A Bed of Thorns and Roses

by Sondra Allan Carr

  Her skirt caught on the splintered remains of a fallen timber. Isabelle yanked at it impatiently and heard the sound of ripping cloth as she pulled herself free. The tattered fabric dragged behind her, slowing her progress. A few steps on, Isabelle stopped to tear away the remnant, then lifted her petticoat high, breaking into a run when she finally made it past the ruins and onto clear ground.

  The graveyard gate stood open. As Isabelle passed through, the rain abruptly stopped, and the storm clouds lifted. The sky turned a deep rose pink where the sun was sinking beneath the horizon. The mausoleum’s dark shape stood outlined against the sunset, its man made ugliness in sharp contrast to nature’s glorious display.

  The door to the mausoleum stood ajar. Isabelle leaned down to peer inside. A barely discernible shape rested against the back wall, propped against one of the tombs.

  Isabelle hesitated before she called his name. “Jonathan?”

  He didn’t move. She was too late.

  Isabelle crouched down, scuttling like a bug across the musty stone until she reached Jonathan’s body. She dropped rather than sat beside him. Her sodden, filthy skirt cushioned her landing, though she was past caring what happened to her now. She hauled Jonathan into her arms. His lifeless body was heavy. That was what they meant by a dead weight.

  And he was cold. So very cold. How long had he been lying there? How long had he been . . . ?

  “Oh, Jonathan. How could you leave me?” She held his face between her hands and kissed his cold lips. At least he had chosen to die without that dreadful mask. She kissed his eyes, then his scars, every ugly lump and misshapen feature dear to her. “You should never have been afraid to let me see you as you are. I love you, Jonathan. What else matters? I love you.”

  But the cruellest blow was knowing that he died believing she did not. Isabelle buried her face against his neck and wailed. Jonathan was dead. She had no more reason to go on living herself.

  His weight shifted in her arms. Jonathan groaned, then opened his eyes and looked straight into hers. “Isabelle?”

  She gasped. “You’re alive!”

  “I am?”

  He sounded genuinely surprised. Surprised to be alive. All the fear and guilt and torment of the last few hours boiled up inside Isabelle, spewing out as sudden anger, an anger she hadn’t known she felt.

  “What have you done to yourself? How could you do this to me?”

  “I thought . . . ” Confusion clouded his eyes. He lifted his hand and cupped her breast, as if by this bold intimacy he might convince himself of her reality.

  There was barely any light, but enough for Isabelle to see that Jonathan’s eyes had turned black, the irises shrunk to a tiny rim of color surrounding his pupils. Richard had warned her weeks ago that this was one of the signs.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “How much of the drug did you take?” Isabelle felt her anger rising again, and fought to control it. “Jenny stole our letters. I didn’t understand why you hadn’t written to me. I thought the worst, that you’d had from me what you wanted, that all you wanted now was to be rid of me.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Jonathan said languidly. His hand traveled higher, coming to rest on her cheek. He opened his mouth to say something more, then seemed to forget.

  “Even thinking the worst, that didn’t give me the right to do what you’ve done. It didn’t give me the right to, to . . . ”

  In an instant of clarity, Jonathan finished for her. “Kill yourself?”

  Isabelle’s anger dissolved as it occurred to her that she might yet be too late to save Jonathan. “How much did you take?”

  He wouldn’t look her in the eye, instead watched the path his hand took as it traveled down again in a long, slow caress that ended at her waist.

  “Jonathan.”

  “I don’t remember,” he murmured, then looked up, into her face. “You’re soaking wet.”

  “That’s not important. I need to know how much of a dose you took.”

  “You could catch cold. Or worse, pneumonia.” He bent one knee and shifted away from her, trying to stand, only to sink down again. “My mother died of pneumonia.”

  “Was it morphine or laudanum?” Isabelle persisted.

  He tilted his head to the side and looked at her as though her question had finally jogged his memory. “Ah,” he said, after a moment. Then, smiling, “Jezebel.”

  “What?”

  Jonathan lifted his right hand, which he held toward her, clenched in a tight fist. “The cold in here,” he said apologetically. “I can’t bend my joints.”

  Isabelle took his hand in hers and began, slowly and carefully, to peel back his fingers. The tiny bottle he’d been gripping lay against his palm. She picked it up and held it toward the last of the light coming through the mausoleum entrance. The dark amber glass was opaque, preventing her from seeing how much liquid remained inside.

  “My worthless hand refused to do my bidding,” Jonathan explained quietly. “I meant to finish the bottle.”

  “Well, you’re finished with it now.” Isabelle hurled the bottle as hard as she could against the tomb across from them. Cornelius’s tomb, she remembered. Hearing the sound of breaking glass, she added, “Forever.”

  “As long as I have you.” Jonathan pulled her against him and kissed her full on the lips. “As long as I have you.”

  Chapter Fifty one

  Three months had passed and, with them, most of the summer. It had been a pleasant season, cooler than usual, with enough rain to keep the lawn green, but not so much that the roses were threatened with mildew. The rose garden, Jonathan said, was the most beautiful he’d ever seen it, and though it was past its prime now, a perfect spot for their afternoon tea. Roger had carried the table outside, along with the chairs, and Cook had made an extraordinary fuss over the whole event.

  Jonathan pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and studied the minute hand. “They should be here by now.”

  Isabelle placed her hand over Jonathan’s and gently slipped the timepiece from his gloved fingers. “Don’t fret so,” she said, and repocketed the watch for him.

  “I can’t help it.” Jonathan met her eyes, looking for reassurance. “Your sister has never seen me before. And Richard . . . ” He shrugged. “I have no idea what he will think.”

  Isabelle kissed him on the cheek. “Everything will be well, my love.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Jonathan sounded unconvinced.

  Isabelle understood the courage required for him to agree to her plan. She caught herself in a sigh and turned her head aside. Jonathan had surely guessed that she was nearly as nervous as he.

  “We couldn’t ask for better weather,” she said, reverting to the meaningless inanities they had exchanged for the last quarter of an hour.

  “Yes, you’re quite—listen!” Jonathan reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hear their carriage coming.”

  The sound put an end to their strained conversation. They sat in silence, listening for their visitors’ approach.

  A few minutes later, Nellie entered through the opening in the hedge. “Dr. and Mrs. Garrick are here, sir,” she announced, as though they were sitting in their parlor awaiting company. Jonathan stood slowly as Nellie stepped aside to let Jenny enter. Jenny nodded her thanks to the maid, staring just a moment too long at Nellie’s rounded belly. Nellie blushed a bright pink and quickly sidled away.

  Jenny looked in their direction and, to her credit, barely hesitated before she greeted them. “I’m so glad to finally meet you,” she said, going straight to Jonathan and giving him a kiss on each cheek before he had the opportunity to retreat. In that moment, seeing her quick acceptance of Jonathan, Isabelle completely forgave her sister. She hugged Jenny with true warmth.

  “But where is Richard?” Isabelle asked.

  Jenny glanced behind her, then smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid he got waylaid by Will.”

  As if to prove her point, Richard strode i
nto the rose garden, doffing his hat as he came, and smiling widely.

  “Sorry for the delay. Will had too many questions that I—” Richard stopped mid sentence, seeing Jonathan for the first time. He staggered back a step. “Dear God. Dear God in heaven.”

  Jenny ran to Richard and took his arm, then escorted him to an empty chair. “Are you all right?” she asked, fussing over him until he waved her away.

  “I’m fine, my dear, don’t worry. It’s simply. I was just . . . ” He stared at Jonathan. “Surprised.”

  Isabelle fingered the cuff of her blouse. “I’m sorry. I probably should have warned you.”

  Richard turned his attention to Isabelle. “Did you do this?”

  She nodded, watching Richard’s eyes fill with tears. “With Monique’s help, and her friends at the theater.”

  “Jonathan, forgive me. Why did I never think of such a thing?”

  Isabelle wondered if the others noticed how Jonathan visibly relaxed just then. His shoulders dropped, and he laughed nervously.

  “Do you approve of my disguise, Richard?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Isabelle couldn’t help feeling proud of what she’d accomplished. The wig and false beard covered the worst of Jonathan’s scars. An eye patch hid his drooping eye. And she had managed to blend away most of the discoloration on the right side of his face with the artful application of stage makeup. Wearing a hat and gloves, Jonathan might pass anyone on the street without earning a second glance.

  “I’ve brought your tea,” Nellie announced, darting a shy look at Jonathan before she put the tray down on the table. “Would you like anything else, Miss?”

  “You and Cook have done well by us, Nellie.” Isabelle smiled and nodded her dismissal.

  Nellie blushed. “Mrs. Cooper helped, too, Miss.” She bobbed a curtsey and was gone.

  “Mrs. Cooper?” Jenny asked while Isabelle poured their tea. “My Mrs. Cooper?”

  “Yes. She has kindly agreed to join the staff here full time.”

  “And her brother and nephew have come along to help Joe with the gardening.” Jonathan took his seat across from Richard. He smiled at Isabelle. “We’re restoring the sculpture garden.”

  Richard beamed at them both. “That’s splendid news. Splendid.”

  “How was your trip to South Carolina?” Isabelle asked. She worried that she sounded a little stiff. She wasn’t used to playing the lady of the house.

  Richard and Jenny looked across at one another, both of them blushing when their eyes met. Surprisingly, Jenny was the first to regain her composure. “I got to meet all Richard’s family.” She giggled, reminding Isabelle of the young girl she had known. “There are so many of them.”

  Richard cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. I do have a lot of cousins. It was good to become reacquainted with them.”

  “And they have a real plantation. We were married there, in the garden.” Jenny looked doe eyed at Richard. “It was so romantic.”

  Isabelle marveled that Jenny’s awe struck admiration of the man seemed to have increased rather than diminished during their time together. She felt a growing respect for him herself, especially after he showed the pronounced good sense to hold the wedding in an obscure location.

  “Do you plan to settle here?” Jonathan asked cautiously.

  “Eventually,” Richard answered with equal care. “I thought I might take Jenny abroad for a while. Let her see the continent, perhaps rent a place in the south of France.”

  Jenny put down her teacup and clapped her hands in excitement. “I’m so excited.” She gave Richard a coy look, one Isabelle found impossible to decipher. “About everything,” she added mysteriously.

  Isabelle took the bait. “Everything?”

  Richard made a valiant attempt at answering the question. “Jenny is . . . that is, Jenny and I are . . . ” He had turned scarlet.

  “We’re having a baby!” Jenny announced proudly, showing none of the embarrassment that had left Richard tongue tied.

  “A baby!” Isabelle jumped out of her chair at the same moment as Jenny. The two sisters embraced, their emotion too great for words. When they finally parted, Isabelle was at a loss for anything meaningful to say. “Oh, Jenny, that’s wonderful,” she said, then repeated herself. “That’s wonderful.”

  Jonathan and Richard got to their feet and approached one another. Jonathan extended his hand. “Congratulations.”

  Richard studied him a moment before accepting the handshake. “You’re not . . . ? I mean, I was afraid . . . ”

  Jonathan shook his head. Both men were silent for a moment while an unspoken agreement passed between them. They could honor the past now without staying rooted in it.

  Jonathan hugged Richard, who was visibly moved by this display of affection. As he stepped back, Jonathan laughed good naturedly. “I suppose this makes me an uncle now. Or I will be, at any rate.”

  Jenny, who had been talking excitedly with Isabelle, immediately fell silent. The smile disappeared from her face so quickly that Isabelle thought at first she might be ill. The group lapsed into an uncomfortable silence until Jonathan asked what seemed the obvious question.

  “I’m sorry. Have I offended you in some way?”

  Richard frowned and clamped his lips together. Jenny matched his frown, then went to him and shook him by the jacket sleeve. “Tell him,” she insisted. From her tone of voice, they all knew she had made a demand, not a request.

  The hint of discord troubled Isabelle. Did this behavior mean that her sister’s was an unhappy marriage after all?

  “Tell him,” Jenny repeated grimly.

  Richard swallowed hard, squared his shoulders, and looked Jonathan straight in the eye. He took a deep breath, then spoke quietly. Despite his carefully measured words, his voice trembled with emotion. “You will be more than an uncle, Jonathan. You will be a brother.”

  Jonathan shook his head as if a gnat had flown into his ear. Despite the beard and stage makeup, Isabelle could see the disbelief written across his features.

  “Did you . . . ? Do you mean?” Jonathan backed away until he found his chair, then dropped onto it as though his legs could no longer hold him. He stared at the man standing across from him. “What are you saying, Richard?”

  Jenny had wrapped her arm around Richard’s waist. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her near, as though drawing strength from her closeness.

  “This can go no further than the four of us,” he began. “I made a promise to your mother, Jonathan, one I’ve regretted ever since, a promise never to tell the truth to anyone, not even you.” He shook his head sadly. “Especially you.”

  Jonathan sat stone faced, without revealing any emotion.

  “We were circumspect,” Richard went on. “Cornelius never suspected. All those years, Simonne endured their sham of a marriage. She was determined her suffering would not be in vain. She lived in fear that your inheritance would come into question.”

  Richard stopped, waiting for some kind of reaction from Jonathan.

  “How could you?”

  Isabelle had learned to recognize the nuances in Jonathan’s smoke roughened voice. What she heard in those three words was far from encouraging.

  “How could you? For the sake of his money, you let me think I came from his tainted seed? You let me think his blood flowed through my veins? That whoring, lying, cheating bully? That devil?”

  Tears were coursing down Richard’s cheeks. “I beg you, Jonathan, forgive me. If you only knew how much I longed to tell you the truth. But I was bound by a promise I never should have made. I loved your mother too much but, God help me, I love you even more. You may hate me for a liar and a coward, but don’t ever doubt my love, Son.”

  Jonathan had gotten to his feet while Richard made his speech. As if moved by the same impulse, the two sisters nudged their men toward one another. It was all the encouragement they needed. Jonathan and Richard fell into one another’s arms.

&nbs
p; Isabelle caught her sister’s eye and mouthed the words: Thank you. Oddly enough, she had suspected something of the sort all along. Ever since she saw the family portrait and recognized young Jonathan’s resemblance to Richard.

  It was the eyes. She never failed to read the truth in a person’s eyes.

  “I always looked up to you, Richard. I always trusted you. I don’t have it in me to hate you,” Jonathan said as he dropped his arms and stepped back from their embrace.

  Richard retreated to Jenny’s side. Isabelle was beginning to realize just how much he drew from Jenny’s strength. The revelation surprised her. She had always thought of herself as the strong one, the one who had to be strong for Jenny’s sake. That way of thinking had blinded her to Jenny’s remarkable strength. She was going to make a good mother.

  “Do you have it in you to forgive me, Jonathan?” Richard asked. “Do you have it in you to love me?”

  “Of course. I could no more stop loving you than . . . ” Jonathan looked at Isabelle, holding her gaze so she saw the spark of warmth in his eyes. “Than I could stop loving Isabelle.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy with an emotion almost too great to bear, even shared among the four of them. With perfect timing, Jenny broke the tension. “I’m hungry as anything. Who wants more tea?”

  They all laughed. Her sister was going to be fine, Isabelle told herself as she refilled their cups. They were all going to be just fine.

  A gentle breeze passed through the garden, unremarked by any of them, though it was a perfectly windless day. And the scent of roses that wafted by went equally unnoticed. After all, what was so unusual about the scent of roses in a rose garden?

  Epilogue

  May 1940

  “Careful here, Aunt Isabelle.”

  “Thank you, Richard, I’m fine.”

  Despite her protest to the contrary, Isabelle let her nephew help her to her knees. Always discreet, he limped toward his automobile to wait for her while she paid her visit. Watching him go, Isabelle said a prayer of thanks that he had merely lost a leg in the War to End All Wars, and not his life.