Their cab stopped in front of a tall, upscale looking hotel. Rose followed Rodney to the front desk. He spoke to the clerk and requested a room on a quiet floor. She peeked over his shoulder as signed her in as Mrs. Rodney Martin.
“You like that?” Rodney grinned when he saw her reading over his shoulder. “I thought it might make you smile.”
Rose did smile. Then she looked down at the floor as she realized how disheveled she must look in her wet clothes and messy hair.
. The clerk handed Rodney a key and the two of them took an elevator to the fourth floor, where her room was. They walked down the long hallway together in silence.
Rodney left hotel room once Rose began towel drying her still damp hair.
“Hey, I’m going to run downstairs and call the police for you,” Rodney told her. He handed her a pad of paper. “Here, really quick write down a description of your mom and the location where it happened.”
Obliging, Rose scribbled down some notes. She handed him the paper and he left to go downstairs to call the police.
Rose bustled around the room, pulling back the covers and looking in the mirror to smooth her hair. Thankfully, her clothes were almost dried. Rose secretly hoped Rodney would stay for a while. Fifteen minutes later, Rodney returned.
“I gave them a full report,” Rodney told Rose.
“Thank you. Do they need to talk to me?”
“The officer I spoke to said that I gave him enough details,” he explained. “So they may not need to talk to you.”
“Thanks for taking care of that for me.” Rose smiled.
After helping Rose get settled in, Rodney pressed fourty pounds into Rose’s hand with instructions to purchase pajamas, clothes, food, and any other immediate necessities. At first Rose objected, but Rodney insisted.
“Please,” he said. “You’ve been through so much. It’s the least I can do. There’s a small women’s clothing shop next door. Just go there and purchase what you need.”
Rose did not want Rodney to leave, but she also did not want to appear clingy. She had forgotten all about her plans to kiss him. Instead, she felt helpless, like a lonely child. He held her tightly when he said good-bye, but did not offer a kiss or any other romantic notions.
“You rest and relax here,” he told her. “Put your mind at ease and watch some TV. In three days, on Sunday, I will meet you in the lobby at noon. Don’t be late.”
Rose nodded and Rodney left. An hour later, Rose put her raincoat back on and grabbed an umbrella, which Rodney had loaned her. She then picked up her small handbag, which she had kept slung over her shoulder the entire time during the narrow escape with Mother. She went next door to purchase pajamas and undergarments, a simple dress and plain tennis shoes. Then Rose went to the drug store across the street for a toothbrush, toothpaste, and other necessities. Back in the hotel room, Rose took a hot bubble bath and settled into her fresh pajamas. She found that as long as she didn’t think about Lionel and her encounter with Mother, she could rest a little.
Rose had not opened a London bank account, so she had cashed all of her pay checks from Mrs. Douglass. Some of the money was in a jar in her room back at the Douglass house, but she still had over one hundred pounds in her purse. That, combined with the money from Rodney, left her with plenty.
In the hotel bed that night, Rose had trouble sleeping. Her thoughts kept going back to the horrifying encounter in the alleyway that afternoon when Mother had appeared out of nowhere and grabbed her. Rose still felt Mother’s grip on her wrists. She recalled with fear and a pounding heart how she had leaped between buildings to get away. What would I have done if there was no place to go? Mother probably would have dragged me down the stairs by my hair. Then she would have shoved me into a cab and taken me to God knows where. Rose realized with fear. And what would I have done without Rodney? What if instead of going to the restaurant to meet Rodney, I had gone back to the Douglass house to find Lionel and Julie and ask them for help? Lionel probably would have handed me over to Mother. What a miracle it truly was that I went straight to Rodney.
Chapter Twenty-One
Rose spent the next two days in her hotel room. She only ventured out of her hotel room twice because she felt so on edge and anxious about the Douglass family and Mother. Once she went out to buy several necessities and then another time she walked to a small book shop across from the hotel to purchase a book of short stories. She spent her time reading, watching television, eating room service meals, and taking bubble baths. Rodney called her a few times a day to say hello and check on how she was doing. It seemed strange to do so little each day, but Rose enjoyed the peace after her traumatic encounter with Mother.
On Sunday morning, it was time to leave the hotel and meet Rodney. Scurrying about the hotel room, Rose gathered her things. She wrapped her pajamas and other items into a small bundle. Then she put them into a linen bag drawstring bag, which the hotel had provided to keep laundry in. She tucked the bag under her arm and surveyed the room to make sure she packed everything. Seeing nothing, she sighed. The whole ordeal on Thursday had filled her with frustration, hurt, and fear. Turning to a small table by the door, she snatched up the hotel key, left the room, locked the door, and dropped it into her purse.
It was a quarter ‘til noon when Rose settled onto a soft, velvet sofa in the hotel lobby. She already set the key on top of the front desk, but was waiting for Rodney to sign her out and close out the room tab. She leaned back onto the soft cushion, but still continued scanning the room. She was nervous out to be in public, just sitting there. It was a feeling she had not experienced since leaving New York.
“Please contact us if you see any young ladies matching this description,” a male voice spoke from across the room. Rose glanced over to the front desk, where she spotted the speaker. It was a tall, overweight policeman in a crisp black uniform. He was handing the front desk clerk a small, rectangular poster.
Curious, Rose craned her neck to take a peek at what was on it. The policeman lifted it up, and Rose’s heart sunk in her chest. It was a photograph of her face, from the day that she and Julie had gone to Westminster Abbey. Below the photo was some text. But the part that frightened Rose most of all was the large, bold type above the photograph. MISSING, it read.
Without even thinking about Rodney or anything else, Rose snatched up her bundle and her handbag. She rushed out of the lobby and out into the busy street. The policeman was still inside, chatting with the clerk.
Walking fast, Rose turned a corner and onto a side street. Her mind was racing with a multitude of thoughts, which all seemed to be jumbled together. The Douglass family is looking for me. They want to collect their money from Mother. They want money for handing me over to Mother. They are searching for me. The police are searching for me. I need to go. I need to leave London. I need to get out.
Rose found a familiar street name and decided to walk north. I can find a train station. I have some money. I can take the train into the countryside, like I did with Lionel. I need to get out of London, and fast. Rose stopped walking, but her heartbeat quickened.
Shaking her head at the situation she was in, Rose hurried toward where she thought the station was. I will figure something out, she concluded. Rose continued walking, but with her head bent low. She felt paranoid that people were watching her. What if someone recognizes me? She wondered nervously.
“Stop, cab!” she yelled, raising her hand as a car raced by. He slammed on his breaks and stopped. Rose scooted inside and instructed him to go to the train station.
Digging into her purse, Rose fished out a small piece of paper that had her birth mother’s name and town scribbled on it. Rose’s heart longed for a place to go. If only my birth mother had been willing to talk to me. If she had, I could go to her. I could be her daughter again and we could live together in her little cottage in the countryside.
Riding in the cab, Rose began to think about Rodney. What will he think when I’m not there? I’m sur
e he’ll see the poster with my face on it and figure out that I hid. He’s smart. He’ll figure it out and he’ll understand. But how will I find him? He always calls me. I never call him. I don’t even know how to reach him.
Finally reaching St. Pancras railway station, Rose paid her driver and rushed onto the platform. She studied the train schedules, trying to find a train going north. She found one and headed toward the ticket office.
Rose looked up and spotted a policeman approach the platform where she sat. Frantically, she snatched up her things. Not knowing where to go or where to hide, she hopped onto the northbound train, the same one she had planned to take. She found herself in a long hallway with compartments on one side. Worried that the policeman might follow her onto the train, she ducked into an empty compartment and drew the shades closed. She waited a few moments, peeking out the window every so often, waiting for an opportunity to exit her hiding spot and go back onto the platform.
Suddenly, the train began to move. Rose could feel the blood draining from her face. Well, I guess I’ll just buy a ticket at the next station.
Several minutes passed. Rose buried her face in her hands, overwhelmed by the situation she found herself in. What station do I even get off at? She wondered. I know this train goes north, into the country. But where should I go?
“Tickets! Tickets, please!” came a male voice from the other side of the compartment wall.
Not sure if she could purchase tickets on the train, Rose sat down and decided to wait until the next station. She did not want to risk getting in trouble, and the conductor did not stop at her otherwise empty compartment.
At the next stop, Rose hopped out to purchase a ticket. There was a town which sounded far away enough called St. Albans, so she decided a buy her train ticket to there.
Back on the train, she settled down in her seat for the next half hour. Attempting to reread her book, Rose had trouble concentrating. Her mind kept going back to Lionel and her memory of the day they had taken the train to Kettering.
How could he do this? Rose thought with anger. How could he betray me like this? And all for money. He has money. His parents have money. But he would turn over his friend for cash. What a dirty liar he is. I feel disgusted just thinking about all the time I wasted on our fake friendship. Rose realized that her hands were shaking from her anger.
“St. Albans! St. Albans city railway station!” came the conductor’s voice. Rose jolted out of her thoughts.
As the conductor’s voice faded away, Rose grasped her handbag and bundle. When the train stopped, she tucked herself into a small crowd of people and exited.
Looking down, Rose walked off the train platform. She walked down several streets until she found herself on a less busy avenue which was lined with red brick row houses. She walked past a grocery store, a bookshop, and a tearoom. She walked until she left town. Soon she found herself in a small village with a sign that read Parsonsborough. In the center of town was small, but very tall, stone church. There was a few shops here and there. She continued to walk and noticed small flower shop. In the window were vases full of cheerful daffodils and hyacinth. The beauty and color of the flowers reminded her of her birth mother’s garden.
Beside the flower shop was an inn. It was called The Shepherdess Inn and had a Tudor style design, complete with lattice windows. Rose went inside.
“How much would it be for a room for a week?” Rose asked the woman at the desk.
“Hm, a week,” the woman mumbled. “We don’t normally have anyone stay for a week. Let’s see. How about eighty pounds?”
“That will be fine,” Rose agreed with hesitation. I’ll have to eat cans of tuna fish and beans with the little money I’ll have left.
Rose paid the woman and was shown to her room. It had a simple double sized bed with a pink and purple quilt and a lacey crocheted blanket. A small wooden table sat beside the bed. Old, floral wallpaper was on the walls. The bathroom was tiny, with a single sink, toilet, and stand up shower.
If I really do run out of money, should I call Mrs. Harrison? Maybe she isn’t involved in this mess with Lionel. But then, I don’t want her to get caught in the middle between me and the Douglass family. Rose was getting a headache just thinking about it all. Deciding to leave the tiny room to get fresh air, Rose went outside for a walk. She stopped in front of the flower shop display window.
Drawn to the flowers, Rose stepped into the shop. A short, stout older woman with grey curls looked up and greeted her with a smile as she entered. “Hello, how can I help you, my dear?” the woman asked.
“I’m just looking, thank you,” Rose said in a polite tone.
The woman reminded Rose of Mrs. Harrison. I wonder if Mrs. Harrison even knows I left the Douglass house, Rose thought as she reached down to touch the delicate petals of a peony.
“Actually,” Rose said, turning back to the older lady who worked in the shop. “I was wondering if you need an extra set of hands for a few days?”
The woman appeared surprised, but she smiled in a polite and pleasant way. She thought for a moment.
“Actually,” she began. “I do have a large wedding on Saturday. I wouldn’t have to work so many late nights if I had a little extra help. Do you have any experience with floral arrangements?”
Rose frowned. “No, I don’t,” she told the woman. “But I’m a very hard worker and I’m a fast learner, too.”
The woman stopped for a moment to think. Finally, she spoke. “How does four pounds an hour sound to you?”
“That will be fine,” Rose told the woman. “Thank you!”
“Can you come in at nine in the morning tomorrow?” the woman asked.
“Absolutely.”
Rose chatted for a few more minutes before saying good-night with a promise to return the next morning. Back at the hotel, she borrowed the London telephone directory and used the lobby phone. Finding the phone number to Herald’s Jewelry shop, Rose dialed it. But the phone rang and rang with no answer. Finally, an answering machine picked up. A recording explained that the store was closed on Sundays.
Sighing, Rose tried to think of another way to get in touch with Rodney to let him know of her whereabouts. She looked up his name in the directory, but there was no listing. She finally gave up and decided to try to call the jewelry store in the morning.
That night in bed, Rose was relieved to be safe once more. She was eager to begin work at the flower shop the next day. Arranging flowers seemed so different from her job with Mrs. Douglass that it had a certain appeal. Rose was excited to try something new, a job where she could be creative.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rose worked hard in the flower shop with the kind older woman, who was named Mrs. Grey. She worked for five days straight, six hours a day. Mrs. Grey showed her how the arrangements and bouquets were to be done, and Rose proved to be a fast learner.
Rose told Mrs. Grey that she was staying in town briefly, and the woman did not ask any questions about her situation. She commended Rose on her hard work and the two chatted pleasantly as they arranged flowers.
Rose was so busy on her first day of work that she completely forgot about calling Rodney. She tried calling his jewelry shop after work, but it was closed. The days passed by and Rose attempted to get in touch with Rodney several more times. But each time, he was off work or no one answered. Rose almost left a message for him, but did not want him to get in trouble for receiving personal calls at work.
After awhile, Rose decided to forget about reaching Rodney for awhile. Being in the small village of Parsonsborough was like being in another world. It seemed so detached from the busy city streets of London and New York, which was all Rose had ever known. She liked the quiet and the peace.
The wedding was Friday evening, and Rose helped Mrs. Grey load up the flower truck that would transfer the arrangements to the event. The flowers were mostly blue and pink hydrangeas and white calla lilies.
“Thank you so much for your help, Rose,
” Mrs. Grey said to her. “I’ve appreciated your hard work. You are talented. Maybe you should consider a career in the floral industry.”
“Maybe,” Rose replied, mulling the thought over in her head. She had certainly never seen herself as a florist.
“Do stop by the shop sometime,” Mrs. Grey said after saying good-bye. “Good-night, Rose.”
Mrs. Grey gave Rose a quick hug. She felt a moment of warmth and love, comfort and safeness. It all made her miss Mrs. Harrison.
* * *
Shortly before going to bed on Friday evening, Rose sat in the small wood chair in her bedroom, glancing through the pages of an old book of Tennyson’s poems. Mrs. Grey had given it to her.
Rose found herself thinking about Lionel again. This is all Lionel’s fault. That stupid liar. What a sneak. He’s the lowest of the low. He’s nothing but a freaking idiot. I’m stuck here in this tiny room because of him and his sneaky tricks. She shook her head. I’m sick of being on the run.
Rose realized that all of her hurt regarding Lionel’s betrayal had turned into anger. She still was in disbelief that someone who she thought was her friend could be so cruel.
Why don’t I just go to London? She wondered. I can find Rodney there since he has no idea where I am. I’ll go to Herald’s Jewelry Shop to find him. He usually works most weekdays and on Saturday. Tomorrow is Saturday, so it’ll be perfect.
Rose’s thoughts came to a halt when she realized one very important fact.
The whole reason why I left London was because I saw a missing person poster for myself. If I go back, someone may have seen it and could recognize me.
Frustrated, Rose pulled her legs to her chest and pursed her lips. “What to do, what to do?” she mumbled.
Hatching a sudden idea, Rose sat up straight and let her legs drop to the floor. She smiled, pleased with her plan.
I’ll go out first thing in the morning, Rose decided. It’s a simple idea, but I think it will work. Hopefully I’ll find Rodney tomorrow and then together we can figure out what I should do next.
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