Briar Patch (9 page)

‘Aye, she can try.' He laughed. ‘Money isn't a problem, lass. All I want is for you to be happy.'

‘I shall be. I am happy.'

Roz went to the door to call for her mother. She was feeling better than she had for a while. Marriage to Harry Rushden might not be as bad as she'd feared. She didn't love him but she respected him and perhaps she would learn to care one day.

‘You've made me happy by saying yes.' Harry grinned like a young lad given his first pair of long trousers. ‘We'll do all right together, Roz. You'll see.'

Six

‘Where are you off to this fine day?' Mary Jane Forrest stood deliberately in his path, looking up at him with a challenge in her green eyes. She was a pretty girl, her freckles more prominent than ever after the hot days of summer. Her long red hair was loose on her shoulders; she wore it tucked behind her ears and large gold loops in her ears. Tom thought she looked like a gypsy in her bright red skirt and white blouse low cut at the neck.

‘I've been to the market,' he replied. ‘Now I'm going down to the stream to fetch the cows in for milking.'

‘I could give you a hand if you like?'

‘Now why would you want to do that when you're all dressed up and looking as fine as a princess?'

‘You're mocking me, Tom Blake.' Mary Jane pouted at him. ‘I thought you liked me and I'm wearing my best things just for you.'

‘Just for me, is it? Now why would that be, Mary Jane Forrest?'

‘You know I like you, Tom.' Mary Jane tipped her head to one side. ‘There's a dance at the village hall this Saturday. Will you take me?'

‘If I take you folk will say we're courting.'

‘What if they do? It's time you had a lass of your own to help you. Everyone says it.'

‘Do they now?' Tom's mother was always on about him finding a girl to help her about the place but he was annoyed that others should gossip about his private life. ‘Do you know what the girl who marries me would be taking on, lass?'

‘Of course I know. I like your ma and Carrie is a lovely girl – bit soft and dreamy but she's all right.'

‘I thought you liked our Dick?'

‘I did a bit, but I liked you too. I hadn't made up my mind then, but now I have. It's you I want, Tom Blake.'

‘You're a bold one, Mary Jane.'

‘Your ma told me if I waited for you to make up your mind I'd wait for ever. You do like me, don't you, Tom?'

‘I like you,' he said. ‘You forgot about my pa – you know he's drunk most of the time these days?'

‘He wouldn't bother me. Pa sometimes gets drunk on a Saturday night but Ma says to ignore him.'

‘My father isn't funny when he's drunk; he's not like yours, Mary Jane. If you want to give me a hand with the cows I'll not refuse you. I'll take you to the dance on Saturday, but I'm not promising anything more – do you hear me?'

‘Not yet.' Her eyes sparkled with mischief. ‘I'm going to get you, Tom Blake – you just see if I don't.'

‘Mebbe you will, and mebbe you won't.' He laughed as she walked beside him. ‘You'll have to tuck that fine skirt up when we take the cows into the milking sheds or you'll get cow muck on it.'

‘After a look at me legs, are you? If you're good I'll show you more than me legs one day, Tom Blake.'

Tom nodded but didn't answer. She was a bold lass but he hadn't heard that she was easy. Mary Jane thought too much of herself to go with anyone that asked her. She was making her position plain enough and had given him something to think about but he was in no hurry.

‘Did I see Mary Jane Forrest in the yard earlier?' Ellen asked that evening. ‘Gave you a hand with the milking, did she?'

‘She offered so I let her.' Tom washed his hands at the sink. ‘I'm taking her to the dance in the village on Saturday.'

‘Made up your mind, have you?'

‘It's just a dance, Ma. I'm not planning on getting wed just yet.'

‘You know I could do with a hand here, Tom. Carrie is useless these days. She's off across the meadows most afternoons. I've seen her wearing fancy clothes, even though she thinks I'm too daft to know. That girl up at the hall gave them to her. I sent her away when she came calling but Carrie must have gone after her.'

‘Miss Thornton came here? When was this?'

‘Before her brother's wedding.' Ellen sighed. ‘I suppose she meant well. What happened to Carrie – it wasn't her fault. I sent her away with a flea in her ear.'

‘That's not like you, Ma?'

‘I know, but I just lost me temper. Carrie doesn't need charity.'

‘No, but it wasn't meant that way. Miss Thornton just wanted to show she was sorry.'

‘You speak as if you know her.'

‘Not to say know her. I've only met her twice. She was pleasant the day I won the prize at the archery. Shook hands with me and wished me luck in the final round.'

‘As long as you remember that she isn't of your own class, Tom.'

‘What do you mean by that?'

‘Your pa would never have her here – not that she'd come.'

‘No, she wouldn't so you're wasting your breath, Ma.' Tom wiped his hands. His gaze travelled round the large kitchen. It was clean and there was a fine oak dresser set with blue and white china, a scrubbed pine table and chairs and two rocking chairs, one either side of the inglenook. ‘This house isn't a hovel, but not what she's used to at the hall.'

‘She'll be living in the dower house with her ma now. Bit of a comedown for her, I'd say.'

‘Well, that's where you're wrong, Ma. Everyone in the village knows that Miss Thornton is marrying Mr Harold Rushden from Rushden Towers. He's richer than the Thorntons ever were. He isn't county gentry like her family, but his father left him a pretty penny and he hasn't wasted it.'

‘Getting married, is she? She's done well to get Mr Rushden. He's a decent man.'

‘Aye.' Tom turned away from her. ‘Where is Pa?'

‘I think he slept in the barn last night. He came in for a mug of tea earlier but wouldn't eat a thing.' Ellen sighed. ‘If he goes on like this he will kill himself. Can't you talk to him, Tom? He won't listen to me.'

‘I've tried, Ma. The last time he threw an empty beer jug at me. He was bad enough before Carrie had the baby, but now he drinks all the time.'

‘He hates the baby but she's lovely, Tom. I swear she understands every word I say to her.'

‘Mary Jane would help you with her, Ma. I know Carrie loves the baby but she has no idea how to look after her.'

‘Your sister is very possessive of her child. She insists on changing her when she's here and she's not too bad at it – but then she'll go off for hours and leave me to cope with her and the chores. It's like she just forgets everything.'

‘Yes, I know.' He hesitated, then: ‘Mary Jane will say yes if I ask her.'

‘Well, that's up to you. I can't force you to wed but I need help here.'

Tom sat down at the table while his mother served him with a large helping of stew from the pot that hung over the fire. She kept the stew going for days, adding vegetables or meat to bulk out the gravy.

‘Aren't you having any?'

‘I'll wait until Carrie comes home. There's no use waiting for your pa; he may not turn up until the morning.'

Tom was thoughtful as he ate the meat, which was so tender that it almost melted on the tongue. His mother was a good cook and he knew she was finding it hard to cope with so many chores. He owed it to her to make up his mind. Mary Jane was a lovely girl and he'd be a fool to let her slip between his fingers.

For a moment he saw a girl's face as she watched him free her skirt from the thorns of a wild rose. Tom smiled wryly.

Roz Thornton was far above him. He'd always known it but a man could dream. As long as he knew it was a dream it didn't harm anyone. Roz wasn't for him. In a few weeks she would be married and it was time he stopped dreaming and got on with his life.

Roz sighed impatiently as she waited for the seamstress to pin the hem of her wedding gown. It was too good a day to waste indoors being fitted for a dress. She wanted to ride out and enjoy the last of the summer. Soon the drenching rain would turn the fields to mud and she might be forced to stay indoors for days at a time.

‘How is that now, miss?'

The seamstress sat back on her heels to look at her handiwork. She took a few steps about the room, feeling the little train at the back of her gown trail easily behind her.

‘Much better. I can walk without tripping over the hem now. Thank you for all your hard work, Mrs Mitchell. You've done very well.'

‘I'm glad you're pleased. You're one of my favourite clients.'

Roz turned so that the seamstress could unhook the bodice and slipped it forward, letting the skirt fall to the ground so that she could step out of it. Mrs Mitchell's assistant rushed forward to scoop it up and smooth the white silk with reverent hands.

‘I'll have it ready this time next week. Will it be convenient to call at the same time?'

‘Yes, thank you. That will give you another week should we need any last-minute alterations.'

‘Yes, miss.'

The seamstress and her assistant gathered up their things and left. Roz changed into her favourite riding habit of soft blue and made her escape down the back stairs before her mother could stop her. She walked swiftly through the park that separated the dower house from the hall, making her way eagerly to the stables.

‘Good morning, Miss Thornton.' Roderick, the head groom greeted her with a smile of welcome. ‘Shall I saddle Dancer for you?'

‘I thought I might take Rascal out this morning.'

‘I'm not sure that's a good idea. Your brother doesn't like you to ride his horse, miss.'

‘Well, he isn't here so he won't know, will he?' Roz arched her eyebrows. ‘Rascal needs exercise. I'm doing my brother a favour by taking him out.'

‘If you're sure you can manage him. You know he can be a handful at times.'

‘I'm sure.'

Roz's dark honey-blonde hair was loose on her shoulders, a playful breeze blowing strands of silk across her face. She tucked it back behind her ears and waited for the groom to lead out her brother's favourite horse.

‘Thank you. Don't look so anxious, Roderick. If anything did happen I should tell Philip I took Rascal without your knowledge.'

Roderick shook his head and stood back, watching her as she mounted using the block and then rode out of the stable.

Roz felt the gelding's restlessness and put him to a canter. Rascal pulled at the reins impatiently, wanting to be given his head, but Roz held him in until they reached a stretch of open grassland. Once she let him go he set off at breathtaking speed, his hooves flying over the expanse of green. Roz's hair streamed behind her and she laughed, excitement racing through her body. This was living; this was freedom she'd needed after hours of listening to her mother ranting on about the wedding and her duties as a wife.

The amount of visiting Lady Thornton thought necessary combined with choosing materials and having fittings for her new gowns was tedious. Roz could have put up with all the congratulations and the smiles and chatter but her mother never ceased to grumble about their reduced circumstances. She'd accepted Harry's offer of a chaise and pair and took full advantage of anything he sent her as a gift, but then complained to Roz that she hated charity. Not that she ever said a word out of place to him. When he visited she was all sweetness and light. It was Roz who had to bear the brunt of her complaints.

Lady Thornton had scarcely allowed them to be alone together since the engagement was announced. Harry was busy but whenever he came to visit Roz's mother kept him talking. Roz had discovered that she liked Harry but she wasn't in love with him. Was liking enough for a good marriage or was she making a terrible mistake? She couldn't wait to leave home but would she regret it one day?

Lost in her thoughts, Roz was on the steep hedge before she realized. Belatedly giving Rascal the order to jump it, she felt his refusal and tried to grip with her knees but he pulled up short and then reared up in protest, dislodging her. She fell to the ground and hit her head, letting go of the reins. For a moment the gelding pounded the ground with its hooves, narrowly missing her head, then turned and raced back across the grassland the way they had come earlier.

Tom saw what happened but, at the other side of the field, he was too far away to do anything. He raced towards the spot where the rider lay on the grass, her eyes closed. Falling to his knees beside her, he bent over her, stroking her forehead and then gently feeling for damage.

‘Miss Thornton. Oh, God. Please don't be dead. Please be all right . . .'

‘What . . .' Roz's eyes flickered open. ‘What are you doing? Take your hands off me.'

‘I was trying to help. Your horse refused the hedge. What on earth did you think you were doing trying to jump at that late stage?'

Roz glared at him and sat up, grimacing. ‘I feel dizzy. Roderick warned me not to bring him and now he will think I couldn't manage Rascal.'

‘You could have been killed or seriously injured.' Tom stood up and offered her his hand. She took it but gasped and swayed for a moment, falling against him as he caught her and held her close. He could smell the light perfume she wore, like summer flowers, and his senses reeled. His throat tightened and he felt an urgent desire to kiss her. Fortunately she recovered and moved away. ‘I thought you were going to faint. Sorry.'