'

‘Of course. You'm my best friend, Rose, and I'll do anything to help, you knows that. I just wish . . . well, that things were better between you and your husband.'

‘Oh, I suppose I shouldn't have expected Charles to have done something to help a convicted criminal. But to have sold Gospel behind my back, well, I can never forgive him for that.' Rose paused with a distracted sigh. ‘I feel absolutely lost without him. As if part of me is missing. And I'm so worried about him. But I have got my darling little Alice.' She brightened, and the angelic serenity that came over her face filled Molly with relief. ‘Now I'm recovered, I do everything except feed her, which you know I can't.'

‘Can I hold her?'

‘Of course! But do be careful. You have to support her head. Look, like this. Oh, but how silly of me! Of course you know, with all your brothers and sisters!'

They sat for some minutes in relaxed companionship, worshipping the minuscule human being in their care, cherishing every detail of her curved chin, her toothless mouth, her button nose, both enthralled and seduced by her charms. They fell into a silent adoration, a deep contentment only two soulmates can know, Molly instinctively rocking Alice against her shoulder until her little head drooped and she drifted asleep. With the practised skill that came from being the eldest of a large family, Molly laid the slumbering child back on the blanket, and the two friends joined in besotted veneration of their darling treasure.

‘Will . . . will you and Joe have children, do you think?' Rose asked dreamily, hesitating only minimally before broaching such a personal subject.

Molly's pretty face coloured. ‘Oh, well . . . I, er . . . I hadn't said ort, cuz I thought, with Alice and everything else . . . but . . . I's already expecting. We didn't want a babby yet, and we had tried not to . . . but not too well.'

Rose felt her spirits lift. ‘Oh, Molly, congratulations! 'Tis fantastic news!'

‘Well, I's not too certain about that,' Molly grimaced. ‘'Twill really stretch what Joe earns—'

‘Don't you worry none about that!' Rose fairly rounded on her. ‘One thing I cannot complain about in Charles is his generosity. I have a personal allowance I really don't need, and . . . well, you're like a sister to me, and so 'twould not be charity if I were to share some of it with you. I shall be like an aunt to your baby, just as I consider you to be Alice's aunt.'

This time Molly had to lower her eyes, and if anything, her cheeks blanched. ‘'Twould be more than kind of—'

‘Nonsense. I want you to know the same joy as I have with Alice without having to fret about money! And Joe must be thrilled, too. It must . . . it must be so good to . . . to be in bed with someone you really love.'