by Ada Bright
‘My dear, there is no necessity for formality. Rose is family, is she not? You may address her accordingly.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mrs Wallace held out a hand to Rose, and she took it, allowing herself to be led over to sit on a chaise near the fireplace. ‘Olivia, please ask Williams to send in some refreshments. Christopher, my dear, we need more logs.’ The lady walked over to a wooden cupboard, extracting a key from a nearby drawer, and removed a wooden tea caddy.
Olivia and her father disappeared on their errands, and Rose’s eyes drifted around the room, taking in its warmth and comfort.
‘You are very pretty.’
Rose’s gaze flew to meet Anne’s, the easy colour filling her cheeks. ‘You are too kind.’
Anne smiled. ‘Papa is oft heard to say I am like Mama. She is kind, too.’ The young girl’s smile widened, and Rose returned it, only for it to fade as her gaze met that of Mary, who was seated beside her sister. Unless she was mistaken, the eldest daughter was not too enamoured of Rose’s arrival.
‘And do you draw or paint, Rose?’
Mrs Wallace had retaken her seat on the chaise next to Rose and, thankful to have a reason to break away from Mary’s challenging stare across the room, Rose turned in her seat.
‘Sadly, I do not.’ Rose swallowed quickly. What nineteenth-century talent might she be able to offer? To be very fond of walking was never going to suffice!
‘Do you sing or play?’ Anne had risen to her feet, and she gestured over towards a small instrument against the wall.
‘Er, I play the piano… forte. A little. But I do not sing.’
‘Why ever not?’ Mary was frowning. ‘If you do not paint or draw or sing, then what can you do?’
For a wild moment, Rose was tempted to say that she could drive a motorised conveyance, but her eye caught sight of a sewing basket near Mary’s chair, and with relief she summoned a smile. ‘I can sew. Make clothes.’
Anne giggled as she walked over to stand by her mother’s chair.
‘Hush, now, child,’ admonished Mrs Wallace, but Mary was clearly unimpressed.
‘We are all taught how to do work. That is hardly an accomplishment.’
‘Mary.’ Mr Wallace had returned with a full basket of logs and he threw the girl a warning look as he placed it beside the fireplace.
‘I do speak French. Quite well.’ Rose felt like she’d just produced a rabbit from a top hat. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?
Mary, however, remained unmoved. ‘And much use it may be at present.’
Rose bit her lip. This was like being on a very odd talk show where she was failing as a guest. She sent her father an anxious look, but he smiled reassuringly at her. How could she have forgotten England was currently at war with France?
Olivia returned then, followed by a maid with an urn of hot water, and Mrs Wallace prepared the tea whilst Anne produced her book for Rose to see. Mary did not move from her seat, and although Rose was saddened by the eldest daughter’s blatant dissatisfaction with the situation, she had a hard time not finding humour in the stubborn set of her pretty mouth. How many times had Rose’s mother complained about the same expression on her face as a teenager?
‘My dear.’ Mrs Wallace smiled kindly at Rose as she passed her a cup of tea. ‘Delighted though I was to hear from Christopher of his joy over your discovery, you must imagine our astonishment. We all thought you to have perished as a child.’ Her expression softened even further. ‘I hope… I trust you were well cared for in whatever home you were raised?’
Pushing aside her life with her mother, Rose smiled as reassuringly as she could. ‘I was indeed well cared for, ma’am, and properly educated.’
A delicate snort from Mary earned her a warning look from her father, and Rose hoped the subject might change.
‘I have assured Louisa our separation was one beyond both our abilities to overcome, my dear.’ Christopher smiled warmly at Rose. Had he given her the ghost of a wink? ‘She comprehends that your mother is… not of this world.’
‘Oh!’ Rose took a hasty sip of her tea.
‘Let us be done with such melancholy memories, my dear. I am certain there are more cheerful topics we can canvass.’
‘Yes, of course. Tell me, Rose, Christopher tells us you reside in Bath.’ Mrs Wallace offered a plate of biscuits, but Rose declined. ‘And do you have a companion there? Has an establishment been set up for you in the absence of both of your parents?’
Rose blinked. ‘I… er, no. I live alone.’
Mrs Wallace’s eyes widened. ‘Alone? But child, how can this be?’ She turned to her husband, who stood near one of the windows. ‘Christopher! You must do something! It is not fitting for a single young woman to be living alone, and certainly not in a city such as Bath!’
Rose wanted to bury her head in her hands. For days, she felt she’d managed a pretty credible impression of being from the era. So why, oh why could she not make a good showing in front of her family? She met her father’s gaze across the room, and he smiled. He didn’t seem too bothered by her slip up, and turned to speak to his wife to diffuse the topic.
Sitting back in her seat with a sigh, Rose chewed on her lip. No, she shouldn’t have said that, but she really didn’t want to lie to them unless she had to. Every hour, every minute since she had reunited with her father, the situation became less of a fantasy and more of a reality. She didn’t want to play act for the people in this room. She wanted, as insane as it might seem, to know them as authentically as possible, and for them to know her.
Anne came to sit beside her. ‘Are you lonely? I could not live without my sisters around me.’
Rose placed her cup on a nearby side table. ‘I have longed for a brother or sister all my life.’
‘And yet we have not.’ Mary took a sip from her cup. ‘For we have ample, and require no more.’
‘Mary, dear, that is unkind.’
The girl had the grace to look a little abashed at her mother’s reprimand, but it soon passed as Mary fixed her gaze on Rose again. ‘You are quite old, Miss Wallace… Rose. Yet you are not wed.’
‘Mary! That is quite sufficient from you!’ Mrs Wallace walked over and took Rose’s hand and patted it. ‘You are quite the beauty, my dear. I am sure you have had your share of attention.’
Thankful for the lady’s intervention, Rose summoned a smile. To have such marked comments directed at her was getting unsettling. She just needed a little time with Mary to cut through the teenage angst Rose’s arrival had caused… only time was running out.
Chapter 23
Rose turned to her hostess in relief at the distraction. ‘You are too kind, Mrs Wallace.’
‘Please, my dear, call me by my given name. It is Louisa. Or if it would bring you comfort, you may address me as Mama, as the others do. But let us have no more formality between us.’
‘Quite right.’ Christopher walked over to where the tea things were and poured himself a fresh cup. ‘We are all family, are we not?’
He fixed Mary with a hard stare, but she raised her chin.
‘If you will excuse me. I wish to get some air.’
There was an awkward silence after she left the room, and Louisa Wallace exchanged an anxious look with her husband before joining him as he resumed his position by the window. They spoke quietly, and Rose looked up as Olivia came to sit on her other side.
‘Pay Mary no mind, Rose. She is accustomed to being Miss Wallace, not Miss Mary.’
‘She is to come out next year,’ piped Anne. ‘Now you will have to wed before she can.’
‘Hush, Anne.’ Olivia shook her head at her youngest sister. ‘Papa would never be tied to such convention, you know he would not.’ She peered shyly at Rose. ‘May I ask… I do not wish to be impertinent…’
Rose smiled. ‘You may ask me whatever you wish.’
‘Do you have a beau? You must surely have a young man who wishes to take you as his wife?’
The memory of Aiden,
lying in his bed that morning, only partially dressed, rushed into Rose’s mind, and she felt the heat in her cheeks flaring.
‘There is someone! Papa!’ Anne spun around in her seat as Christopher and Louisa turned to look over. ‘Rose has a suitor!’
‘Hush, Anne,’ Olivia cautioned her. ‘Forgive Anne, Rose. She is too curious for her own good.’
‘I am well aware of where Rose’s interest lies, Anne.’ Her father smiled. ‘She has chosen well.’
It was sufficient for both Olivia and Anne to spend the next ten minutes showering Rose in questions about this suitor, which she did her best to answer honestly without feeling she had compromised Aiden in his absence. If the poor man only knew how he was being discussed!
With Mary gone from the room, however, the conversation continued in a light vein, and no further mentions were made about where Rose came from and how she lived, and she began to relax. So much so that she was happily persuaded to share refreshments with everyone before they went for a stroll in the gardens.
Of Mary, there was no sign.
They returned to the house around three in the afternoon, and the chiming of the clock on the mantel drew Rose’s attention. She ought to go back; the doctor would have called and she was eager to see how much better Aiden was.
‘You wish to return now.’
Christopher had come to stand beside her whilst Anne and Olivia set up the instrument, keen to show Rose a duet they had been practising of late.
‘I must. This has been…’ Rose looked around the room, filled with late afternoon sunshine: the fire flickering in the grate, the vases of garden blooms, the pretty hangings at the windows and the wall devoted entirely to books. Louisa was stroking a cat stretched out on the rug before the fire and humming under her breath. Rose needed to absorb this room, this moment, keep it close to her forever. ‘…so special. I shall cherish the memories of today, always.’
‘And I too.’
Another hour passed before Rose had the heart to say goodbye. Hopefully, she would be back very soon. Once Aiden was in the hands of a modern doctor or hospital, she would be free to come back to spend a little more time with her father and his family. Surely Jane would be a willing conspirator? And perhaps Mary would grow to like her in time.
‘I shall walk back with you, Rose.’
‘No.’ Rose smiled up at Christopher. ‘Let us part here; it is easier this way. I must go back. You know I must. But I will return as soon as I am able.’
‘As you wish. Perhaps you have the right of it. The longer our parting is postponed, the harder it becomes.’
Choked with emotion, Rose bid a fond farewell to Louisa, Olivia and Anne, the latter of whom hugged her tightly around the waist and begged her to return directly.
She parted with her father at the gate, both of them filled with emotion as they released hands, but Rose knew the incredible fact of knowing him, knowing he’d loved her all these years, eased the parting.
Setting off down the lane towards the centre of Chawton at a brisk pace, Rose forced herself not to look around, conscious part of her wanted to turn and run back, to never leave the sanctuary of that home, of parents and siblings, filled with love, laughter and light… She released a watery laugh. Perhaps not all her siblings! But this was everything her life had not been whilst growing up with her mother in Bathampton.
Rose dashed a hand across her damp lashes, forcing her mind to think forward, to seeing Aiden, to getting him safely home. She reached the pond opposite the cottage, her eyes running over what was visible of the building, given the high hedging, tucking away yet another memory. She would write all of it down as soon as she was home.
She waited for a coach and horses to pass, then stepped out to cross the road to the footpath on the other side. She must write her letter to Morgan as soon as she got back to the house, let her know exactly when she planned to arrive with Aiden, and then—
‘Miss Wallace! Rose, please wait!’
Turning around, Rose was surprised to see Mary Wallace come flying along the lane. She fetched up breathless in front of her, and Rose eyed her warily, wondering what, with them safely out of the earshot of any of the family, she might throw at her now.
‘Forgive me?’ Rose’s eyes widened as Mary stepped forward, still breathing heavily. ‘I do not mean to be so lacking in manners. ‘’Tis a shock, that is all. An adjustment.’
Rose smiled, her heart lightening in an instant. ‘You are a daughter to be proud of, Mary. I know how much my… our father loves his children, and though I was the first born, he knows little of me. You, Olivia and Anne – and your brother – you are his life. You and your mother.’
Mary sighed. ‘You are too kind – as is my mother. I wish to be more like you, but I have such irrational moments, such bursts of temper. I know not whence they hale.’
Reaching out, Rose tentatively took Mary’s hand, unsure if she would welcome the gesture. ‘It is all part of growing up.’
Mary smiled tremulously. ‘Perchance I have been mistaken, and having an elder sister would bring enhancements I can only imagine. You are wise.’
Rose laughed. ‘I am older.’
Mary blushed. ‘I am sorry.’
‘Don’t… do not be. I meant no censure.’ Rose squeezed her hand lightly and released it. ‘My age does not trouble me, nor should it you. But wisdom comes with growing older.’
‘It ought not!’ Mary let out a huff of breath. ‘Why give us wisdom when we no longer need it, and withhold it when it is longed for?’
Rose shook her head. ‘You mistake me. Wisdom is required whatever our age. Only as we grow older do we learn how to heed it and harness it for our own good.’
Mary studied her for a moment, then a smile formed – a genuine smile that reached her eyes. ‘And I shall trust to your guidance… Sister.’ The smile faded. ‘But you are to leave us. Papa has told me… your stay is of short duration?’
‘It is. I must return home directly.’
‘It is what prompted me to follow you. I had thought…’ Mary gestured back towards the house. ‘I had expected there to be other occasions when I would be able to address my poor demeanour towards you, when I would be able to show you the civility you deserve. I had not realised…’
‘I am sure we will meet again, Mary.’
They stood in silence for a moment, studying each other’s features. Then, Rose smiled. ‘Come, let us say farewell for the present.’ She held out her hand, then realised what she was doing, but Mary didn’t seem to notice, throwing herself at Rose and hugging her, and with a huff of laughter, Rose hugged her back.
‘There,’ she said, setting Mary back from her as they separated. ‘We have hugged as only sisters can.’ Feeling the emotion grip her throat again, Rose smiled. ‘Take care of your… our papa, Mary.’
‘I promise.’ Mary’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I am so sorry I squandered today. I will not do you the same disservice when you return from Bath.’ Her eyes brightened. ‘Perchance I could make some stay with you there!’
Unable to speak, so taut was her throat, Rose nodded, then turned and hurried down the lane, unaware Mary watched her until she was quite out of sight, before slowly turning for home.
Rose felt light as air as she almost skipped along the road towards Chawton House, her non-conditioned hair and ill-fitting shoes the last thing on her mind.
This was reality, not some amazing dream she had conjured in her mind. She had a family! She laughed under her breath as she turned into the long driveway leading past the church and up to the house. They just happened to live quite far away, not in distance, but in time.
Until now, family had meant nothing but loneliness, obligation and, in some ways, the feeling of being trapped. As difficult as her mother was, however, Rose did love her. She’d never felt much reciprocation, but she’d accepted that as her lot in life.
Now, she had a real family… but how could she keep them?
Rose wrapped her arms abou
t her waist as she walked, deep in thought. She was so thankful, so grateful to the Austen and Knight families; to Jane, who had made all this possible, to Charles who had given her the special charm, to Cassandra for her warmth and Edward for his kind acceptance of their situation.
As she drew level with the church, Rose couldn’t help but eye it with the same nostalgia she had the cottage. How different it looked now, and how odd it was to no longer see the statue of Jane, only so recently placed in the churchyard on its pedestal.
With a smile, Rose set off up the sloping driveway to the house. Even if she could not come back often, surely Jane would still be able to deliver correspondence?
Content she had found a solution – Rose could not bear to think of her family worried – she hurried up the steps. How would her father explain that? It couldn’t be allowed to happen, and this way they could communicate for many years.
Then, she stopped, her hand on the door. The breeze rustled through Rose’s hair and all of the joy in her heart was swept away like the russet leaves rolling away from her across the terraces. How could she have forgotten?
Jane… a woman so full of life, energy and wit, would be stolen from the world in less than four short years. Rose had considered this a tragedy even before she could name Jane as one of her friends. Now, added onto the unbearable thought was that Jane was also the only link that existed between herself and her new (though quite old) family.
This had always been the truth. The heartless reality of death had always been balanced out by the fantasy of her adventures with Jane. And yet now, Rose was confronted with it, couldn’t shy away from it.
She entered the house consumed with sadness, but she couldn’t dwell on it for long once she’d entered the great hall. There was Jane, as alive and vibrant as ever, teasing her sister, her brothers engrossed in conversation by the hearth.
‘Rose, there you are!’ Jane turned around in her seat and beckoned Rose over to join her and Cassandra. ‘Pray, tell us. How was your time with your family?’
‘Lovely, thank you. How is Aid— Mr Trevellyan?’