Cherrybrook Rose

by Tania Crosse

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled becomingly, though she could feel herself bubbling with animosity. Surely he could see that his attentions were not welcomed! He was supposed to be there to discuss business, not make advances towards the manager’s daughter! If it had been young Mr Symons, it might have been understandable, but Mr Chadwick was old enough to be her father – at least, in Rose’s eyes he was – and at his age, he really ought to know better!

  ‘Well, Henry.’ George Frean spoke between spoons of Florrie’s mushroom and celery soup, laced with a generous measure of white wine. ‘My word, this is good! You seem to have recovered quickly from the minor incident last week.’

  ‘Thanks to the hard work of the men,’ Henry replied guardedly. ‘And their loyalty is very much due to the fact that we treat them with respect. Gunpowder manufacture requires skilled labour, skills acquired over years, so we do our best to avoid changes.’

  ‘The repairs were not too costly, then?’ one of the investors demanded over his rotund stomach.

  ‘As you have seen, our machinery is made of wood to avoid explosions, and timber is not the most expensive commodity. ’Tis the carpenters’ skills and dedication that had the corning mill up and running again in a few days. They know their jobs depend on it. And as for the practice that seems to have caused the incident, we are investigating.’

  ‘You are following all the government directives?’ the youthful Mr Symons put in, clearly to impress upon Miss Maddiford that he was not as wet behind the ears as he looked, for as he threw her a purposeful glance his cheeks suffused with crimson.

  ‘Without question,’ Henry assured him. ‘I have the papers from the last inspection in my office if you should care to peruse them after luncheon. We never exceed the limits on storing powder at the various stages of its manufacture, and all the regulations are strictly abided by.’

  ‘But it is still a dangerous and risky business,’ Charles Chadwick considered, and then, turning to Rose with a half-patronizing, half-challenging smirk, he added, ‘would you not agree, Miss Maddiford?’

  Inside her breast, resentment fumed with livid force, but her face was a picture of composure, for the last thing she wanted was for the wealthy Mr Chadwick to withdraw his considerable investment in the mills.

  ‘Indeed, I would not, Mr Chadwick,’ she told him, her steady eyes meeting his. ‘There has been no serious accident here since 1858, long before my father took over, whereas serious injury and even death occurs regularly in the quarries and mines hereabouts. Everything possible is done to reduce the risks to a minimum. As I’m sure you will have seen on your visit, all machinery is wooden, including shovels. All the men wear leather-soled shoes and leather aprons. The buildings are set well apart, especially those that require chimneys. The floors of the incorporating mills are covered in tanned hides, and the interior walls rendered to facilitate cleaning. And in the unlikely event of an explosion, the walls are thick and the roofs are made of flimsy wood and tarpaulins, so that the force of any blast is funnelled upwards, blowing off the roof rather than damaging the machinery or anyone inside. So I would say that over all, ’tis actually quite safe.’

  Her mouth closed in a compressed line as she realized seven pairs of amazed eyes were trained upon her. If only her heart would stop bouncing in her chest, for she felt that Charles Chadwick had deliberately driven her into a corner from which she must fight like a tigress to escape. Was he playing with her, as a cat plays with a trapped mouse? It certainly seemed like it to her, and now the embarrassment flamed in her cheeks at her animated response that had drawn everyone’s attention.

  It was George Frean who rescued her. ‘My dear Rose,’ he chuckled good-naturedly, ‘you speak so eloquently, I fear I will soon be out of a job! But everything our young hostess says, gentlemen, is quite true. And as for competition from dynamite, well, such change is often resisted. As you have seen from the accounts, trade is still lucrative and promises to be so for some time, although perhaps not quite at the same peak as in earlier years.’

  ‘I fear you are being a little optimistic,’ one of the older investors chimed in with a frown. ‘I shall give it some thought on my return to London, but I may want to suggest some changes.’

  ‘May I ask if you could give me an indication of what they might be?’ Henry enquired cautiously.

  Rose drew a calming breath through her nostrils and released it slowly as a lively discussion developed around the table. She rested her hands in her lap, bowing her head as etiquette demanded of a hostess in a man’s world, but as she did so, her eye caught Charles Chadwick as he flashed her a sympathetic, approving smile before he joined in the debate. Her face was an impassive mask, but she listened intently to every word exchanged. The conversation gradually drifted away from business, assisted by the arrival of Florrie’s fish course of local salmon followed by a magnificent crown roast of lamb. By the time the sumptuous dessert arrived – Charlotte Russe made with bananas she had travelled by train to Plymouth to purchase, and topped with lashings of cream from Cherrybrook Farm – the conversation had divided into several private dialogues of little consequence, and Rose was vehemently wishing she could escape the present company, saddle Gospel and head out across the lonely moor to freedom.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Maddiford, when you are not extolling the virtues of the powder mills, what do you find to occupy your time in this isolated location? Perhaps you are an expert in . . . What is it ladies like to excel in? Ah, yes, needlepoint, or perhaps some other virtue such as painting? Or perhaps music?’

  Rose’s heart had sunk like a stone as Charles Chadwick’s voice dragged her spirit back from its reverie, and she blinked at him with disdain as she focused on him again. But his expression was soft and inviting, warm flecks in his mahogany eyes and the corners of his mouth lifting pleasantly. Perhaps she was being a little hard on him, and it was her duty to entertain her guests and instil in them feelings of goodwill at the end of their visit.

  ‘I have to admit to being quite skilled with a needle,’ she said with genuine shyness. ‘Though I put it to practical use rather than such things as tapestry. I make all my own clothes, and shirts for my father and Joe. He’s an ostler at the powder-mills stable, but he helps look after Gospel and does the heavy work around the house in exchange for a room over our stables.’

  ‘Gospel?’ Charles gave an intrigued frown.

  ‘My horse,’ she replied flatly, but she could not prevent the brilliant light that shone from her eyes at the thought of the beloved animal.

  ‘So, you ride, do you, Miss Maddiford?’ he asked, his heart almost tripping over itself in his enchantment. ‘Or perhaps you mean you drive a gig?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she answered with a spark of indignation. ‘I mean, I can drive a gig, yes. Though ’tis a dog cart we have. But ’tis no good out on the moor. Gospel and I, we like to go for miles . . .’ She stopped abruptly, her mouth clamped shut, as she realized she had let her tongue – and her passion – run away with her. Hardly the done thing for the lady of the house!

  But Charles Chadwick was lost in some strange emotion that was beyond his usual comprehension. Had she been studying his face, she would have seen it tighten in some odd spasm that even he could not control, and he had to clear his throat before he could speak again.

  ‘Splendid!’ He surprised her with the strength of his exclam-ation. ‘Then tomorrow I shall hire a horse and you can take me out and show me . . . well, wherever you would like on this beautiful moor of yours! We’re all staying at the Duchy Hotel in Princetown. We were all to return to London tomorrow, but I shall stay on. I have thought what a wild and spectacular place Dartmoor appears to be, and I am sure, Miss Maddiford, you will prove a most knowledgeable guide.’

  Did he see her flinch away, her jaw drop, the flints of ice in her eyes? Who did he think he was! But she had answered her own question before she had finished asking it. He was one of the major investors in the powder mills and it was her duty to humour him!

/>   ‘Why, Mr Chadwick,’ she almost croaked, her voice dry, ‘I fear I cannot accept such an invitation. ’Tis hardly seemly, and my father would not allow—’

  ‘Oh, I shall of course seek your father’s permission,’ he assured her with the enthusiastic smile of a young boy as he glanced along the table to where Henry was deep in conversation with Mr Frean. ‘I am sure he will feel able to rely on my integrity as a gentleman, shall we call it?’

  He watched as her lovely mouth tightened, her chin set stubbornly. She was magnificent, the most beautiful creature he had ever clapped eyes on, yet driven with such captivating spirit. His normal indifference to women had been wiped out in one fell swoop, and for the first time in his life, his heart was enslaved.

  Charles Chadwick was deeply, hopelessly, irrevocably in love . . .

  ‘Rose, will you please sit down!’

  For once, Henry raised his voice to his daughter as she angrily paced the parlour carpet, kicking at the full hem of her skirt each time she spun round. She halted then and glared at him, her lips in a petulant knot, before she swung into the chair opposite his and sat bolt upright, her head erect and obstinate as she stared sightlessly out of the window.

  Henry sighed weightily, his shoulders slumped, as he lifted his weary eyes to her face. ‘I do appreciate how you feel, but—’

  ‘How could you, Father!’ she rounded on him, her eyes glinting the colour of ripe mulberries. ‘How could you give your consent to my riding out with a complete stranger?’

  ‘A stranger to us, perhaps, but not to Mr Frean.’ Henry pulled in his chin, knowing that was not the true reason for her objection. ‘I didn’t give my permission until I’d spoken to Mr Frean, who assured me Mr Chadwick is of a sound reputation and not known for frivolous dalliances. You don’t think I’d allow you to go unless I knew you’d be quite safe, do you?’

  Rose’s mouth twisted, and then she lowered her eyes in submission. ‘No. I suppose not,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘But—’

  ‘Listen to me, Rose.’ Henry leant forward and placed his hand over hers. ‘This has nothing to do with the powder mills. This is to do with you and your future.’ His voice was low, ragged with emotion as if it would break. ‘I’m . . . Not to beat about the bush, I’m not getting any younger, and one never knows what lies around the corner. Some men are able to work into their seventies, but you can’t rely on that. If there were to come a day when I couldn’t work any more, well . . . To be honest, I’ve made little provision for my own future, let alone yours.’

  Rose raised her liquid eyes to his beloved face, tears trembling on her lashes as she considered the unthinkable picture he was etching on her mind. ‘Oh, Father, don’t say such things,’ she scarcely managed to whisper.

  But Henry put up his hand. ‘No, I’m sorry, Rose, but they must be said. I want to see you settled.’

  The flame immediately reignited in her breast. ‘Settled, perhaps. But not with that . . . that pompous, arrogant—’

  She broke off, at a loss to describe the contempt she held for Mr Charles Chadwick, but Henry was not to be deterred. ‘Well, perhaps not to Mr Chadwick,’ he conceded gently, ‘but think on it, Rose. Trapped out here in the middle of this wilderness—’

  ‘But I love the moor—’

  ‘I know you do. And so do I. But what opportunity do you have to meet suitable, eligible bachelors? A beautiful,’ and his eyes softened, ‘vivacious, intelligent girl like you should have the pick of society, and—’

  ‘I don’t want the pick of society! If I wanted anyone, which I don’t, I love the people we live amongst, people like Joe—’

  ‘’T wouldn’t work,’ Henry stated flatly. ‘I know you, Rose. Better than you know yourself. You deserve . . . No, you need more than that. You’re twenty-one, and most girls of your age would be long married by now!’

  ‘And Mr Chadwick must be at least forty, and I don’t want to be married to anyone! I just want to stay here with you, Father!’

  The tears were brimming over her lower eyelids now, and Henry came to put his arms around her. ‘Oh, my dear child, you’ll never know what comfort and joy you have always brought to me!’ he murmured into her hair. ‘But time must move on, and if you love me as much as you say, then you will listen to me in this. All I ask is that you at least try to get to know Mr Chadwick a little better. He is neither pompous nor arrogant as you said. He is simply accomplished and confident from the society into which he was born. The poor fellow is clearly quite bewildered by what he feels for you, and is determined not to lose you! And as for being forty, well, I should believe he is somewhat younger than that. I should have preferred someone more of your own age, I admit, but it means he can provide security for you. And . . . he’s not exactly ugly, now, is he?’

  He pulled back slightly in order to lift her chin to him. Her eyes met his, not seeing his face, but the image her mind was conjuring up of Charles Chadwick. He was reasonably tall and not the least overweight. Impeccably dressed, of course, closely shaven, and his chestnut-brown hair, which showed little sign of receding, was neatly cut. His eyes, too, were brown, not uniformly, but flecked with amber strands that made them gleam brightly. They were wide set and not unkind, and his shapely mouth was apt to turn upwards at the corners. No, she had to admit, he was not unattractive, and perhaps she had been more than hasty in her judgement of him.

  She focused on Henry’s hopeful face again, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. ‘All right,’ she agreed with reluctance. ‘I’ll ride out with him tomorrow. And then after that, we’ll see. I’ll try and look out for his good points, but I can’t promise you anything.’

  ‘Well, neither of us can say fairer than that.’ The lines on Henry’s face moved into an expression of soft compassion. ‘I wouldn’t want you to miss out on such an opportunity without giving it your full consideration. But by the same token, I wouldn’t allow you to enter into a loveless marriage just for the sake of money.’

  ‘Well, then,’ she replied, her eyes shining with crystal brilliance once more, ‘we shall just have to see how Mr Charles Chadwick shapes up. Won’t we?’

  Four

  A sharp wind had driven away the grey, overnight rain to leave a colourless sun glowing in a clear, azure-blue sky. Globules of water twinkled on the wild grasses, the bog cotton and the cobwebs that were slung across them. Rose had secretly hoped the lashing deluge would continue all morning and deter the cosseted Londoner from their expedition, but she supposed it would only have delayed the evil moment. And if she were honest, she was curious as to how Charles Chadwick would stand up to the gruelling terrain she had planned for him! Whether or not he was a good horseman, she didn’t know. But she was about to find out!

  Gospel was restless after a day without exercise and the damp weather of the past week had softened the ground, and so Rose allowed him to canter leisurely up and down the hills to the prison settlement of Princetown. Mr Chadwick had wanted to call for her, but she had insisted he might become lost on the moor, though that was something of an excuse as he could follow the road easily enough. The truth of it was that she wanted time to soothe her agitated spirit. She had never before considered the question of marriage, and was still not enamoured of the idea. She had brooded all night on what her father had said, tossing sleeplessly until she had spent an hour with her forehead pressed against the cool surface of the windowpane as the rain beat furiously on the other side of the glass. In her heart, all she wanted was to continue the pleasant life she led now, but though she fought against it like a demon, she knew that Henry was right. Perhaps Charles Chadwick would prove more acceptable today, and if it was going to make her father happy, she should at least give the fellow a chance.

  As she came into Princetown, she slowed Gospel to a trot, rising and falling smoothly in the saddle to the rhythm of his pace. She could feel, with surprise, butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Charles Chadwick was only a man like any other, so why should she be feeling like this?
/>   There he was now, waiting outside the attractive moorstone facade of the Duchy Hotel. He was seated upon a large chestnut horse, not an elegant, highly strung creature like Gospel, but a pretty animal nevertheless, a reliable mount that the hotel felt confident in hiring out to one of its clients. Gospel clearly liked the look of his companion for the morning also, for he could be quite amicable towards his fellow species – it was only humans he distrusted – and he whickered in welcome as he was brought to a halt just a few feet away.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Chadwick.’ Rose turned her vivid smile on the stunned businessman, the brilliant white of her perfect teeth and beautifully shaped mouth enslaving his heart even more deeply. His brown eyes stretched for a second before he gathered his composure and raised his bowler hat from his well-brushed hair.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Maddiford,’ he replied, grinning now with what seemed relaxed amusement. ‘I see you ride astride. Most . . . unusual, shall we say, for a young lady.’

  Rose’s chin tilted obstinately. ‘You try riding Gospel side-saddle! Or on second thoughts, don’t try riding him at all! He’ll only throw you! The only other person he’ll tolerate on his back is Joe.’

  ‘Ah, yes, your stable boy,’ Charles remembered, his eyes sparkling. ‘And I meant no criticism, your riding astride. It simply . . . took me by surprise. But then, you are a very surprising person altogether.’

  ‘And is that supposed to be a compliment?’ she bristled haughtily.

  ‘Absolutely!’ He tossed his head with a short laugh, his face bright and expectant. ‘Now then, where are you going to take me on this fine morning? I can’t believe how lovely it is after that rainstorm overnight!’

  ‘Oh, ’tis typical Dartmoor weather,’ Rose shrugged. ‘It can change in minutes. ’Tis one of its charms, and why one must always take care. A mist so thick you can hardly see the ground can come up that quickly!’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine.’ The chestnut had fallen into step beside Gospel as Rose turned him to retrace their way a few yards before taking a lane on the right which led almost immediately on to the moor. ‘So, where are we going?’