The Thorn Keeper

by Pepper D. Basham

  Catherine slumped down in the chair across from Fanny’s desk. “If I tell you, it must be our secret. Mother would kill me and Dr. Ross…” A cold rush fell over her skin at the thought of his reaction. “Well, he would probably frown upon it.”

  “Not a promising start, I must say.”

  “Most of the best things begin with unpredictability.” Catherine’s smile inched wide. “But I have high hopes for the results.”

  Fanny released a long sigh. “Well, let’s hear it.”

  “I apologize for my tardiness, Aunt Maureen.” David took his aunt’s hand and bowed to it before joining her at the table. “I was engaged in a…medical opportunity which took longer than expected.”

  Her deep frown advertised her displeasure. “I’m not accustomed to waiting on those I invite for luncheon.”

  She wore intimidation like her constant sour expression, but this time, her eyes looked weary, an uncustomary characteristic. As David examined her a bit more closely, her pallor took on a more unhealthy hue as well.

  “Are you feeling all right, Aunt Maureen?”

  She lifted her chin. “Apart from waiting for a half hour on you to arrive, I’m perfectly adequate.”

  David adjusted his serviette in his lap to keep from looking the cantankerous woman in the eyes. “Again, I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “Have you thought any more about my offer?”

  “To be honest, I’ve had little time to turn my mind to it.” He poured tea into his cup and added one lump of sugar, using her own weapon of silence against her. “But I do think, as I consider your…generous offer, you might entertain a scheme of my own.”

  Her brow twitched ever so slightly. “I think I’ve already made my opinion about waiting quite clear, nephew.”

  “What if you used your wealth to strengthen Ednesbury, even from the poorest inhabitant?”

  “What on earth are you talking about?”

  David leaned forward, testing the limits of her closed-fistedness. “There are many in our village, good people, who need medical assistance.”

  “Dr. Carrier is available for them.”

  “With half the men gone to war, fewer families can meet the demands of his inflated prices.”

  “How dare you disrespect Dr. Carrier’s name with such gossip.” Her eyes darkened. “I assume you’re referring to those on the East side of town?”

  “I’m referring to people in need, regardless of where they live or their current income. You have the opportunity to spread charity and compassion in a time where both are desperately needed.”

  “Why would I waste both charity and compassion on those people?”

  David’s grip tightened on his glass, and he met her heated glare with one of his own. “Because those people make up the majority of this village. They have been entrusted to your care.”

  She broke off the stare first, choosing to take a sip of her tea. “I would make Ednesbury an example. A righteous beacon amidst the dustbins of our dear shire.”

  “Have you forgotten mercy altogether?”

  She placed her cup in the saucer and carefully took up her sandwich. “Those who are strong enough will find a way.”

  David scoffed. “Are you still reading the pomp in the journals? Science may have its theories, but what of compassion and helping your fellow man? There are dozens, if not hundreds, in this town alone who are struggling to survive, and your edict has only made it more difficult for them.”

  “Some decisions must be made to ensure the strength of others.”

  David leaned forward, palms against the table. “Some may have chosen a path of misery in their own way, but others were born to poverty. How can you be so heartless?”

  Her steely gaze came up to hold his, ice-cold. “I would not heed your advice, nephew. You would see Ednesbury turned into a brothel with the company you keep.”

  She clearly aimed her not-so-subtle reference directly at Catherine. “I think our conversation is finished.” He placed his serviette on the table and made to stand.

  “Do you have no wish to read your great grandfather’s letter?”

  Her question paused David’s exit.

  Lord Cavanaugh, the patriarch of the Ross-Cavanaugh family, held to a strict observance of protocol and tradition, but he also wielded the power to change David’s father’s future as well as reverse Aunt Maureen’s control.

  David relaxed back in his chair and waited.

  Her smile twitched to prove her victory over him once more, and he almost shot up from the table and tossed any support from her or his great grandfather out with the rubbish.

  “Of course he could not travel to meet with us in person due to his health, which makes this…reconciliation of grandfather and grandson all the more immediate, don’t you think?”

  Her gaze boasted an excellence in getting what she wanted, whatever the cost, and if David hadn’t been forced by sheer necessity for his father and the hospital’s existence, he would never have met with her in the first place. But here he was, pulled deeper into her entrapment.

  “His response.” She handed the letter to David. “Of course, I appealed to him with the highest recommendation, highlighting your excellence in your profession as well as your upstanding moral fiber, and how you have a particular determination to establish yourself in Ednesbury.” Her brow quirked. “Home.”

  The place he’d come every summer from the time he was eight to visit his grandparents, the only ones in the Cavanaugh family who’d thwarted the patriarch’s disinheritance. They’d owned Ednesbury Court until their deaths and created a haven of acceptance with the Dougalls. All continued to run smoothly, even when David’s great uncle took residence at Ednesbury Court…until his death, and then everything had changed.

  “If your grandmother hadn’t been his favorite child, your family would never have been shown such condescension.”

  David chose to ignore her slight and instead, focused on his great grandfather’s letter. His stomach tightened at the subtle demands printed in his grandfather’s familiar hand.

  “As you can see, you have the ability to become a very wealthy man. Even more than what I offered you. Your grandfather is willing to take your father’s previous inheritance and set it on you, assuming, of course, that you follow his stipulations and marry well.”

  Unfortunately David knew exactly what “well” meant, and it had very little to do with the heart. Or the head. And more to do with purse strings.

  “I assume you need time to take in this new information, but I wouldn’t keep your great grandfather waiting long.” She placed another envelope on the table. “Take this as another gift to be used for your war effort, and remember, you need not suffer with broken equipment, an overrun building, and a minimal staff.”

  How did she know? His will fisted as tightly as his hand. How many spies did she own in this village? Was his father’s peace a high enough price to pay for the hurting souls of the town? For separation from Catherine?

  The latter question bloomed unbidden in his mind. Marrying for convenience had never been a burdensome notion before, but now…

  He looked up at her, her dark eyes as emotionless as the chair on which he sat. And now, she’d somehow bound herself with his great grandfather to ensure David took the offer. He hated feeling trapped.

  The server appeared at that moment, his usually stoic expression showing more agitation.

  “I do apologize for the intrusion, Dr. Ross, but there is a courier here to see you.”

  “A courier?”

  “Yes, sir. And he appears to be highly agitated.”

  At this, a young lad, no more than fifteen, burst past the tables toward them. David had seen him in the postal office before, delivering messages. “Dr. Ross.”

  The server took the boy by the ear. “How dare you barge in this place, boy?”

  David turned to his aunt and bowed his head. “Excuse me, Aunt Maureen.”

  She tipped her chin in respons
e, but her eyes never left his. “I have every faith you will choose the right course of action. You are an intelligent man.” His aunt’s brow rose like a knife’s blade. “Desperation will bring you to your knees. Your pride can only beat so long against your noble heart. One will give way.” She took another sip of tea. “And you have enough of your father in you that I know which will submit and which will conquer.”

  Catherine grabbed Mason and jerked him with her behind the corner of a shop as David emerged from The Rose House, a boy beside him moving his hands in an animated fashion. They proceeded at a rapid pace down the street, engaged in some intense conversation.

  The poor driver nearly toppled under the weight of the heavy sewing machine in his arms, and Catherine almost dropped the set of gowns in hers.

  “Miss Catherine, what—”

  “Shh.” She covered his mouth with her palm and focused on David’s march toward his motorcar. What on earth was he doing in town this time of day? And in a suit? She paused to appreciate the view. His brown tweed suit lent a perfect cut to his masculine form, and the way his long coat flapped behind him almost gave him a regal appearance. Oh, he was fine. Quite fine.

  She pinched her eyes closed and released a slow breath. Put a stop to your train of thought, Catherine Dougall. But in all honesty, if God wanted to keep her from temptation, why, oh why, did he place David Ross in her life?

  Mason cleared his throat, vibrating her palm with his movements.

  She shot him an apology, removing her hand and adjusting the gowns back in place. “I’m so sorry, Mason. This is a…um…surprise and we don’t need Dr. Ross, or anyone from Roth Hall, knowing about it. In fact, once you deposit the sewing machine, you can promptly forget the entire trip.”

  Mason’s brows creased a deep worry line. “Miss Catherine, I do not mean to contradict your plans, but we are in a most compromising position here in the middle of the street. I shouldn’t wish to promote unnecessary rumors.”

  She stepped back and dusted off his shoulders as if she had left a mark on his gray driving coat. “You’re absolutely right. We just need to keep things secret for now.”

  His dark hair, kept in a cut close to his head, stood a bit erratically, but he quickly swept a hand through it and replaced his crooked cap. One brow quirked high. “This may seem an unimportant question, but are we engaging in something legal?”

  Catherine’s mouth dropped in half shock, half laughter. “I know I’ve always lived on the edge of good choices and bad ones, but I can assure we are not participating in anything illegal. Frowned upon by…certain segments of society, perhaps.” She patted his arm. “But not illegal.”

  His shoulder relaxed. “Very good then.”

  Catherine shot another glance in the direction David had walked, but he was nowhere to be seen. With a swish of her blue serge skirt, she made a direct line up Old Rutland, now becoming a familiar trek.

  She and Mason garnered a few suspicious stares from the small number of stragglers along the street, but Catherine kept her focus on the goal. Mason looked a little less confident but, of course, it could simply be because he was struggling to maintain control of the sewing machine.

  Catherine led Mason down the narrow alley to Mrs. Lancing’s rugged boarding house door. Mrs. Lancing opened the door, less wary of Catherine’s arrival than her previous visits, though she didn’t seem to like the looks of poor Mason as escort.

  “No gentlemen in the rooms. Only the entry and hall.”

  Catherine sent the woman her most disarming smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Lancing. Mason is only going to deliver this gift to Annie, and then he will leave the premises.”

  She surveyed the man and his package then gave a stiff nod.

  Annie answered the door at the first knock. “Well, you haven’t proven me a liar.” Her Irish brogue tinted the words.

  Annie’s gaze swept past Catherine and landed on Mason. One hand shot to her waist in an immediately defensive stance.

  “Annie, let me introduce you to my driver, Andrew Mason.” Catherine said, quickly. “I couldn’t have brought my surprise to you without him.”

  Annie’s stance relaxed a little, and she nodded to the driver then opened the door to its full width. Two other women waited inside, making the space even tinier.

  “Saint Nicholas, what have you brought?” Annie stepped forward, examining the cumbersome load in Mason’s arms. “It’s a sewing machine, ain’t it?”

  Annie moved to help Mason with the bundle, and his smile relaxed as she took control, helping him guide it to the center of the room.

  “You brought us a sewing machine?” The blonde girl, quite young, wore her golden curls as loosely as the calico dress barely clinging to the small frame of her body. She had round brown eyes, the color of dark leather, and her smile held an innocence, a sweetness, that defied her situation. “How wonderful. And just in time too. Isn’t that right, Janie?”

  The dark-haired woman in the corner sneered. “What’s that going to cost us?”

  “Janie.” Annie hushed her. “I already told you, it’s not like that with Miss Catherine.”

  “That’s what you say.” Janie’s dark eyes surveyed Catherine. “But most things don’t come for free in this world.”

  Catherine sobered and turned to face Janie. She knew skeptics. In fact, she’d been one and still was, sometimes. “You’re right. Most things don’t come for free. I’m loaning the sewing machine until we can get you set up somewhere to purchase your own.”

  The young blonde stepped closer and ran a slender hand over the machine. “Do you mean to help us become independent women?”

  “Fairies’ stories and children’s tales if you ask me,” Janie muttered.

  Catherine bit back a retort and turned to Mason who stood in the doorway, hands to his side as if he was quite uncomfortable.

  “Mason, thank you for your assistance. I think it best if you wait for me at the car.”

  A look of utter relief washed over his features, and with a curt nod to the ladies, he left.

  “I truly appreciate your faith in us, and your plan.” Annie shook her head. “But I already told ya. No one’s going to hire the likes of us in their shops.”

  “Us?” Catherine gestured toward the strangers in the room.

  “These are my closest girls, and they board here as well. Mrs. Lancing don’t look like much, but she has a heart for girls like us.” Annie grinned and nodded toward the blonde. “That’s Marianne.” Then she gestured to the dark-haired woman. “And Janie. Both have sewing skills.”

  “I came along to make sure you wouldn’t take them in with your fancy talk.” Jane tipped her chin in challenge. “I don’t trust you, and I’ll say it upfront.”

  “I appreciate honesty. It’s woefully out of practice, nowadays.”

  “I finished your coat last night.” Annie took the garment from the back of the only chair in the room and held it up. “Stayed up most of the night, but it’s done.”

  Catherine placed the gowns she held across the sewing machine and reached for the coat. The threading and the ribbon embroidery wrapped in perfect imitation of the other sleeve, the work impeccable.

  “This proves my scheme might very well work.”

  “These are lovely.” Marianne touched the cloth of one of the gowns Catherine had brought, a lavender overdress in need of a few updates.

  “What scheme?” Annie slipped her fingers over a blue satin evening gown from three years ago. “I’m all ears.”

  Catherine took a deep breath, speaking her harebrained notion aloud for the second time that day. Fanny hadn’t balked too badly at the news.

  “I want us to redesign these gowns. Update their fashions and sell them for what they’re worth to the highest bidder.”

  “You want us to repair them?” Marianne asked

  “No.” Catherine’s pulse shuddered to a faster pace, her idea bringing a thrill of opportunity and challenge. “I want you to remake them.” She gestured to
the dresses. “All of these are out of date and unacceptable to the current fashionable lady. I think we have a better prospect if we redesign them, using remnant materials, and fashion them for today’s young women.”

  “How many gowns would possibly sell at this time of year?” This from Janie who’d taken a few steps toward the middle of the room.

  “Parties and balls are at their height in the Winter Season.”

  Annie pulled her hand from the gowns. “It’s a great idea, Miss Catherine, but we’re seamstresses, not designers. We don’t know the latest fashions.”

  Catherine drew close. “But I do.”

  “And what do you get out of it?” Janie remarked. “Assuming we can even accomplish this.”

  “My reward is seeing the ideas from my imagination turned into something real.” Catherine’s grin broadened, the possibility teasing a warm flush to her face. “I’m going to plan an Autumn Bazaar to raise money for the war hospital at Roth Hall. If we show a few of our refashioned gowns off at the bazaar, to create interest, I’m certain we will have opportunity to make a new start for you all.”

  “But if this scheme works…” Annie bent to examine the sewing machine. “And if the bazaar creates interest in our gowns and your designs, where would we sell them? Most of the shops won’t allow women like us to set foot inside, let alone sell our wares.”

  “That’s the only unanswered part of my plan. We need a supporter. Someone who is willing to take risks to do what is right.”

  “Someone who isn’t afraid to defy “Lady Catterwall,” Annie added with an eye roll.

  “A sponsor.” Catherine paced on a small patch of floor in the tiny room.

  “Someone who wouldn’t cause a stir in town, of course,” Marianne chimed in, a sweet smile tagged on for good measure. “And one who already owned a shop would certainly be an asset.”

  “Right.” Janie huffed and turned toward the door. “And it would help if she was mad enough to let us use her own business to support this preposterous idea. Maybe she even tosses out fairie dust with the wave of her hand.”