Roses Have Thorns

by Betty Neels

  The Professor was looking his best: a dinnerjacket, exquisitely tailored, set off his formidable proportions to perfection, his snowy shirt-front was severely plain and dazzlingly white, his shoes gleamed-a sight to delight any girl, although his appearance seemed to have the opposite effect upon Sarah, who got to her feet with great dignity, her face red, and, ignoring him, handed the ring to Lady Wesley and enquired in exactly the right tone of voice if that would be all.

  Lady Wesley took the ring and thanked her pleasantly, adding, "Now you have to get back to your work, Fletcher." At the same time she noticed the frown on her godson's face and gave an inward chuckle. The girl had got under his hitherto impervious skin, she decided. She greeted him with warmth, remarking, "Such a sensible girl, if she stays on long enough I shall get Mudd to train her as a lady's maid-she can take over when Mudd retires."

  She wasn't sure, but she thought that she heard the Professor grind his teeth.

  "Have we time for a drink before we go?" she asked. "Come into the drawing-room, my dear. Have you had a busy day? Well, this evening should be pleasant. That delightful Grace Kingsley is joining us, you know. So pretty, and she dresses so well."

  The Professor poured their drinks and made some non-committal remark. He didn't care two straws for Grace, a pretty girl if you liked blue-eyed blondes with rather shrill voices and a complete lack of intelligence. He handed Lady Wesley her drink and sat down opposite her.

  "Having a good time?" he asked her.

  "Oh, delightful, Radolf. And so different from my life in the country. I seldom go to bed before one o'clock, and sometimes two is striking. It's a little hard on Mudd, who isn't as young as she was. I think I shall ask Fletcher to wait up for me in the future-she's young and strong… I dare say Mrs. Butler can let her have an hour or so off in the afternoon to make up."

  The Professor appeared uninterested. "Why not get another maid?" he asked lazily.

  "Oh, the staff wouldn't like that. Besides, they like Sarah, they'll see that she gets her free time."

  "And when is that at the moment?"

  Lady Wesley looked doubtful. "Well, now I come to think of it, it is each afternoon. Oh, well, I shall think of something. In any case, she has every Sunday free."

  Without a spark of interest, the Professor observed, "Oh, yes?" He put down his glass. "Should we be going?" He smiled at her. "You look very splendid tonight, my dear."

  She said complacently, "Yes, I know I do, Radolf," and sailed ahead of him, not in the least deceived by his lack of interest in her housemaid, to where Cork was waiting to open the door for them.

  The play was excellent; the Professor sat through it, saying all the right things to the charming Grace, apparently absorbed in what was going on on the stage, bottling up the ill temper which the sight of Sarah engendered in him. A thoroughly tiresome girl, he told himself, bending a deaf ear to Grace's vapid chatter, who contrived without saying a single word to make him feel guilty. And why she had to go off in that ridiculous fashion and get a job as a domestic was something he would never understand. She had only to apply to him and he would have got her reinstated, even done his best to find her more suitable lodgings. The very least she could have done would have been to let him know that she had left St Cyprian's. Was she aware that he had spent a good deal of his leisure looking for her? By the end of the performance he was in a towering rage, all the worse for having to conceal it. He sat through supper at the fashionable restaurant Lady Wesley had chosen, his bland good manners masking his feelings. But, once he had taken her back home and driven himself back to his own house, he repaired to his study, dismissed the faithful Brindle, and immersed himself in his work, recording replies to his letters ready for his secretary to type in the morning.

  His rage had worn itself out by the time he had finished, and he sat back in his chair, ruefully admitting that Sarah had done exactly what he would have expected her to do. She was a proud piece, but he liked her for that. She also annoyed him excessively and he knew why, although he wasn't going to admit it even to himself. He put a hand down to stroke the head of the Golden Labrador sitting patiently beside him. "We'll go to bed, Trotter, and I promise you that I'll not waste any more time over the girl. She is quite capable of looking after herself."

  A remark which set the Olympian gods chuckling.

  Sundays were oases in the weekly desert of hard work for Sarah. She spent them roaming the parks, feeding the ducks with the stale bread Cook had given her, eating sparingly herself from one of the stalls to be found. Come teatime, she took herself back to her room, fed Charles, made herself tea on her gas ring, ate the buns she'd brought back with her and then, after a brief sojourn in the back garden, she dressed herself neatly and took herself off to church. She enjoyed evensong and, over and above that, it was impossible to feel lonely in church.

  On this, the third Sunday of their stay in London, she had lingered rather longer than usual in Green Park and so had taken a shortcut to reach the church before the service started. The streets were quiet, with few people about. She turned into the narrow road which would bring her out in front of All Saints Church, and became aware that halfway down there were three people behaving rather strangely. Youths, circling around a fourth figure who was walking resolutely ahead as though they weren't there. She hurried a little, not yet frightened but apprehensive. She was quite close when all the youths made a concerted rush at the elderly man, who turned to face them.

  Sarah unslung her shoulder-bag, heavy with hymn and prayer books, and aimed it at the youth ahead of her. It caught him behind the knees so that he toppled over and, much heartened by this success, she swung the bag once more towards a second youth. Her aim wasn't so good this time-it caught him on the shoulder, and although it stopped him for a moment he regained his balance almost at once and, leaving his companion to deal with the man, turned on her.

  The Professor, on his way home from an emergency call at the hospital, had taken a shortcut too. He pulled up, jumped out and prepared to do battle just as Sarah was given a vicious thump which laid her out on the pavement with a quite sickening crash. He stepped over the youth she had felled with her shoulder-bag, caught the boy's two companions by their jacket collars, shook them so that their teeth rattled, pitched them on to their knees and begged them in tones of cold rage to stay just where they were before turning his attention to the elderly man bending over Sarah. It was someone he knew: Sir William Pettigrew, a highly esteemed consultant at St Cyprian's, now retired.

  "Sir William, you're not hurt?"

  His eye fell upon Sarah, lying in an untidy heap on the pavement, and he got down on his knees beside her. "I might have known it," he said bitterly. "Only you could disturb the peace of a Sunday for me. Why in the name of all that's holy must you get involved-?"

  Sarah opened one eye. "You're very rude. Go away, do."

  Sir William had listened in some surprise to this. "My dear Radolph! This brave young lady came to my aid-indeed, she wielded heihandbag in a masterly fashion. She has taken a nasty tumble, too." He glanced uneasily at the three youths. "What should we do?"

  "There's a phone in my car, sir," said the Professor. "Dial for the police, if you would, while I see if Sarah is hurt."

  Sir William did as he was bid, and came back to hover over Sarah. "You know each other?" he asked, watching the Professor's large hands gently exploring Sarah's head.

  "All this hair," he muttered crossly, and took out the pins. "Unfortunately, yes," he said.

  Sarah opened an eye once more. She had a headache, but she still had her wits. She said clearly, "We dislike each other. It is my earnest wish that I never see the man again. He has no feelings and, if he has, they're deep-frozen."

  And then, despite the headache, she fell into a refreshing sleep.

  The police arrived in a patrol car, took brief statements from Sir William and the Professor, who had lifted Sarah into his car and was cleaning up a small cut on the top of her head, and removed t
he youths.

  "If you could come down to the station in the morning, sir?" they wanted to know. "The young lady needs a bit of care, I dare say. When she's fit enough we'd like a word with her, too."

  The Professor nodded. "Nothing serious, I think. You can contact both Sir William and me through St Cyprian's. Miss Fletcher will have to be warded for a couple of days. If you would ring and enquire in the morning?"

  The police went, Sir William climbed into the back of the Professor's car and he turned it round and drove back to the hospital.

  Sir William wanted to go home. "If I might suggest," said the Professor, "it would be a good idea if someone just looked you over-you had a few knocks?"

  "Well, yes. I would have been stunned, I fancy, if this darling child hadn't rushed to help me. A veritable virago…"

  "You can say that again," murmured the Professor.

  Sir William thrust his elderly face over the seat to look at her. She was lolling beside the Professor, her eyes closed. She opened them and said urgently, "Charles…"

  "Her boyfriend," declared Sir William, who was sentimental.

  "Her cat," said the Professor, who was not. "Can you understand me, Sarah? I'll take care of him. I'm taking you to St Cyprian's, and you'll have to stay the night." She made a small protesting sound and he said impatiently, "Don't fuss."

  "If this is your bedside manner," muttered Sarah, who felt peculiar and wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, "I am surprised that you can make a living." She dozed off again and didn't hear his rumble of laughter.

  The next morning she had only the vaguest recollection of being examined in Casualty, X-rayed and then warded. She was in a pleasant room by herself, she noted with surprise, and when a nurse came presently to take her temperature and ask her how she felt, she wanted to know why she wasn't in a main ward.

  The nurse looked surprised. "Why, Professor Nauta said that you were to come here to PP. You're to stay in bed until he sees you this morning. I say, is it true you routed several muggers who attacked Sir William Pettigrew?"

  Sarah shook her head and winced because the headache, though faint, was still there. "I managed to knock one over with my shoulderbag, but I missed the second one and he knocked me down, so really I wasn't much good."

  The nurse smiled. "Well, Sir William was full of your courage. You used to work in the clinics, didn't you. I dare say they'll offer you your job back."

  "I've got a good job."

  "Lucky you. I'm going to bring you a cup of tea and then some breakfast. Do you fancy anything special?"

  A bang on the head had its compensations, thought Sarah. "Could I have some buttered toast?"

  There was never time to make toast in the servants' hall.

  The Professor came just before noon, flanked by his registrar and Sister Black, who had ruled over PP for a decade or more. He bade Sarah good morning, assured her that there was nothing abnormal in the X-rays, asked her if her head ached, prescribed tablets and told her that she might go back to her own room on the following day. "Light duties only," he told her. "I've already spoken to your employer. Tomorrow morning the police wish to take a statement from you. You may return to your room after tea." He gave her a steely look. "Good day to you, Miss Fletcher."

  Beyond yes or no, Sarah had said nothing. Now she said quite sharply, "Just a moment, Professor Nauta," and, when he turned in surprise, "Thank you for bringing me here I'm grateful."

  To which he made no answer, his eyes cold. They stared at each other for a moment before he went away.

  Ten minutes later Sister Black came in. "Professor Nauta asked me to tell you that Charles is quite all right, and being well looked after."

  Sarah felt a desire to burst into tears; she had been longing to ask the Professor about her cat, but in the face of his cold, impersonal manner she hadn't been able to utter a word. She said, "Oh, Sister, thank you for telling me-he's my cat…' She found that she was crying, great gulping sobs which she couldn't control any more, and after a moment Sister Black sat down on the bed and put an arm round her while Sarah wept all over her pristine uniform.

  "There, there," said Sister Black. "There's nothing like a good cry to relieve the feelings. Now, everything is all right, you're to stay in bed today and I shall send a nurse in with a nice tray of tea and one of the tablets Professor Nauta has written up for you. You'll have a nice nap directly after lunch."

  She gave Sarah a comforting pat on the shoulder and sailed away and presently, much heartened by the tea, Sarah sat up and ate the light lunch she was given. Then, obedient to Sister Black's instructions, she had a nice nap.

  When she woke there was a delightful floral arrangement on her bedside table: roses and carnations and freesias in a charming little basket.

  Sarah sat up and opened the envelope propped up beside it. It read, "With grateful thanks and compliments from Sir William Pettigrew."

  Sarah sniffed at its fragrance and told herself how silly she had been imagining, even for a moment, that the flowers were from the Professor.

  His registrar came to see her the next day, pronounced her fit and well and told her that she might go back to her room. So she dressed, had her tea, wished Sister Black and the nurses goodbye and took herself down to the hospital entrance. Sister had said that there would be transport for her and she looked around for an ambulance, one of those which took outpatients to and fro each day. There wasn't one in sight, but Knott was there with the car. He came to her as soon as he saw her, looking very pleased to see her.

  "Well, that was a pretty kettle of fish and no mistake," he observed, helping her into the car. "We've all been that anxious…"

  She turned a surprised face to him. "Were you? Really? How kind of you, it was silly to fall over like that."

  "If I'd have been there I'd have belted the three of them. Knocking young ladies about, a lot of young thugs. A good thing Professor Nauta came along when he did and gave them what for." He gave her an anxious glance. "You're OK again?"

  "I feel fine, thank you, Mr. Knott. I hope no one minded doing my work, I'm sorry."

  "Proud to do it, Sarah. Here we are, you're to go straight to Mrs. Butler."

  But she was waylaid on the way there by Parsons and Miss Mudd and Cork, all wanting to know if she was all right-even Miss Mudd expressed ladylike concern. Rather overwhelmed by their kindness, Sarah presented herself before Mrs. Butler and was surprised once more by being told to sit down.

  "We are all proud of you," Mrs. Butler told her. "It's no easy thing to face up to these bullies. Now, Professor Nauta has been to see Lady Wesley and came to see me at the same time. You are to take things very easily for a few days. No work before breakfast, a rest in the afternoon and you are to go to bed directly supper is finished. You may do a little light housework and help ready the bedrooms in the evening, but that is all. If you feel quite yourself by the end of the week, that will be splendid, and I am to let him know and he will decide if you are fit for your full duties." She smiled a little. "You will find that Charles is quite happy-we have all been looking after him. Now, go to your room and come over for your supper presently."

  Charles was delighted to see her, and someone had put some flowers in a vase by the dressingtable and Knott had arranged the basket of flowers from Sir William on the window-sill. Sarah heaved a sigh of content-it could have been so much worse. She might have broken an arm or a leg and been out of work once more, and everyone had been so kind. A kind girl herself, she was always surprised and pleased when people were kind to her.

  At supper Parsons pointed out that the skirt she was wearing had been badly torn when she fell. "You ought to get yourself something new," she advised.

  "Well, I'd like to," said Sarah, faintly peevish, "but the shops don't open on Sundays."

  Mrs. Butler looked up from her plate. "In that case, Sarah, you shall have your next day off during the week." She paused to think. "Thursday will suit me very well."

  By Thursday, Sarah fe
lt quite herself again. With her wages in her purse and a neat list of things she intended to buy, she set off for Oxford Street. First, she had decided, she would take a good look in the shop windows and then embark on her purchases, but when she got to Oxford Circus she turned into Regent Street. A quick look at the up-market shops, she promised herself, before going to British Home Stores and Marks and Spencer…

  The shops were elegant, and there were a number of boutiques displaying the kind of clothes any woman would covet. Sarah paused before a small window displaying an enchanting outfit in rose-patterned cotton jersey.

  Afterwards she decided that she had gone mad, but then it seemed the sensible thing to go into the shop, try on the outfit, buy it and part without a vestige of regret with more than half the money in her purse. She would need shoes to go with it, court shoes with high heels, and tights to match, and then, mindful of her shrinking wages, she made her way back to Marks and Spencer and found a sensible blue denim skirt and a couple of cotton tops to go with it. Undies used up almost all the money she had left; she ate a frugal lunch in a coffee-bar and took a bus back to Grosvenor Square. There was still a good deal of her day left, she thought happily as she walked down the quiet street where Lady Wesley lived, and it was a lovely day.

  There was no one about as she went round the back of the house and went into her room. She fed Charles, took him into the garden for a stroll and then got out of her last year's dress and put on the new outfit. It did something for her, she decided happily, peering into the rather small looking-glass. She did her face, brushed out her hair and piled it tidily, put on the new shoes, bade Charles goodbye with a promised 'I'll be back for your supper," and went out again, tripping through the tradesmen's entrance in her new shoes, feeling pleased with herself. She would go to the park and stroll around for a while. It would have been nice to have had someone to talk to…

  She closed the door behind her, and stood a moment deciding which way to go and then set off, going quite slowly because of the new shoes.