The Thorn Keeper

by Pepper D. Basham

  Ashleigh had once told Catherine that the way to battle self-doubt was to uncover God’s definition of His children – as a reminder of his love. As Catherine drew her Bible into her lap, she poured over a verse, drinking in hope like a parched wanderer.

  For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his steadfast love toward those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far does he remove our transgressions from us.

  She dropped back on her bed and allowed the tears to flow. They rolled heat down to her temple to pool in her hair, but she didn’t care. She needed the release. No one proved as steadfast as God. His love did not falter with social rules or propriety. It did not fade with her failure or remind her of her shame. He saw her heart, and although there were many hateful flaws still in need of eradication, He knew her desires held a nobility she could only reach with His help. A knock broke into her prayers. She moaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over her head. She waited, hoping the disrupters might leave her alone. The knock sounded again, louder. She sat up in bed and threw her pillow at the door. She knew it was a vain attempt. Her door stood on the other side of the room, but somehow, the effort made her feel a little better.

  “I don’t feel as though you’ve crowned me with love and mercy right now, Lord.” She growled to the ceiling and then sighed. “But I trust you’re quite capable of helping me show it…even when I don’t feel it.”

  The knock came again.

  “We know you’re in there, lass. We followed you all the way up the stairs.” Annie’s distinct Irish accent resounded from the other side.

  “Well, not the entire time. First we stopped in at our room to fetch something for you,” came Marianne’s correction.

  A sweet warmth spilled through Catherine’s middle, and the tears threated to return all over again. Is this what friendship was like? She grinned. A most unlikely pairing. But still, these young women came to find her. She’d never been good with friends – at some point or another, she succeeded in stealing the boys they admired or saying something rash. Could God create a new opportunity in this too?

  She dashed away the loose tears clinging to her lashes, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  Annie stared at her a moment and then walked into the room. “I’m not usually an advocate of slapping women, but your mother might tempt me.”

  Marianne’s big eyes widened even more as she entered, toting a garment in her arms. “Oh, don’t say that, Annie. She’s not nearly as bad as Lady Cavanaugh.”

  Catherine closed the door behind them, her smile growing with the warmth in her chest.

  “The Crow Cavanaugh would tempt the Pope towards murder.” Annie collapsed in one of Catherine’s cushioned chairs by the window. “But she’ll get hers someday. If there’s any justice in this world, she’ll get hers.”

  “It’s good to see you.” Catherine nodded to Marianne. “Are you feeling better?”

  A sweet blush touched Marianne’s cheeks. “Yes, thank you. Dr. Hudson was very kind.”

  “He has her seeing daydreams and twinkly stars.” Annie flittered her fingers in the air. “I told her that he’s too posh for the likes of us.”

  Catherine touched Marianne’s arm. “Daydreams are good, Marianne, but keep your head. We know very little of Dr. Hudson.”

  Marianne looked down at the garments in her hands, her face growing redder with the lengthened attention. “Of course. My aunt used to say ‘hold your heart close but hold your head closer’. She knew the truth of it, having watched my mother and father’s horrible ways.”

  “I won’t let her get caught up in a mess like me, you can be certain of that.” Annie’s pale eyes darted a warning. “One hint of cad I see in that man and it’s…” She made her hand like scissors cutting in the air. “The end. But no matter, we came here for another reason.”

  Annie stood and nodded toward Marianne.

  “We thought this might lift your spirits.” Marianne unfurled the gowns in her arms and Catherine’s breath caught.

  Two gowns, both displaying her own designs, draped before her as if a daydream had materialized. “Oh!” She reached out to touch the red gown. “You’ve…you’ve made masterpieces. How on earth did you find the time?”

  Annie chuckled. “I used to work in a factory before I became a secretary, and in both, you worked long hours. Besides, sewing is something we both love. It’s easy to spend a little extra time doing something you love.”

  “And I don’t need much sleep,” Marianne chimed in with her usual brightness.

  Catherine nodded, unable to take her eyes from the display. The first, dark blue, bore brocade sleeves instead of the unadorned older model. Gathering material of various shades of blue draped at the hips with a few flashes of gold mingled in for effect. The neckline draped with a braid of pale blue and gold, lowered from the more Victorian neckline.

  The second gown, a dark red, held a touch of oriental flare with multicolored cloth of golds, dark blues, and red draped from one shoulder across the front to gather at the opposite waist. The sleeveless gown kept a straighter line skirt, but not as tight as the hobble skirts from a few years ago. The entire ensemble boasted unique elegance.

  Catherine’s palms came up in appreciation. “The designs may not have the same flare as Paul Poirot, but they could easily compete with House of Worth in their style. You’ve done remarkable work.”

  “Well, I told Marianne, I wasn’t going to make them like those mummy skirts.” Annie shook her head. “No mind about fashion if you risk safety.”

  “The blue one is my favorite.” Marianne said. “And we’ve started on two more of your ideas.”

  “Getting the hems off the floor for the two other skirts will make a world of difference. Women won’t have to replace the bottom lace nearly as often.” Annie walked around the gowns, examining them again. “But I can’t think that they’re any worse than things I’ve seen in shop windows.”

  “I think they’re a great deal better.” Catherine pulled her gaze away. “The real test will be to see what Madame Rousell thinks.”

  “And if she’ll be willing to help with a Bazaar.” Annie added.

  Catherine’s minded started working out an idea. “I wonder if I could sneak to town this afternoon. We could put on the gowns and wear our coats over them, so we’ll look a little less conspicuous. Marianne, the blue one would look lovely with your hair and eyes.”

  “And I’ll cover for the two of you.” Annie’s nose curled with discomfort. “Madame terrifies me with all her…” Annie waved her hands in the air as if imitating Madame. “Flair.”

  “She’s a very passionate lady, to be sure.”

  “Won’t you be missed here?” Marianne asked.

  Catherine reached for the red gown and shot them a grin. “After the catastrophe downstairs with my mother, I’m pretty confident no one will be expecting me for the rest of the evening. They’ll assume I’m ashamed to be seen in public.” She tipped a shoulder. “Perhaps Mother’s nervous fit was quite timely indeed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Catherine could hardly catch her breath as she rushed down Main Street toward Madame Rousell’s. Marianne had agreed to meet her at the French boutique once she made a stop at her apartment to collect a few things, but it gave Catherine time to prepare her persuasive argument for the benefits of this venture. Surely Madame would see the good of it. After all, she wasn’t one of Lady Cavanaugh’s underlings and maybe—if Catherine and Madame kept the personal information about the seamstresses quiet—it wouldn’t impact Madame’s business dealings with Lady Cavanaugh.

  What could Catherine lose in asking?

  She shrugged and looked up the lane as she crossed. A mixture of motorcars and carriages permeated the street as people bustled across the cobblestone and dirt. She loved the activity and life of the village. Her grin stretched. Oh, how she’d thrived off of the fashion and glamour of London, before… She sighed and forged ahead, directly int
o the path of a particularly well-dressed lady in a gray day suit. The large hat obscured Catherine’s vision a moment, but as soon as she reexamined the sour face attached to the thin frame walking toward her, her entire body braced for the attack.

  Lady Maureen Cavanaugh.

  Lady Cavanaugh came to an abrupt stop and firmed her pointy chin into battle position. Three confrontations within the same span of time? What on earth was God trying to teach her that she clearly wasn’t learning fast enough?

  Catherine stood a little taller and proceeded forward, never allowing her gaze to stray from the menacing slits of Lady Cavanaugh’s dark eyes.

  “I see you’re dressing the part of a lady now. I barely recognized you.”

  The stone-cold timbre of Lady Cavanaugh’s voice spurned Catherine’s anger with its clear innuendo to her previous choices. She cast off the social gap with a smirk. “Well, it’s good to know one of us hasn’t changed. You’ve still not learned to behave like a lady.”

  Lady Cavanaugh blinked, the sting unexpected. “If it wasn’t for your American upbringing, you would know your place.”

  “And if it wasn’t for my American upbringing, I’d let you keep me there.” Catherine took another step closer. “The last time I spoke with you was in the presence of your grandson about my…situation, and neither of you did anything except cast me out.”

  The woman looked down her nose, her lips curling as if she had a continual bitter taste. “What else does one do when there’s rubbish in the house?”

  The woman’s tongue proved as sharp as the points of her dark brows. “With such strict rules on riffraff, I’m surprised your grandson is still living at home, then. Perhaps your discernment isn’t what it used to be, my lady.”

  Lady Cavanaugh drew close, her teeth bared. “My discernment is clear enough to keep my grandson away from vultures like you.”

  “You’re the only vulture in this town.” Catherine worked to keep her voice from drawing attention. “I’m not afraid of you. With all your pomp and power, all you really are is a bitter old woman with a dying idea of how the world should be run.” A sudden peace flooded through her, stealing the edge from her fury. “I used to be like you – fueled by my own need and bitterness. So angry I didn’t care who I wounded or what the cost. All my anger ever did was isolate me, as it has done for you. People don’t respect you. They fear you, and the fact that you would rather have their fear than their respect speaks volumes of how very small of a person you truly are.”

  “You dare threaten me?” She laughed, or a poor imitation of one. “I hold your life in my hands.”

  “You have no power over me, no matter what you think. I’ve already been broken and shamed in more ways than you can imagine. I have nothing to lose.”

  “Except your newfound friendship with David Ross, perhaps?”

  “Dr. Ross is a noble person. You may have the power to push around his choices as far as his professional future, but you can’t choose his friends for him.”

  Her false laugh returned. “You really do not know with whom you deal. Money is power, dear girl, a commodity which you woefully lack. Besides, your past alone gives me adequate ammunition to destroy any ties you have with my family, including David.” Lady Cavanaugh’s next step brought her within slapping distance. “All your boldness is nothing. You are a blemish on your family and friends. What would they do if they knew the truth about you? How you seduced my grandson—and who knows which other men in this town—only to obtain a title? Money?”

  The tiny bit of fear Lady Cavanaugh had erected in Catherine’s heart crumbled. “Is that all you have on me? Surely, with your long reach of insults and threats, you can do better.”

  Lady Cavanaugh took a step back, her eyes growing wide.

  “We are broken. All of us. No matter how we try to hide it beneath the latest fashions or the power in our social status, we’re each just as broken as the other.” Catherine tilted her chin, confident. “You and I.”

  “Don’t be so impertinent as to assume you know anything about me, or David.” Her sneer returned. “You may boast of your friendship and service at the hospital, but I wouldn’t cling to that little dream too tightly, my dear. David may be magnanimous, but he isn’t a fool. He knows the hospital cannot survive without funds, and I’m counting on his generous nature to do whatever is necessary to keep his sweet little charitable organization afloat.”

  “He won’t be bought.”

  “Men are such predictable creatures. One must only know which points to push, and he will crumble. Even David has his price.” Her gaze raked over Catherine. “And you certainly haven’t the persuasive abilities to change that.”

  “So you’ve decided to tug at his heart? With his patients?” Catherine drew in a deep breath at the realization. “Or with a bride.”

  “I see you set your sights at him, but just like Drew, you will never win David’s heart.” She shook her head. “Gentlemen only marry respectable women. They may dabble with their share of affairs, but the ones who truly hold their hearts are the ones they wed, not the ones they bed.”

  “Well, you would know more about such things, would you not, Madame?” Madame Rousell stepped into the conversation, her emerald gown taking glints of sunlight and highlighting the impish glow in her eyes.

  Lady Cavanaugh’s grimace deepened into harsh lines on her face as she examined Madame as one would the underside of a shoe. A French shoe at that. “No, I would not.”

  “Of course, my mistake.” Madame pressed her palm, her nails glossy from the lacquer. “For my grievous error, may I interest you in a silk scarf from China? A lovely shipment arrived last week—”

  “I only wear English-made clothing.”

  Madame’s expression turned sympathetic, “Ah, I see. This is the reason for your sour expression, yes?”

  Lady Cavanaugh snarled, turned on her heel, and marched down the street.

  “She makes some sort of wager with the young doctor?”

  “How did you—”

  “You should not have such conversations on the street where anyone can hear.” Madame waved her fingers as if her argument gave perfect justification.

  Catherine’s grin twitched. “We were not loud, Madame. Only eavesdroppers might hear.”

  Madame tipped her manicured brow. “I am quite an expert at eavesdropping. It was, what should we say, a great skill to me when I was young in a family of nine.” Her smile took a mischievous turn, then she looked to the sky. “It is time for tea. Come.”

  “I have someone who is going to join us.” Catherine searched the street and saw Marianne hidden in the shadows of one of the buildings, waiting, no doubt, for the argument with Lady Cavanaugh to end.

  Catherine gestured her forward, the long coat covering Marianne’s fashion masterpiece just as it did Catherine’s. Madame turned a questioning eye.

  “Madame, this is my colleague and one of the reasons I wished to meet with you. Her name is Marianne Lavoy.”

  Madame’s palm returned to her chest and she gasped. “Lucille Lavoy’s great niece?”

  Marianne’s sweet smile responded. “Qui, Madame. Vous vous rappelez ma tante?”

  Madame released a delighted laugh at Marianne’s response. “But of course, she was my contemporary as well as a dear friend to Catherine’s Grandmama, Victoria Dougall. Before your aunt’s social decline, she was quite the grand dame. Did she teach you French?”

  “Oui.”

  “I never knew what happened to you after her death. You should have come to me.” And then Madame walked forward, gesturing for them to follow and chattering on in French.

  Catherine only understood bits and pieces as she followed the pair through the lovely fashions to the back of Madame’s shop. They ascended a narrow stairway with a door at the top. Madame opened it into the massive sitting room of one of the most extravagant apartments Catherine had ever seen.

  “This is where you live?”

  Madame called to a woma
n in the kitchen. “Tea, Nanette, s’il vous _rand.” And then she gestured toward the lush, leather chairs covered with pillows and furs. She drew out her fan and waved it slowly in front of her. “I had these apartments designed last year, after my dear Patrick passed. He was Irish—warmhearted, kind, passionate.” Her gaze went to the distance and her fan moved with more fervor. “Yes, he was so passionate.”

  “You…you own your building?” Catherine slid to sit on the leather sofa, followed by Marianne.

  Madame snapped from her reverie. “Mais oui! You see, many years ago, your dear Grandmama offered to sale to Patrick and I this place. She offered to several faithful patrons of this town, and a few were able to purchase. Ma cher Patrick, he always doted on me and was quick to respond. So, you see, this is mine, and there is nothing the Lady can do to take it from me.”

  Catherine nodded her thanks to Nanette for the cup of tea. “If only others had the option of purchasing their property. I’ve heard it is happening more and more throughout the country.”

  “Oui, the estates are much too large to manage the costs.” Madame nodded. “We used to let Beacon House from your Grandmama when we hosted house parties and had many guests. You know her grand town house?”

  “I’ve never seen it, but she’s spoken of it before.”

  “It is tres grand. Not as large as Roth Hall, but glorious in its own right. Church Street and Spencer Avenue. You should know it, ma petite. I spent several years in that grand home after your _Grandmama moved to America.” Madame took a sip of her tea and peaked a brow. “But you did not come to talk of the Lady or my home. I think you were meant to find me, non?”

  “Yes.” Catherine set down her teacup and steadied her palms against her knees. “This might seem like an impertinent question, but what do you do with the gowns that are out of fashion or do not sell?”

  “This is an interesting question.” Madame paused in her answer and studied Catherine, her fawn eyes filled with a playful curiosity. “Some of the items I can send back to Paris, but most, if not purchased at a reduced cost, I must put away.”