‘We plan to marry.’
‘Oh that’s sweet,’ Bessie said. ‘Did he ask you?’
‘Well, not properly, but we talk of it all the time.’
‘I always did think Mr Van Cleeve was a lovely chap. A bit quiet for me, but lovely all the same. The duke isn’t gentle at all. It’s always over very quickly. I don’t mind. I’m sure the more time we spend together, the gentler he will be.’
‘Does the duchess not hear you?’
‘He puts valerian root in her milk before bed. She doesn’t hear a thing.’
They talked well into the evening about Thomas and the duke. They spoke until they were free of their burdens and there were no secrets left.
Despite her misgivings about Bessie’s affair, Rose found it difficult to chastise. She’d been breaking the rules since the first day, falling for Thomas—an attraction that should have been quelled but was allowed to flourish as if the rules didn’t apply to her. Who was she to judge?
At eleven, Thomas came for her.
‘Take your uniform and stay with him the night,’ Bessie said as Rose pulled her boots on. ‘There’s no need to rush back here. You can go straight to the kitchen in the morning at sun up and no one will know.’
Rose considered the idea as she tightened the laces.
‘Go on,’ Bessie urged. ‘I’ll cover for you. Now that we have similar secrets, we can look out for each other.’
Rose relented with a smile. ‘Okay, I’ll stay the night.’ She collected her uniform, clean undergarments, hairbrush and diary and placed them into an empty pillowcase. She left her perfume on the bedside table, unsure she would ever wear it again.
‘Rose,’ Bessie said as Rose moved towards the door.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m so happy for you.’
‘Thank you, Bessie.’
‘Are you happy for me?’
Rose hesitated. ‘I am.’ But even as she said it, she wasn’t sure it was the truth.
‘So Bessie knows about us?’
‘Apparently for some time.’
‘Will she say anything?’ Thomas look worried.
‘I can trust her.’
‘And she’s sleeping with the duke?’
‘Yes.’
Thomas let out a low whistle as he opened the door to his cottage and they stepped inside. ‘Does the duchess know?’
‘She knows he’s been with another woman. Bessie’s been wearing my peony perfume. The duchess can smell it on him. She thinks it’s me.’
Thomas’s face grew dark.
‘I promise you it’s not.’
‘No, I didn’t…’ He turned away with a look of vague weariness. ‘I don’t think you’ve been intimate with him, obviously. I just don’t want you to get involved. He’s trouble. We’ll all be better off once he and his wife are gone.’
Rose knew what he was saying. Even though she hadn’t told him about that awful morning in the duke’s bedroom and what he had almost done to her, Thomas was no fool. He sensed something had happened, something that had frightened her, and he knew it had to do with the duke.
‘He’s promised to take Bessie to Somersby Castle with him when he leaves. He will employ her as the duchess’s lady’s maid so they can still be together.’
‘Is that so?’ His face was perfectly still.
‘Do you think he will?’
‘I don’t know what goes through that man’s head.’
‘I worry for Bessie. I feel uneasy about it all.’
‘Maybe the duke does love her,’ he said fairly. ‘Maybe he intends to do the right thing. We can’t tell from the outside what goes on between two people.’
‘Something’s not right.’
‘Be that as it may, but I don’t want to spend our night talking of them.’ He took the pillowcase from her hand, placed it on the bed and slid his arms around her waist.
She sank into his embrace. ‘What would you like to do?’
‘I can think of many things, Rose, perhaps all too unsavoury for your innocence.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not as innocent as you think.’
He ran a hand down her neck and across her collarbone, his touch so delicate it made her shiver. ‘But that’s what I like about you. You’re brave and strong-willed and yet completely vulnerable.’
‘I don’t know that that’s entirely true.’
‘Just know that it makes me want you in ways I can’t even describe.’
A bubbling happiness welled up inside her. ‘And yet the rules tell us we’re wrong.’
‘It’s the rules that are wrong, Rose.’
Seized by something wildly sensual, she kissed him, feeling his heart beat hard against her chest. She pulled him towards her onto the bed and they rushed to remove clothes and shoes, her petticoat and stockings.
It wasn’t long before he was moving against her and she had never felt anything as natural as this—Thomas’s skin pressed on hers, so close she thought she would disappear into him. It was like stepping off a cliff; free-falling and uninhibited.
Afterwards, he slept a deep, solid sleep. She watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, his face handsome in repose and it dawned on her. This man was her everything. He was her love, her oxygen, her night and day. And where there was love as addictive as this, there was always further to fall. She was falling as hard and fast as she could ever have thought possible and it terrified her.
She ran her hands over the contours of his face; the straight nose and strong jaw, across skin kissed by the sun and lashes so long they curled at the ends. You are beautiful, she thought. Strong and beautiful and mine.
She rested her head beside his, pulled his arm around her and fell into a sea of scattered dreams.
Rose was up long before a velvet dawn graced the sky.
She lit the lantern and curled up beside Thomas with her diary. She had written two pages, her pen scratching against the paper when Thomas stirred beside her, his hand settling on her thigh.
‘Hello there,’ he said, opening his eyes.
‘Hello.’
‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I did.’
‘You didn’t for long; just a few hours.’
It was true and she felt exhausted for it, but her mind would hardly settle. ‘I’m all right. A little tired.’
‘You were tired last night too.’ He reached for the diary and put it to one side. ‘Come, my Rose. You need to sleep. There’s still a few hours before you’re due in the kitchen.’
She burrowed down into the blankets beside him and rested her head against his chest. She heard the light thud of his heartbeat against her temple.
‘I’m glad you’re staying the night,’ he said softly into her hair. ‘No time-watching, no rushing off before dawn.’
‘I wish it could be like this all the time,’ she said.
‘It will be. One day, I promise.’
‘Have you ever been in love, Thomas?’
‘Before you, no. You’re my first love, Rose.’ He smiled. ‘You caught me quite by surprise, actually. That day when I found you in my workshop and you bumped your head on the underside of the bench. I wanted to burst out with laughter. It was the cutest thing.’
She swatted him.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever stopped thinking about you since that day. And I don’t know much about love, but I know enough to know this feels different to anything I’ve felt before.’
Rose understood what he was saying. It was exactly how she felt, as though she was existing in an elusive dream, suspended in reality. It was terrifying and thrilling, the future tainted with uncertainty while brimming with promise. She had so few answers, felt the station and its rules squeezing her; trapped and freed all at the same time.
She gave herself up to fatigue and drifted to sleep in his arms. When dawn broke and the sun smudged the horizon, they woke, made love and he eventually let her go so she could dress for work. It was a glimpse of what life could be like if they j
ust hung on long enough.
Bessie was already in the kitchen when Rose arrived at six. She threw Rose a wink and Rose smiled back.
The duke’s breakfast was still on the stove so Mrs March ushered Rose across the road to help set up the dining room with the other parlourmaids. When she returned, the greasy smell of bacon and fried eggs hit her like an avalanche and her stomach turned.
‘What’s the matter?’ Mrs March barked, jabbing her hands onto her hips. ‘Something wrong with my food?’
‘No. Just tired,’ Rose muttered.
Mrs March thrust a teapot into Rose’s hands. ‘Go to bed earlier then. Now get the duke’s food onto the trolley before it spoils.’
Rose did as she was told, pushing the trolley out of the kitchen, past the laundry for fresh linen and up the hill to the duke’s cottage. He was sitting at the bureau writing a letter when she arrived. He looked up and waved his hand absentmindedly for her to begin setting the table.
She carried in the tray and set it down. She laid out his toast and teapot, the spreads and cutlery, watching the back of him as he leant forward to write.
It occurred to her now that there were other reasons why their relationship was strained. It was not solely because of the incident that had taken place in his bedroom weeks earlier, but rather his focus had been diverted elsewhere. He’d found an outlet for all that pent-up mental and sexual frustration and it was no longer directed at her.
‘Breakfast is ready, Your Grace,’ she said, hands clasped in front of her.
‘Thank you,’ he said formally.
He set down the pen and joined her at the table while she held the chair out for him.
‘Will that be all, Your Grace?’
‘That will be all.’
‘I’ll tend to your room now.’
‘Rose,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘The duchess is recovering. We may be able to travel soon. I’ll confirm with the doctor then you may prepare the suitcases.’
‘Very well,’ Rose said. ‘Will there be two travelling or three?’ The words were out before she could stop them.
He met her eyes but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. ‘That will be all.’
She gave him a stiff curtsey and retreated to his room. The linen caught the brunt of her disapproval as she ripped it from the bed, bundling it up to take outside. On the verandah, she beat the pillows and placed the dirty linen on the bottom shelf of the trolley, catching a whiff of peony as she did so.
Returning to the room with the pillows and fresh linen, she bent to collect his chamber pot and the strong smell of ammonia collided with her so intensely, her stomach heaved and she ran with the pot outside. With seconds to spare, she made it to the railing and vomited violently into the garden below.
The duke was outside in an instant. ‘Rose? Goodness, are you okay? Give me that.’ He took the offending chamber pot and placed it down the other end of the verandah, far from her.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Your Grace. I don’t know what came over me.’ She wiped saliva from her mouth.
‘It’s perfectly fine. Come back inside.’ He guided her into the living room and sat her down at the breakfast table, kneeling in front of her.
The smell of bacon turned her stomach again and she put her fingers to her mouth.
‘Rose, you’re as white as a sheet. Let me get you some water.’ He poured her a glass from the jug on the table. ‘Have you had anything to eat? You might be hungry. I’ll fix you dry toast.’
Rose took the water but shook her head to the food. ‘No, thank you. Please, I’m embarrassed.’
‘There’s no need to be. Just sit for a moment.’
Her skin had grown clammy and she was flushing from her head to her toes with humiliation. She sipped the water, cold against her raw throat.
‘Have you been feeling ill lately? The stomach flu perhaps.’
‘I’ve been lacking sleep. I’m sure that’s all it is.’
He nodded. ‘Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off. I can speak to Miss Dalton on your behalf.’
She shook her head. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m fine, really. The water is helping.’
He was still looking worriedly at her.
‘I should finish your bedroom, Your Grace.’
‘Don’t worry about my bedroom.’
‘But the sheets. Your bed needs to be made.’
‘I can do it. Stay here and get some colour back in your cheeks.’
Rose knew that if Miss Dalton, or anyone else for that matter, had walked in at that precise moment and seen a parlourmaid drinking at the breakfast table while the Duke of Northbury made his own bed, they would have dropped dead from the horror.
Rose forced herself to climb to her feet, take several deep breaths and walk into the duke’s bedroom. ‘Your Grace.’
‘Now, Rose, I’ve got this,’ he said defiantly, struggling to spread the sheet out on the mattress. ‘I just need to pull it a little here and…’
‘Please, let me.’ She took the sheet from his hands. ‘I’m feeling much better.’
He searched her with intense blue eyes. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
He stepped to the side and watched her as she laid the sheet down and tucked the edges beneath the mattress. She spread the top sheet out next followed by the coverlet and the pillows.
After some time, the duke said softly, ‘I’m sorry for what I did to you in here.’
Rose stopped.
‘I wasn’t myself. I mean, it’s not something I’ve ever done before, forcing myself on a lady.’
She gave him a small, conciliatory nod and continued fitting the bed.
‘She’s a nice girl, the kitchen maid. It’s surprising how much I enjoy her company. She’s just from the scullery after all, but she makes me laugh.’ His cheeks grew crimson and he turned away quickly, clearing his throat. ‘Well, if you’re feeling better then, I’ll take my leave.’ He bowed slightly and turned for the door.
‘The duchess thinks it’s me,’ she called out.
He paused in the doorway and sighed resolutely. ‘Indeed she does.’
‘I don’t want to lose my job.’
‘You won’t lose your job, Rose. I’ll speak to her.’
Rose nodded gratefully. The duke gave her a small smile and left the room.
‘They passed the decree yesterday. All arriving vessels are subject to mandatory quarantine because of Spanish Flu. Five boats arrived today and they say there are four more waiting outside the Heads.’ Thomas sliced a piece of cheese and ate it off the knife. ‘I spent all day pitching tents. The unhealthy ground has completely transformed. You wouldn’t recognise it if you saw it now.’
Rose nibbled a plain cracker at the little table in Thomas’s cottage. It was almost midnight and they were having a late supper. Bessie had sent them off with a small basket of food and a flask of gin.
‘They say we’re at almost twenty-five hundred passengers, even though we only have capacity for half of that. The situation has gotten so bad here they’re sending the police force to patrol the station’s perimeter to ensure patients don’t try to leave. The soldiers say the flu is running rampant in Europe, far worse than here.’
Rose yawned deeply and popped a hand over her mouth. ‘Forgive me, Thomas. I didn’t mean to be so rude.’
‘Oh, Rose,’ Thomas said, putting the knife down. ‘You can barely keep your eyes open. And you’ve been listening to me waffle on for almost an hour. Come, change into your shift and lie down.’
‘No, please, finish your story.’
‘Don’t worry about my story. You need to sleep. The late nights and early mornings are getting to you, I can tell.’
‘I am quite tired,’ she admitted, letting him help her up and onto the bed. As he assisted her out of her tunic and into her shift, she told him how she’d become ill at the duke’s cottage earlier that morning. ‘I was about to clean out his chamber pot
and I couldn’t hold it back. I was sick all over the front garden.’
‘Was it something you ate?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You haven’t been near the hospital have you? There’s been a small cholera outbreak.’
‘I’ve been inoculated, but no, I haven’t.’
He helped her beneath the covers and she laid her head on his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. It was about the only thing she could stomach.
Thomas stroked her hair and she closed her eyes, feeling monumental exhaustion wash over her.
‘Promise me you’ll see the matron if you still feel unwell tomorrow.’
‘I will,’ she said sleepily.
He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. ‘I don’t like to see you like this. It worries me.’
‘I’ll be fine in the morning. Will you wake me so I’m not late for work?’
‘I will wake you, my love.’
She drifted away after that, lulled to sleep by the soporific sound of the sea.
The next morning, Thomas shook her gently awake and she opened her eyes to a peach sunrise tiptoeing across the cottage floor. She dragged herself up, washed and dressed for work, and Thomas encouraged her to eat some crackers from Bessie’s basket. Her stomach still churned and she told herself that if she didn’t inhale while serving food or while changing the chamber pot, she could keep the contents of her stomach down.
The duchess called her into her room during the lunch service and asked for a pot of tea and a scone. Her skin looked rosier and her eyes brighter, further signs of convalescence at long last. Her tone was softer too, in comparison with their previous encounter, when she’d referred to Rose as a harlot and had left the scars of her nails in her wrist.
Rose could only deduce that the duke had spoken with her, clearing her of any wrongdoing, but how he had explained away the peony on his clothes she couldn’t be sure. For now, her job seemed safe and she was relieved not to be in hot water with Miss Dalton.
The day dragged and four o’clock finally came where she had the longest gap in service, between afternoon tea and dinner. Thomas wasn’t in his workshop and Bessie was busy at the sinks under the steely watch of Mrs March. Rose climbed the hill to the female staff quarters and let herself into her cottage.
The Quarantine Station Page 23
