A Rose Before Dying (10 page)

“Lor’, what a right mess!”

“Rose! Don’t use that expression. It isn’t
polite. We do not use the Lord’s name like that.”

“Mum said it.”

“I’m sorry, Rose, but perhaps your mother
simply wasn’t aware she was saying it.”

Rose snorted.

“And we don’t make noises like barnyard
animals.”

“Mayhap you don’t—”

“
We
don’t,” Ariadne replied firmly,
wiping up the last of the ink and balling up the ruined labels to
use as kindling. While she could not deny that she was growing to
love Rose, she also could not deny that she wasn’t used to having a
talking shadow following her and commenting on everything she did.
Or said.

Ariadne never realized how often she said
less than lady-like things.

It was going to be extremely difficult to
curb Rose’s tongue if she couldn’t even curb her own.

“Miss Wellfleet, Mr. Phillips is here,” Mr.
Abbott announced from the doorway.

“Please inform him that I’m not at home.”

“But, my dear, you do seem to be quite at
home.” Mr. Phillips walked around Mr. Abbott into the small
anteroom leading to the greenhouse. “And I felt I had to speak to
you and beg your forgiveness. Our last meeting ended on such an
unpleasant note. I felt it essential to return and offer the olive
branch despite my fears that you will undoubtedly refuse any such
gesture.”

She stood. Feeling the stickiness of drying
ink on her fingers, she clasped her hands behind her back. His
words entrapped her like a fly in amber, their cloying sweetness
hiding the cruel edge that never failed to set her back up.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t intrude
like this. This is my home—”

“Of course, I quite understand.” He sighed.
“I’m
desolé.
Can’t you find a drop of kindness within your
heart to forgive me?”

“It’s not that.”

“Then you do forgive me? You know I’d never
hurt you. But you are an obstinate woman, and you’ve made it
difficult for all of us. I had so hoped to fulfill my promise to
your father to love and cherish you. If you’d but permit me—”

“I never agreed.”

“And it was a terrible source of worry for
your father. And I don’t mean to be unkind, but I often wonder if
your cruel obstinacy didn’t hasten his passing.”

She had asked herself that same question
hundreds of times. Thousands. Had she contributed to her father’s
death? If she had done what he wanted, would he be alive, now?

She couldn’t believe it, and yet she couldn’t
dismiss it, either. The tightness in her chest increased. If felt
as if a boulder sat on her, pressing the air out. Crushing her
beneath its weight as they used to crush medieval witches.

“I’m sure he understood,” she said.

“No doubt. But surely you see how concerned I
am for your wellbeing? Particularly after my last visit.”

“Yes, but as you can see, I’m quite well. And
very busy.”

“Certainly. But admit—even you must see that
I have cause for concern—alarm even—when I see you bringing home
stray children from the gutters of London.”

“I’m not strolling about looking for orphans,
if that’s what you’re implying.” She felt Rose stir behind her. The
child gripped her skirts and peeked around her waist.

Mr. Phillips looked at her and frowned. “I’d
never imply such a thing. And I can certainly understand your
generous, but impulsive, behavior. Perhaps you see me as
overbearing, but I assure you it’s only my concern for your
wellbeing. Anyone you ask will inform you that I’m known as an
overly kind and generous man—so much so that friends often warn me
it’s ridiculously easy to take advantage of me.

“This is one of the reasons your father was
so desperate for me to win your heart and marry you. He wanted to
secure your future and wellbeing before… Well, somehow he knew the
end was coming. He knew you too well to leave you to your own
devices. So forgive me if I speak plainly. I’d never hurt you. You
must know I‘ve only your best interests at heart. But even a woman
with admittedly limited intelligence should understand it’s hardly
normal for a young lady to adopt a street urchin. It can only be
the result of your grief and this lonely life. Your emotions are
overwrought and grow more so with every day. If only you’d fulfill
your father’s last, and most cherished, wish. Marry me. You’d soon
find yourself too busy to dwell on such painful emotions.”

“No doubt.” Ariadne clenched her hands,
struggling not to scream and thrust him out of the room. Such an
exhibition would only confirm his ideas about her lack of
self-control. Except it was not grief and loneliness that led her
to such a state. It was his presence in her house and the unhappy
knowledge that unless she could find a way to acquire his shares in
her business, she’d never be rid of him. “It’s certainly worth
considering.”

“And the child?”

“What about her?”

He smiled and raised one hand in a
half-shrug. “Surely you must see the inappropriateness of this
situation. I’m worried about the child’s welfare. You lack the
resources to truly assist her, so I’ve written to both the Royal
Female Orphan Asylum and the Alexandra Orphanage. With the proper
donation, we can find a place for her where she can obtain better
care and training.”

“She receives more than adequate care here!”
Ariadne exclaimed a trifle too hotly.

While a child might be better off in an
orphanage than starving in the street, Ariadne could not consign
Rose to one. The child would be crushed under the strict regime and
endless hours of cheerless work intended to prepare her for a life
of hard labor Ariadne wanted to believe her servants could help
educate Rose and provide her with a life that was not quite so
miserable.

Or was she simply deluding herself about the
realities of the situation?

Mr. Phillips smiled and shook his head. “You
do your best. But can you really train her for service? Or assist
her to obtain a position? Wouldn’t it be better to allow her the
opportunity to receive the appropriate training required to obtain
the type of situation she deserves?”

“No!” Ariadne flushed, feeling her control
slipping. Mr. Phillips’s eyes glowed with satisfaction despite the
solicitous and earnest expression on his face. “I—I’ve already made
plans for her education and training. There’s no need to trouble
yourself.”

“It’s no trouble, my dear. I delight in
helping others, as you well know. Have I not been struggling to
assist you?” He shifted and looked around. His critical gaze
lingered first on the untidy pile of gardening manuals and seed
catalogs and then on her ink-stained fingers. A sigh escaped him.
He shook his head over this new evidence of her incompetence. “Is
this really the best environment for her?”

She hid her hands once more behind her back.
“Yes. We love her. She feels comfortable here, don’t you,
Rose?”

The child glanced up at her and nodded,
clinging ever more tightly to Ariadne’s skirts. She rested her hand
on the girl’s fragile, bird-like shoulder and smiled down at her,
surprised by a strong rush of affection.

“How charmingly sentimental,” Mr. Phillips
murmured. “’Though it’s wonderful now, you may soon tire of this
burden and be glad when the replies come.”

“I have endless patience.” Her smile deepened
as she gazed at Rose. “And I doubt Miss Rose will ever present me
with a reason to test it.”

“Which proves how very little you know of
children.”

“Well, I appreciate your advice, but I’m sure
you must be busy.” She glanced toward the door.

“Of course. I simply wished to satisfy myself
as to your wellbeing. As always.”

She reached for the bell pull next to the
greenhouse door. “Then be satisfied. I’m really quite busy, as
well. So if you don’t mind?”

“Of course.” He placed his hat at a jaunty
angle on his head and tapped the crown to seat it snuggly. “Don’t
bother poor Mr. Abbott. With such a small staff, I’m sure he
appreciates a few minutes in his office for a restorative dram
of—”

“Please go.” Apparently, even poor Mr. Abbott
was not safe from Mr. Phillips’s coldly assessing eye.

He nodded. His thin mouth curved in a small,
satisfied smile before turning to walk back through the house to
the front door.

Ariadne’s shoulders sagged with relief.
Despite her confidence in her ability to provide a healthy home for
Rose, Mr. Phillips’s words chilled her with doubt. She’d never
taken care of a child before, and her own situation was tenuous at
best. Despite her efforts to buy Mr. Phillips’s share and be free
of him, she’d been unsuccessful. Business had been poor, and saving
sufficient money was maddeningly slow.

Over the next few nights when she finally
collapsed into bed, exhausted beyond bearing, she found sleep
elusive. Could she continue to withstand the constant promptings to
marry Mr. Phillips? It would bring a sense of normalcy and
stability to the household. Everyone depended upon her to make the
right decision. The faces of her servants were creased with worry,
and the censorious gazes of her acquaintances oppressed her. She
could understand their concerns. The house and business labored
under the control of a woman. Their livelihoods rested with her and
of late, business had tapered off.

But the alternative seemed worse.

At least to her.

If only one or two of the hybrids in the
greenhouse would grow into a sumptuous new rose. Something to make
everyone forget that Wellfleet Roses was now managed by a
woman.

If only she could unlock the secret to cross
the new roses from China with the familiar European varieties and
produce a remontant rose. Or a yellow rose that did not smell like
carrion.

A new, remontant variety would build her
reputation and repair her fortune. And money created freedom.

So she had to show patience, continue her
frugal ways, and pray she could hang on to the increasingly narrow
ledge left to her by Society.

“You won’t send me away, will you, Miss?”
Rose tugged on Ariadne’s hand.

She glanced down. “Not unless you want me
to.”

“Naw. I likes it here. Really, I do. Thems
orphan homes are nasty. I won’t go to one no matter what that one
says. I won’t.”

“I wouldn’t either, Rose. And I promise you,
I won’t send you anywhere.” She grinned. “Whether you like it or
not.”

Rose eyed her. “Is that a joke, then?”

“A very poor one. But I promise you’ll always
have a home here for as long as you want to stay.”

“Don’t know if I wants to iffn you marry that
gent.”

“Then I won’t marry.”

“Ever?”

“Ever. I promise. You shall stay here, and I
shall not marry. We’ll keep each other company. Is that a
bargain?”

“That it is.” Rose grabbed Ariadne’s hand and
pumped it vigorously. “Done, then!”

“Done, indeed.” Ariadne laughed and hugged
the tiny girl. For some odd reason, making that promise lightened
her heart. Then as flighty as a bird, her thoughts flew to Lord
Castlemoor.

Doubt crept in.

But the feeling only lasted a few seconds. It
was easy to blame her unease on his inquiries, rather than a rash
vow never to marry. Earls did not marry ladies engaged in trade.
Besides, he faced a difficult time of it if his uncle was indeed
responsible for the terrible events over the last few days. Surely
those factors were sufficient reason for her niggling worries.

Nonetheless, once she thought of him, she
wished he’d visit. Had he made any progress? Perhaps he’d found
something to prove his uncle was innocent. Both men had to be
desperate by now. The death of Mr. Nivelle had been a terrible
blow.

If only she’d given him that name! Her
mistake had cost a man his life, and she could only pray she’d
never make such a mistake again.

Charles headed towards Mr. Gaunt’s office
with a deep sense of foreboding. After considering matters
overnight, he felt he had to inform the inquiry agent about the
information he’d discovered. The coroner’s jury would uncover it
soon enough by questioning Lady Banks’ servants. If he didn’t tell
Gaunt, then it would appear he was trying to shield his uncle and
subvert the truth. It was too easy to make the same inquiries.

So he’d visit Gaunt and hope the man would
keep his word and allow Charles another day or two to find the
truth.

“Lord Castlemoor, sir,” Mr. Sotheby intoned
as he stood in the doorway to Gaunt’s office. The butler held out a
small brown-wrapped parcel. “This just arrived, as well.”

“Thank you, Sotheby. That will be all.” Gaunt
took the package and ushered Charles into the office. “Do you
mind?” He held up the package.

“No.” He watched as Gaunt unwrapped the box
and opened it.

Gaunt’s expression grew grim when he gently
removed a layer of paper from inside the box. “It appears we have
another warning.” He handed the box to Charles.

Inside the package were two roses
intertwined, wrapped in a damp linen rag.

His jaw clenched.

Did two roses mean
two
innocent people
would die this time? Charles searched through the moist contents
until he unearthed a small piece of oilskin folded neatly around a
white card.

A rose for the soul and a rose for the garden,
But which will grant the soul a pardon?

“Who delivered this?” Charles called to
Sotheby, who had taken up a post near the door.

Sotheby straightened. “An urchin—”

“Find him—or her.”

“Him, my lord. Very good.” Sotheby turned on
his heel. He flung open the front door and ran down the steps at a
sharp clip.

When the door began to swing shut, Charles
gripped the brass knob and watched as the butler, coat tails
flapping, galloped down the walkway. Surprisingly, before he got
two blocks, he caught a young boy in a grimy blue jacket. They
spoke for a minute before the butler gripped the boy’s shoulder and
marched him back to Second Sons.