Where the Briars Sleep

by Emma Beaven

  “Still, maybe we should stay. We don’t want to appear anxious.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Rose fidgeted as they sat back down and continued to anxiously await a knock at the door.

  “Do you have any idea what kind of estate he has?” Maggie asked suddenly.

  “How would I know?” Rose scoffed. “His mother is well off enough as a widow.”

  “Well, I was just curious whether if one of us wins, if it will be an economically viable match,” Maggie responded, spooning some chantilly cream onto a biscuit. She proffered the biscuit to Rose with a flourish. “You should have some or you might get a headache.”

  Rose took the biscuit and took a delicate bite. “Too sweet.”

  “I thought it might sweeten you up,” Maggie said, giggling again. “It would be bad manners to go out there if you’re not going to at least pretend to be nice and cheerful.”

  “I am fully aware of that, Maggie.” Rose placed a deliberately forced smile on her face. “Will this do?”

  “Do you think he’ll want to court you?”

  Rose shrugged. “Have you really given up?”

  “Of course not,” Maggie said, her smile widening. “I have a better disposition than you, so therefore, I will be married before you, old maid.”

  Rose stuck her tongue out at her sister. “We’ll see.”

  “Have some pound cake.”

  “Stop offering me food!”

  The sisters, still giggling, both nearly fell out of their chairs as a loud knock sounded on the dining room door. Their laughter stopped abruptly, and giving one another one last piercing look, they straightened their dresses and composed themselves in their chairs before offering their caller entrance.

  Thirty-Five

  Rose was fiddling with her hair, though she knew she shouldn’t be. Over the sound of conversation, she could hear the clock ticking loudly. Desperately she attempted to think of something to say, some way into the conversation. Thoughts briefly entered her head which she quickly discarded for fear that she’d appear foolish or inappropriate.

  They had been correct. Henry McCann had come to ask if he could escort them to church. It was unplanned, and he was here outside the appropriate hours for visits, but their father had not refused him. The rain was still heavy, and they’d intended to wait until it slowed a bit, but the spew of water from the bilious clouds above showed no sign of stopping. Now Rose stared out into the rain, pretending she was intensely interested, while she fought an internal wave of embarrassment, shame, and self-consciousness.

  “Are you ready, Rose?”

  Rose twisted her head back around. They were all looking at her, wondering, no doubt, what was wrong with her. “I… yes.”

  “Shouldn’t you get your bonnet?” Maggie snickered, and Rose suddenly realized that somehow Maggie’s bonnet had appeared on her head though she couldn’t recall her sister getting up.

  “I’ll be back. Excuse me, please.” Rose tried to walk slowly, but the urge to flee in embarrassment bloomed deep in her stomach, flooding her blood and forcing her out of the room unnaturally quickly.

  As she exited into the lightless hallway, she saw a figure disappear into the kitchen. Her stomach twisted instantly, and hot fear threaded its way through her veins. She stood, paralyzed, as a head popped back around the corner.

  “Violet?” Rose called softly.

  The figure slid quickly forward, peering back toward the kitchen every few seconds. It had to be Violet, but Rose could still feel the tension lacing tight every fiber of her being and screaming at her to run. Silently the servant slid forward, and Rose saw that it was, in fact, Violet.

  “Miss Rose,” Violet hissed, glancing fearfully behind her again. “I need to speak to you.”

  “I need my bonnet,” Rose said calmly.

  “No, Miss Rose, you don’t understand.” Violet hesitated.

  “I need to hurry.”

  “Miss Rose, I know what’s happened. I saw when you were sick, Miss Rose, and—”

  “Here.”

  Rose jerked around to see Rachel standing inches away from her, Rose’s church bonnet dangling from her fingers.

  “Your bonnet, Miss Rose.” Rachel’s eyes met her own for a minute, and the deep, murky greenish-brown of her eyes seemed to darken as she stared.

  “How did you know?” Rose felt that strange itchy crawling sensation begin in the small of her back and travel out to her limbs.

  “Sorry, Miss Rose, I shouldn’t ’a been listening.”

  Rose tentatively plucked the bonnet from Rachel’s fingers, her hands trembling. “I think, when we get back, I’ll take tea in the parlor. Tea.”

  Rose retreated back to the parlor, the heavy feeling of eyes on her back sending creeping chills down her spine. The only sound in the hallway was the rustling of her dress, so she knew the two servants continued to stand in the same spot, staring after her in silence. She thought vaguely of turning around, of challenging them, but the cold fear that had already woven its way through her insides prevented her from doing so. She wondered what kind of expressions dressed their faces as they peered at her retreating figure.

  She wondered most of all what Violet was saying.

  When they returned, though wet and slightly dirty, Rose’s spirits had lifted. The cool air brought in on the storm had rejuvenated her, and her giddiness had returned. Her father had invited Henry McCann to lunch, and now, in the cloudy late afternoon atmosphere, Rose was sneaking glances at him and then back at her sister over their plates of mallard duck sausage and potato dumplings.

  After church, pleading possible ill-health from their wet clothing, Maggie and Rose had raced back to their room to change. Now, Rose in a white Indian muslin and Maggie in purple silk appraised one another and carefully smoothed their dresses while trying to maintain the image of perfect manners as they both carefully picked at their food, trying not to seem overanxious. Rose, while frequently looking up and smiling at the light conversation, was trying to inconspicuously move the onions and sauerkraut to the other side of her plate.

  “I believe,” Rose heard her father say, “that it should be a short transition from law to politics.”

  Rose glanced up and watched as Henry nodded, the ghost of a smile fading from his pale features. The conversation, unfortunately, had clearly taken a turn for the worse, and it would not have been appropriate for either her or Maggie to comment on this topic. She fidgeted and noticed Maggie was doing the same. Mariotta had declined to join them, citing a headache of all things as the reason. Rose knew she was lying, and it made her furious that Mariotta would use Rose’s own illness as an excuse for herself.

  The rain had started up again, and the dining room had darkened, bringing back Rose’s perpetual melancholy. And with the sky weeping so heavily, there was sure to be no opportunity for a walk today. They would briefly retire to the parlor, and then Henry would leave, and that would be that.

  Rose’s gaze drifted to the rain-streaked window at the front of the house, and she silently cursed the storm. Maggie, who had apparently been watching her, followed her gaze and then looked pointedly at her and shrugged. Rose turned back to the door and shuddered.

  The sky continued to darken, and for a while, Rose faded out as she stared outside, watching the trees thrash in the endless wind. It seemed to be no more than a minute later that the table was being cleared and her plate snatched out from under her. Maggie gave her a confused look, and she quickly realized that everyone had risen while she continued to sit in her chair, staring foolishly at the table.

  Rose jumped up, mumbling an incoherent excuse under her breath, and scurried after the others. They seated themselves back in the parlor, and Rose immediately turned her head to gaze mournfully at the torrent beyond the window. At least if she was walking outside, she could be comfortable, and the pressure to keep up the conversation would be somewhat eased. Here, though, she felt stifled and ill at ease as she tightened her plastered-on smile and tried a
s hard as she could not to look into the mirror while the conversation quickly passed her by.

  “Is something wrong, Rose?”

  Rose looked glumly over at her father. “It’s very warm in here.”

  Her three companions gazed at her uncomfortably. “Does… does your head hurt?” Henry asked quietly.

  Rose pounced on the opening, just barely saving herself from shaking her head vigorously and giving herself away. “A bit. I’d really like some air.”

  Her father gazed out into the rain. “Maybe the porch….”

  Rose leapt up. “If you’ll excuse me, then.”

  “Please, Miss Shedd, allow me to escort you.”

  Rose swallowed as Henry got up and made his way past Maggie, who pouted slightly. Her father stood as well, a strange faraway look in his eyes as he gazed out the window.

  “Maggie?” Rose said. “Will you join us?”

  Maggie nodded slowly. “Of course.”

  Their father blinked hard and turned toward the hallway.

  Henry extended his arms, and Rose took the left while Maggie grasped the right. Christopher appeared in the hallway so quickly Rose was sure he’d been lingering there, listening. He pulled the front door open, and the trio stepped out onto the porch. The rain, blown by the wind, slanted sideways, soaking the left side of the porch. The grounds and drive were obscured by the sheer volume of it. Leaves danced madly, and petals rode the wind.

  “Maybe you girls should bring an umbrella,” Henry said as a wave of rain washed almost to the center of the porch.

  Rose flinched. “I don’t think it’ll help.”

  “What a lovely walk we had to church, though, didn’t we? When it wasn’t raining so hard,” Maggie said, the sweetest smile plastered on her face, even when the wind ripped the bonnet from her head.

  Their conversation flowed into the thunder of the torrent, and Rose faded in and out, her thoughts hovering on the opportunity that was currently slipping through her fingers.

  Rose tried to smile as well, despite the rain and the despair pooling in her stomach as she watched Henry bob his head up and down to Maggie’s inane chatter. Rose ripped her eyes away for a moment, trying to maintain an unaffected disposition, while she considered how she’d later berate Maggie for talking so continuously.

  “Well, Rose?”

  Rose felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Maggie asked.

  Rose briefly considered pretending that she’d been paying attention but realized she’d likely embarrass herself if Maggie intended to pursue whatever it was they had been speaking about. “Sorry, I didn’t hear,” she finally replied, shaking her head slightly.

  “I said you read quite a bit on Roman history aside from your novels.”

  Rose stared at her quizzically. “I don’t… I suppose.”

  “Because we were speaking about history,” Maggie said impatiently, starting to tap her foot.

  “Really?” Rose asked, surprised that her sister was even having such a conversation, much less mentioning Rose’s interests in front of Henry.

  “Rose is a little slow when her head hurts, Mr. McCann,” Maggie said, laughing liltingly. Rose frowned at Maggie, her head starting to hurt in actuality.

  “I wonder if you’ve been attending church with any of your other acquaintances lately. Rose and I were wondering, in fact.”

  Rose tried to form some response so as to redirect from such a bold topic.

  “I haven’t met terribly many people here,” Henry said, turning back toward Maggie. Henry shifted uncomfortably and gazed out into the yard.

  The rain had let up just slightly, but it was still far too wet to venture out into the garden.

  “I know it’s raining, but I do love being outdoors. Perhaps, if you ladies would care to, we might stroll a bit more before returning, even though it’s a bit wet.”

  “A bit wet?” Maggie said, sounding aghast.

  Rose simply nodded, and she daintily took his offered arm. Maggie hesitated a moment, then took his other arm. With her other hand, she attempted to hold her dress up slightly. Rose eyed Maggie jealously as they stepped down onto the walk. Certainly she had no chance with Maggie hanging off Henry’s arm, playing the game in perfect synchronicity.

  Rose, suddenly inspired, pushed her heels deep into the mud and drew her right leg up sharply and to the left, forcing an ugly spiral of mud out of the dark earth and onto her sister’s pale vestments.

  Maggie shrieked loudly and stopped walking, staring at Rose with all the outrage she could muster.

  “Maggie, I’m so sorry, Rose said, hiding a smirk. She slipped her arm out of Henry’s to assist her sister. “If we want to keep your dress from staining, you may want to go inside and change.”

  Maggie looked down at her dress and then back at her sister. She was seething, Rose could tell.

  She hesitated for a moment before a forced smile returned to Maggie’s face. “I’ll be back in just a moment,” she said tightly, then quickly scurried back to the house.

  Satisfaction bloomed deep within Rose. Finally things were working out for her. She lifted her gaze toward Henry, accidentally meeting his eyes before gazing back out at the rainy horizon.

  “Would you rather go back inside?” Henry asked.

  “I think I’d like to walk a little longer,” Rose said. “And I’m not yet hungry enough for cake and tea.”

  He offered his arm again, which Rose eagerly took. “Well, you don’t have to eat,” Henry countered.

  “I know. I like to be outside among the flowers as much as possible,” Rose said, her gaze lingering on the leaves and bits of branches strewn about the yard from the storm. Through Henry’s soaked jacket, Rose could feel the firmness of his arm almost as if it were bare. “Of course, if you’d rather not, I won’t keep you.”

  “I’m happy to stay outside, Miss Shedd.”

  “Maybe just a short bit more. It’s not like we can get any more wet.” She tightened her grip slightly, warm tingles running through her.

  The rain, as if responding to her wishes, suddenly reduced itself to a fine mist, barely trickling from the angry sky.

  Maggie had not yet reappeared, so the yard, gardens, and drive belonged only to the two of them—and the insects and animals.

  “It must be a bit lonely here,” Henry said without looking at Rose.

  She glanced up at him, slightly taken aback by the statement. “Not really. The house is usually busy enough.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Shedd. That was a bit intrusive.”

  Rose smiled to herself, conversation topics spinning through her head as she tried to discern what would be most appropriate. Henry guided her toward the far end of the garden, where the rain splashed in the reflecting pool and ran down Rose’s face like tears. The wind threaded its way through the flowers as he tilted his head toward Rose’s face, appraising her.

  “Should we head back now, Mr. McCann?” Rose asked demurely.

  Henry stopped abruptly and took her hand delicately, and he looked carefully at her face. Rose could feel a blush rising to her cheeks.

  “Miss Shedd, I know we haven’t known each other long, but I wonder if I could be a bit bold.”

  Rose’s heart thumped heavily inside her rib cage, all her terror and pain flooding out as a rush of wind passed near her ears. “Please, Mr. McCann.”

  “Miss Shedd,” Henry said carefully, “I wonder if I could formally declare myself to your father.”

  Rose didn’t speak. She lifted her eyes to meet his, and she nodded. “Yes,” she managed to whisper.

  It wasn’t possible. It was a dream, one that would soon be invaded by creeping things to rip her apart at this height of happiness.

  No, Rose thought. I will not let my thoughts ruin this moment.

  Yet the world around her began to spin, and her tunnel of vision was shrinking to a growing circle of gray.

  Rose realized she was about to faint. “I think I need to sit down,
” she whispered but smiled, trying to play it off as happy giddiness.

  “Of course.” Henry led her back toward the house in silence while her mind continued to whirl and thrill to this new development.

  The door slammed loudly on the porch, and Maggie rushed out, skirt swirling in the wind. Her mouth opened, but no sound escaped as she watched the two figures.

  Rose smiled slyly at her sister as Henry removed his hat and said, “We decided to have a sit down instead.”

  They headed back to the parlor with Maggie at their heels, Rose still holding Henry’s arm, and she accepted his offered assistance in resting herself on the couch.

  “Well? What’s wrong?” Maggie asked.

  Rose could hear the jealousy and exasperation slicing through her voice. “Is it a headache? Mr. McCann, I can tend to her now. Thank you so much for your assistance.”

  “I’m just a bit dizzy,” Rose said calmly.

  “Fine!” Maggie hissed. “I should still alert Daddy.” She turned sharply on her heel and stalked out of the room, leaving a faint trail of perfume in her wake.

  “Thank you,” Rose said, smiling up at Henry.

  Thirty-Six

  Dinner was even more tense than usual. There was something brewing in the air, and even Maggie could feel it. The atmosphere was charged like the violence of the lingering storm, the feeling shuddering through the still air and thrusting its tendrils through their skin. Both girls had changed clothes yet again.

  The heat came back after the rain lessened, sapping the strength of every living thing outside and within the thickening, swelling house..

  Rose was still excited, thrilled by the constant replay of her garden walk in her mind. Maggie’s mood seemed to be constantly shifting. At times she’d be smiling conspiratorially at her sister, and at others, harsh lines appeared in her face as she pursed her lips tightly together, something akin to fury dancing in her otherwise clear eyes.

  Despite this and the knowledge that the dark was coming on soon, Rose was happy. She felt completely invincible, as if she could finally stand up to the horrible thing that accompanied her since in time she knew she would escape it.