Page 42 of Grasp the Thorn
Aunt Belle was still talking, “So, I determined to learn all the courtesan arts, and I was sought after, Rosa, do not doubt it. For what good it did me. When I conceived again, and was so ill they thought I was dying, they all deserted me. All but Raithby. He was not one of the men I entertained, but he took me home and had me nursed until I was well again.”
“And the baby?” Rosa asked.
“A little boy, Raithby said.” She sighed. “He died, poor little mite.” She collected herself, took a sip of her tea, and smiled at Rosa, her face calm again. “But we were talking about you and your Bear. For true love, a true bond, you need to be yourself. You need to let him see you as you are.”
“It is hopeless, then, because he does not see me. He sees a housekeeper and a hostess, and perhaps someone to help with his business.” In his most recent letter, he had praised her decision on the kitchen, so at least she had that value to him.
“I think you underestimate your appeal, but even if you are right, I see in his letters and in what you have told me, a lonely man who needs a loyal friend. Be that friend, and love will grow from friendship.”
“His friend?” Rosa frowned.
“Believe me, when a man and a woman are friends—and your letters are taking you in that direction, Rosa—and they also enjoy bed sport, then love is very nearly inevitable. Not, perhaps, everlasting, but your Bear does not appear to be a fickle creature.”
“But how are we to enjoy bed sport if you will not help me?”
“I did not say I would not help you, silly girl. I said I would not teach you any tricks.”
Despite Aunt Belle telling her that nothing could be done to restore her to health, Rosa sent a message to the doctor, asking him to call when he was next in the vicinity. He came on one of the few fine days the dying summer afforded, reluctantly, tight-lipped.
“Doctor, my aunt is ill. I would like your advice on how we can help her,” Rosa said, after performing the introductions.
“Women who sell their bodies seldom die of old age,” Dr Whitlow proclaimed, not meeting the eyes of either woman. “I could prescribe mercury, I suppose.”
Rosa had her mouth open to throw the man from the house when Aunt Belle laughed. “How flattering that you think me still young enough to have a product to market. I told my niece not to bother you, doctor. I do not believe that mercury is the treatment of choice for lung cancer, which is what Dr Knighton diagnosed when he was good enough to examine me. He warned me I would have perhaps six to nine months before death. That time is up and I am ready to go.”
The doctor’s eyes widened a little at the name of the respected Society doctor, but he did not soften. “In that case, Mrs Gavenor, I shall take my leave.”
In the doorway, he paused. “Laudanum for the pain. There is little else medicine can do in these cases.” As if he regretted bending even that much, he brushed past the maid to pick up his hat and hurried through the door as soon as she opened it.
Aunt Belle was distressed. “I must go. The villagers… Rosa, darling, I would not have them shun you for the world.”
“Do not worry about the doctor, Aunt Belle. He does not even live in the village. I will not hear of you going anywhere else. You are to stay here where you can be comfortable. The village knows me, never fear.”
The village had made up its collective mind. Rosa exchanged a glance with Maud, who undoubtedly had been treated to all the kitchen gossip. Caleb had called Rosa aside to warn her that her aunt was known to be with her, and to be a woman of ill repute. The vicar had lectured her after services on Sunday, telling her that scarlet women should not be allowed to live with decent people, and that her decision to house her aunt told him all he needed to know about her own morals. None of the women who had taken to visiting her in the afternoon had been by in over a week.
However, Aunt Belle did not need to know that, and Rosa was not going to think about what she could not change.
Soon, she had no time to think of anything at all, except Aunt Belle’s deteriorating health and her father’s cough, which grew worse and worse. When she sent for the doctor, she received a sharp message in return, saying that he would not come. Brownlee called him a useless old fool, and assured Rosa they would do as well without him as with, but Father grew steadily weaker, and so did Aunt Belle.
Rosa spelled first Brownlee and then Maud, catching what sleep she could. The coughing from Father’s and Aunt Belle’s rooms infiltrated her dreams. She woke tired and dragged her way through each day.
At last, both patients showed signs of improvement. The relentless coughing slowed and almost ceased, and Father—at least—was able to take some broth and keep it down. Aunt Belle still gagged on any food, however soft, so that the best Rosa and Maud could do was keep her mouth moist, but she demanded to be propped up on pillows.
“You and I shall have a nice chat,” she told Rosa, “just as soon as I have finished talking to Raithby.” The warmth of her smile directed to a point behind Rosa’s shoulder had Rosa turning, but no one stood there. Or no one Rosa could see.
“I shall not be long, my love,” Aunt Belle assured her delusion, or her vision. “Wait for me.”
“You are getting better,” Rosa told her, almost begging, but Aunt Belle shook her head.
“I am dying, Rosa. And I am ready, now that I have met you. I saw you once before, you know, when Raithby brought me here for Rosie’s funeral. Albert would not let me speak to you, but he sent you into the garden so I could watch you from the window. My dear Rosa. I am so grateful for our time together.”
Rosa ignored the tears that insisted on seeping from her eyes. She would miss her chance if she did not ask her question. “Are you my mother?”
Aunt Belle shook her head. “My sister was your mother, and Albert is your father. They raised you and loved you, and you are theirs, never doubt it.”
Rosa bit her lip, uncertain how to feel about that answer.
“But I gave birth to you, and Matthew Hurley planted the seed of you in my womb. Is that what you needed to know?”
