Page 38 of Grasp the Thorn
Four more days, and then home to Rosa.
Meanwhile, the shops of London beckoned. Bear found his way to a bookshop, and was searching the shelves for something that might appeal to Rosa when a wife of one of his clients came upon him. “Mr Gavenor, how lovely to see you. Thank you so much for the estate you sold us. We are loving it.”
They chatted for a few minutes, and Bear disclosed his errand. Shortly afterwards, he posted a book of poetry that the client’s wife had recommended, and a short note. He hoped Rosa would enjoy both.
The next day, Lion agreed to join a present-hunting expedition, buying two dolls, some board books, a box of wooden blocks painted in bright colours, and a large rocking horse for his daughter, who was not quite two. When Bear suggested the horse might be a little premature, Lion insisted, “She will grow into it.”
Bear found a silver set for a lady’s dressing table that included a brush, mirror, comb, several trinket boxes, and a tray. They were all inlaid with ivory on which some talented artist had painted a fantasy scene of flowers, with fairies dressed in petals and wearing caps and bonnets formed from bell-like blooms.
“This for Rosa,” he announced, and pursed his lips when he realized Lion had noticed him smiling at the picture on the back of the mirror. His smile crept back as soon as he turned his back on Lion. Fairies for his fairy. How appropriate.
Lion bought a set for his wife, choosing one that was decorated with unicorns. “Dorothea will love this.”
They made several more excursions over the next two days. Town was shy of company even in such a cool summer, but they met a number of acquaintances, including some of the harpies Bear had eluded during the Season. He took great pleasure in telling them he was shopping for presents for his wife.
CHAPTER 26
Bear’s letter sounded as if he were following it home, almost on the heels of the mail coach. Rosa half expected to see him the day after Aunt Belle arrived, and hoped he would arrive late in the day after she had a chance to gain answers to some of her questions.
First, though, she needed to visit Father, who Brownlee said had had a bad night. His cough was back, and he seemed more confused than usual, but Brownlee and Rosa agreed there was little point in sending for the doctor. “Even if he agrees to come an hour’s drive through pouring rain, he will shake his head and say, ‘You cannot turn back the clock,’ and we already know that,” Rosa said. “I shall order some broth, Brownlee, and perhaps some of cook’s lemon and barley tonic.”
Downstairs in the kitchen, she found Aunt Belle’s maid, Maud, on the same errand. “Madam asked me to give her apologies, Mrs Gavenor. But I knew how it would be. She insisted on making all haste, though we had no reason to flee as if we were chased. We should have stayed put and let That Woman do her worst, but Madam wanted to leave, and she wanted to hurry, and now it has all caught up with her.”
So much for Rosa’s questions. She told cook to give Maud whatever she needed and assigned Maggie to run any errands Maud might have. Then she wrote a brief note to Aunt Belle, inviting her to stay as long as she wished, and to stay abed as long as she needed.
Bear didn’t arrive. Instead, partway through the afternoon, the gig from the inn brought a parcel that had come in the mail. A book, by the shape and size. She opened the note first.
“Dear Rosabel,
I saw three properties yesterday, and one is very suitable for refurbishing and selling, if the owner will agree to an appropriate price. Negotiations may take a few days, so I won’t be leaving London as soon as I had hoped.
One of the other properties is of interest, too, and I will tell you more about that when I arrive.
Meanwhile, I saw the enclosed and thought of you. He is, apparently, very fashionable at the moment, or so a lady of my acquaintance told me.
I shall write again, and please keep your letters coming, since I do not know how quickly I will be able to complete my business here.
With affectionate regards,
Gavenor”
Affectionate regards. That was hopeful, was it not? A lady of my acquaintance was less so, but she would not allow her mind to drift down that track. Nor would she assume Bear thought she needed to be more fashionable. Enjoy the gift, Rosa, she told herself.
The package did, indeed, contain a book, carefully protected between two solid boards, which she removed to see the book itself, small but opulent in tooled green leather, and with gold lettering on the face and spine. “In My Garden, by Andrew Delargey.” It contained poems; sonnets, mostly. She had not heard of Andrew Delargey, but then, until Bear came, she’d had no contact with the fashionable world.
The pages had been cut, and something slipped between them; a silk bookmark with a long tassel. She pulled it out, using her finger to mark the place, and exclaimed at the pretty thing. It had been skilfully embroidered with roses almost precisely like the rambler that covered the front of Rose Cottage. How lovely.
What poem had Bear chosen to mark? She opened the pages and read quickly. Oh. What could it mean? It was an ode to a rose, but what a rose! The poet first extolled its beauty, but the poem deteriorated from there as he scratched himself on its thorns and finally found that the lovely colours concealed a black centre, bed to a tiny but venomous snake that struck out at his heart.
Rosa was sitting, the book in her hand, staring at the awful page, when Maud supported Aunt Belle into the room.
Rosa roused herself to help Maud settle the invalid on the couch, with a blanket over her legs and pillows to support her, half sitting. The maid fussed some more, bringing a jug of lemon cordial and a glass, Aunt Belle’s spectacles, a book, a package of letters, another rug, “In case of drafts, Mrs Gavenor.” She shifted the fire screen, though the fire was not lit, and moved the curtains a little to block a sunbeam.
“Do stop fussing, Maud,” Aunt Belle said at last, “and leave me to have a comfortable coze with my niece.”
The maid pursed her lips. “Don’t you talk overlong, ma’am. You don’t want to be back in that bed.”
“Yes, yes. Mrs Gavenor shall do most of the talking, and I shall lie here and be comfortable.”
