A Bouquet of Thorns

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Oh, thank you, Charles,’ she said passionately, but when she lifted her head, it was to see his back as he left the room, and she pulled a derisory grimace at it. She had the impression he had only agreed because she had promised to produce a son. One day. But perhaps it was a promise she could not keep. And, of course . . . Her mind reared up at the thought of what had to happen in order to produce another child: the nightly ritual in their marital bed. But just now, that seemed a lifetime away as she turned her attention back to the infant who had fallen asleep in her mother’s arms.

  The days passed in a blissful haze, gradually establishing a routine of rest, a little exercise within the confines of the spacious room, and bonding with her daughter. She kept Alice with her for much of the day, even insisting, much to Charles’s disgust, that the wet nurse come down from the nursery to feed her, chatting to the woman who was a good, homely sort and who, in turn, soon warmed to the young mistress she temporarily served. It was only at night and during Rose’s daytime rest periods that Alice was taken back up to the nursery by a doting Florrie, who in her own mind, considered herself the child’s grandmother. Rose grew stronger by the day, waiting impatiently for Dr Seaton to give his permission for visitors. A peaceful euphoria had taken over her spirit, her days filled with the blithe rapture of her baby, and when the occasional uneasy shadow passed over her soul, she shook her head with a scornful snort, since Alice, so far, was doing well and becoming more active as she gained a little strength.

  It was Daisy who broke the spell. Daisy, the new maid, was as effervescent and garrulous as Patsy was quiet and reserved, nattering away nineteen to the dozen as she cleaned the room or saw to the fire, for though it was early July, high up on the western side of the moor, the evenings and early mornings could be chillsome even on pleasant days. That summer, the sun had only rarely appeared from behind iron-grey clouds, and today was no exception as Daisy coaxed the coal into a dancing conflagration.

  ‘They say a prisoner fell to ’is death yesterday,’ she announced cheerfully as she replaced the poker on its brass stand. ‘You knows how they’m building they prison blocks up to the sky wi’ convict labour. Well, he must’ve felled off. Still, there be plenty more to take ’is place.’

  A cold, black dread slashed at Rose’s heart, and somewhere deep in the sepulchre of her soul, the horror was reawakened. Her mind had somehow succeeded in shutting itself down to some hidden, lurking fear, and now the great looming monster reared its ugly head. Yes, that was it, the nameless torture that had been gnawing away inside her.

  Seth.

  The anguish washed over her in a drowning wave and she had to fight to draw breath, though Daisy lifted a surprised eyebrow as her mistress sighed an impassioned, ‘Poor man,’ almost inaudibly, and then appeared to stare blindly at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Oh, well, there’s me done,’ the young maid announced with her usual merry grin, undaunted by Rose’s sudden quiet. ‘Be there ort else I can get ’ee, ma’am?’

  ‘Er . . . no. No, thank you,’ came the muttered reply, and Daisy waltzed contentedly out of the room.

  Oh, no. Oh, no. The words wrung themselves helplessly, pathetically, from Rose’s stunned mind. It mustn’t be him. It mustn’t. There were upwards of eight hundred men in the gaol, so why should . . .? But she didn’t even know if he was still alive. He had been so ill when they had dragged him from the stables, treating him with such brutality . . . Seth, who had spoken, for want of a better word, to Gospel and instantly won over the difficult animal’s trust, who had shared her enchantment of the newborn puppies, who had laughed softly with her – and who had been subjected to the most cruel injustice. How could she possibly have forgotten?

  And, oh, dear God, Gospel! It wasn’t a hideous dream, was it? Gospel wasn’t safe out in the stable, being cared for by Ned, as her traumatized brain had allowed her to believe. Charles really had sold him. And now she didn’t know where he was. She felt shot through with fury, anger at what might have happened to both Seth and Gospel, but also with a deeper, crippling guilt because her own anguish had blanked them from her mind.

  She had been sitting up, cross-legged, in the bed, and now she pushed her fists into the mattress in front of her, rocking herself back and forth on her straightened arms, her teeth gritted as she battled to stop herself from howling aloud. It was just as when her father had died. For the Rose Maddiford who would always fight back with the ferocity of a tigress had finally been defeated. There was nothing she could do now. And even in those few minutes of realization, the frustration of it, the black mist of anger, was driving her insane.

  Florrie knew there was something wrong the instant she came back into the room. There was Rose, her Rose, looking almost demented, her eyes savage and haunted as she tossed her head from side to side.

  ‘Rose, my—’

  ‘Oh, Florrie!’ she cried distractedly, reaching out to grasp the older woman’s arms as she came towards her. ‘Florrie, you must find out for me!’

  ‘Find out what?’ Florrie frowned, but her round cheeks flushed, as in her heart she already knew.

  ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever know the truth about Gospel, but you can find out for me about Seth,’ Rose answered, her face taut with anguish. ‘Go to Dr Power. Now!’

  Florrie’s expression closed down. Not that she didn’t have the greatest sympathy with the lad’s story, even though she had been miles away at her sister’s at the time and hadn’t met him. But part of her blamed him for Rose’s illness, and she had prayed that Rose’s apparent loss of memory over the events would continue. But now it seemed they had returned to wreak havoc with her little maid’s mind yet again.

  ‘Of course, my lamb,’ she soothed. ‘But not now. Dr Power will be at work in the prison, and I wouldn’t be able to speak with him. But this evening, I’ll go while the master’s having his dinner.’

  ‘Oh, Florrie . . .’ Rose’s face crumpled, and as Florrie held her in her plump, comforting arms, she wept inconsolably while Florrie’s heart blackened with worry.

  Where would it end?

  Eight

  ‘He were flogged,’ Florrie said gently, and she watched anxiously as Rose twisted her head excruciatingly on her neck as if she would cast aside the torturing knowledge. ‘A few weeks ago. But ’tweren’t as bad as ’twas supposed to be. Dr Power, he said . . . he said he had to be cruel to be kind, whatever that do mean. He said . . . he only got eleven lashes, when ’twas meant to be the full thirty-six.’

  The groan that came from deep in Rose’s throat was like that of a wounded animal, and her hands literally tore at the tangled mass of her hair that tumbled about her in disarray. ‘But they’ll give him the rest some time,’ she squealed, forcing the breath from her lungs. ‘Oh, Florrie, I can’t bear—’

  ‘No, they won’t,’ she told Rose firmly. ‘Or at least, ’tis highly unlikely. Dr Power has strongly recommended against it cuz of his chest.’

  ‘He’s still ill, then?’

  ‘No. Not really. He’s still in the hospital but he’s nearly better. He’ll be put back to work fairly soon. Summat within the prison, for he’ll not be allowed on an outside work party again, not since he bolted. He weren’t the one as fell to his death, so you can stop worrying and forget all about him now.’

  ‘Forget?’ Rose’s voice was high with horror. ‘How can I forget? Just being in that place is bad enough! The conditions they have to suffer, and then made to work like slaves—’

  ‘Which is no more than most of them deserve—’

  ‘But not Seth! Not when you’re innocent!’

  ‘Well, that’s as may be, but right now, young maid, you’ve a tiny babby and your own health to think about!’

  Rose glared at her, her mouth screwed into a rebellious pout and her eyes cobalt with frustration. But then she let herself fall back on the bed with a distraught groan. ‘Oh, Florrie, I feel so helpless! I just don’t know what to do! About Seth or Gospel. But I simply must think of some
thing!’

  ‘Get yoursel’ and babby Alice well, ’tis what! And then maybe, some time in the future, then you can see if there’s ort to be done. And from what you’ve teld me, that fellow’s a strong young man and he’ll come to no harm.’

  ‘Was a strong man,’ Rose protested dejectedly. ‘His health’s been broken, and no one cares at the gaol if you live or die. All the warders want is to keep the convicts under control, and they don’t care how cruel they have to be to do so! And who can blame them? You know as well as I do that any so-called neglect of duty can mean instant dismissal, and the warder’s family and their possessions can be turned out on to the street the same day. ’Tis almost as hard for the warders as ’tis for the convicts, so you can understand it. There aren’t many like Molly’s father, who try to get to know each prisoner and treat them accordingly.’

  ‘There you are, then!’ Florrie humped up her ample bosom in triumph. ‘Mr Cartwright’ll look out for him.’

  Rose’s shoulders jolted and a strange light found its way into her eyes. ‘Yes, of course! Oh, you’re wonderful, Florrie! What would I do without you? When’s Dr Seaton coming again?’ she asked, her mind working furiously.

  ‘Monday, as I believe.’

  ‘Monday,’ Rose repeated, unconsciously chewing on her thumbnail. ‘Three days. And if he says Alice and I can have visitors, I can send for Molly. And I can write Seth a letter for her father to give him. Officially, they’re only allowed a letter every three months, aren’t they? And that’s only supposed to be from a relative, and they’d hardly allow a letter from me, would they, the person who helped him when he escaped! A visit, though, ’tis what I’d really like, but they certainly wouldn’t allow that. And anyway, if Charles found out . . . But a letter. Just a note to tell him I’ve not forgotten. Oh, I can’t wait for next week. And I can’t wait to show Alice to Molly! Fetch her over to me, would you?’

  Florrie’s expression was humourless as she took the sleeping child from her cot, but the loveliness of the enchanted, devoted smile that illuminated Rose’s face as she took the tiny bundle into the protective cradle of her arms drove the doubt from the older woman’s heart. For though Florrie disapproved of Rose’s association with the convict, she had accepted long ago that Rose did everything with passion. And that included being a mother.

  Patsy dipped a curtsey as she finished showing the elderly gentleman into the drawing room, and Mr Frean, proprietor of the gunpowder mills and Henry Maddiford’s good friend when he had been alive, stepped across the carpet, his hand held out in greeting and a broad grin on his ruddy face.

  ‘Rose, my dear girl! No, don’t get up. You need your rest and I’m sure we know each other well enough not to need to stand on ceremony. I was visiting the powder mills and they told me the happy news, so I thought I would call in to meet the new member of the family.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Frean, how wonderful to see you! I trust both yourself and Mrs Frean are well?’

  ‘Indeed we are, thank you, but where is this little mite?’

  ‘She’s up in the nursery while I’m supposed to be taking my afternoon nap.’ Rose grinned up at him. ‘But I’ve had enough of being in bed so I thought I’d lie here on the couch instead. I’m sure Charles wouldn’t approve but he’s gone into Tavistock,’ she admitted in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘So I’m delighted to see you. But if you pull the bell pull, I’ll have Florrie bring Alice down. You’re doing me a huge service as I can’t bear to be apart from her for more than a moment!’

  She watched, smiling at his back as he went over to tug at the tassel at the side of the fireplace, but inside her head, her thoughts were whirling. Dear, good Mr Frean. A link with the outside world. How could she make use of it without compromising him, for she’d had enough of involving innocent people in her schemes.

  ‘Alice?’ he said with approving softness. ‘I believe that was your mother’s name, wasn’t it? I’m sure your dear father would have been touched.’

  Rose lowered her eyes. Yes, Henry would have been thrilled. Her throat squeezed with sorrow. He had never known he was to become a grandfather. But she pushed her grief aside. Her father was dead. There was nothing more she could do for him now, but there were other matters she might be able to do something about.

  ‘Ah, Patsy,’ she said as the young maid popped her head around the door, ‘would you please go up to the nursery and ask Florrie to bring Alice down? Tell her Mr Frean is here.’

  ‘Yes, of course, ma’am,’ Patsy answered and disappeared again.

  ‘Won’t you sit down next to me?’ Rose went on, swinging her feet from the couch and on to the floor. ‘Then you can see Alice properly.’

  ‘I should be delighted.’

  ‘And will you take some refreshment?’

  ‘No, thank you. I won’t stay. Mrs Frean has dinner guests this evening.’

  ‘Ah.’ Rose nodded. She must think quickly if she was to take any advantage of the situation, but was it fair? She felt her heart pounding. She knew that Seth was alive, nearly recovered even. So perhaps, for now, she should wait. But what about Gospel?

  ‘And I hear you had a pretty hard time of it, and had some sort of fever afterwards?’ George Frean was asking with a concerned frown. ‘Your friend Molly Tyler told me.’

  ‘Oh, yes, but ’tis as right as rain I am now,’ she assured him. ‘Dr Seaton is allowing me visitors, and Molly came to see me yesterday. Ah, Florrie! You’ve brought my little darling down to see Mr Frean!’ She held out her arms as Florrie came over to her and then, taking her tiny daughter, cradled the infant to her breast. ‘Don’t you think she’s beautiful?’ she crooned, drawing the shawl from Alice’s face so that her visitor could admire her newborn child better.

  Mr Frean tipped his head with a serene sigh. ‘She certainly is. Just like her mother. And I wonder if she’ll be as fine a horse woman?’

  His innocent words speared through Rose’s side, but it was the ideal opening. ‘I certainly hope so,’ she replied, stroking her finger against Alice’s warm cheek and trying to pretend she was totally besotted with her child. Which she was. Almost. At least, she wanted – needed – Mr Frean to believe that just now nothing else mattered to her. ‘But I’d never let her ride anything as headstrong as Gospel,’ she went on a little quietly. ‘In fact, having Alice made me realize how silly it would be of me to go on riding him. What if anything happened to me because of him, and Alice was left without a mother? So Charles and I decided to sell him. Only I do miss him so much, and I’d love to know how he is. But he went to a dealer and we don’t know who owns him now, so if you ever saw him, you would let me know, wouldn’t you?’

  She turned her most vivid, engaging smile on him, and then looked back wistfully at Alice, not wanting Mr Frean to see just how much it meant to her. She felt guilty at the deception, but really, as far as Gospel was concerned, she would do anything!

  ‘Well, my dear, I’ll keep my eyes open, but I’m not sure he’s the sort of animal one would see around Plymouth. He’s more . . . I’m not a hunting man myself, as I believe you know—’

  ‘No, me neither.’

  ‘But why don’t you contact local hunts? He’s sure to be noticed, a fine animal like that.’

  ‘Oh, why didn’t I think of that?’ It was something she had already thought of, but if she admitted so, it might make her look overeager. Mr Frean might be suspicious and, though she knew the dear man would be sympathetic if he was aware of the truth, she didn’t want him to know how things stood between her and Charles. ‘You clever soul! Thank you!’ She beamed at him. But would she ever feel she could enlist his help over Seth? For the moment, she wasn’t sure. It would perhaps be too much to ask.

  ‘I be that sorry,’ Molly said almost shamefacedly as she held out the crumpled letter. ‘Father said ’twere more than his job were worth. But he said he’d have a word with him on the quiet. Tell him you’m still thinking of him.’

  It was late July, and the weather in that exposed, bleak
area of the moor was, for once, being kind. Rose was sitting outside under the shade of a canopy the gardener and his boy had rigged up for her between the only two trees that grew in the neatly tended garden. She was reclining on a wooden chair strewn with cushions, dressed in a simple but becoming light muslin gown that showed to perfection her regained, lithesome figure, her hair partly coiled on her head and partly tumbling down her back in a stunning balance of sophistication and rustic charm. She was propped on one elbow, gazing down quite entranced on the infant, a perfect miniature of herself, who lay on the blanket beside her, tiny legs free to kick in the warm air in jerky, uncontrolled movements, and her little starfish hands grasping at nothing. Her eyes, the exact lavender blue of her mother’s, stared up at Rose as if some invisible thread were linked between them, and only Molly’s arrival could distract Rose from doting over her daughter.

  ‘Oh, I do understand,’ she answered, forcing a disappointed smile to her lips though her heart dropped down inside her like a stone. ‘’Twas good of you to take it over to him. But could you possibly take it home with you and destroy it for me? If Charles found it—’

  ‘Of course. You’m my best friend, Rose, and I’ll do anything to help, you knows that. I just wish . . . well, that things were better between you and your husband.’

  ‘Oh, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected Charles to have done something to help a convicted criminal. But to have sold Gospel behind my back, well, I can never forgive him for that.’ Rose paused with a distracted sigh. ‘I feel absolutely lost without him. As if part of me is missing. And I’m so worried about him. But I have got my darling little Alice.’ She brightened, and the angelic serenity that came over her face filled Molly with relief. ‘Now I’m recovered, I do everything except feed her, which you know I can’t.’

  ‘Can I hold her?’

  ‘Of course! But do be careful. You have to support her head. Look, like this. Oh, but how silly of me! Of course you know, with all your brothers and sisters!’