Authors: Iris Gower
Sweet Rosie (52 page)
Lily could see the scene now, Jem distraught, Matthew comforting him, telling him that Polly was no good, that her list of lovers was numbered in dozens. Then Matthew would tell Lily that she was not to see Polly again or even to speak about her. Lily would be forced to obey Matthew or lose everything.
She was startled out of her thoughts by a sudden rapping on the drawing room door. The maid peered into the room with large eyes. ‘A gentleman to see you, Mrs Lily,’ the girl said.
Lily was puzzled; no-one ever called on her, certainly no gentleman. Matthew saw to that.
Polly was on her feet at once, her eyes wide with anticipation. ‘Show him in, girl!’ she said sharply.
‘Polly, what’s going on?’
Polly put her finger to her lips and composed her face into a smile of welcome as a tall, elegantly dressed man was shown into the room.
‘Ah, Mr Robinson, how good of you to call,’ Polly said sweetly, her cultured accent back in place. ‘Come to see the painting, have you?’
The man bent over Polly’s hand and kissed it. He scarcely glanced at Lily. ‘I have indeed, dear lady,’ he said smoothly.
‘And here it is.’ Polly waved her hand towards the genuine painting standing now against the wall. ‘Please examine it, take your time, these things can’t be hurried, we all know that, don’t we, Lily?’
Lily closed her mouth tightly; she could have killed Polly. How dare she take control? How dare she offer Matthew’s property without so much as a by your leave?
‘Take it to the window, Mr Robinson, see for yourself the exquisite detail, the brushstrokes, the fine texture of the oil.’
She was talking like an experienced collector. Polly must have been doing her homework well. She had read anything she could find on the subject of art and on the particular artist whose work she was planning to sell. Her next words confirmed what Lily had been thinking.
‘This is one of the artist’s finest paintings, I’m sure you, Mr Robinson, as a discerning collector, will see that for yourself.’
Mr Robinson studied the painting for what seemed an eternity. He held it to the light and peered through a silver-handled glass that enlarged the minute detail. At last he nodded, satisfied.
‘I will take it and at the agreed price,’ he said smiling. ‘And here, as you requested, is the money in cash.’
He drew a heavy bag out of an inner pocket of his coat and Lily could hear the coins jingling inside.
Polly thanked him graciously, putting the bag on the table as though careless of its contents. ‘Might we offer you refreshments, Mr Robinson?’ she asked solicitously. ‘You must be thirsty after your long coach ride.’
‘No, thank you, Mrs Boucher,’ he said. ‘I want to make it home before nightfall. I don’t want anything to happen to my prize.’ He tapped the gilt frame of the painting.
‘Ah, I see you have a copy here.’ He stood before Lily’s painting and studied it carefully. ‘Not badly executed but done by an amateur.’ He smiled. ‘Though a gifted amateur of course. Is this your work, Mrs Boucher?’
‘No, no.’ Polly shook her head. ‘My friend Lily, here, she is the artist. You might have seen her drawings in some of our local journals?’
‘Ah indeed. Pleased to meet you, madam,’ he said. ‘If ever you need work, don’t hesitate to come to me. Mrs Boucher here has my address.’ He looked back at the copy. ‘With practice you could become extremely good. A little studying, a little more finesse and your paintings could well be saleable.’
He bowed and left the house carrying his purchase as though it was the most precious thing in the world to him. Lily was suddenly triumphant, Polly had been right to sell the painting. If Matthew was cultivating Alice Sparks, Lily would need to look out for herself; the more money and assets she could amass, the better she would be prepared for the future.
Rosie stood at the fresh grave and raised her bowed head to look at Alice. Mrs Sparks had claimed to hate her father but now she was actually crying.
‘He never loved me.’ Alice stared at the grave adorned with a white marble headstone and threw a flower onto the newly turned earth. ‘I wish he could have cared about me, Rosie, I wanted him to love me but he never did. I tried every trick I could think of to make him notice me. All I succeeded in doing was to turn him more against me.’
It had been a shock, the sudden death of the old man. Alice’s father had seemed in robust health, had eaten a hearty supper before he went to bed but in the morning the maid found him dead.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sparks,’ Rosie said gently. ‘It’s hard for you to come home to try to make amends, only to lose your father like that.’
Alice sighed heavily. ‘At the end Daddy must have cared about me because he made sure I would inherit his wealth.’
This was the third time they had visited the grave in as many days. It was as though, even now, Alice was seeking her father’s approval. Rosie felt sorry for her; Alice had never been loved for herself. Even Mr Eynon Morton-Edwards had cast her aside when he no longer wanted her.
‘Come on,’ Rosie said, ‘let’s go home, it’s getting cold here.’
‘Poor father.’ Alice allowed Rosie to draw her towards the gates of the cemetery. Outside, on the dusty lane, the elegant coach was waiting to take them back to the house.
‘Your father reached a good age, remember,’ Rosie said. ‘I know it’s not much comfort but he went when he was in good health and enjoying life.’ She touched Alice’s arm. ‘And you had come home to him, what more could anyone ask?’ Rosie bit her lip. ‘My mam died too young,’ she said softly.
‘I know,’ Alice touched her hand. ‘We’re both alone now, we’ll just have to look after each other, won’t we?’ She was forgetting that Rosie had a husband. Even if Watt was now a husband in name only, Rosie was still married to him.
The short carriage drive was soon over and Rosie climbed down from the steps the driver had provided. Alice lifted her skirt and, still with tears in her eyes, put her arm through Rosie’s.
‘I know I’ve always been selfish, Rosie, but I mean it when I say that I really value your friendship.’ She wiped her eyes with her fingers. ‘You don’t ask for anything, you don’t even get an honest wage, but you’re so kind. I don’t know what I would do without you, promise you won’t leave me.’
‘I won’t leave you,’ Rosie said and she meant it. She had seen a different side of Alice in the past weeks, the soft, vulnerable side of a woman who had been badly hurt.
‘I have to tell you something,’ Alice said slowly. ‘I hope you won’t be too angry with me.’
‘I won’t be angry with you,’ Rosie smiled. ‘I’m hardly ever angry with anyone. Except Watt Bevan that is.’
‘It’s about him,’ Alice said. ‘He called yesterday when you were fetching butter from the farm. He wanted to see you but I sent him away. I did do right, didn’t I?’
Rosie had mixed feelings about Watt; the thought that he had come looking for her was somehow comforting and yet nothing had changed; he did not love her, had never loved her. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you did the right thing.’
‘He might come back today,’ Alice said. ‘If he does, you’ll stand firm, won’t you?’
‘I’ll stand firm,’ Rosie said but her heart was leaping in her chest and somehow the day seemed to be brighter. Perhaps Watt had realized that he did love her after all. But no, she was as sad as Alice, clutching at straws like a child. Well she was a grown woman now and she had her own life to make. Sadly it did not include Watt Bevan.
Watt lay across the bed in the small house in Greenhill, staring up at the cracked ceiling. He had spent a sleepless night examining his feelings. He had married in haste, that much was true. He had married Rosie for all the wrong reasons so how could he blame her for running off, for being unwilling to accept second best?
He had found out where Rosie was staying and, yesterday, he had ridden from Swansea to see her. Alice Sparks had sent him away; she had told him in no uncertain terms that he did not deserve a gem like Rosie.
‘That girl needs to be loved,’ she said. ‘You took her dreams of romance and stamped them into the ground. Did you really expect a girl of Rosie’s quality to put up with that?’
He had been angry but, now, after thinking about it all night, he realized she was right. Rosie was beautiful and intelligent. She had pride and spirit. Any woman who had the courage to leave a loveless marriage deserved the best life had to offer.
Did he love her? He was not sure. But he definitely wanted the chance to find out. He pushed himself up from the bed. The dawn light was breaking over the land, and the world seemed fresh and lovely.
Later, when he was dressed, he walked across the bellying hills towards the large house where Rosie worked. His heart beat swiftly at the thought of seeing her. He could only hope that she would agree to seeing him this time.
He was not turned away as he expected, instead he was invited into the kitchen. The fire roared in the grate and servants worked busily, ignoring his presence. After a time, Rosie appeared in the doorway and beckoned to him. He followed her eagerly into one of the back rooms and stood staring at her.
The morning sun lit her hair and touched her cheeks with gold. She had matured; she was no longer the innocent girl he had married; she had become a beautiful unobtainable woman.
‘Rosie,’ he began, ‘I’ve been a thoughtless fool and I want a chance to make it up to you.’
‘Don’t you think it’s a bit late for that, Watt?’ She spoke calmly, her brow unruffled. She was not angry with him and that worried him.
‘I was wrong to marry you, I see that now. Pearl and I were old friends and I felt responsible for her. I knew that her family meant a great deal to her and I suppose I wanted to comfort her when she fell sick. The only way to take care of you all was to marry into the family.’
She nodded as though the answer was what she expected. She looked down at her hands and he felt his heart melt within him. She was slender as a reed, the fly-away hair secured by pins. His wife was so lovely he felt his heart melt.
‘Rosie,’ he said softly, not touching her, ‘can I come courting you?’ She did not look up; she was silent for so long that he wondered if she had heard him.
‘Please, Rosie, I want us to get to know each other, to start all over again. Will you think about it?’
She met his eyes. ‘I will think about it. But I am not moving back home with you, Watt, not now, perhaps not ever.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I’ve promised not to leave Alice and I intend to keep that promise.’
‘Rosie, can’t we just spend some time together?’
‘Come to see me Sunday, it’s my day off. We’ll go out, we’ll walk and talk. As you say, we need to get to know each other. I think you’d better go now, Watt, I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
He left the house, his heart light with hope. Rosie was a lovely woman; she was good and kind as well as beautiful. If only she would give him the chance he would show her how much she meant to him.
He realized quite suddenly that he did love her with all his heart. He had been a blind fool not to have realized it before.
At least Rosie had not rejected him outright. She was willing to see him again. He thrust his hands into his pockets and whistled as he walked. One day, one day not too distant, he would take Rosie in his arms and repeat his marriage vows to her. And he would love her as no man had ever loved his wife before.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
John strolled along the road breathing in the fine evening air. It was a good day for a man to become a landowner, to find his rightful place in society again. John could not forget his roots. He had been born to luxury; he was not one of the lower orders, he was a gentleman.
Life as a working man had never been easy for him. But soon he would be the owner of the Mainwaring Pottery and it was a good thought. He would have to rename the place of course and the Pendennis China Company would do nicely. All that remained was for him to collect his money from Sparks.
He smiled to himself. Everyone thought he was mad buying a failing business. But he knew why it was failing and so did Edward Sparks, the cunning bastard! Just give him a few months and John Pendennis would be the owner of a fine business.
The house looked deserted and John frowned. Edward had been conspicuous by his absence lately and, suddenly, John felt uneasy.
John hammered on the door more loudly and at last heard footsteps coming across the hall. Edward himself answered the door. The man was unshaven; he looked as if he had been drinking. His bleary eyes focused on John and he stepped back a pace. ‘Oh, John, it’s you.’
‘Yes, it’s me.’ John pushed past him, it was clear that Sparks had no intention of asking him in. ‘I’ve come for my money, I do hope you have it ready for me.’ He strolled into the drawing room, looking round him appraisingly. Elegantly furnished though it was, the place smelled of stale smoke and there was a port stain on the side table.
‘It’s not convenient right now,’ Sparks said, his speech was slurred; he seemed like a man in a daze. ‘Can you come back in the morning?’
‘What is this?’ John spun on his heel and looked closely at Sparks. ‘You know I needed that money today. Just go and get it, if you know what’s good for you.’
‘I’m in serious trouble.’ Edward Sparks sank into a chair and put his hands over his eyes. ‘The auditors have found my alterations to the books.’ He looked up suddenly, his eyes were bloodshot and he was sweating.
‘I still want my money.’ John was becoming angry. ‘Your problems are no concern of mine. Come on, where is my share of the money you’ve embezzled?’
Sparks spread his hands wide. ‘It’s gone, just gone.’
John felt a pain in the pit of his stomach. ‘All of it?’
Sparks nodded. ‘All gone.’
‘What about the sum of money I gave you at the start of our deal?’ John said desperately. ‘I want it back right now!’
Sparks shook his head. ‘It’s no good,’ he said. ‘I meant to invest your money but I never got round to it.’ He glanced at John, a frightened expression on his face. ‘Everything has gone wrong, can’t you understand? I’ve been dismissed from my job. I might go to prison.’
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