Cherrybrook Rose (20 page)

‘Oh, I don't think we need to advertise. Molly would be ideal.'

‘Molly Cartwright!' Charles jerked so violently that Rose's head slipped from his shoulder. ‘Don't be ridiculous!'

‘But Molly would be perfect! We're such good friends and—'

‘Rose, you need a trained lady's maid to see you are suitably dressed in the latest fashion, that your hair is properly done, and, especially when we go to London, that you are versed in all the ways of society etiquette. I hate to say it, but you have a great deal to learn in that direction! If you were to employ Miss Cartwright,
you
would have to be teaching
her
the little you know yourself, and she would bring nothing but ignominy upon us! Besides which, I cannot have my wife associating so closely with some little trollop whose father is no more than a turnkey at our most infamous prison!'

Rose sat up abruptly and she turned on him eyes that glinted like the flash of the sun on polished silver. ‘How dare you speak of Molly like that? She's bright and intelligent, and just because she comes from a working-class background, doesn't make her any worse than you or I! They're a good, honest, hardworking family, and I defy anyone to—'

‘Oh, you are so beautiful when you're angry!' Charles almost laughed at her, but then his eyes hardened icily. ‘But you will not have Molly Cartwright as your lady's maid!'

‘I shall have Molly or no one!' Rose grated between fiercely clenched teeth.

‘Then no one it shall be, and there's an end to it.' Charles's mouth closed in a firm line as he jabbed his head towards her, but then his face softened and he smiled suggestively at her as he fingered a thick lock of her cascading curls. ‘Now then, before this conversation, I believe we were enjoying an intimate moment together, so if you don't mind, I'd like you to lie down again so that we can get back to where we were and begin afresh. Now, my lovely girl, have you forgotten that we need to do something before we go to sleep?'

For several seconds, Rose continued to glare at him, convinced that she was about to explode with resentment. He was mocking her. Humiliating her. And yet if she demonstrated her anger, fought him, it would be as if he had won. As if she really was the ignorant child he was making her out to be. Inside, she was seething, but she lay down like the submissive wife, keeping perfectly still while Charles satisfied his need. And each thrust of his body seemed to drive another nail into her fading affection for him. She had tried. Had wanted to love him. But she couldn't. Just now, she hated him for what he had said about Molly and her family. But she hadn't lost yet.

The battle was far from over.

Rose squeezed her heels into Gospel's flanks and he careered forward with a surge of bursting energy. She hadn't told anyone, least of all her husband, but had simply taken the animal's tack before anyone had realized, saddled him and ridden quietly out of the yard. And now they were flying across the moor towards Princetown. Rose was still furious with Charles. But if he thought he could dominate her like that, well, she'd jolly well make him think again!

She eased on the reins, slowing Gospel to a trot as they came into the prison settlement. She would leave him at the Albert Inn, as always, though the new stable boy was even more wary of Gospel's temper than Ned had been. She would leave him saddled as it wouldn't hurt and she didn't intend to be long. She wanted to return, triumphant, to her husband as soon as possible to announce that she had employed Molly whether he liked it or not!

‘Good morning, Mrs Chadwick!' Ellen Williams smiled up at her obsequiously as she swept the front step to her shop. ‘I've some lovely autumn materials just come in if you'd care to take a look.'

Rose scowled as her determined reverie was interrupted by the woman's servile flannel. Two-faced cow! she thought bitterly. Didn't want to know when she was in trouble, but now Rose had money in her pocket . . . ‘I'm sorry, Miss Williams,' she smiled with deliberate sweetness. ‘But I'm afraid my husband only allows me to order material from Harrods in London. And Crebers in Tavistock supply our groceries now.'

She flicked up her head, relishing the snub as she continued down the street. If her marriage to Charles was growing more irksome by the day, she might as well enjoy the advantages it did hold to the full! She even gave the startled stable lad a florin, as in her heart she was hitting back at Charles, and in the mood she was in, it filled her with immense satisfaction that she was giving away his money in a way he would not approve of!

She didn't even have to walk as far as the new warders' block, as Molly was coming towards her, battered shopping basket on her arm. The instant she spied Rose, her pretty face broke into a delighted grin.

‘Hello! What you'm doing yere so early?'

Rose grimaced in reply. ‘I wanted to get out before anyone realized I was gone.'

‘Oh, dear, that don't sound too good.'

Rose flashed her a warm smile. ‘Oh, no, 'tis not that bad really. 'Tis just that I couldn't wait to see you.'

‘See
me
?'

‘Yes. You see . . .' She glanced sideways at Molly as they walked on up the street, Rose's pulse accelerating at the lie she was about to tell her dear friend. ‘Charles and I have decided that I really need a lady's maid, and we thought, well, that it should be you.'

Her cheeks were aglow with guilt, but also with excitement at the prospect of Molly's constant companionship. But why should she feel so guilty? Damn Charles! She paid heavily every night for her father's security, so why shouldn't she have her way in this small matter that meant so much to her?

Molly barely faltered in her step, not even turning to look at her. Rose held her breath, convinced that the unexpected surprise had left Molly speechless, and it was indeed several seconds before she spoke.

‘Oh, Rose, 'tis terribly kind of you. I should love to be your maid. To live in that there grand house. Only . . . only I cas'n.'

Rose stopped dead, her frozen heart plummeting to her feet as she caught Molly's arm. ‘You . . . you can't?' she stuttered feebly. ‘Why . . . why ever not?'

‘Cuz . . . Oh, Rose, I'm that sorry. A year ago, 'twould have been wonderful, but . . .' The remorse on her face faded, and in its place a suppressed joy shone in her eyes. ‘Can you keep a secret?'

‘Of course,' Rose gulped, her voice no more than a faint whisper.

‘I
did
want you to be the first to know. I haven't even told my parents yet, so you will keep it to yourself? For now, anyways. Until Joe's asked my father. You see, Joe and I are to be married. We'm just waiting for one of the cottages at the powder mills to become empty.'

Rose's heart contracted in strange pain as Molly's sparkling eyes danced in front of her, and deep inside, she felt something die. Molly and Joe to wed. She was stunned, though why, she didn't know. She should have guessed. A vile sensation she recognized as jealousy gripped her soul. Not jealousy that Molly was to marry
Joe
, for he was like a brother to her. But a choking envy because they were to marry for
love
. A true, free love that fate had put beyond her reach for ever. And because it meant that the one thing that might make her life bearable was now out of the question. But the other part of her, the
real
Rose, was so happy for her friend, and she swallowed down the bitter gall of her own anguish.

‘Oh, Molly, congratulations!' She forced the jubilation into her voice. ‘And I promise I won't tell a soul!'

‘Thank you, Rose!' the younger girl beamed. ‘And thank you so much for asking me to be your maid. But 'twould not be worth it for just a few months. I be so sorry. 'Twould have been such fun.'

‘Yes. Never mind. 'Tis not the same as getting married.'

‘Well, you should know that!' Molly chuckled jauntily.

The knife sliced into Rose's heart. ‘Yes,' she murmured. ‘Well, I'll leave you to do your shopping.'

‘Goodbye, then, Rose.' And Molly sauntered off towards Princetown's shops.

Rose watched her, sadness raking her throat. She should not feel like this! And yet she was shaking, as if she was cut off from reality as she fetched Gospel from the inn and set off back over the moor, this time at a sedate walk, much to the gelding's annoyance. The previous day's torrential rain had released the heady aroma of the long grass and peaty earth beneath Gospel's hooves, and Rose filled her lungs with its calming sweetness. She really should count her blessings. She had Gospel and Amber, and now the scruffy mongrel, Scraggles. She had a lovely house on her beloved Dartmoor, a financially secure future. Above all, she had provided a happy home for her father who remained, she was sure, ignorant of her own wretchedness, when he had been so close to entering the workhouse. She had a husband who was devoted to her . . . but who loved her so much he wanted to possess her body and soul, to crush the spirit from her. She brushed away the tears that misted her eyes, for she would not let him win! Rose Maddiford, the carefree, wilful girl who roamed the wilds of Dartmoor on the massive black horse would never give in, though at this moment she would as soon ride over to Vixen Tor, climb to the top and throw herself over the edge . . .

‘Where have you been?' Charles's stiff tone reached her as she stole up the stairs to change out of her riding habit.

She took a breath, then turned to face him, her shoulders squared. ‘Out,' she said flatly.

‘I can see that. But why creep out in such secrecy?'

‘So that I could go alone, if you must know.'

‘You don't go out alone without my permission.'

Rose pursed her lips and her eyes snapped dangerously. ‘You may remember I told you on the day we met that no one owns me. If I choose to ride out alone, then I shall.'

‘Oh, no, you don't, my lady. Your father may have allowed you such inappropriate behaviour, but I would remind you that you are now a married woman, and as such, you will do as you're told.'

‘And who's going to make me?'

‘I am, if I have to. But perhaps, madam, you'd take more care of yourself if you had a child to think of! So the quicker you become pregnant, the better!'

Rose stared at him, horrified at the brutal cruelty that darkened his face. He grasped her arm, dragging her up the stairs, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. She did not resist. For her father and Florrie were probably taking breakfast and would hear any altercation on the stairway.

He flung her across the bedroom. She broke her fall on the edge of the bed, unhurt but shaken, the bile rising in her gullet. She wasn't afraid of him, oh, no! And she certainly wasn't going to let him think he had won! So when he turned back from locking the door, instead of cowering from him, she was leisurely discarding her riding clothes, but didn't stop when she was down to her shirt. She threw the fine garment on to the floor, followed by her chemise so that her bare breasts bobbed tantalizingly as she spun round to face him, clad in nothing more than her drawers.

Charles's face was like thunder. ‘Stop behaving like a whore,' he grated savagely.

‘Well, 'tis what I am to you, so if the cap fits . . .' Her eyebrows arched sardonically, but then she turned her vivid smile on him. ‘Besides, I happen to agree with you that a child would be wonderful.'

Under different circumstances, she would have found the change in his expression quite laughable. Total astonishment had dashed away his rage, and his hand, poised and ready to strike her, fell aimlessly to his side.

‘Do you?' he quizzed her as if in disbelief.

‘Yes, I do.' Although to be honest, she wasn't really sure.

Charles's mouth spread into a slow smile. ‘Well, I'd better see if I can oblige,' he muttered. ‘A son. Oh, yes, you've no idea how I've longed for a son.'

His soft, genuine tone took Rose by surprise. She didn't know, of course, of the child his young mistress had robbed him of all those years ago, taking her own life along with the back-street abortion. But just now, his gentler attitude had given her some hope. She had been ignorant of what marriage meant, and she had married Charles for an affection she knew now fell far short of love, and to provide a safe home for Henry. None of which was Charles's fault. And to have a child was something that might unite them.

Not that the thoughts were quite so clear in her head, just part of a jumble of emotions that churned inside her as Charles ran his finger from the well of her throat down to the gathered waist of her drawers, and then slowly untied the drawstring.

R
ose missed Dartmoor dreadfully. She missed Molly and Joe and Florrie, the dogs, and most of all, her father and Gospel. London, however, was not without its attractions, a real adventure, and she wrote everything down in a notebook to help her relate her experiences in detail to everyone at home on her return.

Charles's house in the smart, fashionable square was a delight. Rose was particularly fascinated with the bathroom where, to her astonishment, running water poured forth from the taps. The house had its own small, well-tended garden to the rear, but across the road was a private park to which only residents were entitled to hold a key.

It was Rose's refuge. Though the autumn leaves had turned to a glorious display of orange and russet, copper and bronze, and were gradually drifting down from the trees, still enough of them clothed the branches to screen the tall terraces on three sides of the square. The communal garden was hardly Dartmoor, but it provided a haven of peace for her saddened heart when she yearned for the days to pass before she could return home.

Charles had taken her to the principal sites, the immense gothic-style Houses of Parliament, St Paul's Cathedral and the Tower of London. The ‘new' London Bridge, though it was more than forty years old now, was built from Dartmoor granite. Likewise, the more recent Trafalgar Square with its astounding Nelson's Column was constructed from moorland stone from the quarries near Princetown. Rose's spirit was filled with pride that the Cherrybrook powder mills had supplied the gunpowder for the quarries.