Page 35 of Grasp the Thorn
Rosa walked through the rain to inspect progress and was given an attic-to-cellars guided tour. The camp cook had set up in the old-fashioned kitchen, where the fireplaces and even the bread oven continued to function, though little else remained of the fittings. Better than the tent kitchen he had been using, but still… Rosa returned home thinking furiously, and sent for Caleb the following afternoon.
“Mr Redding, I propose a change to Mr Gavenor’s work schedule. He intends Thorne Hall to have a fully modern kitchen with one of the new closed stoves. If you order that immediately and put it in when it arrives, your cook will be able to do a far more efficient job of feeding the workers. In fact, I propose you finish the kitchen according to Mr Gavenor’s plan, and the servant hall alongside, and make full use of it while you complete the hall. Well fed, comfortable men will work more efficiently, I believe.”
Caleb approved once they’d talked through the suggestion, but his parting comment gave Rosa pause. “If Mr Gavenor is not happy, I shall tell him that he left his authority with you, ma’am.”
After he left, Rosa went to her desk to fetch Bear’s letter that had arrived the day before and reread it. She had written to him about every decision she had made on the site, and every response she received endorsed her thinking. On the other hand, Caleb reported back to Bear, as well. Was Bear saying something different in his letters to Caleb? Would he be unhappy with her change to the timeline, to finish the kitchen first? Surely, he would see the sense of it.
“I will be in London tomorrow, and I hope on my way back to you not long after,” he had written. ‘To you,’ not to Thorne Hall or Kettlesworth. The thrill at the undoubtedly accidental choice of words had to be suppressed before she continued.
“I will look forward to seeing you in all your finery and will add to the store when I arrive. I’m also excited about seeing progress on Thorne Hall. Caleb writes that your plan to keep the nearest, undamaged part of the destroyed wing has given us an extra room on each floor and provides visual balance to the exterior. Well done.”
There. See? She was an asset to the business and should not read more into his comments than that. Still, being appreciated for any reason was a rare enough experience. To ask for more would be greedy.
He would return to Rose Cottage and she would be here to welcome him, showing no resentment and making no demands. That was the way forward, was it not? She had let him see her pain, both physical and emotional, on the night of her wedding, and he had withdrawn and then fled. If only she had someone to advise her on how to repair the damage and lure him back to her bed.
He would come, would he not? From what she had observed, men were creatures of appetite, and besides, Bear had been blunt about his desire for an heir. If his words or his body parts hurt her again, she would find a way to conceal her pain.
The door knocker sounded. Who could have come visiting in this weather? Rosa folded Bear’s letter and placed it with the others in her desk.
Maggie, whose turn it was to answer the door today, vibrated with excitement, her eyes round, and a huge grin on her face. “Ma’am, there is a Mrs Belle Clifford wishes to know if she might come in.”
“Belle Clifford?” Mother’s sister? The wicked aunt? “Yes. Yes, of course.”
Rosa stood and smoothed her hands down her skirts. Thank goodness she had chosen one of her new gowns this morning. She had never dreamt that her aunt would reply to her letter in person. What would Bear think?
The woman who entered before Rosa could fret herself into flinders was no bigger than Rosa herself. She leant heavily on the arm of a footman. Rosa took one look at the white face, an older version of her own, and darted forward. “Oh, but you are not well. Here, bring her to the couch. Let us make you comfortable.”
“Thank you,” her aunt said, her low voice melodious. “I do not travel well. You are very kind.”
Rosa and the footman lowered the frail woman onto a sofa, and Rosa plumped cushions for her to rest against, then fetched a knitted rug to cover her legs.
“Maggie, see that Mrs Clifford’s servants are made comfortable.” How many servants? And where would they all sleep? Rosa would think of something. “Ask cook to send up tea and light refreshments. Or coffee, Mrs Clifford?”
“Tea would be delightful. I thank you.”
Maggie and the footman exited the room, leaving Rosa and her wicked aunt alone. The lady didn’t look wicked. She wore no paint on her face to hide her wrinkles. She had removed her hat and outer coat, and her hair, confined in a neat roll at the back of her head, was streaked with grey. The jacket and skirt she wore were fashionable, but not revealing.
She endured Rosa’s examination without comment, but her voice was amused when she said, “You know who I am.”
Rosa nodded. “You are my mother’s sister. My Aunt Lillibelle.” Or perhaps my mother. Dare I ask?
“I was not sure you would agree to see me,” Aunt Lillibelle said.
“I wrote.”
“So did Rosie, but Albert never consented to a visit.”
Rosie shook her head, more in disbelief than denial. “My mother wrote to you? But… I was told you had died.”
“So you said in your letter. Not yet, as you can see. Though I have a cancer, the doctors say, and will not long survive my Raithby.” Aunt Lillibelle caressed the locket pinned to her lapel, a smile curving her lips.
“Lord Raithby is dead?”
“These four weeks, but dear Glimmerston gave me your letter. Or Raithby, I suppose I must learn to say. My Raithby’s eldest, and such a nice boy. So, when I needed somewhere to go, I thought of Kettlesworth, and I suddenly longed to see you. And here I am.”
“I am glad,” Rosa said, firmly squashing errant thoughts about the likely reactions of Bear and the villagers.
“Is your father out?” Aunt Lillibelle asked. “I quite expected him to refuse me the door.”
