Where the Briars Sleep

by Emma Beaven

  “I won.” Maggie giggled.

  Rose stuck her tongue out. “Did not. You crashed.”

  “Oh please.” Maggie yanked at the door before the driver could get it for her. Rose looked back up at the sky just as rain poured from the deep purple clouds. The wind picked up, whipping her skirt and threatening havoc on her perfectly coifed hair. Rose held her hat down as one of the larger peacock feathers was ripped out by a fierce gust. “Damn!”

  “Come on!” Rose turned to see Maggie’s hand outstretched. Her father was already starting to push her from the other side. Rose stumbled up the stairs and fell into the seat beside her sister. “What was taking you so long?”

  Rose felt the top of her hat. “Nothing.”

  Mariotta pushed herself inside, glaring at Rose. “What’s wrong with you? I’m soaked!”

  “Sorry.” Rose looked out the window as the rain began rushing down in torrents, obliterating the landscape.

  Their father slammed the door shut, seating himself beside his wife. Water soaked his hat and coat, the drops slipping off and fastening themselves to Mariotta. She turned to look at the sisters, her lips drawn into an ugly grimace. She flicked water off her beige gown and shawl, then fanned herself furiously despite the rain having cooled the air significantly.

  The carriage rolled into the wet fury of the storm as the bushes and trees along the path threw their branches out as if to ward it away. Had the occupants of the carriage been able to look out the window, they would have seen their neighbors’ house crouching just beyond.

  Dim lights glowed in the massive floor-to-ceiling windows fronting the house and flanking the double doors partially hidden by the four columns that held up the small front porch. The house stretched long and sported two wide porches on each side of its three-story frame. The drive didn’t reach the front door of the house as it did with the Shedds’ own but had a long, cobbled walkway out to the road. Clusters of white ash surrounded the path, their purplish flowers dangling and dripping frantically.

  Rose pressed her face against the window of the carriage as they approached, her hat falling farther back on her already wilting curls. She’d been here before, but it had always been for tea or supper. Rose fished in her white silk reticule and pulled out her handkerchief. She pressed it against her face, soaking up some of the excess water.

  As the carriage stopped, Rose crammed the piece of cloth back in her bag while eyeing her sister’s pineapple-shaped reticule with disdain. She pulled her own floral embroidered bag close to herself. Rose couldn’t help but feel that the stylish bags that were apparently so fashionable in Europe lacked a certain refinement that her traditional bag emanated.

  The door opened and the family got up, their stepmother pushing herself forward, her arm blocking the door. A smile pasted itself on Rose’s face, and no matter how she tried to trim it down to its normal thin line, she couldn’t move the muscles to do her bidding. The front door had been opened by a servant, and Rose could just barely make out the detailed wallpaper of the entranceway. A figure stood by the corner of a striped desk, peeking beyond the frame of the door before gliding seamlessly back into the bouncing lamps and voices of the gathering beyond.

  Rose’s leg muscles froze for just a moment as she contemplated the crowd inside. Her father and Mariotta had already left her behind, and Maggie was peering at her curiously. “Scared?” she asked.

  “Why would I be?” Rose responded, anxiety flooding her stomach. With no little trepidation, Rose strode toward the door. A servant had come bounding from out of the house and was now holding a large umbrella over the two girls. Maggie smiled vivaciously, her social event face causing large lines to deepen around the corners of her mouth.

  The two entered the hallway and were immediately assailed by clinking glass and low murmurs punctuated by tinkling bursts of women’s laughter. Guests were gathered in the parlor, hanging on chairs and sipping drinks. Rose hung back slightly and watched suspiciously as her sister preceded her into the party. Maggie was making a beeline to a woman clothed in a yellow silk evening dress with puffed sleeves.

  Cornelia, of course. Cornelia had been Maggie’s friend for several years, her family having moved to the area ten years prior. She had messy chocolate brown curls which framed a round, rather fat face. Small but sharp brown eyes peered out from carefully arched eyebrows.

  “So?” Maggie asked. “What’s new?”

  Cornelia clutched the fan that had been hanging limply in her gloved hand to her chest. “Well, I haven’t yet had anything to drink.”

  Maggie sniffed. “You know perfectly well I don’t care about that.”

  “Looking for eligible men, are we?” Cornelia flicked her wrist haughtily. “You do know I have a new suitor, don’t you?”

  “Please, just tell me who’s here,” Maggie pressed.

  Rose glanced about the room, taking careful note of who she knew. Her father was already conversing with one of his numerous associates, and Mariotta was sulking in a corner.

  Detaching herself from her sister, Rose took a tentative step into the more crowded area of the room. Pushing past ladies in every color of silk satin, she searched in vain for Mrs. McCann. Somehow Rose imagined that if she could just find her, everything would fall into place. She’d be introduced to her son, strike up a wonderfully deep and meaningful conversation, and fall madly in love. Maggie could do it well enough, for a little while at least. Rose had seen her, her entire being poised in a posture of charming false modesty and innocent flirtatiousness. Rose had watched her, learning, but had never dared try it herself. If she was ever going to do it, now would be the time. Perhaps even her last chance, if what Maggie joked about was true.

  Failing to locate Mrs. McCann and feeling somewhat ill at ease, Rose left the crowded area and inserted herself between her sister and Cornelia. “So, ladies, anything good?”

  Maggie stared at her in mock astonishment. “Well, I see someone’s taking more of an interest in this particular party. I wonder why?”

  Cornelia giggled and placed her lips close to Rose’s right ear. “Looking for him?”

  Her voice was drier and raspier than usual, a sound that made Rose think of dead tree branches as they scraped restlessly against one another in the wind. She shrank back, almost afraid to turn. Her skin was crawling for no real reason, itching but cold at the same time.

  Rose rubbed at her arms and took a step away. “And if I am?”

  Cornelia made no attempt to move closer to Rose again, and her voice seemed to have changed to its normal pitch. “Well, for one, you know nothing of his character or his financial well-being.”

  “Well, that doesn’t mean we can’t look, does it?” Maggie countered. “And I’m sure he has plenty of money. Just look at his mother’s dress.”

  The three began searching again for the mistress of the house. Rose spun on her companions once more. “You’ve already seen her.”

  “Of course.” Maggie scoffed. “Where were you?” Rose turned toward the dining room, her foot gently sliding off the floor, her hands grasping her bag tight when Maggie gasped, “Speak of the devil.”

  Rose’s blood froze, her body going rigid. She paused, focusing on two Chinese vases set beside a blue upholstered chair. Plastering a tight smile on her face, she slowly glanced toward Maggie to ascertain the correct direction and then turned. Through a haze of conversation and Maggie’s low giggling, she saw him, or at least who she expected had to be him, as she’d never encountered this person before.

  “Isn’t he beautiful?” Maggie crooned softly as Cornelia sighed at her elbow despite her so-called serious suitor.

  Rose gasped self-consciously as he appeared to be staring right at her. It was like something out of the fiction she was quite keen on reading, finding it more fulfilling than tedious embroidery. It was true; he was terribly handsome—unrealistically so. Stunningly sharp dark blue eyes gazed in their direction, nestled beneath wispy but dusky light brown curls that framed a fine
ly proportioned face with high cheekbones and a somewhat pointed chin. He was a bit pale, but Rose imagined that would happen in the gloomy English cities where the sun so infrequently made its appearance, according to what she had read. Her mouth dropped open in shock, so she slammed her bottom jaw shut, clipping the end of her tongue and emitting a little cry that made Maggie nearly collapse in giggles.

  “We have to get an introduction!” Maggie cried after her fit was finished. She brushed at her eyes, which had watered slightly while she was laughing.

  “How?” Rose asked. She searched through the guests, but none looked familiar to her. Frantically she began smoothing her skirt and running her fingers through her hair.

  Had he really been looking at me? How bad do I look right now? Is that why he was staring?

  Maggie and Cornelia were trying to inconspicuously straighten their own appearances and failing miserably. Maggie shifted away from Cornelia and Rose, trying to stand out so he could see her clearly should he be looking. She turned her head away from the other two and smiled at seemingly no one as she weaved her way closer.

  Rose frowned at Cornelia. “Well? Are you going to let her get away with that?”

  Cornelia snorted. “What about you? You seemed awfully interested just a minute ago.”

  “Well,” Rose said, “I could never compete with either of you.”

  Cornelia stared at her suspiciously. “You’re making fun. What are you up to?”

  Without answering, Rose began moving through the crowd but in a different direction from her sister, leaving Cornelia bewildered and alone. She passed back into the parlor, sliding between the numerous guests. Her father was still talking, now and then giving an animated gesture before diving back into his brandy.

  Rose sidled up to him as innocently as she could. She placed a hand lightly on his arm while searching for her stepmother. “Daddy?” she whispered. “Daddy, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but our host told me you haven’t even greeted her yet.” Rose knew it was a gamble. She’d been away from her father for some time and had no idea whether he’d seen Mrs. McCann. She did know, however, that the last time they’d been out, Mariotta had reprimanded him rather harshly for his poor etiquette.

  Mr. Shedd glared disapprovingly at her. “Rose, that’s very impolite. I’m having a conversation right now.”

  Rose shrugged and tried to give her father and his companion her sweetest smile. “I’m so sorry, really I am. I just didn’t want Mrs. McCann or Mariotta to be angry.”

  Her father’s friend, Mr. Green, leered at her. “Rose, I haven’t seen you in so long.” He stuck out a hand, but she pretended not to see it.

  “Mr. Green, please forgive my rudeness. It’s so lovely to see you again.” Rose couldn’t believe she’d gotten the words out of her mouth, but she knew she’d better behave if she wanted to get anywhere. She looped her arm through her father’s and began to tug him away. “We’ll be right back, Mr. Green. Really we will.”

  She pulled her father in the direction of the ballroom. “Daddy, you know Mariotta will scold you again if you don’t say hello.” Rose hesitated for a split second before she spoke again, trying to gauge how transparent she’d be if she asked. “Also, don’t you think we should be introduced to her son? I wouldn’t want to be rude, you know. Besides, you know how the ladies gossip if you don’t conduct yourself properly.”

  Mr. Shedd looked hard at her. “Rose, this is new, isn’t it?”

  She clenched her teeth. “I don’t know what you mean, Daddy.”

  “Well, I’m not used to you asking to speak with so many new people.”

  Rose laughed nervously. “I know Mrs. McCann. We’ve lived beside her forever.” She put her hand to her hair again and began poking at her curls.

  “Where’s Maggie?”

  “I don’t know. I just saw her, but I think she walked off with Cornelia.” Rose fingered the cross on a chain around her neck. “I think maybe they went outside.”

  “It’s raining,” Mr. Shedd said. He paused and took a quick glance around the room. Rose gave her biggest smile yet and tugged her father’s sleeve like she had when she was a little girl. “You know how girls can be.”

  “All right. Let’s go greet her, then.”

  Rose’s heart leapt. She was so close.

  She scanned the crowd for her sister as well, hoping she hadn’t seen what Rose had been up to. She’d accuse her of cheating, of wanting it more, of perhaps trying to be like the women in the novels both she and Maggie sometimes read. And their morality was sometimes questionable.

  Rose trembled as they approached Mrs. McCann. Her blood pulsed beneath her skin, her flesh prickling as if it was touched by the storm outside. She couldn’t see him now, but she knew he was close. No, that she was close.

  Finally, Rose spotted Mrs. McCann. She was wearing a long white muslin specked with something that looked like gold and blue crosses. She had a girlish bow tied on top of her snow-white curls.

  Rose tightened her grasp on her father. “There she is,” she exclaimed a little too loudly. She focused on the floor, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

  Her father walked up to their hostess, pulling Rose along with him. Rose noted a dull thump in her head as her blood continued to pulse. She let herself be dragged along, suddenly feeling like an unwilling participant. She knew this was the moment when she had to make the best impression, far surpassing the ones her sister and whatever other ladies were eyeing him would make.

  Rose bowed her head and waited for her father to speak. She didn’t dare meet the eyes that would, if she was considered suitable, be picking her apart. Depression seized her for a moment as she imagined being brushed off, the spinster with no suitors to speak of.

  “Mrs. McCann, good evening.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Shedd, Miss Shedd.” She smiled, her lips widening until it looked like her face would split.

  Rose waited, heart beating wildly as silence ensued. The air suddenly felt hot and thick, filled with a sickly moisture oozing from the hot rain still beating at the windows. She opened her mouth, trying to figure out how to ask without looking too forward.

  “Mother.”

  Rose shut her mouth. He stood before her, a hand placed gently on his mother’s shoulder. Mrs. McCann must have been chilled, because she shuddered violently before snapping her head up and whipping out her former grin. “Ah, please, let me introduce my son, Henry.”

  He raised his arm delicately, a white sleeve peeking out of a black riding jacket, and shook her father’s hand. Henry turned to her, and she timidly thrust out her own hand. “Mr. John Shedd,” her father introduced. “And my daughter, Rose.”

  “Miss Shedd,” he whispered coolly, and Rose’s pulse quickened. She desperately wanted to know if Maggie had seen, was watching jealously even now. “You live next door to us?”

  Rose nearly choked. “Yes, Mr. McCann. It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She knew the etiquette. She couldn’t act interested. Not a bit. After all her scheming to get to this point, there was nothing she could do. She smiled delicately and took a small step back, ducking her head modestly.

  Her father nodded again and stepped back. “Won’t you excuse me?”

  Rose sighed, watching the tips of her strapped black shoes as they inched farther and farther from what she intended to be her prize.

  “Why don’t you go and find Maggie?” Father suggested.

  Frowning, she twisted away and backed toward the staircase, watching for her sister. She finally spotted her in the parlor, arm interlaced with Cornelia’s as she demurely flicked her fan, trying her best to attract attention. Rose felt like laughing as she saw it. Saw through it, rather. How would any man respond to that?

  Lightly, she slipped over to her sister, wondering even now if the young Mr. McCann was looking. She crept up and slid her arm through Maggie’s free one. “Did you see?” she hissed in her sister’s ear.

  Maggie glared at her. “Do you see?” She gestured with her ch
in to the corner of the room where a dark-haired, slightly rotund young man ducked his head.

  “I can do better than that.”

  Maggie looked disdainfully at her as she freed both her arms and resumed fanning. “Go ahead.”

  Rose leaned in close, causing Cornelia to duck her head low to hear her. “I just met him.”

  “Who?” Maggie whispered.

  “You know. I met Henry McCann.”

  “You what?” Maggie began fanning herself furiously, shock constricting her features.

  “I just met him.” Rose giggled. “You were right. He’s beautiful.”

  Cornelia and Maggie both stood agape, staring at Rose in astonishment.

  Rose grinned haughtily at her sister. “I guess I win.”

  Ten

  Rose snapped her umbrella open as they stepped out onto the porch. The storm had stopped during the party but had restarted with a vengeance, its purple rage thrashing them with waves of rain. The wind gusted, yanking at Rose’s umbrella just as she stepped off the porch. It was only away from her a few seconds, but in that time, she was nearly soaked.

  Still, a wet dress and soggy feet couldn’t dampen her mood at all. She had met him. She had, not Maggie. Even now Maggie was staring at her from a few feet away, her pale slippers seemingly glued to the ground.

  “Let’s go, ladies.”

  Her father was happy too, though for reasons unknown to Rose. He smiled as he stood in the rain, waiting for the women to precede him into the trap. Rose skipped over to him, quickly closing her umbrella and throwing herself inside. Maggie followed, considerably more subdued. The driver held an umbrella over Mariotta’s head as she left the shelter of the porch.

  When the family was enclosed in the contraption, Rose settled down against her sister, their wet clothing scrunching uncomfortably together. The water had soaked her muslin, and Rose had a feeling it may have become slightly transparent, though she couldn’t bring herself to check. She slid her fingers around her sister’s hand and squeezed.

  Maggie sighed tiredly and let her head fall against Rose’s shoulder. “I refuse to believe you’ve won.”