The Rose Stone

by The Rose Stone (retail) (epub)

“So you decided to repeat what you heard at your Aunt Anna’s last week?”

  “I didn’t repeat it!” His daughter’s dark eyes met his own. He raised his brows and said nothing. The indignation in her strong-boned face gave way suddenly to that glint of mischief that was his delight and his bane. “I sort of rephrased it,” she said.

  Boris laid the composition on the table, turned for a moment to the window. In the busy street below, cartwheels clattered, a fish vendor called raucously, an electric tram clanged noisily by. When he turned, his face was still serious. For the first time his daughter eyed him with a trace of nervousness. “Papa. You aren’t taking all this seriously, are you? Miss Bantry’s punished me already—” she rubbed her knuckles again, ruefully “—I’ve got the bruises to show for that. It’s only the same as the other times, isn’t it? All right – I suppose it’s a bit soon after the calling-on row – but, Papa – you know how beastly Miss Bantry can be – I don’t believe you like her yourself. And once she’s got it in for you,” she shook her head, “you could be the Virgin Mary and she’d—”

  “Sophie!”

  “Well, it’s true,” Sophie muttered. “All this silly fuss about a stupid old composition. She’s not satisfied with making my life a misery at school – she wants to get me into trouble here too. Pretending she’s going to expel me so that we all go up there again and crawl around her.” She stopped. Her father was shaking his bright, handsome head very slowly, and the faint sympathy in his eyes was alarming. “You can’t mean – that she wants me to leave?”

  “This time – yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Sophie’s face hardened defiantly. “Then good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. If the silly old bat’s going to get the stupid vapours about one word—”

  “Sophie!” her father said again, and this time the reprimand brooked no argument. Sophie frowned ferociously. Her lower lip was trembling treacherously. “I’m sorry,” she muttered.

  With commendable patience Boris kept his voice level. “It isn’t one word, and you know it. And it isn’t just what Miss Bantry sees as subversive or deliberately provocative compositions – yes, Sophie, deliberately provocative—” He held up a quick hand as his daughter made to intervene. “You may believe you can fool the rest of the world, but – please! – don’t think you can fool me. I know what you do. I can’t say I always understand why you do it—” He paused. Sophie said nothing. He strode to the bureau that stood in the corner and picking up a letter that lay there he read from it “—troublemaker, undisciplined and self-willed—”

  Sophie blinked and bit her shaking lip hard.

  “—incites misbehaviour in other pupils, is defiant and insolent when chastised—”

  “I’m not!”

  Boris ignored the indignant interruption, read grimly on. “I very much regret having to tell you that I find Sophie a disobedient and unbiddable child and as such she can have no place in our small and happy establishment—”

  “Hah!”

  “—to which she contributes nothing but discontent and disorder.” Boris laid the letter down, looked at his scarlet-faced daughter. “Sophie”, he said, his voice gentle, “you know the trouble we had getting you and Maria into Miss Bantry’s in the first place—”

  “Yes. And why? Because you run a public house! So what? Amy Brenton’s father runs a grocery shop, Annie Howard’s family are coal merchants! What’s so special about them? How dare she – how dare anyone – look down on you because you run a pub! It isn’t fair! It isn’t right!” The tears that were stinging her eyes lit them to angry brilliance. Her fair hair, always untidy, tumbled across her wide forehead. Boris had to resist the urge to reach and gently brush it away. He kept his voice stern.

  “And what of Maria? Do you ever think of her in your mischief-making? How hard it makes it for her to be the younger sister of someone who’s always in trouble?”

  Sophie hung her head. “She doesn’t care,” she muttered defiantly.

  “Don’t be absurd – of course she cares! Do you think she enjoys seeing you constantly punished, constantly and publicly held up as a bad example to her and her friends? Oh, yes,” Sophie’s head had lifted at that, “we know what’s been going on. And not from Maria, either – she’d die before she’d tell on you. No – your mother has heard the stories from Mrs Howard, Mrs Brenton, Mrs Spencer! How do you think that makes her feel?”

  There was a long, miserable silence. “But Papa,” Sophie said at last, “I don’t mean to be a trouble to you. Or to anyone. I don’t mean to be naughty. Honestly I don’t. It’s just – oh, I can’t bear it – all those silly rules and regulations – they’re not for anything, are they? They’re just for the sake of it, most of them: don’t do this, don’t say that – don’t think anything, because that’s bound to break a rule! And the girls, simpering and giggling and having crushes on the teachers, oh, it’s all so unbearably stupid!”

  “You mean that everyone is out of step but you?”

  “No, of course not—”

  “Or that you think you can go through life obeying only those rules that you agree with?”

  “No! But – Papa, you always say we should think for ourselves, don’t you? So I do – at least I try to. And then they cane me for it. They don’t talk about it, or explain anything – they just beat me and tell me I must do as I’m told.” She stuck out a rebellious lip. “Miss Bantry believes a young lady should be ‘mild, obedient, well-tempered and accomplished in those arts that will stand her in a good stead in her future home’. I ask you! Well, if that’s what being a young lady means then—” she paused, dramatically “—then I’d rather die!”

  “Well, now,” her father’s voice was quiet and not terribly impressed by the threat, “from what I can gather since you are nowhere near approaching that state, I think we can say that your life is safe for now. What isn’t safe, however, is your immediate future. When you are grown up and able to take your own decisions, then of course you may do as you wish. But for now, Sophie, you are our responsibility and we must fulfil our obligations to the best of our ability. With or without your approval.”

  At the tone of his voice Sophie had stilled and was watching him, wide-eyed. “What do you mean?” she asked bluntly, trepidation undisguised in the question.

  “Miss Bantry, I fear, has made it quite clear that she has made absolutely certain not only that you lose your place in her establishment, but that you do not gain a place in any other of the same kind in the area.”

  “But I don’t want—”

  “Hold your tongue for a moment, will you?” The sharp edge of anger in his tone, brought on had she known it as much by his own distaste for this task as by anything else, made her jump. She clamped her mouth shut. “Try for a moment to consider what others want and need. You have disrupted not only your own education but your sister’s. You have caused distress to your mother and to me. You’re thirteen years old; you aren’t old enough yet to know what is best for you. Of course you are right – we have no desire to see you turned into an empty-headed little doll. But neither do we want a hoyden for a daughter. It is time you learned the virtues of obedience, modesty and – above all – self-control.” He paused, cleared his throat. She watched him, dawning horror in her eyes. “To that end,” he said, folding the letter he still held very precisely into quarters, and not looking at her, “we have applied to a school in Essex, near Saffron Walden, not far from where Uncle Josef lives—”

  She was staring at him, aghast. “You’re sending me away?” she asked faintly.

  He still could not look at her. “No! No, of couse not! You make it sound as if we’re putting you in prison—”

  “You might as well.” The tears that the child had until now stubbornly resisted were pouring down her cheeks. “Papa – please don’t send me away! I’ll be good, I promise I will, I’ll apologize to Miss Bantry. I’ll get on my bended knees to her – I’ll do anything you want—” She ran to him. He caught her to him, strongly
, with his one arm, rocked her gently, this brave, headstrong, vital child that he loved and suffered for so much.

  But the die was cast, and he knew it. They had given in once too often. “Too late, little one, I’m afraid. Miss Bantry has made it perfectly plain that she would not take you back under any circumstances. We have also verified the fact that no other private establishment around here will take you. Miss Bantry has a long arm, I fear.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes pleading. “But there’s St Michael’s just around the corner – why couldn’t I go there?”

  “No. I’ll not have you attending that place.”

  “But why not? It wouldn’t cost you anything – other people round here don’t pay for their children to go to places like stupid Miss B’s. Why should we be different?” In the miserable uncertainty of the question, had Boris had the ears to hear it, lay the core of his daughter’s frustration and confusion.

  He moved from her, turned her gently to face him, lifted her chin with his finger. Her tear-streaked face was woebegone in the May sunshine that filtered through Louisa’s well-laundered lace curtains. “Listen to me, Sophie, with your undoubtedly clever little head, not just with your ears. We’re only trying to do what we believe to be best for you. You must trust us. You must try to—” he paused, searching for words “—to have patience with the world. To see it, and to see yourself, as others do, at least sometimes.”

  “I will! I promise! But please don’t sent me away!”

  “We aren’t ‘sending you away’. St Hilary’s is a fine school – it isn’t too big—” he tried to smile, not very successfully “—nor too expensive. Just think – it will be an adventure. A chance to prove yourself.”

  “I shall hate it.”

  “Well, of course you will if you don’t give yourself a chance to do anything else.”

  Unhappily the girl looked down at the hands that were clasped, twisted, before her and again the untidy, heavy fair hair fell across her eyes. She tossed it back, eyed her father with faint defiance. “When do I have to go?”

  “They’ll take you in October, after you’re fourteen.”

  “I see,” she said, very quietly. “It’s all arranged then?”

  “I’m afraid so,” her father said gently.

  She nodded briefly, her lips tight.

  In the silence Louisa called from another room and Maria answered. A door opened and the noise from the bar drifted up the stairs, died again as the door closed with a bang. “You’ll be able to visit Uncle Josef sometimes from the school. I know he’d love to have you. Which reminds me – he asked if you’d like to stay for a few days, you and Maria, after his birthday party. Your mother and I can only make it overnight, of course – with the business to care for – but if you like, we could leave you—” His voice, despite himself, was coaxing.

  Stonily she ignored the tacit appeal. “That would be nice.” The high colour had receded from her face and her mouth was set. Her father knew the expression well. He sighed. She looked him in the eye, open provocation in the lift of her head. “Papa?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why are we to stay in the cottage for Uncle Josef’s party, when everyone else is staying in the big house?”

  “Because,” Boris said with quiet patience, refusing to rise to the bait, “Uncle Josef invited us to. It is his seventieth birthday after all, and we are to be his guests.”

  She watched him unblinking. Waiting.

  “Besides,” his gaze was unruffled, “as you well know, Aunt Anna’s brother Alex and I don’t get on well. He has every right to have – or not – whoever he likes to stay at Bissetts. It’s his house.”

  “Only because his beastly wife’s father made a fortune out of other people, then died and left it to him.”

  “Sophie, I will not have you speak so—”

  “Well it’s true. She is beastly. And so’s he. I can’t imagine how Aunt Anna managed to have such a horrid brother! The airs and graces they put on you’d think they were royalty at least.”

  “That – is – enough.”

  Knowing herself to have pushed him far enough, she subsided.

  Boris, his face stern, perched on the edge of the table and held out his hand. “Sophie. Come here.”

  Reluctantly she walked to him.

  “Look at me.”

  She lifted her reddened eyes.

  He looked at her for a long time. “Whose fault is it that you’re having to be sent away to school?”

  She opened her mouth, hesitated. Then, “Mine,” she said.

  “Exactly. Now – be my brave girl. Make the best of it. A new start. Make up your mind to make a success of it. You know you could if you really tried. Perhaps in a couple of years, when she’s old enough, we’ll be able to get together enough money for Maria to join you. Let her be proud of you if she does.” He paused. “Let us all be proud of you.”

  She nodded. Stubbornly she was biting back tears again.

  “And Sophie?”

  His voice had changed a little – the stern note was ebbing, the warmth that usually so characterized it and that his daughter so loved was back. “Yes?”

  “The party. At Bissetts. Best behaviour? Please?”

  She made a sudden, funny, rueful face and sniffed. “Yes.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  * * *

  The old bricks of Bissetts glowed with a mellow warmth in the June sun as Josef walked slowly up the winding lift of wooded drive that led from the stables and his cottage to the big house. Seventy years old. No matter how often it was said, how often he told himself, it was still almost impossible to believe. Seventy years, that stretched from one life to another, that encompassed happiness and misery, striving and achievement. That held at its core a shame he could not obliterate no matter how hard he tried. Each time he saw his grandchild, Victoria, so like that other, docile, lovely child, the knife turned in his heart. Ah, Joss – should that not be enough? He stopped for a moment, leaning on his stout walking stick surveying the peaceful scene of house, and lawns, of ancient trees, herbaceous borders and the solid tile-crowned walls of the enclosed garden and small orchard. The sweep of gravel in front of the house was freshly cleaned and raked, as was the main drive which curved from where he stood past the house and on to the road. On the lawns that were planted here and there with magnificent specimen trees, tables and chairs were set, the white cloths blowing a little in the light breeze that whispered too in the leaves. Soon the place would be full of people, most of whom he would not know, despite the fact that this was supposed to be his party. The chairs and music stands of the musicians were already set up near the little thatched summerhouse in the shade of a great stand of flowering rhododendrons. He stood quietly for a moment, to let his breathing ease.

  Joss would not be here.

  His refusal had been polite, his excuse perfectly acceptable. Josef sighed. This party had not been his own idea, but Alice’s – ready always to show off to the family her own social expertise and connections. And yet he had been happy at the thought; amongst the strangers that his daughter-in-law would invite – to impress them or to impress others – would be his own family, Grace’s family, all together again for the first time in years. And he had hoped an old man’s hope: that Joss would find it in himself to forget twelve years of bitterness and would come. A man of seventy could surely hope to be forgiven by others – if not by himself – for the sins committed by a young man he had almost forgotten what it had been like to be.

  A small dog, a King Charles spaniel, appeared on the top of the wide, shallow steps that led from the porticoed front doors, which stood open to the sunwarmed air. It sniffed the breeze excitedly, then, spying Josef, went into an ecstasy of yelping greeting and scampered to him, flag tail waving. He bent, smiling, to stroke the long, soft coat and to quieten the little animal.

  “Father-in-law! Why, look at you! – you aren’t dressed!” Alice had followed the dog out on to
the steps. She was dressed exquisitely in pastel grey and white, the narrow hobble skirt and high waistline of her dress emphasizing with elegance her slight build. Upon her softly swept-up hair was perched a very wide-brimmed dove grey hat that was crowned with roses of pink and white. She looked, Josef told himself with the irreverence that he often, in self-defence, found himself employing against his domineering daughter-in-law, like nothing so much as an extremely elegant, flower-trimmed mushroom. “Everyone will be here in no time at all. Alex!” She turned to her husband who stood in the shadows behind her, did not bother to lower her voice, her tone sharp with annoyance. “For heaven’s sake! He’s wandering around out there as if he’s got all day! He looks like the gardener! Alex – do something—”

  Alex, splendid and portly in his formal day dress and black top hat came down the steps towards Josef. “Come along, Father.” He was jovial, a man of the world. “Let’s get you home and changed. Can’t have a party y’know, without the guest of honour, what?”

  Alice tapped a small, grey-kid-shod foot impatiently as she watched Alex shepherd his father back towards the cottage. Honestly the old man could be utterly impossible. And after all the trouble she had taken to arrange this celebration for him! Such a pity that the twins were away – it would have been nice to show them off, her two tall, enviable sons, to the rest of the family. She knew that she looked well flanked by her handsome, impeccably mannered boys. She turned back into the house, stopped in front of a large mirror, leaned to it for a moment regarding her reflection critically. Then she tucked a charmingly stray hair back beneath her hat, smiled a little and lifted her voice. “Hetty? Hetty – here at once! The hall mirror has not been polished.”

  Boris, Louisa and the girls, despite their best efforts, were late. By the time they arrived the manicured lawns were crowded, the string ensemble was in full flight and all but being drowned out by the clatter of cups and saucers and the hum of conversation and laughter. Louisa climbed out of the hired trap that had brought them from the station, nervously smoothed down her last-year’s dark blue serge that was much too hot for the day, and put an anxious hand to her small straw boater. A strong, long-fingered hand stopped her fidgeting. She looked up into her husband’s smiling face. “Leave it. You look wonderful.” She thought he looked pretty dashing himself in his borrowed striped trousers and black frock coat, despite the empty sleeve, and did not miss the covert glances thrown in his direction by a young lady in fashionable lemon and leaf-green who stood not far from them. Little Maria, sweet in Sophie’s cut-down white muslin, was guarding her father’s top hat with as much care as if it had been made of solid gold.