The Thorn Keeper

by Pepper D. Basham

  The Thorn Keeper

  Penned in Time—Book Two

  Pepper D. Basham

  Vinspire Publishing

  www.vinspirepublishing.com

  Copyright ©2016 Pepper D. Basham

  Cover illustration copyright © 2016 Elaina Lee/For the Muse Designs

  Printed and bound in the United States of America. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact Vinspire Publishing, LLC, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

  All characters in this work are purely fictional and have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ISBN: 978-0-9971732-1-5

  PUBLISHED BY VINSPIRE PUBLISHING, LLC

  To my amazing family, Dwight, Ben, Aaron, Lydia, Samuel and Phoebe

  Dreams become much bigger and better when shared with the ones I love.

  Chapter One

  Ednesbury, Derbyshire England

  September 1915

  There is a distinct difference between a heroine with a promised happy ending and a prodigal who must design her own.

  As Catherine Dougall stared across Ednesbury’s crowded Main Street at Madame Rousell’s Boutique, the French tulle lace and promises of romance taunted her with paper-thin hopes.

  Used goods and white lace? Her lips quirked downward. Definitely out of fashion.

  Besides, Rousell’s tempted Catherine’s weakness for the beautiful and extravagant. An old dream, limping beneath the past and reality. Extravagant dreams have extravagant costs.

  And her purse stood empty.

  She turned away from the daydream and pushed open the door to Branson’s. The mercantile’s welcome scents of coffee grounds and hard candies usually encouraged a sampling, but today, the aroma curled her stomach. She stifled a groan. Pregnancy proved as unpredictable as this prolonged war.

  Catherine unhooked the buttons of her coat and visited the small ready-made section of the store. The variety couldn’t compare to Lakes down the street or Rousell’s with their hand-made designs, but the less expensive clothes fit the budgets of so many in Ednesbury. Catherine smiled. The women who were thrust into the workforce could look stylish without the additional cost. She skimmed a hand over the trip cut of a sleek daysuit, envisioning a bit more embroidery on the sleeves for her tastes.

  “Ah, Miss Dougall, I see you’ve ventured out early.”

  Catherine closed her eyes and exhaled before turning to the sound of Patterson Dandy’s nasal voice. The notorious owner of the local newspaper dabbled in gossip like an epidemic. So adept at sniffing out a story, he often left grown men near tears. Catherine offered her most dazzling smile to the obnoxious man.

  “Mr. Dandy, what a delightful surprise this morning.”

  He shoved his thick-rimmed glasses up on his nose and eyed her with his usual suspicion. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Miss Dougall.”

  “I find those are the only socially acceptable responses I have for you.”

  His sneer twitched his sleek moustache. “Flattery will only increase my interest in you.”

  “Flattery?” Her hand went to her chest. “How clumsy of me. I meant to insult you.”

  He moved closer, his sneer as slick as his oily scent. “It’s unfortunate the hospital moved to your family’s country house. I should have liked to watch your developing relationship with Drew Cavanaugh continue into dark alleys and midnight romps.” Air lodged in Catherine’s throat. “Such tantalizing news, only overshadowed by the destruction of Dr. Ross’ hospital by the Zeppelin attack.”

  Catherine kept her stare steady. “I’m afraid I’ve turned over a new leaf. In fact, I’m certain you’ll have difficulty finding anything worthwhile to report in your scandalous and desperate little newspaper.”

  “You’re not the sort of personality who goes undetected, my dear.” His gaze slithered down her body, and she had the unladylike urge to slap the glasses off his face. “And my pen awaits the discovery.”

  The delivery boy caught Catherine’s eye from across the store, hospital supplies readied for collection – and not a moment too soon. She tipped her head to Mr. Dandy. “Threats are not very becoming of a gentleman.” Catherine gave a mock gasp. “Oh, but you’ve never been accused of that before, have you?” Her smile returned. “Excuse me, I see my parcel is ready.”

  Every fiber of her being ached to lash out at the dreadful man and leave a mark on his arrogant smirk. Of course, her terrible compromise with Drew Cavanaugh had been her own fault. Mr. Dandy’s intimate knowledge was another byproduct of Catherine’s multitude of mistakes, twisting the knife of conviction deeper. How could she protect those she loved from being stained by such disgrace?

  A crash sounded from the back of the store and drew her attention away from her self-flailing. Mr. Branson emerged, dragging a young woman by the arm.

  “No. Please.” Her cry pierced the room with a heart wrenching edge. “I have to eat, Mr. Branson. Please.”

  “There’s nothing for it.” Mr. Branson pulled the girl toward the front of the store, his round face red from exertion and his mop of dark hair as disgruntled as his frown. “I can’t have your kind here.”

  The girl’s unkempt hair hung loose about her shoulders in a rain of dirty gold, blocking her face, but nothing veiled the desperation in her sobs. Her hands dug into Mr. Branson’s thick hold. “I have money. I can pay. I earned it honest-like.”

  He shook his head “It don’t matter, Miss Meredith. I can’t risk her seeing you here. I could lose my shop.”

  The girl’s plea, the abject desperation of it, fueled Catherine’s protective streak, forged over the past few months tending the wounded at Roth. The girl looked young. Her flimsy dress did little to hide the swell at her stomach. Air whooshed from Catherine’s lungs. A baby.

  “Is she an acquaintance of yours, Miss Dougall?”

  Mr. Dandy stood close, too close. Catherine stepped away from him. His implication teased knowledge he shouldn’t possess. He couldn’t know of her predicament, could he? Few people did.

  “I got to eat.” The woman tried to pull away, even grabbed for the loaf of bread in Catherine’s basket as she passed. “Please, sir. You’re a good man.”

  “Mr. Branson.” Catherine stepped forward, but the owner ignored her. “Be reasonable. She can pay.”

  The door jingled with its customary welcome as Mr. Branson swung it open. There was no welcome in his furrowed brow now. “I can’t help you, girl.”

  “She don’t have to find out. I won’t tell nobody.”

  What infamous woman controlled this situation without even being present?

  A jostle knocked the girl’s hair free from her face and solidified Mr. Dandy’s insinuation with sickening clarity. The red-rimmed gray eyes, the familiar face smudged with tears and dirt, reminded Catherine of a servant in the Cavanaugh home. Hadn’t Mr. Branson called her Meredith? Heat fled Catherine’s face, and the picture bled painfully clear. Meredith had been the housemaid who always caught Drew’s eye when she entered the room. They’d even exchanged harmless banter to garner Catherine’s jealousy and Lady Cavanaugh’s ridicule, but had Drew stooped to ruin another woman’s virtue? Life?

  Catherine lowered her palm to her stomach as if to shield her own little secret from the
harshness in the memory. What promises had Drew made to Meredith? How long ago had she been dismissed from service to rummage around the streets alone?

  “I can’t.” Branson pushed the girl out the door and slammed it on her final plea. “I can’t,” he whispered and shoved a chubby hand through his coarse, brown hair.

  Catherine blocked Mr. Branson’s passage. “What just happened here?”

  “A travesty. Unnecessary travesty.” The man’s voice rasped with emotion, his dark eyes weary. He walked around her and disappeared into the back of the store.

  “But she was willing to pay,” Catherine called after him, looking around at the other stunned customers for answers.

  “Ah, I see you’ve not heard.” Mr. Dandy’s voice slinked into the moment. “Obviously, living so far from town keeps you away from the most current news.”

  Most of which she never wished to hear. But this….

  He waited a few seconds, smile devious, clearly reveling in the attention his reluctance provided.

  A woman pushed forward from the crowd. “No one of ill-repute may buy or sell in any public place at risk of losing their leases.”

  “What?” Catherine looked back to Mr. Dandy for clarification. Lady Cavanaugh. How long had Catherine’s pride blinded her from the injustice of the Cavanaughs and the harsh social lines set about by the rich. “She wasn’t causing trouble to anyone, and she was willing to pay.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Miss Dougall. You saw her condition. No husband?” Mr. Dandy’s brow tweaked with the prickle of his words. “Clearly someone…undeserving of compassion.”

  There was no way Mr. Dandy knew of Catherine’s similar situation, but from the gleam in his eyes, she wondered. She had always disliked bullies.

  “I see you’ve lived well above the weakness for compassion, Mr. Dandy, but as for the rest of humanity, we are all in need of it. Her mistakes should not condemn her to starvation.” Catherine’s hand fisted at her side. “It’s fortunate indeed that Lady Cavanaugh doesn’t own the local church, for she might very well refuse the son of God admittance for displaying such liberal grace.”

  She surveyed the wide-eyed observers in the room, seeking allies. As she met each stare, the person looked away—all, that is, except Dastardly Dandy. “We can’t stand by and let someone decide who eats and who doesn’t.”

  “You can say that.” Mr. Branson emerged from the back waving his chubby finger at her. “But your livelihood and your family’s existence don’t depend on your shop. She owns more than half the buildings in this town. She decides who stays and who leaves.”

  A mumble of agreement merged through the room. Fire spliced Catherine’s middle. No one should have this type of power over another.

  She cast a fleeting glance to Mr. Dandy, snatched up her food-laden basket, and then slammed her money on the counter. “We shall see about that.”

  Dr. David Ross arrived to town in plenty of time to make his lunch appointment with his great aunt. Her unexpected request after a month of silence inspired healthy caution. Though she’d never wielded her power against him, he’d heard her behavior with others proved…tedious at times. After all, she remained the final link to Uncle Jeffrey and, perhaps, a thread of hope for his father’s reconciliation with the Cavanaughs.

  David simply wished to do his job—offer quality medical services to those in need, without additional drama—but something thwarted his dream at every turn. From the Zeppelin’s destruction of his hospital to the reduced finances of many of his former benefactors. Surely God believed in this dream as much as he did?

  A flash of red and cream caught in his periphery. Across the street, past the Public Park and tram stop, hurried a familiar figure. The vibrant cranberry hues of her gown beneath the light color of her coat danced in contrast to the colorless buildings lining the street. Though the large black hat with a plumage of burgundy shaded half her profile, it failed to obscure her silhouette from identification.

  Catherine Dougall.

  She stopped at the street corner, loaded basket pulled against her chest, and sent a furtive glance about her. What on earth was his newest nurse doing? In a wink, she darted down a narrow alleyway and into the dingy shadows.

  David didn’t stop to think. He checked the street for oncoming vehicles and then dashed after her. He’d known her a grand total of three months, and in that time, she’d transformed from a woman dabbling on the edge of a promiscuous life to a community servant, working alongside him in his hospital with tireless diligence like her sister, Ashleigh.

  Except she wasn’t her sister.

  Ashleigh didn’t twist David’s emotions to the edge of uncertainty. Nor did the younger Dougall sister keep him guessing about her intentions. He shouldn’t follow Catherine, but ever since his involvement in her conversion, he’d accepted the responsibility of spiritual mentor…or at least, that’s what he told himself.

  The alleyway spilled into another, then another, each time slowing David’s pace until he snatched a glance at Catherine’s movements and he was able to follow again…all the way to Old Rutland Avenue, a narrow lane far enough from Main to hide the less savory side of Ednesbury. Stripped, clapboard houses, gray and broken from misuse and age, stood in direct contrast to the Georgian-style buildings on the previous two streets.

  David swallowed a surge of disappointment. Had she resorted to her old ways? No. Surely she couldn’t hide her true nature in the confines and emotional demands of an overcrowded hospital. Then what brought her to Old Rutland?

  David stopped in the shadows as Catherine caught up with a young woman on the threshold of a dilapidated building. The girl looked unwell, with the frame of an advanced pregnancy and the pallor of hunger. Her tattered dress barely offered any barrier from the early autumn chill. David couldn’t understand the exchange, but Catherine’s intentions became clear.

  She set the basket of food down at the woman’s feet and slipped off her fashionable coat. Despite the obvious objections of the girl, Catherine wrapped the coat about the girl’s shoulders, brooking no refusal. David’s grin started slow and spread across his face.

  Catherine wasn’t consorting with people from her past.

  She was living graciously in her present.

  His chest expanded with a warm rush of relief…and something else less definable.

  Catherine turned back toward his direction. He waited for her to step into the alleyway before emerging from his hiding place.

  “Miss Dougall?”

  “Dav—” She snapped her rose lips closed around his name and blinked those large sapphire eyes at him. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I was wondering the same about you.”

  She pressed her palm to her chest and drew in a deep breath. “I…I was completing an errand.”

  “That took you all the way to Old Rutland?”

  She opened her mouth to answer but then stopped. The twinkle in her eyes should have provided fair warning before she unleashed her disarming smile, but it unfurled with unsteadying potency, leaving him a bit mesmerized. She unwittingly wielded it like a weapon, but oh, what a dangerous tool if she ever used it with purpose.

  “You have the most impeccable timing, Dr. Ross.”

  Her sudden change in topic took him off-guard. “Do I?”

  She tossed a look over her shoulder as she walked back toward Main Street. “Providential, you might even say.”

  The pixie glint teased his own smile alive. “Oh really?”

  Her gaze took a subtle pleading turn. “Would you happen to have an extra pound? Or several shillings at the very least.”

  He covered his growing smile by looking away. After witnessing her exchange with the poor woman on the street, he knew very well why she needed the additional funds. “Didn’t I give you enough for the supplies this morning?”

  “Yes…well, I procured a few additional items.” She rubbed her palms against her arms in an attempt to warm herself against the morning breeze
, deliberately keeping her gaze from his. “Unforeseen, you understand.”

  David unbuttoned his coat. “And you lost your coat?”

  “Yes, about that.” She looked down at her gown as if realizing her loss. Her words formed slowly, and he could almost see the frantic search for an excuse evolving in her pretty head. “I must have left it somewhere.”

  He wrapped his coat around her shoulders, and a few loose strands of her ebony curls tickled his knuckles. He paused, fastened in place by sapphire eyes, the scent of lavender, and a growing tenderness. “How very careless of you.” His words worked out through a whisper.

  Catherine pinched the coat against her throat and stepped back, breaking whatever spell held him in place. “I’m afraid it is a rather unlovely character trait, my dear doctor. Yet another flaw to add to my needed reforms.” Her smile returned with a little too much brightness. “But about those extra funds?”

  He’d give her persistence, as well as a few other distracting descriptions. Their friendship was an odd one, but authentic in ways he’d never experienced. He knew her past and had witnessed her transformation. Somehow, the knowledge inspired an inexplicable protectiveness and exquisite freedom. No games. No social dance. Beautiful authenticity.

  “Miss Dougall, you are aware that we have a strict budget during these war times?”

  She fidgeted with the edge of her gloves and finally released a sigh. “I… I reallocated some of the money.”

  “You reallocated it?” He punched his lips tight against his burgeoning smile.

  “For the best possible reasons.”

  “Well, if it is for the best reasons.” He took off his hat and dusted the brim. “I suppose we can cut rations for the wounded to make up the difference.”

  She whimpered, eyes rounding like a wounded animal’s. “Over an extra pound?”