A Bouquet of Thorns

by Tania Crosse

  She brushed them away with the back of her hand. ‘Do you . . . do you think he’ll get through it?’ she whispered to Elizabeth, who had come up behind her.

  But before she could answer, Seth coughed in his sleep. Rose saw his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallowed, and then he coughed again and his eyelids flickered open, his glazed eyes wandering for a second until they focused on Rose’s face. His mouth half stretched into a hint of that winsome smile, and somehow all the frustrations, all the agonies of his years of unmerited imprisonment melted away.

  ‘Rose . . .’ he croaked.

  There was no need for him to say any more. Rose was vaguely aware of Elizabeth sliding out of the room behind her, leaving her and Seth to stare at each other in rapt disbelief. Rose battled to think of some words, but none would come. Instead she took Seth’s limp hand and looked into the depths of his bloodshot hazel eyes, which had suddenly come alive. And then restraint was thrown to the four winds as she leant over the bed and gathered him in her arms, feeling the frailty of him as he tried to hold her in response. All the unsung pain and suffering of her marriage to Charles, the loss of her father and baby Alice, her yearning – oh, yes, she knew it now – to be with this man who might not survive, brimmed over in a drowning torrent.

  She held him for seconds, minutes, before she felt his body sagging in exhaustion and she lowered him back with the same care she had lavished on her child. Her gaze was locked on his face, and she could see his eyes were glistening with moisture, unaware of her own fresh tears until he managed to lift his hand and thumb them away.

  ‘Rose,’ he repeated, his sore-covered lips moving painfully. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Me?’ she almost squeaked, her throat was so tight. ‘No, ’tis Adam you must thank.’

  ‘Believe me I have.’ He coughed harshly, dry and wheezing, and nodded towards the jug of water on the table. ‘Would you mind . . .?’ he choked, coughing again.

  Rose jumped up in alarm, pouring some water and holding the feeding cup for him since she could see how weak he was. He drank slowly as if even that was exhausting for him, but he swallowed all of it at last and she was thankful for that, at least. She had just replaced the cup on the table when there was a knock on the door and Elizabeth entered the room carrying a tray with a small glass of deep green liquid and a medicine bottle and spoon.

  ‘Take the decoction and then the syrup straight after,’ she instructed. ‘One of my best remedies for chest infections. And I’ll bring you up your steam inhalation. In a little while,’ she added knowingly, and left them alone again.

  ‘How long can you stay?’ Seth croaked when she had closed the door behind her.

  ‘Not too long. I told Charles I was going to Tavistock.’

  ‘Ah, Rose, I . . .’

  He broke off, coughing again, and Rose stroked the back of her hand across his cheek. ‘Hush now. There’s no need to talk.’

  ‘But . . . you’ve come all this way,’ he spluttered.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. ’Tis just so good to be with you again.’

  She pulled up a chair and just sat, holding his hand in silence, watching as his eyes closed and he drifted off again. She heard little Hannah wake up from her sleep, calling out some baby gibberish that only she understood and Elizabeth came to pick her up and take her downstairs. A little later, Richard and Chantal, who had been helping her father with the sheep, returned for their lunch and came up to see her, and Seth was roused from his sleep again.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ Richard asked in his concerned manner.

  Seth nodded. ‘A little, yes, thank you.’ Though no one was sure he really did.

  It seemed that the two men had struck up a good friendship in the few days they had known each other. Observing both men, Rose’s heart lurched. With his shock of dark, lustrous hair and his face radiating with good health, Richard appeared the younger man, although he was seven years Seth’s senior. Rose caught her lip as the pain struck her full in the chest. Seth should regain a more youthful appearance as he recovered – if he recovered – and his shorn hair grew back . . . But she must not think like that! She was a married woman, and one day, with God on his side, Seth would be well enough to leave Rosebank Hall, resume his travels and no doubt find a wife of his own.

  The thought sobered her already sorely tried spirit. Through Adam, she had rescued Seth from his grim prison sentence and given him a better chance of surviving the dreaded gaol fever. But there could never be any more to it than that, and though it slashed at her heart, she must resign herself to being Charles’s wife for life. She lowered her eyes, knowing she went quiet as Richard and Chantal went back downstairs.

  ‘I was so sorry to hear about the baby,’ Seth rasped, trying to suppress another cough. ‘It must have been dreadful.’

  She managed a wan smile. ‘Yes. It was. Eight weeks old, poor little soul.’ She raised her head and found him looking at her intently, his tired eyes deep pools of concern. ‘Charles didn’t care much for her,’ she told him suddenly. ‘She was a girl, and she was sickly. So perhaps ’twas for the best she died before she were old enough to understand and to suffer.’

  ‘You . . . you don’t really think that, though, do you?’

  She grunted. Seth understood precisely, while Charles . . . ‘No, not really. But I think if I keep telling myself that, I’ll come to believe it and ’twill help me. I still feel . . . so raw. As if the grief is trapped inside. ’Tis all very well to cry with Florrie, or Molly or Beth here. But I needed to cry with Charles. With her father. But he’ll have none of it. And . . . you heard he sold Gospel? In retaliation for helping you.’ Her voice had cracked with sorrow, and as she looked at Seth, her eyes misted.

  ‘Yes. And I’m really sorry. I feel it was my fault.’

  ‘No! Never think that! If Charles had been a different man . . .’

  She shook her head, her mouth quivering wretchedly as tears raked her throat. Seth spread his arms and Rose had no strength to resist. She half lay on the bed, her face against his chest as she sobbed inconsolably until slowly, very slowly, the torture eased. But in its place was a barb just as cruel.

  ‘Oh, Rose, that husband of yours is a fool,’ Seth choked miserably. ‘He doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you, while I . . . I thought of nothing else but you. The risks you took to help me. And all those months, everything they put me through, I just kept imagining your face. Otherwise, I just couldn’t have taken it.’

  Rose stiffened and drew back, swamped with guilt, for surely he had suffered far worse than she had. And now she had emptied her weary soul on him when he was so ill. All she wanted was to stay with him, to nurse him through every minute until he was fit and well again. But she couldn’t.

  ‘Oh, Seth, I don’t want to go—’

  ‘But you know you must.’

  She gulped. ‘Yes. You will get yourself better, won’t you?’

  He gave a wry shrug. ‘I’ll certainly try. I couldn’t have better care than I’m getting here. But . . . you will come again?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Well, goodbye then, Rose.’

  He held out his hand, deliberately. For what else was there? Rose shook it, and fled the room without looking back. What if . . . what if he took a turn for the worse and she never saw him alive again?

  She ran down the stairs, blindly, and back into the kitchen. The family were sitting around the table having lunch and Elizabeth looked up with a smile.

  ‘You will have something to eat, Rose? And then I’ll be making Seth an egg custard in a minute if he can manage it.’

  ‘Oh, ’tis most kind of you, but I think I’d better set off home,’ Rose answered, glad of something practical to discuss. ‘But I really must thank Adam for all that he’s done.’

  ‘He went straight back to Herefordshire,’ Richard explained. ‘Toby’s starting school there next week. Proper boarding school. Adam wanted to be there to see the boy settled. To make sure
he wasn’t feeling he was being got rid of, especially because, well, I think you know Adam’s not actually his father. And Rebecca will miss Toby terribly, so Adam wanted to be with her.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I can understand that. I’ll write to him instead, if you can give me their address.’

  ‘I’ll jot it down for you,’ Richard replied, getting up and making for his study.

  ‘Thank you. And you will look after Seth, won’t you?’ she asked earnestly as she turned to Elizabeth.

  ‘Of course I will, my dear.’ The good woman nodded vigorously. ‘But remember what I said. He’s far from out of the woods yet. So far, so good, but sometimes there can be a serious – and I’m afraid to say fatal – relapse. His lungs need to recover and sometimes the parotid gland becomes hugely infected in the third week. William would drain it for him if that happened, but ’tis a sign of deep infection. So, keep praying for him.’

  Rose bit her lip as fear and worry bore down on her again, but just then Richard came back, handing her a piece of paper.

  ‘That’s the address.’

  ‘Thank you. And thank you both so much for all you’ve done.’

  ‘Don’t mention it, Rose.’

  ‘I’ll come out to the stable with you,’ Richard announced, following her to the door and out to the yard. ‘I’m still making enquiries about your horse, by the way,’ he said as he put Honey’s saddle back on for her and tightened the girth strap. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve drawn a blank so far.’

  ‘That’s very kind. But, you know,’ she added with a forlorn sigh, ‘I don’t think I’ll ever find him. I’m becoming resigned to it now, and Honey here’s such a dear. The most important thing for me now is that Seth gets well.’

  ‘Well, he couldn’t be in better hands. You know,’ he faltered, his voice fading to a whisper, ‘I nearly died once, from an infected wound. Beth saved my life. Nursed me day and night, just like she’s doing with Seth now. She’s right to warn you, of course, but take heart. And take care.’

  ‘Yes, I will, Richard. And thank you again for everything.’

  ‘Not at all. And you come any time you want. We’re always here.’

  ‘Yes, I will.’ And she urged Honey into a trot, a tangle of emotions heaving in her breast.

  Twenty-One

  ‘Where have you been?’ Charles asked coldly on her return to Fencott Place.

  ‘To Tavistock. I told you.’

  ‘What? All this time?’

  Rose was standing in the dressing room clad only in her chemise and drawers, having just removed her riding habit and shirt, and turned in a casual manner to put them on hangers, though inside her heart was beating hard and furious. But Charles grabbed her wrist with such force that she dropped the garments with a squeal of pain, and found herself being backed up against the wall.

  ‘And what have you bought then, eh?’ he spat into her face. ‘That it took you so long?’

  ‘Nothing!’ she snarled back. Her heart had been lost in sadness, torn beyond all reasoning, as she had ridden back from Peter Tavy trying to put a curb on her own devastated emotions. She would visit Seth as often as she possibly could until . . . Dear God, he had to recover! It would kill her if he didn’t. And then, one day, it would be time for him to move on. And then memories would be all she had of him. Her sorrow, her gnawing despair, had turned to anger, and if she had to fight Charles tooth and nail to acquire those precious, bittersweet moments with Seth, then so be it. For after that, there would be nothing left, and she really wouldn’t care what became of her.

  ‘Well, you’ve been a bloody long time buying nothing!’ Charles’s hot breath was like fire against her cheek.

  ‘Exactly!’ she sneered, her eyes snapping dangerously. ‘I couldn’t find anything I liked, so I went on looking.’

  ‘I don’t believe you, you lying little slut! You’ve been with someone, haven’t you? Haven’t you!’ he bawled deafeningly into her ear. And not content with wrenching her forward so that he could then bang her head backwards on the wall, he flung her across the room so that she tripped on the discarded garments and fell on to the floor. He was on her in seconds, throwing her on her back. ‘Well, I’ll teach you to be unfaithful to me!’

  Rose glared up at him as she regained her senses, chin lifted stubbornly and her eyes flaring with unleashed wrath. ‘Oh, yes! You would, wouldn’t you?’ she hissed through clenched teeth. ‘Some gentleman you turned out to be! Well, if I had been with someone else – which I haven’t – ’twould have been with a far better man than you!’

  The biting sarcasm in her voice, the challenge that glinted in her fearless eyes, scorched into his pride. His face seemed about to explode, his mouth knotted so that his cheeks were puffed out like footballs. He let the breath out through his nose in a squall of hate and indignation, but after what seemed like hours to Rose, who thought her heart had ceased to beat, he slowly lowered his raised fist.

  ‘Well, I’ll damned well make sure you’re not cuckolding me, you trollop! I’m going to London tomorrow, and you’re bloody well coming with me!’

  ‘If that’s what it takes to prove I’m not lying!’ she railed at him, her tongue burning with contempt as he got to his feet and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him so that the whole house shook.

  Rose lay for some minutes, stunned and lifeless. Oh, sweet Jesus! Why had she given in so easily? She hadn’t, though, really, had she? She had forced Charles to stand down, not the other way around. But now she must go to London. For how long? Would Seth still be alive when she returned? If he survived, Beth had indicated that it would take four to six weeks for him to recover fully. Surely they wouldn’t remain in London for so long? But Rose couldn’t blame Seth if he grew fit enough to leave in her absence. Were his feelings for her as strong, as savage, as hers were for him? But what did it matter? It was hopeless. And perhaps it would be better if he left, disappeared from her life, without saying goodbye.

  She crawled across the floor, found the clothes in which she had leant against Seth only hours before, and hugged them to her breast.

  As it turned out, Charles planned to spend a whole month in London. A month in which she played the dutiful wife, behaved with perfect etiquette in the society circles Charles frequented. But inside, her soul was slowly bleeding to death. She thought of nothing but Seth, his spirit filling her every waking minute with ecstatic joy and tearing grief, and her restless nights with dreams and nightmares. When Charles took his pleasure with her, which was almost every night, he took her passiveness for compliance, not knowing that as she lay there, behind her closed eyes was the vision of a handsome, lithe young man with light hair and hazel eyes and a tender, gentle smile that lit up the sky.

  She managed, just twice, to write him a short letter, praying he was alive to read it, and put it in the post before Charles returned from some business meeting. She didn’t give an address, it was too dangerous. And she did not write of love. How could she, when she knew – they both knew – that destiny had sealed their fates long ago? On the day she had married Charles. The letters seemed ridiculous, farcical. For she could merely say she hoped he was recovering and feeling stronger. That she thought of him every day, and would visit him immediately upon her return. Whenever that might be.

  The moor was enshrouded in a dense, grey mist the day they returned. The road from Tavistock to Princetown, however, was quite discernable in the early summer evening as Ned drove the Brougham up the steep hill. Rose’s heart contracted, bringing a slick of sweat to her skin, as they passed the turn-off to Peter Tavy. She forced herself not to turn her head. Oh, dearest Seth. Are you still alive? How I long . . .

  It was good to be home. To be with Florrie, who hadn’t known what to do with herself in Rose’s absence. Charles only kept her on, he had told her curtly, because she had proved herself a good nanny to Alice and would be so again to the son he intended Rose should bear him. Not that there was any sign of it yet.

  ‘I need
to take Honey for some exercise,’ Rose announced boldly at breakfast the following morning, though her heart was hammering not so much at the idea of deceiving Charles but at what she might find at Rosebank Hall.

  ‘And where will you go, madam?’

  ‘Oh, Charles, when will you learn to trust me?’ she sighed wearily. ‘Haven’t I done everything you’ve required of me? I am utterly faithful to you, you know.’ That at least was true. ‘But since you ask, I think I’ll ride out to Vixen Tor, and then down along the Walkham to make a circle. ’Tis so pretty down in the valley.’ And then a flash of inspiration – said with her fingers crossed behind her back. ‘Won’t you come with me? ’Tis such a lovely day after yesterday.’

  Charles looked up in surprise, and Rose’s pulse thudded painfully while he seemed to consider. ‘No. I don’t really think I can spare the time. I thought, though, I might go to the powder mills to make sure they’ve pulled their socks up now. You could come with me. See your precious friend, Molly Tyler.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Rose tilted her head to one side, pretending to be making a decision. ‘I’m tempted. But my head’s bursting after so much company in London and I’d just like some quiet on my own. But if you see Molly or Joe, you might tell them I’ll be over in a day or two.’

  With that, she deliberately came over to him, and though it stung her lips, she kissed him affectionately. He caught her hand for a moment, whispering in her ear something about what he would do with her that night. She smiled. And felt sick.

  She was away, her spirit flying between excitement, despair and fear as Honey’s strong legs ate up the ground. The road was so familiar to them both, and when they clattered into the yard at the back of Rosebank Hall, Rose felt she might faint. She hurried inside, trembling, and not even stopping to knock.

  There was a figure sitting in the battered chair by the side of the range, a small, petite young woman who looked dreadful.

  ‘Rose!’ Elizabeth nevertheless greeted her brightly as she stood up.