by Dilly Court
She cupped her hands round her mouth. 'Ahoy, there – River Pearl.' But the vessel was too far away for them to hear her. She could just make out Barney's large frame as he went about his work on deck and she could see Captain Morgan at the tiller. Rosina looked round in desperation. For a wild moment she imagined that she could steal a boat and row out after them, but commonsense prevailed and she knew that such a reckless act would be fruitless. She ran the length of the dockside, searching for a vessel registered in London, but there was none. She was exciting an unwanted amount of attention from the sailors of all nationalities who had just come ashore, or who were re-joining their ships. The men working on the docks shouted to her, grinning broadly, and although she did not understand the language she could guess at what they were suggesting and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment and humiliation.
She held her head high as she walked past them, trying to ignore their shouts and whistles. She needed time to consider her options and she was heading for the only place she knew, which was the office of Rivers and Son, when a bold young man accosted her, taking her by the arm and speaking to her in a rapid foreign tongue. His meaning was obvious and when she shook her head, attempting to push him away, he merely laughed and tightened his grip. He was dragging her into a narrow passageway between two warehouses and she fought him with all her might, kicking out and screaming, but he was incredibly strong and her rage seemed to amuse rather than anger him. He hefted her over his shoulder and her world was suddenly upside down. Then, without warning, he crumpled to the ground, releasing her so suddenly that she sprawled on her face in the dust. She scrambled to her feet, but was prevented from escaping by another pair of arms wrapping themselves around her. Rosina screamed and bit the man's hand.
'Ouch! There's gratitude!' 'Roland?' She twisted round in his arms and could have sobbed with relief to see a familiar face, even if she had been running away from him just a short while ago. She glanced down at the prostrate figure of the sailor and she shuddered. 'Have you killed him?'
'No, but he'll have a bit of a headache when he comes to. This is no place for you, Rosie. We'd best get you home.'
'You promised that you would see me on board the River Pearl. You broke your word.'
'I overslept. It's not the end of the world.' He took her by the hand and led her through the warehouses to the road where his carriage was waiting. 'There are other ships bound for London. I will see that you get home.'
She snatched her hand free. 'You just don't understand, do you? If I don't get back to London soon I won't have a home. Harry has given us two weeks' notice to quit the house in Black Eagle Wharf.'
'I thought that freeing Walter was your main aim.'
'And it is, but I have to fight to keep my home as well. You wouldn't understand that, being such a rich toff.'
Roland handed her into the carriage and climbed in after her. He did not attempt to sit beside her, but took a seat opposite, watching her closely. 'So what will you do when you return to London? It seems to me that there is very little to be done in the circumstances.'
She settled back against the padded leather squabs, rubbing her bruised wrists. 'If I can't persuade Harry to call off the bailiffs, at least we've got the Ellie May, and the repairs should be almost complete by now. My papa is the best barge captain on the Thames, and with Walter's help we can rebuild the trade. With a bit of luck we can repay the Gostellows and get our home back.'
'Is it as simple as that?'
'The way I look at it, yes.' Rosina leaned towards him. 'But I need your help, Roland. All you have to do is come back to London with me and help me clear Walter's name. Will you do that one thing for me, please?'
'Something tells me that I should put you on the next ship bound for London and be rid of you,' Roland said with a sigh. 'I was dragged from my bed this morning by Mrs Hopper, a lady whom it is not wise to cross, and I came hotfoot to rescue you from your own folly.' He flexed his fingers, grimacing with pain. 'And I damned well near broke my hands punching that fellow who was trying to abduct you, so don't ask me for any favours until I've had a cup of coffee and a glass of seltzer.'
Rosina opened her mouth to argue, but he held up a warning finger and she subsided into silence.
Mrs Hopper let them into the house with a supercilious sniff, but she had the good grace not to make any comments about Rosina's dishevelled state or the fact that the borrowed gown was torn and probably ruined.
'We'll take breakfast in the morning parlour,' Roland said, taking off his hat and kid gloves. 'But I suggest that Miss May changes out of that hideous frock. I never admired it on Vanessa and I certainly don't like it on you, Rosie.'
Bereft of speech, Rosina followed Mrs Hopper up the stairs to the room she had thought never to see again, where she suffered a lecture on how to behave in a foreign country while Mrs Hopper selected a yellow silk morning gown lavishly trimmed with black fringing, which she laid out on the bed. By this time the bath was run, and Rosina was just about to climb into the sweetly scented water when Mrs Hopper stuck her head round the door. 'Take my advice, young lady, and stop acting like a niminy-piminy schoolgirl. Use your wits and trade on your good looks to get what you wants.'
Rosina leapt into the tub and ducked as far under the water as she could without actually drowning. When she came up, gasping for air, she found that Mrs Hopper was still there. 'Leave me alone, you old witch. I told you before; I'm not that sort of girl.'
'High morals won't save your man in London, or your pa's boat.'
'You've been listening at keyholes.'
'How else am I to know what's going on in this here house? Anyway, you mind what I've just said. I've watched Mr Roland grow up from a little nipper in short breeches to the gent he is today. He's me blue-eyed boy and I likes to see him happy. So if you know what's good for you, you'll do whatever he wants and be grateful that it was him what saved you.' She shut the door with an emphatic bang, leaving Rosina in the rapidly cooling water. She climbed out and wrapped herself in the fluffy white bath sheet, glancing down at her forearms where bruises were already forming. If Roland had not come to her rescue she would undoubtedly have been raped in that narrow alley, maybe even murdered. She owed him much, and she would be even more in his debt if he could be persuaded to return to London with her and make things right with Harry. She dried herself, dressed in the gown that Mrs Hopper had chosen, and fashioned her hair into a chignon at the nape of her neck.
What happened now was entirely up to her. She went downstairs at a sober pace and found Roland waiting for her in the morning parlour. He rose from his seat at the table, holding out a chair for her.
'Yes,' she said as she took her place.
He resumed his seat, eyeing her with brows raised. 'Yes to what in particular?'
'Yes, I will be your lady love just once, if you will promise to take me back to London and make things right with Harry.'
His lips twitched. 'Just once?'
She unfolded the white linen table napkin and laid it across her lap. 'I have nothing else to offer. I just hope that Walter will forgive me.'
He poured coffee from a silver pot into a bone china coffee cup and handed it to her. 'It's not the most flattering offer I've ever had.'
'Now you're laughing at me.'
He reached across the table to pat her hand. 'No, my dear girl. To tell the truth, I admire your spirit and your tenacity, but I've never taken a woman against her will. I've never needed to, and I don't intend to start now.'
She sipped the hot coffee, avoiding his gaze. So it had all been for nothing. She had risked so much and it had all been in vain. Her throat ached with unshed tears and she barely noticed that the hot liquid was burning her mouth.
'Don't look so tragic, Rosie.' Roland lifted the silver lid of a muffin dish and sniffed appreciatively. 'English muffins. Good old Hopper – she manages the kitchen like an army sergeant. Do try one.'
She placed her cup on its saucer with an emphatic clatter. 'I'm
not hungry. My whole life is in ruins and all you can think of is food. I don't want a blooming muffin.' She pushed the plate away and rose to her feet. 'I'm sorry, Roland. I do appreciate everything you've done for me, but I must find a way to get home. I can't stay here a minute longer.'
He bit into a buttered muffin. 'This is so good.'
'You are impossible.' She pushed her chair back and was about to leave the table when Roland caught her by the hand.
'I'm just teasing you, my dear. Sit down and have some breakfast. We've got a long journey ahead of us.'
'What? You mean . . .'
'There is a ship leaving at noon, bound for Harwich. I will take you to your father, and I will explain everything to him. I'm sure that Harry will respect what Captain May has to tell him, and hopefully that will be an end to the matter.'
It was not exactly what she wanted, but Rosina saw a glimmer of hope in Roland's plan. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. 'Thank you. Oh, thank you, Roland.'
He extricated himself from her grasp with a rueful smile. 'Sit down and eat your breakfast, Rosie. I can only resist just so much temptation.'
*
The steamship docked in Harwich early next morning. After a brief visit to his office, Roland ordered his carriage to be brought to the inn where he had left Rosina, and they travelled on together. As they approached Burnham-on-Crouch, Rosina leaned out of the open window, breathing in the fresh smell of the countryside and the tang of the salt marshes. The corn was ripe in the fields and the harvest had already begun. Men, women and children were working in the midsummer heat, reaping and stooking the sheaves of corn in preparation for threshing and winnowing the chaff from the grain. In some fields this had already been done and golden haystacks stood proud like small windowless houses. The sun burned like molten copper in a bleached sky, and the air was sultry with the hint of thunderstorms to come later in the day. Rosina could not help but be fascinated with this strange, bucolic way of life, which was so different to living in a dirty, noisy and overcrowded city. For the first time in weeks, she felt optimistic about the future. Roland would speak to Pa, and between them they would put things right with Harry. Walter would be a free man, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.
The thatched cottage belonging to Bertha's cousin was a little way out of the village, lazing in the heat of midday on the bank of the River Crouch. As the carriage drew up outside, Rosina was in a fever of excitement at the prospect of being reunited with Papa and Bertha. She could barely wait until the coachman had opened the door and pulled down the steps, holding out his hand to help her alight. Roland followed her, giving the driver instructions to walk the horses.
She reached the garden gate first, fumbling with the latch in her haste. Bees were busily collecting pollen from stately hollyhocks, and brightly coloured butterflies fluttered amongst the dog roses clambering over the porch. But even as she surveyed the peaceful scene, it struck Rosina that the cottage seemed oddly silent and lifeless. The windows were shut and the curtains were drawn together. She was suddenly apprehensive as she walked up the narrow path to the front door. She glanced over her shoulder at Roland, who was following close behind. He gave her an encouraging smile. 'Go on then, Rosie. Knock on the door. You've been agog with anticipation ever since we left Rotterdam.'
She rapped on the iron door knocker and the sound echoed throughout the house. 'Perhaps Papa and Bertha have already returned to London?' She shivered, in spite of the heat, and some sixth sense told her that something was wrong.
'I can hear footsteps,' Roland murmured. 'Someone's coming.'
Rosina held her breath. Her heart was thudding wildly against her ribs and she had to curb the impulse to beat her fists on the door and demand to be allowed inside.
The door opened just a crack.
'Hello,' Rosina said, giving it a gentle push. 'It's Rosie May. I've come to visit my papa and Bertha.'
The door opened fully and a small, thin woman of uncertain age peered short-sightedly at them both. 'How did you know? It only happened last night.'
Fear pulsed through Rosina's veins and she could barely speak. 'Wh-what . . .'
Roland slipped his arm around her shoulders. 'Pardon me, ma'am. But we've come a long way to see the captain. May we come inside?'
'Who is it, Jemima?' Bertha's voice came from somewhere inside the cottage.
Jemima did not move from the doorway; she turned her head, speaking over her shoulder. 'It's Miss Rosina and a gentleman.'
The sound of scurrying feet preceded Bertha as she pushed past her cousin to fling her arms around Rosina. 'My little pet. You've come. How did you find out?' Bertha collapsed against her shoulder, sobbing as if her heart would break.
Rosina was suddenly more afraid than she had ever been in her whole life. 'What's wrong, Bebe? Has Papa been taken ill again? Speak to me.'
Bertha drew away a little, her face ravaged with grief. 'Oh, my poor poppet. Your dear father passed away last night. There weren't nothing we could do to save him.'
Chapter Nineteen
The weather broke just as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Roland's coachman, Jenkins, appeared as if from nowhere and produced a large black umbrella, which he dutifully held over Rosina and Bertha. Cousin Jemima wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, shivering and winking away the black dye from her bonnet as it trickled down her face. Roland stood with his head bowed, holding his top hat in his hands. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the sombre scene, followed by a rumble of thunder. The vicar hastily intoned the words of the interment, casting nervous glances up at the sky as if anticipating Armageddon. Bertha sobbed noisily throughout, but Rosina held her head upright, too grief-stricken even to cry. She could hardly believe that it was her dearest papa whose body was locked inside the oak coffin. The dead man who had lain in Jemima's parlour had resembled a wax effigy at Madame Tussauds' exhibition; he had looked a little bit like her pa, but the father whom she had loved and respected all her life was gone, leaving just an empty shell.
The rain beat a rhythmic tattoo on the umbrella, and that, together with the vicar's droning voice, was having a hypnotic effect on Rosina. She swayed slightly and was comforted by the touch of Roland's hand on her arm. She looked up and managed to return his smile. He had proved himself to be a true friend during the past few traumatic days. He had organised the funeral and paid all the expenses, waving aside her promises to repay him when she was able. Soon after their arrival, and having done what he could to comfort and reassure them, Roland had removed himself to the inn, where he had been staying ever since, but he had visited the cottage every day. Even Bertha had been impressed by his gentlemanly conduct, although she had been hostile at first, especially when she had learned that Rosina had stayed in his house in Rotterdam. But Roland had charmed Bertha with his winning ways, and had eventually managed to convince her that nothing untoward had occurred.
'Come, Rosie,' Roland said, offering her his arm. 'It's all over, my dear.'
Rosina looked at him dully. She glanced down at the coffin, which was now sprinkled with earth, and she raised her eyes to meet the vicar's solemn gaze. It was all over. Papa had gone to heaven, if one believed in such a place. He was with his beloved Ellie, and the worries of the world were far behind him. Not so for herself. She had a sobbing Bertha to comfort and somehow she had to get them both back to London to face an uncertain future. She laid her hand on Roland's arm. 'Thank you, Roland. Thank you for everything.'