‘Marie is in God’s hands now.’
Rose nodded. ‘But I wish she wasn’t, if you understand me, your Reverend . . . No disrespect.’
‘I do understand but we have to trust Him.’ When she failed to agree he went on quickly. ‘So there are just the two brothers left at Victoria House . . . and your good self.’
He’s wondering about me, thought Rose, unchaperoned with the two men. ‘I’m staying there at the moment because I have nowhere else to go; where I was staying my friend was murdered but I shall find work soon and move on.’ As she said it, her heart contracted a little at the thought that she would no longer be part of the Bennleys’ circle but it was almost inevitable that she would have to leave. Unless . . . She decided then and there to tackle Marcus later about her latest idea.
Mrs Bray was still not back at work and Miss Evans prepared them a simple supper of cold meats and salad. Later, in the study, they sat in silence, busy with their own thoughts. Marcus, slumped in his chair behind the desk, seemed preoccupied and Rose, on a chair in front of the desk, was feeling an unusual lack of self-confidence. Maybe today was not the right time, she told herself, wanting to delay the matter. She leaned forward, putting her elbows on the edge of the desk, and tried to read Marcus’s expression. He looked harassed as usual.
He glanced at her. ‘What’s bothering you, Rose?’
‘Bothering me?’
‘You’re not normally so quiet.’ He smiled to show her that this was not an implied criticism.
‘Ah!’ It was now or never, she thought, and took a deep breath. ‘Marcus, do you think Mrs Bray will ever come back?’
‘I was wondering the same thing.’ He sat back in his chair. ‘The trouble is, Miss Evans told us from the start that she didn’t want full-time work. She is actually a reasonably good artist and earns most of her money selling her watercolours but she isn’t averse to earning a little extra now and then.’
Rose’s hopes rose dramatically at his words. ‘So you will need a new housekeeper?’
‘It’s beginning to look that way.’
‘Could I do it, do you think? I could learn more recipes and there would mostly only be the two of us now that Steven is in the army. I can clean the house and do the washing . . . If you gave me a room of my own you could take it out of my wages.’
There was an awkward silence.
She struggled on. ‘I could do just mornings if you preferred . . . or some days on and some days off. I’m quite adaptable. I wouldn’t get in your way and I wouldn’t touch your things in the study.’
His expression was unreadable. ‘But Rose, what about your stage career?’
‘Stage career? Oh that!’ She rolled her eyes somewhat sheepishly. ‘Actually I’m having second thoughts about that. Not that I couldn’t make it to the top if I still wanted to,’ she insisted hastily, ‘but it seems you were right and it’s not a very respectable way to earn a living and . . . I wonder how many other Mr Markhams there are in the business, lurking about in the shadows. Poor Connie! I wouldn’t want to end up like her.’ She gave him an imploring look and shook her curls.
‘It’s a thought,’ he said slowly, ‘but there’s another problem. You might get married and then . . .’
Rose felt the beginnings of panic. Somehow she had never anticipated marrying; had never imagined leaving them. Get married? Who on earth would she marry?
Marcus went on. ‘If you did marry then we’d be left in the lurch, so to speak. At least, I would be left.’ He picked up a pencil and began to doodle on the blotter. She watched hypnotized as he drew a row of small circles and then carefully filled them in.
Her hopes were fading. This was going to be harder than she expected. ‘But I’d give you fair warning, Marcus. I mean, four weeks’ notice or whatever it is you have to give. I’d never just leave you. Not all of a sudden. That wouldn’t be right.’
‘Hmm. Four weeks’ notice. It’s not much, is it?’
‘Six weeks, then. Two months.’
He regarded her thoughtfully, running his fingers through his hair. ‘There’s another problem, Rose. I might marry – and then I’d have a wife and I wouldn’t need a housekeeper. You’d be out of a job . . . although I’d give you a good reference. I’d write a letter for you. I daresay you would soon find somewhere else.’
His words sent a cold shiver up Rose’s spine. Why, she thought dazedly, had she never considered that he might marry? ‘I see . . . I never thought of you getting married.’
‘I’ve never thought of you giving up your dream of the bright lights. Fame and fortune. All those playbills saying “Starring Miss Lamore!” I can hardly believe that you’re serious, Rose.’
The silence lengthened again. Rose tried to swallow but her throat was dry. She had convinced herself that he would allow her to stay on as his housekeeper. It had seemed an ideal arrangement. ‘Well,’ she said, with forced cheerfulness. ‘It was just an idea. It wouldn’t work, I can see that now. I have thought about offering myself as a permanent companion to Mrs Granger – the old lady I read to.’
She waited with bated breath for Marcus to try and dissuade her while she considered what she would do if the Grangers didn’t want her. Andrew Markham had still not been traced by the police and the chances were they would give up their search. In which case there was always the possibility that he would come back at some time when Connie’s death was no longer a priority for the police. Or Markham’s brother might continue in his footsteps. That meant she could never set foot in Andy’s Supper Room again. It had been a difficult decision but the truth was that the idea of a stage career had lost most of its glamour. There were obviously other routes to life on the stage but Rose’s confidence had been badly shaken.
Marcus was studying the pencil with great intensity and she hid a smile. Only Marcus could find a pencil interesting, she thought, realizing suddenly how much she would miss his odd ways if she had to leave him. And how desperately jealous she would be of the woman he married.
Marcus took a deep breath. ‘There’s another possibility, of course. You might marry me and then I wouldn’t need a housekeeper.’
Rose looked at him through narrowed eyes. Was he serious? Surely not.
With a quick glance at her, he went on. ‘Not much of a prospect though, is it? I mean, hardly a tempting offer. The Bennleys are a rather . . . How can I put it? Not exactly a successful family. So many problems. Unconventional is probably the kindest way to describe us.’
He twiddled with his pencil, stabbing the point into the blotter until it broke. After a moment he reached for a small penknife, opened it and began to sharpen the pencil.
He was avoiding her gaze and looked thoroughly ill at ease. Rose said gently, ‘Don’t be so hard on your family, Marcus. It’s nobody’s fault poor Marie died . . . or that Bernard jilted Letitia.’
‘Or that Steven ran up large debts and has been forced by me into joining the army!’
‘You did what you thought was best for him. It will be good for him.’
‘I’m wondering what will happen next.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Maybe we’re accident-prone.’
He looked so wretched that Rose began to worry about him in earnest. ‘Is it because of your mother and Gerard? They seem very happy. I know your mother left you but not until you were able to survive without her . . . and she owed it to Gerard who had lived all those years without anyone to love. She had a terrible choice to make.’
‘It just seems to me that being a family is fraught with difficulties. Look at your family.’
‘We’ll survive,’ she said hopefully. ‘Life’s never perfect, is it? Everyone has failures and . . . and disappointments. We all make mistakes.’
‘I worry about Letitia. She will probably die an old maid.’
‘Die an old maid?’ Rose laughed. ‘She will do no such thing! Your sister is going to marry Jean-Philippe. She doesn’t know it yet but he took one look at her and was totally smitten. I mean it, Marcus. I have s
een the writing on the wall.’
‘Jean-Philippe? I don’t believe it. He’s a fisherman.’
‘But he’s a successful fisherman – and what’s more he’s a happy, honest man and he loves her. I saw it in his eyes, Marcus, and I was so envious. It was so . . . so romantic! No man has ever looked at me that way. Jean-Philippe is ten times the man Bernard is!’ Seeing that he looked unconvinced she said, ‘Wait and see, Marcus. Before too long there’ll be a letter in the post telling us the news. At the moment Letitia is still in a state of shock from the wedding disaster and still believes she is pining for Bernard but . . .’
To her surprise, Marcus was shaking his head. ‘She will know by now that there is no hope for her there.’
‘We don’t know that for sure, Marcus. He might suggest they try and work through this setback. After all—’
‘No, Rose. It won’t have a happy ending.’ Briefly he told her about the letter from Alicia da Silva which he had forwarded to Wissant.
To his surprise, when Rose had recovered from the shock, she almost cheered at the news. ‘Letitia would never have been able to trust him,’ she declared firmly, ‘and Bernard might always have had lingering regrets. Not to mention Carlotta who might have done her best to drive a wedge between them. Letitia will be much happier with Jean-Philippe.’ She smiled. ‘It was meant, Marcus. Do you see? Sometimes Fate steps in and turns everything upside down!’
He looked doubtful. ‘So . . . if you’re right, Letitia will never live here again?’
‘I doubt it. She will live in Wissant near your mother and Gerard . . . and one day, no doubt, the farm will be hers.’
‘Oh dear! Then I shall live here all on my own!’ He looked shaken. ‘What a bleak prospect.’
‘You’ll have the housekeeper,’ she said innocently.
Rose saw that his hands were shaking. Without looking up he said, ‘If you married me, Rose, you could stay here and keep me company . . . You’d have to be a little mad to even think of such a thing. I can’t compete with the romantic Jean-Philippes of this world but . . .’
Rose stood up, leaned across the desk and gently took the penknife and the pencil from him and laid them down. ‘I think I’ve always been a little mad,’ she said softly. ‘You may have noticed.’
Marcus looked up at last. ‘Rose, this is serious. I’m asking you to marry me. Are you saying “Yes”?’
‘I don’t know . . . I need some time to think about it . . .’ She closed her eyes, then immediately opened them. ‘There. I’ve thought about it long and hard and the answer’s “Yes”. Is that serious enough for you?’
‘And you won’t change your mind?’
‘How could I? I seem to have fallen in love with you.’
He gave a deep sigh of relief, pushed back his chair and came round the desk, a tentative smile on his face. ‘I’m afraid Mrs Marcus Bennley doesn’t have the same ring as “Miss Rosie Lamore” but—’
‘No, it doesn’t but –’ Rose threw her arms around him – ‘I may be able to live with the disappointment!’
A year later almost to the day, there had been some changes in all their lives. Mrs Bray had returned for a final six weeks in order to give Rose cookery lessons, before retiring.
Rose, a harassed expression on her face, was creating a game pie when Steven came into the kitchen. He kept well away from the table as he turned round to show off his uniform. On leave for the weekend, he was keen to impress the few members of the household who remained in Victoria House.
Mrs Bray, her hands on her hips, said, ‘Well, you do look smart! Have you shown yourself off to your brother yet?’
Steven grinned, nodding. ‘He managed to tear himself away from his latest design to give me a quick glance.’
‘And said what?’ Rose abandoned her pastry while she inspected him.
‘Marcus thinks a few medals would do wonders for the outfit!’
‘Medals?’ Mrs Bray tossed her head. ‘You have to earn them first!’
‘Give me a chance, Mrs Bray. I haven’t seen any action yet.’
Rose said, ‘Well, I think you look very good, Steven. Lord help the enemy when you go into battle.’
‘But it suits you,’ Mrs Bray told him. ‘Army life is a world of its own. I always thought you’d make a splendid officer. I shall tell my mother when I get home this evening. I’ve told her about you and she’s very interested. Both her brothers were soldiers.’
Rose lifted a floury hand to point to the dresser. ‘There’s a letter from Letitia on the dresser. She’s still taking French lessons and—’
He frowned. ‘Is she still converting to the Roman Catholic church? It seems very dramatic – oh yes, I know. It’s to please Jean-Philippe and her father but is it right for her?’
Rose shrugged. ‘She promised him before they were married that she would consider it and now she’s very willing. It matters more now because of the baby they’re expecting. His family are all Catholics and Letitia wants to blend in. Mother doesn’t seem worried. She says Letitia’s very wholehearted and is embracing all things French.’
Mrs Bray said, ‘A friend of mine converted at the age of nine when she was adopted by a Catholic family and she says it didn’t make much difference. As long as you believe in something – that’s what I say.’
Steven looked at Rose’s creation. ‘You’d better get on with that pie, Rose. I shall be starving by the time it’s ready. Life in the army does that to you. It’s all the exercise and rushing to and fro.’ He glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’ll read Letitia’s letter later. I thought I’d go along to Marie’s grave now. Shall I take some fresh flowers?’
Rose said, ‘Oh yes please! If you wait I’ll cut some roses.’
She looked appealingly at Mrs Bray who said, ‘You run along. I’ll finish the pie.’
‘Bless you!’ Rose hurried out into the garden.
Steven watched as the housekeeper brushed the pie with egg and milk.
Mrs Bray looked up at him. ‘Is she going to wed your brother or isn’t she? I can’t bear the suspense!’
He grinned. ‘Of course she is but they’re in no hurry. They’re taking time to get to know each other . . . and you, Mrs Bray, will receive an invitation to the wedding. That goes without saying.’
‘That’s all right then!’ Mrs Bray’s smile broadened. She opened the oven door. ‘Lunch at one, remember. I hope the army has taught you to be punctual! You don’t want to be late for Rose’s first game pie!’
‘I wouldn’t dare!’ he laughed.
Birthday Present Page 22
