A Bouquet of Thorns

by Tania Crosse

  But it was all a ruse so that she could spend time in the healing ambience at Rosebank Hall. Elizabeth always welcomed her with open arms, and Chantal – and even baby Hannah – came to look upon her as a beloved aunt. She observed with growing interest as Elizabeth taught Chantal the art of healing with herbs, and chatted with Dr William Greenwood, who was also the mine surgeon for Wheal Friendship, and was a good friend and frequent visitor to the Pencarrows.

  ‘Oh, look who’s here!’ Elizabeth greeted her one cold and frosty early-November day. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come!’

  ‘And it’ll save me writing you a long letter!’ Adam Bradley said with his usual strong, dependable smile.

  ‘How good to see you!’ Rebecca chimed in, looking as radiant as ever.

  ‘And you, too!’ Rose returned her broad smile. ‘I didn’t realize you were here.’

  ‘Well,’ Adam explained, ‘the criminal barrister I’ve engaged unexpectedly had a few days free and he wanted to come down and interview his client in person.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rose could feel the blood suddenly circling nervously about her heart. ‘How . . . how was he?’

  ‘Not too bad, considering. Perhaps you’d better sit down.’ He waited while she did so and Elizabeth poured her a cup of cocoa from the pot on the table. Adam considered for a second or two, deciding it was best not to tell her that, not being in the rudest of health, Collingwood had passed out from sheer shock, and that he was developing a worrying cough again. ‘We went over every detail of the case with him,’ he went on instead, ‘and he stuck to exactly the same story. The governor was present, though, so we didn’t mention anything about the army or his real name. Best not bring that in unless we have to.’ He saw Rose glance anxiously across at Elizabeth and nodded his head. ‘I’m afraid I felt I must be totally honest with Mr Salford, and also with Richard and Beth.’

  ‘Don’t worry. The secret’s safe with us,’ Elizabeth assured her.

  ‘I have, though – and with not a little persuasion and without revealing the reason why – managed to verify the army record of Captain Seth Warrington, and all is exactly as he said, which has confirmed my belief in his claims of innocence.’

  ‘There, I knew it! I knew he was telling the truth!’

  ‘Well, we’ve also made some progress on the main front. I managed to find the witness who had seen Seth with the victim and assumed he was robbing him. He’s agreed to repeat what he said before, that he didn’t witness the actual attack, and that he may have jumped to the wrong conclusion. Tracking down the elderly couple who did see the real assailant commit the crime and then make his escape, now that’s taken a great deal longer. You can imagine why they didn’t want to be involved in the first place. They were alone in the street and frightened for their own safety. But they were appalled when they learnt what had happened and are willing to testify in court.’

  ‘Oh, that’s tremendous news, isn’t it?’ Rose cried.

  ‘Well, it is, but unfortunately Mr Salford isn’t entirely convinced it’s sufficient, but it’s a good start. But we’re not giving up yet, I assure you. Now, are you able to stay a little while and have some lunch with us?’

  ‘If ’tis all right with Beth, I’d love to. But I’m afraid I must leave shortly afterwards. It gets dark so early and ’tis a fair way to go. And, well, I think this had better be the last time I come, with the days getting so short.’

  ‘Oh, what a pity!’ Elizabeth said glumly. ‘I’ll really miss your visits.’

  ‘Not as much as I will.’

  Rose sighed deeply. The farm really had acted as a salve for her bleeding heart, and she always basked in the glow of its peace and serenity. Not that it had always been so. She had learnt once before of the appalling situation Richard and Elizabeth had once faced, though she instinctively felt there existed some secret that neither of them would reveal. But she considered them her close friends and they had always shown her such kindness. Elizabeth had also revealed to her Adam and Rebecca’s own tragic tale and of how Adam had lost his hand. Perhaps it was why these good people understood Rose’s own anguish now and were doing their utmost to help.

  It was as if her visits to Rosebank Hall had maintained her sanity, and she didn’t know how she was going to survive without them. She wept openly as she allowed Honey to trot home at a leisurely pace. By the time they reached the prison, her tears had dried. The light was going from the sky and the convicts had already finished their labours for the day. Rose willed the encouraging information Adam had given her through the walls to wherever Seth was sitting in his solitary cell. But her own heart was dragging. She was dreading the long, dark winter, incarcerated with Charles at Fencott Place. She would suffocate, imagining her resentment growing to breaking point. How on earth would she survive through to the spring?

  But when she thought of Seth and how he must be suffering, she felt shot through with guilt.

  Seventeen

  ‘Happy Christmas, Molly!’

  Molly looked up and a surprised grin spread across her face as Rose’s head appeared around the door to the little cottage.

  ‘You, too, Rose! ’Tis good to see you!’

  ‘No, don’t get up!’ Rose cried as her friend went to heave herself from the sagging armchair. ‘You stay there with your feet up. Not long to go now, eh?’

  ‘A week or so I reckons.’ Molly shifted awkwardly. ‘I’ll be that glad. I feels like a mountain, and my back aches that much! Oh, Rose, you’m soaking wet. You shouldn’t have come in this.’

  ‘Well, I had to come and wish you a Happy Christmas. And I’ve got some things for the baby that Florrie knitted, and a matinee jacket that I embroidered for you. At least that were something Charles approved of my doing.’ She paused, pulling a long face. ‘I know ’tis pouring, but I had to get out of the house and away from him for a while. But I mustn’t stay too long. I can’t leave Honey standing out in the rain.’

  ‘Oh, Rose, she is a horse!’ Molly laughed aloud. ‘They’m supposed to live outside, aren’t they?’

  ‘Maybe, but she’s been bred for her colour and that could make her delicate, and she hasn’t got a blanket on, of course. I couldn’t bear it if she got ill. ’Twas the same . . .’ She faltered for a fleeting moment and her voice cracked. ‘’Twas the same with Gospel. Oh, Molly, I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.’

  ‘Nobody’s passed on any news about him to me, I’s afeared,’ Molly answered quietly. ‘But a letter came for you this morning. ’Tis from Captain Bradley. I recognizes the writing. Joe were going to bring it over to you on Christmas Day as he won’t get the chance afore. ’Tis over there on the table.’

  Rose picked up the envelope with trembling fingers. ‘Oh, God,’ she mumbled under her breath as her heart began to race. Her hand went over her mouth and her vision blurred so that Adam’s neat handwriting suddenly seemed more like the ghostly efforts of someone trying to knit with fog. There had been no word from him since they had met at Rosebank Hall six weeks earlier, and a deep depression had wrapped her in its strangling fold so that she was convinced the letter must contain bad news.

  ‘Go on, then, read it,’ Molly encouraged her gently.

  Rose hesitantly opened the envelope and extracted the sheet of paper. For a few moments, the fear of what it might contain made the letters dance on the page, but slowly its meaning took root in her brain.

  ‘Oh, Molly,’ she managed to force from her tight throat. ‘’Tis Jonas Chant.’

  ‘Who?’ Molly’s freckled brow frowned.

  ‘Jonas Chant. The man Seth is supposed to have robbed. Who swore ’twas Seth who attacked him.’ Her voice was low and expressionless, numb with shock, and Molly put out a hand. Rose felt its pressure, and looked up to meet her friend’s enquiring gaze. ‘Adam’s been searching all over for him, and now suddenly he’s turned up in the workhouse. ’Twas William Greenwood as found him, Richard and Beth’s doctor friend. They’ve no medical officer at present, so William was standing in
and he had to examine this new inmate. He recognized the name at once. And . . . Oh, Molly, he’s dying. His liver. Drunk himself to death, William says. Won’t last longer than a week, two at most. And would you believe, he’s a Catholic and he’s asked for the priest? And William’s spoken to the priest, and he’s agreed that if Chant confesses to lying about Seth, he’ll try to persuade him to sign a written confession for the constable.’

  She was staring at Molly, her eyes huge and blank in her white face, the pupils so wide, the blue rim of the irises had almost disappeared.

  ‘So . . . it could be what you’ve been waiting for?’ Molly almost whispered.

  ‘Well, yes.’ Rose’s bloodless lips quivered. ‘But what if . . . what if he won’t confess? What if he dies, and it all goes wrong? Oh, Molly, I couldn’t bear it!’

  ‘But this doctor,’ Molly quickly put in, ‘you’ve met him, and you trust him to do what Captain Bradley says in the letter?’

  ‘Oh, yes. And he’s been Beth’s friend since she was a child.’

  ‘There you are, then. Take some encouragement. I’m sure ’twill be all right. So what else does the letter say?’

  Rose took a deep breath as she turned her attention back to the paper in her hand. She scanned the lines of writing quickly, turning over to read the back of the page. ‘Adam says,’ she told Molly, ‘that they’ve had another stroke of luck. A man who was drinking at the inn that night and remembers the way Chant was behaving, and the scene he caused with Seth. And he also remembers someone else who appeared to follow Chant out into the street. Someone he actually knows and can identify. And this chap always wore the same clothes and never had much money, but after that evening, he was never seen in those clothes again and was never short of cash—’

  ‘So, you means, he could be the real culprit?’ Molly asked excitedly. ‘And he destroyed his clothes cuz they was stained with blood? And if he was caught—’

  ‘And if the elderly couple could also identify him . . . Oh, dear Lord, I daren’t even think about it! But Adam says if all this evidence can be established in the new year, he’ll go up to London and he’ll push and push . . . Oh, he’s a good man, Adam! But he says not to get my hopes up. That a royal pardon would still be incredibly difficult, and ’tis such a complicated process . . . Oh, I just don’t know what to think!’

  ‘Well, you just keep hoping, Rosie,’ Molly said forcefully, ‘and we’ll all keep praying an’ all. And I must thank you for coming all this way with the things for the babby. Proper kind, you are, Rosie, and you deserves some luck yoursel’.’

  ‘And is there anything else you need? You and Joe, you know you’re like brother and sister to me, so you mustn’t be afeared to ask. And you make sure you send for Dr Power when the baby starts and I’ll foot the bill.’

  ‘Oh, Rosie, you cas’n—’

  ‘Oh, yes, I can! It gives me particular satisfaction to spend Charles’s money where I know he wouldn’t like it! But I really ought to be going. I told you ’twas just a flying visit.’ She bent to kiss her dear friend on the cheek. ‘Now you look after yourself, and don’t forget – if there’s anything you need! And let me know the minute there’s any news!’

  But despite her cheerfulness, as she rode home from the powder mills, her stomach was clenched so tightly, she felt sick, and she was scarcely aware of the deluge of rain that lashed into her face. If Seth were working outside in this, it would hardly be doing his weakened chest any good. Molly’s father, Jacob Cartwright, was keeping an eye on him, it was true, but it seemed that even though the legitimacy of his imprisonment was being questioned, he was treated no differently. In fact, because of his attempted escape, he was considered to be among the scum of the convicts.

  The rain, though, had softened the ground, and Rose was able to let Honey have her head. The mare responded and broke into a gallop, and although with not quite the same zest as Gospel would have shown, she was clearly enjoying herself. When they reached home, unusually Rose left Ned to see to Honey while she herself stumbled indoors on unsteady legs. Florrie. She must tell Florrie, as she could not face the crucifying suspense alone.

  It seemed that Charles took her more forcefully than usual that night. He had commented that she seemed quiet and that hardly a morsel had passed her lips at dinner; that it was about time she became pregnant again, and he was damned well going to make sure of it. Christmas was but a few days away, and he was determined there would be another Chadwick – a boy this time – in the nursery by the time the Yuletide celebrations came round again. And so Rose suffered his attentions that night, and all the following nights, in silence. She tried to refuse him once, but he slapped her face so hard, her ears rang.

  Christmas was the most miserable affair she could imagine. Florrie, bless her, put on a jolly face to try and cheer her up. They exchanged presents, Charles showering Rose in expensive gifts that meant nothing to her, and they had a little fir tree in the drawing room with minute candles in special holders that were lit in the evening when they could keep a close eye on the tiny naked flames. Patsy and Daisy had spent some time making paper chains to hang around the house, and Rose had attempted to get in the festive mood by decorating the fireplace with glossy, red-berried holly. Cook excelled herself with the dinner and Rose drank more wine than she should have done, which only served to deepen her depression.

  She sat by the fireside in the evening, trying to read a book as Charles was doing, but her head was swimming and she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind lingered instead on memories of Christmases past when her father, Florrie, Joe and herself would go to the powder mills chapel in the morning, joyously greeting all the workers, and return to open presents and help Florrie prepare the meal and the table. Later they would play games, laughing uproariously, and only towards bedtime would a contented quiet begin to fall upon them. Now she sat in tense silence opposite her husband. This time last year, her grief over the recent loss of her dear father was still so raw, but she had realized on Christmas Day that she was pregnant and that had given her hope. Now, that little child was dead, Charles had sold her beloved Gospel, her marriage was disintegrating around her, and the man she had met who, God forgive her, meant more to her than her husband ever had, was suffering a cruel and unjustified imprisonment.

  Charles suddenly glanced up and snapped shut his book. ‘Well, my dear, I believe that is the Yuletide over for another year.’ He picked up the candle-snuffer and began to extinguish the lights on the tree. ‘And I believe we could end the day as we started it.’

  He held out his hand, his eyes gleaming, and Rose’s heart plummeted.

  ‘Telegram for you, ma’am.’

  Rose jerked with shock, her thoughts spinning. But it wouldn’t be anything to do with Seth, would it? Adam wouldn’t send a telegram direct to her at Fencott Place. But who else would want to contact her so urgently?

  She ripped it open. Oh! She snatched in a breath of jubilation. A little girl. The day before – Boxing Day – Molly had been delivered safely of a little girl and mother and baby were doing well.

  Rose was swept up on a tide of elation. Oh, what joy! A huge grin split her face, her heart so brimming over with happiness that she almost went in to see Charles in his study to break the news. But no. He wouldn’t care, and if he felt peeved when he finally heard that he hadn’t been told, then so much the better. It would serve him right.

  Florrie had gone down with a nasty cold and had taken to her bed. Rose ran up the stairs to her room in the attic to deliver the glad tidings. Then she pulled on her riding habit, hurried out to the stables to order Ned to tack up Honey and, while he was doing so, she raided the pantry, bundling up two meat pies, some oranges and some dried figs and almost all of a batch of biscuits Cook had just baked for the master’s morning coffee. All of which she managed to cram into the saddlebag.

  A ferocious wind was hurtling across the moor, but the heavy rain of a few days earlier had at last ceased. Ha, ha! She had gone out without telling Cha
rles where! It was a challenge, a triumph, and only Molly’s good news could have given her the strength to do it.

  Her euphoria seemed to have washed away all her morose thoughts, and hope blossomed in her heart. A safe delivery was never guaranteed, despite the skills of such dedicated physicians as Dr Power, and the birth of this new life had refreshed her spirit. Honey sensed her excitement and was frisky and straining on the bit, eager to stretch her muscles, and Rose let her go, streaking along the softer earth at the side of the track. Even so, Gospel would have outrun her, but Rose refused to let her pent-up resentment mar the day.

  She arrived breathless from the exhilaration of the ride, but knocked gently on the front door in case Molly or the baby were asleep. She needn’t have worried. Mrs Cartwright let her in, her face beaming with pride at the birth of her first grandchild.

  ‘Molly’s just feeding ’er!’ she announced brightly. ‘You go on up.’

  ‘And they’re well?’

  ‘In fine fettle, my dear, thank you. I ’opes you didn’t mind us sending a telegraph from Princetown. Saved us time, you sees.’

  ‘Of course not! Oh, would you like to unpack these while I go up? Just a few things I thought would help.’

  ‘Oh, ’tis very kind on you, Miss Rose.’

  But Rose didn’t hear as she shinned up the steep stairs. ‘Molly! Molly, ’tis only me!’ she called.

  ‘Oh, Rose! Come on in!’

  Rose stole reverently into the spartan room. Molly was sat up in the bed, her face serene and angelic, almost translucent in her enchantment as she gazed down at the tiny fragment of life sucking steadily at her breast. Rose caught her breath. She looked like a Madonna, she was so calm and fulfilled, her own pale ginger hair falling forward over the fair down on the baby’s head. What else could it be, with Joe’s thatch of straw-coloured curls? And eyes? They had to be cornflower blue or Molly’s soft emerald, or an interesting mix of the two.