The Rose Stone

by The Rose Stone (retail) (epub)

  “Even rarer than diamonds?” the child asked, wide-eyed.

  “Even rarer than that.” Josef was finding it hard to devote his mind entirely to the child’s eager questions. Damn his wine-induced indiscretion! What had he said to Joss that had brought to the boy’s face that odd, disturbingly intent expression that he, Josef, was finding so hard to dismiss from his mind? The conversation in the dining room was a little muddled in his head. What had he said?

  Anna’s small finger was poking amongst the mounter’s tools; handsaw, drill, file, and others with more exotic and esoteric names. “This is a scooper, isn’t it? And that’s – a graver. And that’s a swage block.” Jerked from his preoccupation Josef looked at her in surprise. “How on earth do you know that?”

  “I saw them all in the book in your study.”

  The mounter, an elderly man with thinning hair and a deeply lined face looked up at Josef with exasperated eyes. “Am I to get on with my work, Sir?”

  Anna jumped at his tone and snatched the obviously offending hand from the precious tools.

  “Yes, yes. Of course. We’re sorry to have troubled you. Anna, come—”

  “But – I wanted to ask him about the solder. How he does it without melting the—”

  “Anna!”

  They visited the polishing shop, with its distinctive, tangy smell where Anna, mollified, was made much of and allowed to help polish with pumice a small silver brooch into which a carved cameo was to be set, and from there moved on to the well-lit room where the setters worked, painstakingly and delicately, bent over their benches, their concentration such that the visitors might not have entered the room at all.

  Anna watched in commendable and absolute silence for a while. At last, his task done, the man she was watching sat back, straightening his bent frame, rubbing his back and eyeing the piece he had completed. Small diamonds glinted with their own distinctive fire.

  “What happens next?” Anna asked very softly, even she was impressed by the almost church-like atmosphere of concentration.

  “It goes back to be polished again,” Josef said. “And you, young lady, have seen quite enough for one day, I think—”

  “Oh! But, Papa – we haven’t seen the enamellers! Or the—”

  “Anna!”

  The one word, in that tone, from her mother subdued her. Her father took pity on the disappointed little face. “Another time, my darling. We really do have to go now, for I promised Joss we’d meet him for tea. And then, if you’d like, Mr Simpson shall show you around the showrooms. I know you enjoy that.”

  “Oh, yes! That would be lovely. But,” Anna glanced around again, “you do promise you’ll let me come back? Soon?”

  Her father smiled. “I promise.”

  * * *

  That summer of 1888 Josef for the first time took a house by the sea for the summer months. Since her own illness and the death of the baby, Grace’s health had been a source of constant worry to him. So, together with their close friends the Smithsons, they rented a large family villa in a small seaside town on the south coast, the women and children moving there for the whole of the summer, the men joining their families whenever the pressure of business allowed, taking the train to the coast and finishing the journey in some style in the smart pony and trap that the stationmaster kept for just such contingencies. It was a happy time – a summer that Anna never forgot, and one that was to change her life and that of almost every other member of the family.

  For Tanya, too, the temporary move to the seaside was a happy one. The house stood, gabled and verandahed, in its own small garden from which a small wicket gate gave on to a narrow, sanded road which led directly down to the quiet beach. She loved the sea. It did not threaten – was indeed one of the few things in life of which she was not faintly afraid. The hypnotic movement fascinated her, the incessant sound overcame as did nothing else those small, still, distant voices that murmured so often in her mind. She would sit, pensive, for hours, her knees drawn to her chin, watching the breakers roll in to wash the shingled sand, smooth and glistening, scoured fresh and clean in the sunshine, whilst around her the children played and squabbled, paddled, rode donkeys, built sand castles. Even Alex, thirteen now, home from school and considering himself very much a man of the world, enjoyed the beach games they all played with such gusto. With the Smithson boys to augment their numbers, there were games of cricket, of Kick the Can, and of beach croquet, where almost everyone cheated. The days were long, the weather on the whole kind, though often breezy. Grace and Hermione passed their time in happy companionship embroidering, watercolour painting, and helping the children with their scrapbooks. Tanya watched them all in quiet contentment – they were her world, she wanted nothing else: if they were happy, then so was she. The world beyond this closed circle terrified her, she wanted nothing of it – though the reasons for this were hazy in her mind, unnamed, confused, vaguely associated with the pain and darkness and dread that sometimes haunted her dreams. Faced with an intruder from this other, threatening world she withdrew like a snail into its shell, bewildered and made next to witless by a paralysis of nerves that she simply could not control. Even the proximity of the boisterous Smithson family, whom she knew so well, disturbed her a little, especially when bluff Obadiah visited the house with his loud voice and rumbustious laughter. It was then a shock when, seated upon the sand one day a little removed from the younger folk who were busy constructing a spectacularly intricate sand castle, her abstracted contemplation of the glittering waves was interrupted by a shadow which fell suddenly across her. Startled, she looked up and discovered a young man standing beside her, a bowler hat clutched a little awkwardly in his hand, the trouser legs of his neat suit dusted with sand. For that first moment he appeared as tongue-tied as she was herself. He had a boyish, fresh face with large, blue, innocent eyes and a soft mouth that was in no way disguised by the young and less than luxuriant moustache that decorated the upper lip. The blue eyes were fixed upon her face in something she could only interpret as an astonishment that amounted almost to shock – though why he should look so Tanya, the least vain of people, could not conceive. She felt blood rising to her cheeks, experienced that dreadful breathless thumping of her heart that any unexpected situation inflicted upon her.

  The young man cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Er – Miss Anatov?”

  Tanya’s voice had deserted her entirely. She glanced, quickly and anxiously, to where the children were playing under the comforting gaze of Trudy, then looked down at her hands, which, clasped around her knees, looked tense even in their little white lace gloves.

  “You are Miss Anatov?” The young man’s voice was more confident.

  Tanya nodded, not looking at him.

  “I’m sorry – I startled you.” He was looking a little puzzled now, clearly unsure of what he had done to produce this rather strange reaction to his presence. “My name is Smithson. Matthew Smithson. I’m looking for my young cousins. Aunt Hermione said—”

  “Cousin Matthew! Cousin Matthew!” Charles, the youngest Smithson, scampered across the sand towards them, “Mama didn’t tell us you were coming!”

  Matthew Smithson, regardless of his London clothes, swept the youngster up into the air. “Didn’t know myself, young Charlie! Bashed off to the station and came down on the off chance—”

  “Will you stay? Oh will you stay?” Charlie clung to him like a limpet and would not be put down.

  The castle-building party had broken up as, shouting excitedly, the other Smithson boys joined their younger brother, plump Christopher panting in the wake of the younger Arthur. “Hello, Matthew!”

  “Hello, you two.” Matthew smiled past his cousins to Anna and her brothers. “And you must be the Roses.”

  “That’s right.” Anna liked the young man on sight. “I’m Anna. How do you do? This is Alex, Ralph and James. The little one’s Michael.”

  “I’m not little!”

  “Don’t be silly. Of course yo
u are.”

  “I’m not!”

  Cousin Matthew hunkered down beside the child. “How old are you?”

  “I’m six.” Michael cast a wary glance at his sister and added, “nearly.”

  “Well! Six, eh? I’d certainly have said you were older than that. Six-and-a-half – seven, even.”

  Well pleased, Michael beamed. Matthew stood up, turned again to Tanya. He was puzzled by her obvious and – it seemed to him – excessive agitation. He was also, for the first time in a fairly uneventful life, spellbound. Here, in pale silk and muslin, her lovely, anxious face shaded by a wide-brimmed, flower-trimmed straw hat was, quite simply, the most beautiful human being he had ever seen. Matthew Smithson was an extremely well brought up young man. He tried, unsuccessfully, not to stare, tried – equally ineffectively – to control the idiotic hammering of his heart. “Aunt Hermione and Mrs Rose sent me to find you all. They thought perhaps a stroll down into the town for tea.”

  “Oh, lovely!” With no further ado, Anna began gathering buckets, spades and towels. “Come on, everyone, hurry. Oh, Alex! Do be careful. It took me all morning to collect those.”

  Alex, in his haste, had kicked over a bucketful of small shells and pretty stones. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Anna,” he said crossly, “not more of them? Your room’s full of the beastly things already. I can’t think how Tanya puts up with it. What with them, and the smelly seaweed – ugh!” He made to roll the bucket over with his foot.

  “Don’t! You pig!” Anna flew at him.

  Tanya, her voice trembling very slightly, said sharply, “Anna! Alex! Stop this at once. Alexis – help your sister pick up the things you spilled, Trudy – please help the boys to gather their things.” She stood up, apparently not seeing the hand that Matthew Smithson offered to steady her. The young stranger was watching her in a way that disturbed her intensely. Flustered, she busied herself with the younger children, gathered together her own book and parasol.

  “Please, let me—” Refusing this time to be ignored, the young man determinedly took her small burden from her, smiling reassuringly.

  “But, really, I—” she stopped. She could not meet his eyes.

  Trudy, occupied with tidying young Michael’s disordered attire, glanced sideways at her with a glimmer of a smile: S’truth, Miss Tanya certainly blushed easy. And as for the young man – plain Trudy had never had a follower, though she lived in hope, but if she had she knew she’d be lucky if he ever looked at her the way this handsome Smithson cousin was looking at Tanya Anatov.

  The precious stones and shells safely stowed, Anna straightened, swinging the heavy bucket.

  “What on earth are you doing with all those things?” Christopher asked in honest mystification. “As Alex said – you’re always off collecting them. You must have millions.”

  Anna tapped a thin little nose with a thin little finger. “You wait and see. It’s a secret.”

  “Something to do with the mothers’ birthdays?” Christopher was more astute than he looked.

  Anna pulled a distinctly unladylike face. “Wait and see,” she said again.

  “I say, that’s a pretty one.” Matthew reached into the bucket and took out a small, cone-shaped, pale pearly shell.

  “It’s a top-shell,” Anna said eagerly. “I’ve got some lovely ones—”

  “See, Miss Anatov – isn’t it pretty?” As if enticing some highly-strung small animal, he held the shell towards Tanya on the palm of his outstretched hand. If only she would look at him—

  Tanya did – a fluttering, nervous glance that netted his heart as surely as if she had been the most practised coquette in the land. “Is it not pretty?” he urged again.

  “It – yes, indeed it is. Very pretty.”

  He watched her, gently insistent, willing her to smile.

  “We’re ready. Come on, Ralphy, get a move on. Oh, I do hope Mama will take us to Brown’s – they do the most scrumptious teacakes—” Anna, ever-restless, was dancing round them. Tanya did smile then, not at Matthew, but at the eager child. It was enough.

  “Are you staying, Cousin Matthew?” Little Charles caught his hand and swung upon it like a little monkey.

  Matthew laughed, and lifted him high. “Just for the day this time, young Charlie. But,” he glanced at Tanya, who was over busy trying to tidy Anna’s flying hair, “I’ll come back. If you’ll have me?”

  “Oh, good! Often? You’ll come often?”

  Tanya straightened. A small swirl of wind gusted from the sea and her full, soft skirts billowed. With a quiet exclamation she put up a hand to secure her wide-brimmed hat.

  “Oh, yes,” Matthew Smithson said, a little abstractedly, “quite often, I should think.”

  * * *

  He was – to all the children’s delight, for he soon became a firm favourite with them all – as good as his word and in no time had become a welcome and familiar figure at the house. There being no spare rooms – the house, big as it was, was already filled to capacity by the two families and their servants – he found a room not far from them in a fisherman’s cottage, close to the beach. He joined his aunt and cousins and their friends for all meals except breakfast, with pleasure squired the ladies when they required an escort, played with the children with gusto and good humour, graced the social evenings of music and games that they all so much enjoyed and daily and very obviously fell further and further beneath Tanya’s spell.

  She herself was truly unconscious of this, although the situation was charmingly obvious to the older members of the party. So inexperienced was she that the simple possibility that Matthew might be courting her never entered her head. She was aware of how often he would come and find his young cousins on the beach and how often on those occasions he would, after a short and boisterous game, settle quietly beside her, talking or not as her mood dictated, until she grew quite used to his company. It seemed also remarkably frequently she would find him sitting next to her at the table, or in the evening as they played charades or sang around the painfully tuneless little piano that stood in the cluttered parlour. Certainly her diffidence and acute nervousness eased considerably as his easy companionship became more familiar – she came, almost without realizing it, to look for his coming when he was away. It took Trudy, however, to open her eyes to the astonishing fact that the young man was pursuing more than her friendship.

  Tanya had washed her hair, and Trudy, with brush and towel, was drying and attempting to tame it – a task which Tanya herself found almost impossible. It was Grace’s birthday – coincidentally in the same week as Hermione’s – and tonight was to be a double celebration. Josef, Obadiah and Joss were expected at any moment, the children, bathed, brushed and shining-clean, were watching impatiently from the open windows downstairs, appetizing smells wafting from the kitchen. All over the house prettily-wrapped, long-guarded presents were being brought out of hiding. On the dressing table of this, the room that Tanya shared with Anna, stood two beautifully decorated boxes, patterned intricately with tiny shells and stones. On the lid of each, picked out in pale, translucent colours, a dragonfly swooped, elegant wings outstretched. Trudy stilled her movements for a moment, looked at the boxes.

  “’Oever’d a’ thought Miss Anna ’ad it in ’er to do something like that? They’re as good as anything Mr Josef’s got in ’is shop, I’ll be bound.”

  “They’re certainly very beautiful. And she drew all the designs herself.” Tanya smiled. She had watched with admiration and affection the painstaking hours Anna had spent on the boxes and their contents. “Anna sometimes sees things, I think, with different eyes than others.”

  Trudy resumed her brushing. “Well, I don’t know about that. I just wish I ’ad that way with me ’ands meself. Must be lovely to be able to make things like that.”

  “Yes.”

  The smell and sound of the sea came to them through the open window, mingled with the sound of the children’s voices, calling to each other. A gull cried, oddly desolate in
the softly pleasant evening. Tanya looked to where the bird wheeled gracefully in the sky, drifting and swooping on the gentle breeze.

  “There.” With her fingers Trudy arranged the fashionable tiny curls upon Tanya’s forehead, teased the fair, still damp tendrils on her neck. The girl’s thick hair was swept up and coiled on the top of her head, perfectly setting off the spectacular bone structure and pearly skin of her face. Trudy surveyed the effect of her labours in the dressing table mirror with a mixture of satisfaction and mild envy. “You wearing the yellow?”

  “I thought I might, yes.”

  Trudy nodded sagely. “Look a treat, that will, with your ’air all shining. ’E’ll like that. I ’eard ’im say just the other day that yellow was the colour suited you best.” She stopped as she caught Tanya’s astonished, lifted eyes in the mirror.

  “He?” Tanya asked.

  Trudy began to gather the paraphernalia of hairdressing from the dressing table. “Why, Mr Matthew, of course.”

  “Mr Matthew? Why should it concern Mr Matthew what I wear?”

  Trudy gave a small, disbelieving puff of laughter. Miss Tanya might have a bit of a screw loose, but surely – not even she could be that daft? “Why indeed, Miss Tanya. No fault of yours if ’e’s sweet on you, eh? None of ’is business what you wear. That’s what I like to ’ear. Keep ’em dangling, say I—”

  Flaming colour was possessing Tanya’s face. Her hand fluttered nervously at the neck ribbons of her flowered cotton robe. “Trudy? What do you mean?”