A Bouquet of Thorns

by Tania Crosse

  At five o’clock in the morning, the prisoners were woken with a bucket of cold water first to wash themselves in and then to wash out the cell. But no matter how hard Seth scrubbed himself, he couldn’t get rid of the stench of human excrement that seeped into his skin, up his nostrils and into his very heart. The previous evening he had been marched with some fellow inmates to the bathhouse for their weekly dip, but it had made little difference. They had then been issued with their so-called clean underwear for the week, and Seth had despaired. As usual, the drawers were stained from the diarrhoea from which so many of the convicts suffered, and he had shuddered with indignity as he had put them on.

  On the verge of tears, he cringed as he donned them again that morning, waiting for the moment when the cell door would be unlocked for each convict to slop out, carrying his own daily foul bucket to the tub at the end of the corridor which itself was emptied every other day into the cesspits next to the bone shed. The vile odour started it all up again, reaching into his stomach and tearing at his insides. There were those working in the bone shed who seemed to have got used to the smell, throwing him disparaging glances as he spent all day retching despite his best efforts not to – not for their sake but because once his stomach was empty, it was agony.

  Just before six o’clock, the usual pint of ‘skilly’ or watery gruel and a chunk of bread were pushed through the hatch. Seth eyed it suspiciously. What was the point in forcing it down when he knew he would only bring it back up the moment he entered the shed? So when they were all crammed into the chapel for the brief morning service, the words on his mute lips were not the communal prayers but Dear God, please let me die today.

  He couldn’t help but slow his pace as they were marched past the piggery. The stink was already inside his head, there was no escape. Perhaps he could bolt towards the wall and they would shoot him dead. But they wouldn’t, would they? They knew he couldn’t get out, so they would merely pin him down manually and set him back to work. He had already lost all his points towards his ticket of leave because of his few weeks of freedom and had been lucky not to have more years added to his sentence, so any futile attempt now would simply put his marks in deficit.

  Down the steps to the sunken shed, thus built so that the workers would be on a level with the cesspits next to it. Once drained, the remaining solid matter would have added to it manure from the piggery and the farm, and crushed bones from the shed. Hell wasn’t in it, as far as Seth was concerned.

  As they were forced inside, he bent his elbow across his mouth and nose in the vague hope that his senses might adjust slowly to the suffocating reek of sewage and rotting bones. They didn’t. He was sick almost at once, his eyes watering in the acrid air, and for sympathy received a blow in the back from the warder.

  ‘Clear it up, you milksop!’ the warder bellowed in his ear.

  Sweet Jesus, he couldn’t help it. He was used to malodorous army latrines, but this was something entirely different. In the confined space of the shed, the stink was unbearable. He tried, dear Lord, he tried to think of something else, to imagine the scent of lavender, of rosemary and other herbs. The sweet fragrance of her. But it was no good.

  A fellow inmate tipped a pile of bones in front of him and he took up the hammer, his shoulders slumped wearily. Many of the bones still had rancid meat adhering to them and had been in the heap outside for a week or more, putrefying in the summer warmth and smelling almost as badly as the human manure to which they would be added. The hammering began, and Seth closed his eyes in a moment of despair. Within half an hour, the airless atmosphere was so thick with the tainted dust of the crushed bones that he could scarcely see his neighbour. It settled on his chest, inflaming his already weakened lungs so that he struggled for breath, coughed and spluttered with each blow of the hammer. Crush to dust. With the threat of punishment if the pile wasn’t pulverized by the end of the day. Sweat pouring from his face, running down inside his uniform. Retching and coughing until he thought his insides would break. Strangled.

  Four torturing hours. Filed out into the open, gulping at the fresh air. Searched for hammers and other tools, then marched back to the cells for dinner. A pint of lukewarm beef soup, flavoured with onion and a slice or two of carrot. The most appetizing meal of the week. It would make good vomit for him, he mused in distraction.

  He was right. He crawled on his hands and knees back to his work place. Couldn’t breathe, his lungs fit to burst. Perhaps he would get pneumonia again. He prayed God it would kill him this time.

  ‘Please, I want to see the medical officer,’ he choked.

  ‘Get back to work, you blackguard,’ was the response.

  ‘I’m going to the powder mills this morning,’ Charles announced over breakfast. ‘The new manager is facing prosecution over various regulations the government inspector found weren’t being properly adhered to. And, as one of the major shareholders, I find that quite worrying.’

  Rose looked up sharply from the creamy porridge, sweetened with honey, that her rebellious stomach was just about allowing her to swallow. ‘My father would never have allowed that to happen. He was always praised by the inspectors.’

  ‘Yes, I know. My confidence in him was one of the reasons I bought even more shares when trade was lessening. But I was wondering if you’d care to accompany me? You could visit Molly while I carry out a tour of inspection of my own.’

  Rose lifted an eyebrow, and the corners of her mouth curved upwards. ‘Yes, I should like that.’

  Charles returned her smile with some satisfaction. It was a gesture of reconciliation on his part, and she had accepted. Perhaps there was hope yet. Little did he realize he was playing right into her hands!

  It was a pleasant August day and they took Merlin and the wagonette, Rose driving as it was something Charles had never learnt to do. While he went off to speak to the new manager, Rose hurried off to Joe and Molly’s cottage.

  ‘Rosie! How lovely to see you!’

  The younger girl stopped stirring the stew she was cooking for dinner and they embraced tightly. Rose bit her lip, her chin quivering. Dear Molly. How good and kind, like all her family.

  ‘How are you, Rosie?’ she asked tentatively, her face taut with compassion. ‘How you’m getting on?’

  Rose knew that she was referring to the loss of little Alice, and she nodded as they drew apart. ‘Well, as best I can, I suppose,’ she answered, knowing she could open her heart and talk freely to her friend. ‘I feel raw, empty, angry, all in turns. And Florrie’s a tower of strength, as you might imagine.’

  ‘Yes, I be certain she is.’

  Rose smiled ruefully, and then her mouth widened with delight. ‘And look at you! You’re really showing now!’

  Molly’s pretty face darkened. ‘Are you . . . are you sure you doesn’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? Why should I mind that you’re expecting?’

  ‘Oh, I just thought . . . with Alice—’

  ‘’Twas not your fault and, well, I can enjoy your little one, can’t I? I mean, Joe’s like my brother, so I’ll be its auntie, won’t I? I really am so pleased for you both!’

  She grinned, her heart genuinely lifting, and Molly smiled with more confidence. ‘Let’s have a cup of tea,’ she said, turning back to the range. ‘Did your husband let you out, then?’

  ‘He’s here, too. Because of his investments and the trouble there’s been. I don’t know how long he’ll be, so I’d better come to the point quickly.’

  She sat down on a rustic settle, perching on the edge and leaning forward urgently. Molly turned to gaze at her, head tipped to one side.

  ‘You wants me to do something?’ She frowned.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’ Her voice was low and trembling, and she fixed Molly with her arresting eyes. ‘I need you to act as a go-between for me. I’m going to write to some of the local hunts. Ask them to keep an eye out for Gospel. But if there’s any news, I need it to come to you. If there’s any chance of getting him back –
well, if Charles found out, he’d put a stop to it.’

  Molly nodded emphatically. ‘Yes, of course. Joe’s already spreading the word where he can, too.’

  ‘Is he, bless him? Oh, I’m so grateful. But . . .’ She paused, her mouth set in familiar determination. ‘There’s something even more important. To do with Seth.’

  Molly lowered her eyes. ‘Your convict, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know how he is?’

  Molly’s mouth twisted. It was a question she had hoped not to be asked. ‘Father’d been working nights, so he hadn’t seen him for a while. And a few days after he went back on day shifts, he . . .’ She hesitated, bowing her head as if in shame. ‘Father found him working in the bone shed.’

  Rose stared at her for several numbing seconds while the anger frothed up inside her. ‘The bone shed!’ she moaned in an agony of despair since the horrors of the bone shed were well known. ‘Oh, dear God! With his chest, ’twill kill him!’

  ‘As I say, Father didn’t know he’d been moved. Shouldn’t have been, of course. Been there two weeks or so when Father found him. Father said he could hardly breathe for the dust, almost collapsed. He had him removed at once and taken back to the infirmary.’

  ‘But . . . was he all right?’ Rose hardly dared to ask.

  Molly nodded reassuringly. ‘Yes. Arter a few days, he were so much better that Dr Power sent him back to the workshops. He said when he passes him as fit, he can work on the buildings as he’s actually very strong. ’Tis just his lungs have been weakened, so he’s not to work breaking stones or ort dusty.’

  Rose had been holding her breath and now she let it out in a deep sigh. ‘Oh, thank God he has your father to keep an eye on him. But, oh, Molly, how ever will he last another ten years in that place? And that’s another reason why I need your help.’ And she proceeded to tell Molly all about her visit to Rosebank Hall and how she had asked Richard Pencarrow to let Molly know when Captain Adam Bradley was to visit.

  ‘Of course. I’ll do anything to help, you knows that. But will your husband not be suspicious?’

  Rose pulled a long face. ‘I don’t think so. He’s graciously said I can go out on my own. Provided I tell him where I’m going,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘’Tis fair enough,’ Molly considered. ‘If I were to go out, I’d tell Joe where I were off to.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ Rose conceded with a shrug. ‘But you must start coming to Fencott Place regularly as well, so that when you do have a message for me, ’twill look perfectly natural. As long as you’re up to it, of course. ’Tis a long walk in your condition.’

  ‘Oh, I be as strong as an ox!’ Molly grinned. ‘And I could always send Joe with some sort of excuse, anyways. But, Rose . . .’ Her expression became sombre again. ‘You take care. ’Tis fire you’m playing with.’

  Rose sucked in her cheeks. ‘The way I see it, I don’t have much choice, do I? And when you come to see me, you can choose which of the puppies you’d like, can’t you?’ Her face brightened merrily, but inside, her heart was clenched with anxiety. For she knew Molly was right.

  Thirteen

  ‘So, did you have a good time with your friend?’ Charles asked stiffly as they drove home across the moor.

  Rose flashed him a relaxed smile. ‘Yes, thank you. And your inspection?’

  ‘Well, I have to admit that I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. I nearly came to fetch you as you know far more about it than I do. But I reckon the prosecution will have shaken things up somewhat and everyone will be more vigilant in the future.’

  ‘Good. I’d hate anyone to be hurt again like my father was. By the way, Molly and I have decided upon Wednesdays for me to visit. And sometimes she might come over to me, if that’s all right with you?’

  She cocked her head to one side, smiling angelically as if it were all perfectly natural, which, she considered, it should be. Charles conceded with a grimace. He didn’t exactly approve, but at least one day a week, he would know where she was.

  And so, on the following Wednesday, she drove Merlin and the wagonette over to the powder mills as Charles had said he needed Tansy to ride into Tavistock to do some business at the bank. But he didn’t go straight there. Instead, half an hour after Rose left Fencott Place, he made a long detour up the Postbridge Road. On nearing the cottages where the track led off towards the gunpowder factory, he spied Merlin unharnessed from the wagonette and tethered in the shade. Charles was satisfied. For now.

  Rose, for her part, was playing the game. Each time she went out, sometimes on Tansy or sometimes taking the wagonette, she gave Charles her route or destination, returning at the estimated time. Once or twice, with his permission, she rode into Tavistock, spent some while shopping, and returned with her purchases to show him. It meant she was out most of the day, all in preparation for when she would receive news through Molly of Captain and Mrs Bradley’s stay at Rosebank Hall.

  The message from Richard and Elizabeth Pencarrow came at last. Rose tore open the envelope as she took it from Molly’s outstretched hand, her pulse vibrating at her temples. Was it from them, or had someone replied to her enquiries regarding Gospel? Would she drown in bitter disappointment, or rise on a wave of hope? She gasped with relief. The Bradleys were coming the following week and Rose was welcome to come on any day.

  Announcing to Charles that she was going into town, Rose set out in the direction of Tavistock. She was reasonably confident that Charles would not follow, but she nevertheless felt a nervous sweat flush her skin. She must make her outing as legitimate as possible and so she stopped at Tor Quarry at Merrivale to enquire how the new business was faring – their use of powder from Cherrybrook providing a valid excuse – so that she could provide proof that she had at least ridden that far. She also had about her person a couple of trinkets she had previously bought at Tavistock market and had secreted from Charles, but would reveal to him at once upon her return as evidence of her claimed visit to the town.

  She heard laughter as she rode up the track to Rosebank Hall, and discovered the happy party on the lawn at the front of the farmhouse. It was the very end of August, and the almost continuous rain throughout the summer had not allowed the general air temperature to rise. So even though the sun was shining brilliantly from a duck-egg blue sky, it was not warm enough to necessitate any protection from the heat when sitting outside. Not that there was much sitting being done! Chantal Pencarrow was racing about the grass with a lean young boy who appeared a couple of years her junior. They were engaged in a game of tag, evidently indulging a pretty little girl of about four years old and also a toddler who were both attempting to join in, to the pure joy of the younger dog Rose had seen on her previous visit. Chasing with them was a man, almost as tall as Richard Pencarrow, Rose judged, though Richard himself was nowhere to be seen, and as he ran and dodged about, Rose realized the man was carrying in his arms a delighted baby Hannah Pencarrow. Two kitchen chairs stood empty by a small table set with drinks, but two others were occupied by Elizabeth and another woman of about thirty years old, petite, beautiful, sophisticated in a dress of ruched pale blue silk, yet laughing uproariously at the antics of the man and the children in front of her.

  Rose’s heart contracted painfully, for wasn’t this the scene of domestic bliss she had once imagined for herself and Charles? Alas, it could never be . . . And the children – ah, girl children – who were not only loved and appreciated by their own fathers, but by others as well, since she realized that the man playing with Hannah must be none other than Captain Adam Bradley.

  Tansy shied at the shrieks of hilarity from the lively group before them, and Rose slid from her back and patted her neck reassuringly as the mare shook her head with a snort. When Rose turned round, Elizabeth was coming up to her, arms open to welcome her like a long-lost friend, with Captain Bradley close on her heels.

  ‘Rose, this is Adam,’ Elizabeth introduced him as she released Rose from her embrace.r />
  The captain’s face was still flushed with merriment and he had to catch his breath as he approached. His otherwise full head of mid-brown hair showed only the slightest sign of receding, and that, together with the lines about his eyes, put him at about forty. A handsome man still, though in a totally different way from Richard Pencarrow’s dark and brooding good looks, he instantly inspired an awesome respect which anyone but Rose might have found daunting. His expression became more serious, though his warm, honest chestnut eyes still smiled at her, and his mouth was a strong curve of even white teeth.

  ‘Mrs Chadwick – Rose, if I may be so bold,’ he said with a quiet confidence, passing the child in his arms to her mother, Rose noticed, in a somewhat awkward fashion. As he shook Rose’s right hand in his with a firm grip, he grasped her forearm with his left hand in a gesture of sincerity. Except that the gloved hand was rigid and didn’t actually grasp her at all. ‘Would you mind if I remove my coat?’ he asked politely. ‘Running about with the children . . .’

  ‘But of course.’ She smiled sweetly, for though she was perplexed by his character and in particular by his stiff left hand, she had taken an instinctive liking to him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He was slipping with just a little difficulty out of his coat, when the woman Rose assumed was his wife came up behind him and greeted her with such affection that she might have known Rose all her life. Then she turned easily to help her husband, and as the left coat sleeve slid from his hand, the cuff of the glove was rolled back, and Rose saw with amazement that the hand was made not of flesh and blood, but of metal.

  Captain Bradley caught her eye with the hint of a wry smile. ‘Ah, you’ve discovered my little secret. An accident at sea that nearly cost me my life and my sanity. And would have done so, had it not been for my wife here.’