The Rose Girls

by Victoria Connelly

  Gertie and Evie stared at her as if she was quite mad.

  ‘Actually, I think it’s just the damp you can smell,’ Evie said, wrinkling her nose.

  Two more trips to the car and back and they were done. Celeste sat on the end of her old bed, her hands stroking the pink and green patchwork bedspread. Frinton was lying on the rug in the centre of the room, licking his front paws. It was, she thought, the first time she’d just sat still for months and she let her mind drift. Her eyes scanned the room as if she was seeing it for the first time.

  It was a beautiful room. The wood panelling that enclosed her on every side was exquisite but it did make everything so dark. Other parts of the house were like that too. Tiny windows and linen-fold panelling might have historians in raptures, but it cost an absolute fortune in electricity because lamps often had to be put on during the day just so you could see what you were doing.

  Celeste was touched to see that Gertie had placed a small vase of flowers on the bedside table and the latest copy of Your Rose magazine. She could tell that they’d been left there by Gertie and not Evie because Evie would have been sure to have spilt some of the water from the vase – probably onto the magazine. She smiled as she thought about how different her two sisters were and how relatively little seemed to have changed since she’d left.

  Since throwing herself into her new life away from the manor, Celeste hadn’t seen much of her sisters. She’d kept in touch with brief phone calls, and Gertie and Evie had visited her new home out on the Norfolk coast just after she and Liam had moved in, but other than that and the funeral in May, she hadn’t seen them, and she now realised just how much she’d missed them. Gertie was still running around like mad, worrying about everything and Evie was still obsessed with what colour her hair should be.

  And Celeste? What was her place there now? The last time she’d seen this room, she’d bid it a silent goodbye and had hoped that she would never see it again. She’d never thought that she would be back, least of all in her old role of big sister taking care of everything. She wasn’t sure she was ready to resume that particular role; she wasn’t at all sure that she could. She closed her eyes and then wished she hadn’t because that was when a voice from the past invaded her mind.

  Why can’t you do anything right? You just assume that I’ll pick up the pieces after you, don’t you? You’re meant to be helping me. Why are you so useless?

  Celeste opened her eyes and got off the bed, banishing the voice from her mind. No matter how beautiful it was, she thought, this place was bad for her and the sooner she sorted things out and left, the better.

  She walked to the tiny latticed window that looked out over the moat towards the walled garden that was Gertie’s pride and joy. She was, out of the three of them, the most green-fingered. Everything she planted seemed to take, and the walled garden was filled with heritage apple trees, espaliered pears, plums, figs, quinces, gigantic artichokes and leafy greens and herbs. Of course, there were a few rose bushes in there too, to help attract the pollinators, but Gertie had put her foot down when Celeste had suggested turning the garden completely over to roses. It would have been perfect with its sheltered, sunny location.

  ‘There’s more to a garden than roses,’ Gertie had said. ‘We have to eat too, and this will save us money in the long run. We can even sell our produce. There are acres and acres of land we can use for the roses, so please don’t take my walled garden.’

  Celeste had backed down and roses were grown in earnest everywhere else except there.

  Leaving her bedroom, Celeste walked the length of the hallway, pausing outside her mother’s bedroom. The door was slightly ajar and, even though she knew there was nobody inside, she was reluctant to push the door open.

  She swallowed hard. Too many memories lived behind that door and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to face them yet.

  The old longcase clock in the hallway had a chipped face and a dented case, but it still chimed every hour on the hour. It was very much the heartbeat of the manor as well as its voice, and life rotated gently around it, with eyes glancing at it several times a day but, perhaps, not always seeing its stately beauty.

  It had just chimed seven o’clock that evening – the time for which Gertie had arranged dinner.

  ‘In the dining room,’ she had told a baffled Celeste and Evie.

  It felt funny eating in the dining room, but Gertie had made an effort to lay the table and Celeste had to admit that everything looked beautiful. Usually, they made do with eating at the large table in the old kitchen downstairs. The room was permanently warm with an Aga pumping out a comforting heat. By contrast, the dining room was formal and cold, and the great portrait of Grandpa Arthur above the fireplace always made Celeste feel as if she was in a headmaster’s office about to be scolded. Grandpa Arthur had been one of the most jovial chaps in the county but the portrait was austere and shared nothing of his warmth and sense of humour. Any stranger entering the room might think he was a tyrant, and his presence always added a sense of gloom to meals.

  The table was a long oak one laid with a white linen tablecloth. It could seat up to twelve people but, tonight, it was just the three sisters sitting neatly together at the end by the window. Celeste sat at the head flanked by Evie to her left and Gertie to her right.

  ‘You settled in okay?’ Gertie asked.

  Celeste nodded. ‘As much as I can be.’

  ‘Where are you going to put all your books?’ she asked.

  Celeste looked confused for a moment. ‘I won’t be unpacking them,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘Well, I’m not staying, am I?’

  ‘Aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, certainly no longer than I have to,’ she said. ‘I thought I’d made that clear.’

  ‘No,’ Gertie said. ‘You didn’t.’

  ‘We thought you were coming back for good,’ Evie said.

  ‘I mean, it’s not like you’ve got anywhere else to go, have you?’ Gertie said.

  Celeste frowned. ‘But that doesn’t mean I want to come back here,’ she said, gauging the responses of her two sisters and realising that they were not happy. ‘Look, I really want to help out but I didn’t ever imagine staying here longer than it takes to get the job done.’

  ‘And what job is that?’ Gertie asked. ‘Sorting out our mess? The mess you’d conveniently walked away from?’

  ‘Gertie!’ Evie said, a warning tone in her voice.

  ‘Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You said so yourself,’ Gertie said.

  ‘What did you say?’ Celeste asked, turning to Evie.

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ Evie said, sending a glare towards Gertie.

  ‘Yes you did,’ Gertie said. ‘You said that Celeste’s always been good at running away from things.’

  A dreadful silence hung over the dinner table as the three sisters looked at one another.

  ‘You really said that, Evie?’ Celeste said at last.

  ‘I didn’t mean –’ Evie started awkwardly but stopped. ‘I meant that we could have used your help more when Mum was ill.’

  ‘I couldn’t be here then,’ Celeste said. ‘You know I couldn’t.’

  ‘No, I don’t know that,’ Evie said, with a sudden burst of emotion. ‘Tell me exactly why you couldn’t be here when we needed you the most? When she needed you the most?’

  The two of them stared at one another, dark eyes locked.

  Celeste swallowed hard. ‘Don’t ask me that,’ she said, her voice subdued.

  ‘Why? Why shouldn’t I ask why my sister couldn’t be around when Mum was dying? You should have visited, Celeste. You should have come to see her. What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Evie!’ Gertie said. ‘Don’t!’

  Evie’s eyes were full of tears and Gertie’s face was pale and drawn.
>
  ‘You know how things were between us,’ Celeste said slowly. ‘She wouldn’t have wanted me here anyway.’

  Evie was about to say something but Gertie sent her a warning look.

  Celeste sighed. ‘Surely the important thing is that I’m here now, okay?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Gertie said.

  ‘But I haven’t come back to fight with you both,’ she said. ‘We need to get things in order, I know that, and I know I should have been here sooner but we’re not going to get anything done if we start like this.’

  Evie was staring down at her plate and Celeste realised how young she still was and how much she’d been through.

  ‘Evie?’ she said gently. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve not pulled my weight around here, I really am. I never meant to put so much of the burden on you but I’m here now, okay?’ She reached her hand across the table and squeezed her sister’s. ‘Okay?’ she repeated.

  Evie nodded and looked up, her eyes still bright with tears. ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘So shall we eat now?’ Gertie said, and the three sisters smiled at each other.

  ‘You won’t have heard all the village gossip yet,’ Evie said, clearly making an effort to move the conversation on to more neutral ground as she passed the silver salt cellar across the table to Celeste. Gertie had made lasagne and Celeste was looking forward to it very much even though it was probably stone cold now after their quarrel. She’d forgotten the last time she’d done any home cooking. The tiny kitchen in her rented house had not been conducive to making meals from scratch and, more often than not, Celeste had found herself chucking something into the microwave.

  ‘I’ve been blissfully unaware of gossip for some time now, I’m very glad to say,’ Celeste said. She was relieved that Evie had dropped the subject of their mother because she knew that she would find it impossible to defend herself without things getting very ugly, and she really wasn’t ready for that.

  ‘Don’t be a misery, because I’m going to fill you in whether you want me to or not,’ Evie went on.

  ‘I’m sure you will,’ Celeste said with a little smile.

  ‘Jodie and Ken Hammond are getting divorced. She’s had enough of his cheating. They went on holiday at Christmas to try and patch things up but rumour has it that she hit him on the head with his guitar and told him he was a lying son of a –’

  ‘How on earth do you know all that?’ Celeste interrupted.

  ‘It’s all over the village,’ Evie said, unfazed by her sister’s suspicion.

  ‘Yes, and I bet each person who talks about it adds a new insult or a new item with which poor Ken gets hit over the head,’ Celeste said, exchanging a grin with Gertie.

  ‘Well, if you don’t believe that then you have to believe this one because I saw it with my own eyes,’ Evie said.

  ‘Go on, then,’ Celeste said.

  ‘I was taking a shortcut through the churchyard this Sunday. The service had just finished and everyone was coming out and I heard this terrible shouting. Honestly, you’ve never heard such noise in your life. I felt sure somebody had been murdered!’ Evie paused dramatically.

  ‘Well, tell us what happened!’ Gertie said.

  ‘Yes, who was it?’ Celeste asked.

  Evie gave a satisfied little smile and then continued. ‘It was James Stanton and he sounded absolutely furious. Well, I had to find out more so I hid behind that big angel grave and I waited for him to come out and he was shouting and cursing and – well I’m not religious or anything but it just isn’t right in a church, is it?’

  ‘So who was he shouting at?’ Celeste asked.

  ‘His wife, of course! He’d pushed her wheelchair out of the porch and she was quite red in the face.’

  ‘Poor Samantha. I feel really sorry for her, stuck in a chair,’ Celeste said.

  ‘It’s her own fault if she goes galloping half-wild horses across the county without breaking them in properly first,’ Gertie said and was rewarded by a glare from Celeste.

  ‘So what happened then?’ Celeste asked

  ‘He shouted at her some more. He said something about her being the cruellest woman he had ever met and that he’d happily push her chair off the end of Clacton Pier!’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Celeste said. ‘Poor Samantha!’

  ‘Just because she’s in a wheelchair, it doesn’t mean she’s a saint,’ Gertie said.

  ‘I never said she was,’ Celeste said. ‘But you have to admit that’s pretty embarrassing.’

  ‘You can’t assume to know what goes on in another person’s marriage,’ Gertie continued. ‘There are two sides to every story and it’s not right and I wish you’d stop gossiping, Evie.’

  ‘I’m not gossiping. I’m just saying what I saw and heard.’

  ‘And what about Jodie and Ken?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘Oh, the whole village is talking about them,’ Evie said, shaking her head in annoyance.

  ‘That’s no excuse for you to join in,’ Gertie told her. ‘You didn’t see that.’

  ‘But I haven’t even told you the really juicy stuff yet,’ Evie said.

  ‘We don’t want to hear it,’ Gertie said.

  Celeste bit her lip. ‘Actually, I do,’ she said and Gertie gave her a look to say that Evie should not be encouraged. Celeste shrugged her shoulders. ‘I need to know what’s been going on whilst I’ve been away.’

  Evie took a deep breath and held both her sisters’ gazes for a moment before beginning, enjoying the sense of power that a piece of unreleased gossip holds.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘rumour has it that James Stanton is having an affair.’

  Celeste’s dark eyes widened and Gertie’s knife clattered down onto her plate.

  ‘Who’s he having an affair with?’ Celeste asked.

  ‘That’s just it – nobody knows!’ Evie said.

  ‘Then how do you know he’s having one?’ Gertie asked.

  ‘Because everybody’s talking about it,’ Evie said, exasperation filling her voice at Gertie’s lack of common sense.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Gertie said.

  ‘No it isn’t,’ Evie said. ‘Most things start as a rumour. Somebody sees something or hears something and passes the message around –’

  ‘Like Chinese Whispers – getting it all wrong!’ Gertie said.

  ‘Well, he looks like the sort to have an affair,’ Evie said.

  ‘And how do you come to that conclusion?’ Gertie asked.

  Evie shrugged. ‘He just does.’

  ‘I adore your logic,’ Gertie said with a roll of her eyes.

  ‘So,’ Celeste said, sensing the need to move the conversation on once again, ‘what do you think we need to tackle first?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d want to talk about business,’ Gertie said. ‘Not tonight at least.’

  ‘It would be nice not to,’ Celeste said, ‘but I don’t think we’ve got the luxury of time, judging by the state of the study.’

  ‘Ah,’ Gertie said, ‘so you’ve seen?’

  Celeste nodded. ‘I poked my head around the door before coming in to dinner. I haven’t taken a close look yet and I’m not looking forward to it, I have to say.’

  Gertie’s face seemed to be growing longer as the seconds passed. ‘That’s not the only problem,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Celeste asked. ‘What else should I know about?’

  ‘I think it’s best if we just show you,’ Gertie said and, bracing herself for the very worst, Celeste got up from the table and followed her sisters out of the dining room.

  3.

  They crossed the hallway, their feet echoing on the grey stone floor.

  ‘We really didn’t want to do this to you on your first night back,’ Gertie said, ‘but it’s been preying on our minds for months and we think
we should put you in the picture.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ Celeste asked. It was the kind of house that warranted such a question because it was so large.

  ‘The north wing,’ Evie said. ‘Hiking boots and oxygen masks are essential.’

  Celeste sighed. The dreaded north wing was nothing but trouble. It was the side of the house that got the least amount of sunlight, and damp had been a constant problem there. The roof, too, had never been quite right, and a whole army of buckets lived in the rooms in an attempt to catch rain water.

  They walked down a long corridor lined with sixteenth-century oak linenfold panels. They’d once been told by a visiting architect that the old manor had some of the very finest linenfold panels in the country; they were exceptionally beautiful, there was no denying that, but they made this part of the house so dark that it was rather like walking through a tunnel.

  Gertie, who was leading the way, suddenly came to a stop outside the room that was generally referred to as The Room of Doom. Celeste had guessed that that was their destination.

  ‘Brace yourself,’ Evie said, using one of their grandpa’s favourite expressions.

  ‘Brace yourself – the west wall has tumbled into the moat,’ he would announce, or, ‘Brace yourself – the boiler’s packed in again.’

  Their old home seemed to be a permanently bracing experience.

  Gertie opened the great wooden door and it made the most satisfying of squeaks. The three of them entered and allowed their eyes to adjust. The room was bare of furniture and there was an old damp smell rather like that of an empty church. The floorboards were dusty and there were cobwebs across the windows. It was a sad, unloved room that had been sorely forgotten and left to slowly die.

  ‘Well, there it is,’ Gertie said and Celeste turned her eyes from the window and stared in horror at the patch of wall that Gertie was pointing to.

  ‘What is that?’ Celeste asked. ‘It’s like a big black hole.’ Her eyes widened as she tried to take it in.

  ‘It’s some kind of mould,’ Evie said. ‘It’s disgusting, isn’t it? I try not to think about it.’