Authors: Iris Gower
Sweet Rosie
| Sweet Rosie |
| Iris Gower |
| Transworld (2012) |
Synopsis
Rosie, sixteen, beautiful and vivacious, is in love with Watt Bevan, the manager of the famous Mainwaring Pottery. Content to adore him from afar, when he comes to her seventeenth birthday party she realizes that he is the only man she will ever love. But Watt, unaware of her feelings, is becoming increasingly drawn into the problems facing pottery owner Llinos Mainwaring, whose romantic marriage to Joe, the American Indian who stole her heart all those years ago, now seems in trouble. Before long, Rosie discovers that she is changed for ever from the innocent girl she once was, as she becomes involved with a man whose love she is destined never to have. A story of human love and conflict that spans two continents.
Table of Contents
About the Author
Iris Gower was born in Swansea. The mother of four grown-up children, she now lives with her husband in Swansea in a house overlooking the sea she loves. She has written over fifteen best-selling novels, and has recently been awarded an MA in English at the University of Cardiff. This is the third novel in her
Firebird
sequence, and
Daughters of Rebecca,
the fourth novel in the series, is now available from Bantam Press.
Firebird
sequence, and
Daughters of Rebecca,
the fourth novel in the series, is now available from Bantam Press.
Also by Iris Gower
COPPER KINGDOM
PROUD MARY
SPINNERS’ WHARF
MORGAN’S WOMAN
FIDDLER’S FERRY
BLACK GOLD
THE LOVES OF CATRIN
THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER
THE OYSTER CATCHERS
HONEY’S FARM
ARIAN
SEA MISTRESS
THE WILD SEED
FIREBIRD
DREAM CATCHER
DAUGHTERS OF REBECCA
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Epub ISBN: 9781407083490
Version 1.0
SWEET ROSIE
A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 14449 5
Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers
PRINTING HISTORY
Bantam Press edition published 1999
Corgi edition published 2000
1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2
Copyright © Iris Gower 1999
The right of Iris Gower to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Condition of Sale
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Set in 1 l/12pt Plantin by Falcon Oast Graphic Art
Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers,
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a division of The Random House Group Ltd,
in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd,
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in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd,
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and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd,
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Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks.
To my dear friends Rhys and Les
CHAPTER ONE
The summer sun rose high above the sprawling streets of the town, frosting the surrounding waters of the bay with glittering foam. On the sloping banks of the river, the pottery buildings buzzed with activity. Apprentices whistled as they stacked the saggars, still warm from the kilns, in neat rows against the walls. It was 17 August and Llinos Mainwaring had been in labour for the best part of two days.
‘Will it be long now?’ Llinos’s voice was thin with pain, her brow was beaded with sweat and her face flushed from her exertions. The midwife stood near the bed, her narrow arms folded, and looked down at the woman, pitying her. This child had better be healthy for it was the last one madam would bear.
‘Not too long now, Mrs Mainwaring.’ The midwife glanced at the doctor; he was seated close to the large window, reading the paper. He was not concerned about his patient; he would be paid whether the child was safely delivered or not.
Mrs Mainwaring had been a model patient and she enjoyed all the privileges money could buy: good clean sheets, no layers of paper to save the bed from staining, not for Mrs Mainwaring. If sheets were ruined they could be replaced. A pile of fluffy pillows supported her head and the counterpane was rich old-gold satin. But the woman was suffering and it was time the doctor did the job he was being paid for.
‘Dr Rogers, could you come over here, please?’ The midwife spoke meaningfully and, with a sigh, the doctor shook out the newspaper and reluctantly closed it.
‘Very well, Mrs Cottle, if you can’t manage alone, I suppose I will have to assist.’ He came to the foot of the bed and the midwife spoke quietly to him. ‘I’ll have to turn the baby’s head; by the look of it the child is pushing against the pubic bone.’
‘I see the problem, what do you want me to do?’ Dr Rogers asked.
‘Be ready in case she floods on delivery,’ the midwife said tersely. She turned to the patient. ‘Just a little help needed here, Mrs Mainwaring, and then the baby will be born; be brave now, this may hurt a bit.’
Llinos wanted to nod her head but she was too tired. She seemed to be lapsing into a haze of pain and weariness. She no longer cared if she lived or died. She had tried so hard to give birth and to no avail. Had she felt this sick when her son had been delivered? But then Lloyd was an amenable child, he had been born wanting to please. She felt a flicker of strength, she must fight to live; if she gave up now she would leave her son to grow up motherless.
Pain swamped her; she growled low in her throat. She felt the midwife’s hands helping her as she strained with every vestige of her remaining strength. The world seemed to stand still; a silence fell upon the room. Llinos was in despair, convinced she would die in the attempt to give birth to her child. And then, at last, the baby slipped silently into the world.
Llinos fell back against the pillows; her face was wet, sweat ran like tears down her cheeks. She was exhausted but her child had been born at last. Already the pain was receding and Llinos was able to draw breath without the pain tearing at her like claws. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sharp cry of her child. It did not come.
‘It’s a girl,’ Mrs Cottle said quietly. ‘Oh Lordy.’ She turned the child and cleared her mouth, slapping her back briskly. The child lay inert, her face pale, too pale. An ominous silence filled the room. Llinos lifted her head in time to see the midwife shake her head.
‘The labour was too long, Mrs Mainwaring. I’m so sorry.’ The midwife laid the child on Llinos’s breast. Llinos looked down at the small face, the eyes closed, long lashes resting against alabaster cheeks. ‘My little girl,’ she whispered. ‘My poor little girl.’
Tears ran down her face. A sense of disbelief came over her. Her baby could not be dead. She looked at the small still face again. All her efforts had been in vain. Her baby was stillborn.
Mrs Cottle busied herself, moving the baby into the crib and tenderly covering the tiny form with a sheet.
‘Terrible it is seeing a little ’un stillborn. I feel the loss of each one of my little pets.’ She sniffed as the doctor stood uselessly by the crib, not knowing what to say or do.
‘You go on home, sir,’ she said. ‘Nothing you can do here, not now.’
She washed Llinos with warm water, her hands gentle, comforting. ‘At least you’ve come through your ordeal without losing too much life blood.’ She forced a smile. ‘You’ll soon be up and about again.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor who had not moved. Mrs Cottle made a wry face and returned to her task.
Llinos felt as if she would never have the strength to rise from the bed. The ache, low in her belly, was nothing to the ache in her heart. She had failed to give Joe the gift he had wanted for five long years. A daughter.
When Llinos was clean and neat in a bed covered in fresh sheets, her husband was allowed into the room. He sat beside her and took her hand, kissing her fingers one by one. Llinos tried to smile bravely but she did not feel brave.
‘My poor Llinos,’ he said. Even with sadness etched into his face, he was still so handsome, the sunlight bronzing his fine-boned cheeks. His eyes, startlingly blue, looked down at her, seeing into her soul, and Llinos felt fresh tears start in her eyes. Mrs Cottle coughed to hide her emotion. ‘I think we should all have a cup of tea.’ She spoke briskly. The doctor, galvanized into action, moved to the door.
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