by K. M. Grant
Rose swallowed. ‘Mr Snaffler . . .
‘Is out,’ Arthur said.
‘But the cart?’
‘He goes in a carriage.’ Now Arthur smiled and his heart sang when Rose smiled back.
The hallway was filled with creatures, pinned and skinned or stuffed, including three small terriers, their mouths open in an eternal, silent yap. In the corner was propped a ruined stag’s head, waiting to be thrown out. ‘Oh,’ said Rose, feeling slightly sick. ‘What a strange advertisement for a vet. Like a doctor filling his hall with corpses.’
Arthur hurried her through. He hated the hall almost as much as he hated Mr Snaffler. He settled Rose in the parlour, then disappeared to bring tea, ignoring Rose’s protests that she did not need any. Only when he had lit the fire although it was really very warm, and brought a footstool although her feet were not sore, did she manage to convince him that she needed nothing more. Still, it took some time before he managed to perch on the edge of a chair. ‘Now,’ he said, picking up his own tea then putting it down then picking it up again, ‘The One. You say he’s hurt his knee.’
Rose held on to her teacup. ‘He tripped on his rope,’ she said. ‘His knee’s swollen. He can’t walk. Lily’s crying because he’s in pain. Daisy’s – well, Daisy’s collapsed on the stone at the Resting Place.’
‘The Resting Place?’
Rose did not feel this was the time to explain. ‘I know he’s not really The One, but Daisy thinks he is, and Pa does too, although he doesn’t know what he thinks at the moment, and if The One’s lame, it will make Pa . . .’ She tailed off. It was disloyal to talk of her father’s drinking. ‘It will make Pa sad,’ she said finally.
‘You want Mr Snaffler to come and look?’
This was the moment Rose had dreaded all the way here. If Mr Snaffler himself was not here, she still needed to say what she came to say. ‘Yes,’ she said, her voice rigid, ‘and though I can’t pay with money I can pay in other ways.’
‘You mean exchange his services for a rabbit pie or something?’ asked Arthur. ‘I’m afraid Snaffler doesn’t like that kind of thing. He’s strictly a money man.’
‘No,’ said Rose, ‘that’s not what I mean. Mr Snaffler once offered to marry me. I’ve come to tell him I’ll do it.’
Arthur’s head snapped as though a pistol had gone off. ‘Miss Rose –’
‘Rose.’
‘Rose.’ His breath was a rattle.
She spoke quickly. ‘The thing is, Mr Snaffler likes me. Or at least he . . .’ She had to collect herself. ‘Well, anyway. Here I am. I’m making him an offer.’
Arthur sat so still that Rose grew frightened. ‘Do you think he’ll reject me?’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Love him?’ She was taken aback by the absurdity of the question. ‘Of course I don’t love him. What’s love got to do with it?’
‘People marry for love,’ said Arthur.
‘Only in novels,’ Rose replied with as much worldly wisdom as she could muster. Then, more quietly and rather sadly, she said, ‘My parents loved each other. It didn’t do them much good.’ Before she could stop them, words catapulted out. ‘Don’t you see? I can’t sew; I can’t sing; I can’t teach; I can’t dance; I don’t think even the factory manager would employ me because I don’t know anything about factory work. The only things I know about are Hartslove and the Resting Place and the Dead Girl.’ Arthur looked bemused; Rose carried on regardless. ‘All I can do is marry, and the only person who’s offered is Mr Snaffler, and now we need him because of The One, and though I don’t really believe in The One, Daisy does, and it’s so important to her, and I can’t completely not believe either, because if I don’t believe, what’s left except Aunt Barbara, and Garth going into the army and coming back like Pa, and I should be able to stop it all, I should, but I can’t because I don’t know how.’ She was standing up and panting.
Arthur got up too. ‘You’d sell yourself to Snaffler for the price of a vet’s visit?’ He was shaking.
‘It’s not selling – it’s not,’ Rose’s blood was up and now she was quite prepared to argue. ‘It’s a marriage transaction. Fathers make them every day. I’m just making my own. That’s all.’
At last she stopped talking, and quite suddenly, without any thought as to the consequences, Arthur took her in his arms and kissed her full on the lips.
For Rose, the kiss was both the last thing and the only thing she needed. After so many months of trying to be brave, something cracked and a torrent of feelings rushed willy-nilly through a floodgate she knew would be better kept closed. However, just for a moment she allowed herself to be swept into the torrent because it was the loveliest thing, to be kissed by Arthur Rose, in whose arms she felt safe, not because he was solid and fatly prosperous like Mr Snaffler, but because with him she was not an older sister or an oldest daughter but just Rose, who was in love.
When Arthur raised his face from hers, he did not let go of her. ‘I’ll come,’ he said.
For a last moment, Rose clung to him. He was her knight! He was her champion! He was going to sweep her up! He was going to save Hartslove! She wanted to fling her arms round his neck and kiss him again. She did not. ‘No.’ She stumbled over the words. ‘We need somebody who can bring medicines.’
‘I can get medicines,’ Arthur said. He was clinging to the magic of the kiss. He would have promised anything, which was why Rose knew immediately that she must kill the magic completely.
‘No, Arthur,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t make promises too dangerous to keep. If Mr Snaffler found you’d been raiding his cupboards, you’d not just lose your job, he’d make sure that no vet within fifty miles would employ you.’ She moved back further, hit the sofa and sat down with a bump.
Arthur coughed, then knelt and pretended to be busy with the fire ‘There’s nothing to stop me visiting The One in my own time,’ he said almost as briskly as Rose. ‘There’s nothing to stop me using my own medicines. I’ll be up tomorrow morning.’ He put the poker down. ‘I’ve to visit Mrs Pennyfeather’s cow first thing. I’ll leave home early and come to Hartslove on my way there.’
Rose was in a state of wonderment. From a first kiss to Mrs Pennyfeather’s cow in under twenty seconds. She wanted to laugh, then cry. How kind Arthur was. But what advantage she had taken! There was an awkward pause. ‘Home?’ she ventured, to break it. ‘Don’t you live here?’
‘No. I live in lodgings behind the factory, on Sacramenta Street,’ Arthur said, standing up.
‘What an odd name for a street,’ Rose said.
‘I don’t know why it’s called that.’ Arthur fiddled with the poker. He would have kissed Rose again had she given him encouragement. She did not.
‘I’d better go home,’ she said at last.
‘I suppose so,’ Arthur agreed, though neither of them moved until they heard carriage wheels. Then both of them shot up. ‘Mr Snaffler,’ Arthur said quickly. He and Rose faced each other. Without any intention of doing so, Rose clasped Arthui’s hands. Arthur clasped hers back. They breathed in unison. ‘I don’t want to see him,’ Rose whispered.
‘You never need see him,’ Arthur declared with unexpected vehemence. ‘I’m going to help you.’
‘I don’t know why—’
‘I’m so glad you came.’
‘But you could lose—’
‘I can look after myself.’ He clasped her hands tighter. They heard Snaffler walking up the path, and with their hands still clasped, Arthur hurried Rose out of the parlour, through the dreadful hall and down the back stairs to the servants’ entrance. At the door, he still had her hands. ‘Rose?’
‘Yes?’
‘Rose . . .’ he faltered.
‘Yes?’
‘ROSE?’ A roar came from behind.
Rose jumped.
‘It’s not you he’s calling, it’s me,’ Arthur said quickly. ‘Dear Rose, I wish I could take you back home. I don’t like to think of you walking alone.’
‘ROSE!’ came the roar again.
Their hands slid apart. ‘I’ll be fine,’ Rose whispered. ‘Thank you.’ She ran up the steps. He watched her, his hand still extended. She smiled at him over the railings. ‘Arthur,’ she said.
‘Rose?’
‘Until tomorrow.’ The words, so ordinary in themselves, seemed to open a whole new world.
She was away only seconds before Snaffler appeared. He glanced suspiciously up the steps. ‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Coming back in,’ said Arthur.
Snaffler grunted and shoved a sack of dead cats at him. ‘Work to do.’
Arthur took the sack without comment. After he had laid out the last cat, he closed the door of the dissecting room and reached into the bookshelf. He brought down two books and slipped one inside the other. When Snaffler came to snoop, he found Arthur Rose apparently deep in a text describing uses for cat gut. Arthur worked very late that night. Snaffler thought him a fool, but since there was no payment for extra hours, he did not really care.
12
Rose did not stop to catch her breath until she was above the town, the factory fug a yellowing cloud below her. Then, for ten whole minutes, she stood amidst the crags and the curlews remembering not just Arthur’s kiss, but his words and how he looked and how he still had his hand outstretched when they parted. She stretched out her own hand as though Arthur’s arm was long enough to reach her here. She was sure that down in Snaffler’s basement or in Sacramenta Street he was doing the same. The wind flapped her skirts against her legs and scoured her face. She pulled off her bonnet. How clean the wind was up here! How strong and happy! It was with some regret that she finally put her bonnet back on and half ran along the track worn by generations of packhorses over the long stretch of open moor until it eventually dropped down the gentler slope towards the road that ran in front of the Hartslove gates. She was not tired. It took until she saw the ‘for sale’ sign for her spirits to droop. She averted her eyes and hurried on. Daisy was no longer on the flat stone. Hugging her happiness to her like a guilty secret, Rose hurried across the drawbridge and courtyard. The Dead Girl had not gone back to their father’s passage. She was watching from a window outside their mother’s room. Rose waved.
It was late afternoon now and the light was fading. Garth and the others were still in the dining room, though lunch had finished hours before. Nobody had eaten anything and Mrs Snipper had long since collected the plates. Yet still they sat. Mrs Snipper greeted Rose in the hall. ‘A right carry-on,’ she observed tartly. ‘The Master’s nowhere to be seen; Miss Lily’s been crying that you’ve Gone Off like her ladyship; Miss Daisy wouldn’t even look at my pie because she says she’s Ruined That Horse and Master Garth’s spent the whole of luncheon with his head between his heels.’
Rose threw down her bonnet. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve been to the town.’
Mrs Snipper gave her a sidelong look. ‘Oh yes? Visiting?’
‘I’ve been – I’ve been to the vet.’
‘And the vet’s going to come, is he?’ Mrs Snipper did not ask which vet because she already knew very well, as Rose could tell. Mrs Snipper’s beady eyes missed nothing.
‘Yes,’ Rose said. ‘He’s going to come, Mrs Snips. He wants to make The One better.’ Two red dots appeared in her cheeks.
‘Of course he does,’ Mrs Snipper said, noting the dots. ‘Let’s thank Sweet Jesus and His Mother for that.’ She scurried over to the lift, got in with the trolley, shut the door and cranked the handle to descend. ‘Coming to make The One better indeed.’ As the lift lurched down, she wiped her nose on her apron. In the kitchen, Snipe was perched on his stool. Mrs Snipper opened the lift door, bundled out and piled the plates into the sink before taking a big spoon and shovelling a great quantity of what looked like brown sludge but was in fact venison stew into a basin. She covered it and held it out to her son. ‘Take this to that young veterinarian. It’ll do for his supper.’ Her nose twitched. ‘And take him some rose-petal jelly. Yes, that’s it. Rose-petal Jelly. They stock it at Pumphrey’s grocers and they won’t miss a jar. Don’t get caught, mind. Old Pumphrey wouldn’t think twice about sending you to Australia on a transport.’
Snipe made a careful exit through the range. Jelly. He’d never thought of that. If Pumphreys stocked a jelly of rose-petals, why not lily-petals? He’d take a jar of that as well.
Lily sprang up when she heard Rose’s voice. ‘Rose! Rose! We didn’t know where you’d gone!’
Rose sat down under her mother’s portrait. ‘Arthur Rose is going to come to see The One,’ she announced.
‘Oh, thank goodness!’ Lily’s eyes brimmed over. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘Hurrah!’ Clover and Columbine banged spoons on the table.
Garth lowered his feet to the floor and did three cartwheels for Daisy’s sake.
Only Daisy seemed unmoved. ‘How will we pay him?’ Her voice was low and tired. ‘What shall we sell?’
‘Nothing,’ said Rose, sweeping crumbs off the table.
Clover and Columbine swung wildly on their chairs. Rose was bossy and snarky and they did not always like her, but she was something solid in the shifting sea of their lives, and their relief at her return made them tease. ‘We’ve been reading a book where the girl sells herself. How much do you suppose you get if you do that? The book never says. How much would you be worth, Rose?’
Rose blushed. ‘You shouldn’t read such rubbish.’
Clover and Columbine were astonished. They had expected a bigger eruption. Emboldened, they had a more genuine enquiry. ‘What do you do if you sell yourself?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Rose lied.
‘You must know, Rose. You’re almost grown up and you know everything.’
‘Well, I don’t know that,’ Rose said mildly.
A thin thread of anxiety snaked through the twins’ relief. If Rose was being nice, she must be ill.
Garth was spinning like a top, a trick he had learned from a troupe of travelling dancers one Christmas. Daisy usually loved it but now she did not notice. He stopped spinning. ‘If you sell yourself, you do something unspeakable,’ he said.
‘How do you speak about something unspeakable?’ Even in their anxiety, Clover and Columbine were very amused.
‘That’s the thing,’ Garth said darkly. ‘When you do something unspeakable, you can’t talk about it so it just rots you from top to bottom until you’re a pile of stinking—’
‘For goodness sake, Garth!’ Rose gripped the table. ‘I haven’t done anything either speakable or unspeakable. I simply asked Arthur – I mean Mr Rose – if he would come, and he said he would.’ To the twins’ relief, her voice was more familiarly sharp, though she still looked as though she had found the first peach of summer.
The doorbell clanged. They all tensed. More prospective purchasers! Were they never to be safe again? They hurried to the hall, where they found two sisters-in-law with faces like frogs. ‘How many bedrooms? We have fifteen small children between us,’ was the ladies’ opening remark.
‘Fifteen children when you’re so ugly? Now that’s unspeakable,’ Clover or Columbine whispered to the other.
It was not difficult to frighten these two creatures, for they were as thin as storks and nervy as hares. Their eyes popped when Mrs Snipper snapped down the lid of the teapot. Their hands quivered when a log shifted in the fire. Rose felt cruel as she provided the ‘I don’t see anyone’ commentary whilst her sisters – all except Daisy, who was too dispirited to do anything – silently crowded round.
It was Garth who provided the spectacle that finally sent the two grasshoppers flying back to their carriage. Leaving the others, he went upstairs, wrapped the Cannibal’s skin round himself, then slid, quite blind and at breakneck speed, right from the very top of the curling stairwell to the bottom, growling all the way. It was a new trick, and one he had been contemplating for some days. This was not like flipping over and over on the battlem
ents. There, he could calculate and concentrate, in complete control of his body. On the curling banister, however, unable to see, unable to hear, unable to steer, he relied entirely on instinct to follow the twists. If he overbalanced, the drop on to the flags would not maim him: it would kill him. Without quite knowing why, Garth suddenly wanted – no, he really needed – to see if he could actually do it.
It had been hard to get properly balanced in the Cannibal; harder still to let go. The speed was ghastly, the blindness worse. His bowels were mush, his stomach liquid. He controlled his panic, though, and in the clammy, suffocating, rushing dark, with only a dead bear’s skin between his warm, living body and the cold, hard flagstones, he kept his head.
The bear’s monstrous and unexpected appearance – jaws agape, glass eyeballs winking – electrified them all. The skinny sisters, emitting gulping whistles, were out of the door before the bear roared over the final finial and crashed heavily on to the floor with an openly exultant Garth tumbling out.
His sisters stood for a second, hardly able to believe their eyes. Rose was first off the mark. ‘Garth! You idiot!! You absolute imbecilic idiotic idiot! You could have been killed.’ She seized him and shook him so hard he thought his head might come right off. ‘Good God, Garth! Good God!’ She felt quite sick. She did not know how she would ever stop shaking him.
‘But I wasn’t killed,’ sang Garth as his head rocked back and forth. ‘I did it!’ His heart was beating like fury. He had not felt this good since drinking the brandy the day The One arrived.
Rose shook him even harder. ‘Promise that you’ll never, ever do that again. You must promise!’
Garth would promise nothing of the sort. ‘I did it! I did it!’ he sang. Clover and Columbine, now sitting on the Cannibal, echoed his song. ‘Well done, Garth! Well done, Garth!’ Their brother was the bravest person they knew. He was a hero!
‘Shut up, you two!’ shouted Rose, pushing Garth away for fear of doing him damage. The bear sagged, vicious eyes still winking. Rose forced herself to be calm. ‘I can’t believe you! Carry the Cannibal back at once before Pa misses him, and I forbid you – any of you –’ she glared at the twins – ‘ever to touch that horrible thing again.’