Page 32 of Grasp the Thorn
Should she leave? To do so felt like running away, and she was tired of hiding, but now all the men watched her. She felt the weight of their scorn, lust and derision, but also respect, admiration and even some sort of heroine worship, which sat as heavily on her as the more negative distortions of her true self.
Caleb spoke before she could decide what to do. “Mrs Gavenor, I apologize for the men. No lady should have to see such brutality. We had a meeting, did we not? Can I ask you to wait at the tent for a few minutes while I have a further word to the men? I will join you shortly.”
Rosa took two steps away before she stopped. ‘It is our business’, Bear had said. The men worked for Bear and therefore they worked for her. “If you have no objection, Mr Redding, I will stay. My husband has authorized me to act as his representative here, as you know. I have full confidence in your ability to handle trouble in the work team, but it is my responsibility to see that justice and peace both prevail. Also, from what I heard as I approached”—she looked around the group, noting who glared back and who would not meet her eyes—“the matter of the fight concerns me closely. I am also owed some justice, I think.”
Caleb examined her face, then nodded. “Very well. Hiram, fetch a chair for Mrs Gavenor.”
One of the younger men ran to the tent that Caleb used as his onsite office and came back with a folding chair he set up next to Caleb, the men in a wide ring around him—two groups, mutually glaring.
The ‘pro-Gavenors’ outnumbered the others, Rosa noted, which should have eased her, but still her heart pounded and her mouth dried. “I have something to say, Mr Redding,” she said, as firmly as she could. Here, on her own property, with her own workers, she had to take a stand, or forever be a victim of Pelman and Lady Threxton.
She met Caleb’s anxious eyes and must have appeared more confident than she felt, because he nodded encouragement.
“From what I heard, those who were fighting have taken sides in the village scandal, arguing over whether I am the innocent victim of lies or the lightskirt that my persecutors paint me. Trial by combat is rather old fashioned, gentlemen. However, here you have the person who knows what has happened and what has not happened. I will answer questions, but first I want you to know this.”
She composed her skirts around her as she thought carefully about her words.
“My husband and I are providing work in this village. Work for all of you. You will have heard, and it is true, that we intend to bring Thorne Hall back to its former glory and sell it to a family who will need servants and who will buy local services.”
She paused to allow them time to grumble agreement.
“I welcome the opportunity to defend myself from the accusations against me, especially since—for two years—my accusers have spoken behind my back so I could not hear the charges nor refute them. It is only fair to tell you that I fully support Mr Redding. While I cannot and do not wish to tell you what to think, nor can I control what you say off this work site, you will not insult my husband and his honour by showing disrespect of any kind to me while taking his coin.” She swung her head to look at her supporters. “Nor will Mr Redding or I tolerate fighting on this site, whether it is for or against me. Am I clear?”
Another round of nods and grumbles.
“Very well. Who wishes to ask the first question?”
Put on the spot, they were reluctant to start, but at last one burly fellow—a local villager rather than one of Gavenor’s Liverpool imports—said, “They say as the squire’s your cousin, and he don’t like you much, ma’am. That’s a fact, is it?”
The token honorific helped Rosa to answer calmly with a little family history, and her own surprise at the discovery. “Families can be difficult,” she added, and her sigh was echoed by others.
“You should meet my mother-in-law,” one man said. “Twenty years married to her daughter, and she still hates me because she wanted a better marriage for the lass. Well, I love my wife. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?”
Nods, then, and an undefinable sense of relaxation, until the next man asked, “Is it true you lived here in Thorne Hall with the old baron?”
“I lived here with my father, who was the baron’s librarian, until my father could no longer perform his duties. After that, my father and I moved to Rose Cottage, though the baron continued to live at the Hall until he died at the time of the fire. And, gentlemen, I have heard the rumours that the baron took me as mistress. Not when those rumours first appeared, which was two years ago, and four years after the baron’s death; eight years after I moved from Thorne Hall. If they were true, would servants not have talked at the time?” She raised her brows, fixing the man who had asked the question with her gaze.
“Think about that. I would also ask you to consider that the baron was a man in his sixties and I was a much younger woman than I am now, and under the care and protection of my father.”
“She’s right,” said one of the local men. “Me ma worked at the Hall when Mrs Gavenor was living there, and she always says there isn’t nothing to them stories.”
“Servants always know,” Rosa agreed.
Afterward, the tone warmed, and when Caleb sent the men back to their work, he congratulated her. “You won’t have won them all over, Mrs Gavenor,” he warned, “but you’ve gone a long way with the fair ones. And the others’ll keep their mouths shut if they value their jobs.”
From that day, she saw a slow increase in the number of people who nodded politely when she passed, or who spoke to her in the churchyard as she left Sunday services. She even had afternoon callers now, and servants enough that she could sit and dispense tea and hold a conversation. She made afternoon calls, watching the lady of the house closely to refresh her mother’s half-remembered lessons in hostess etiquette, given over tea parties with an assortment of dolls. One of Bear’s reasons for marrying was to have a hostess, so she practiced assiduously.
Perhaps, when he returned, they could have guests to dinner, though with the Pelmans and Thrextons still her enemies, it was a puzzle to know how to fill a table.
The unseasonable rain and cold continued, threatening the harvest, and Father caught an ague from one of the maids, which meant Rosa’s trips to the village were curtailed since she did not like to leave him. The ague was taking its toll of the village, Mrs Gillywether told her. Even the rector was confined to bed, unable to perform any of his duties.
The maid recovered quickly and was soon back at work, but Father’s ague went to his chest. The doctor from the next village, who examined him, looked grave as he prescribed mustard plasters and a strong-smelling mixture for Father to breathe. The odorous mixture set Father coughing and sneezing so violently, Rosa and Brownlee feared he would simply stop breathing.
In the worry of Father’s illness, Bear’s frivolous present from Birmingham was a welcome distraction. Rosa held up the silk before her in front of the mirror. Her reflection was pale with worry and heavy eyed. “You do not do credit to this lovely fabric,” she informed herself, but she smiled anyway. A new silk frock! Who would have thought, just two months ago, that an expedition to pick roses would bring her a husband who could afford to clothe her in silk?
She modelled the bonnet and the shawl for the edification of her mirror-image. What exquisite taste Bear had. “He wants you to reflect credit on him,” she scolded, shaking her finger at Rosa-in-the-mirror. “Do not think this gift means more than that.”
She read again the pertinent part of his letter.
