The Silver Locket (17 page)

‘Let’s not mention him.’ Celia looked down at her finger nails. ‘We’ll have to see what Michael says, when he comes home again.’

‘Michael?’ Lady Easton frowned. ‘Celia, my dear–’

‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’ Celia shrugged. ‘It appears I’m now an aunt and you’re a grandmamma. Rose, I’m due in Dorchester at twelve. I’m running a knitting bee for the Red Cross. Scarves and socks and all that sort of thing. But we have things to do.’

‘What shall you do now?’ asked Celia, as she and Rose walked down the path from Mrs Hobson’s honey-coloured cottage, where Celia had introduced the baby, negotiated terms and said she’d visit often.

‘I need somewhere to live.’

‘You’d be very welcome at the Hall.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t stay there.’ Rose glanced at Celia. ‘I don’t want your mother to be embarrassed. I’ll go and see Miss Mason, at the house.’

At the Minster, Rose found the gossip and speculation had preceded her, but Jessie Mason wasn’t interested in scandal. ‘I know it’s not my business,’ she began, meeting Rose’s tired gaze with candid, hazel eyes. ‘But I would like to say that I have every faith in your respectability. I value your abilities as a nurse.’

‘Then may I stay here?’

‘Miss Courtenay, it’s your home!’ Jessie Mason spread her hands. ‘Of course, Sir Gerard may decide to intervene. But as the matron of this place, I would be delighted if you’d stay.’

So Rose moved to the Minster, sleeping in an attic that had once belonged to Polly, and working all the hours she wasn’t actually asleep or down in the village seeing Daisy. To her great relief, the child was thriving and contented. She had lost the pallor she’d once had, so Rose no longer feared she might die.

She was not invited to her mother’s funeral. She was on duty when she heard them toll the knell, and doing a ward round when they brought the coffin to the family crypt, in the private chapel that adjoined the house.

As the mourners left the Minster and walked across the gravel sweep towards their waiting carriages, Rose forced herself to concentrate on a particularly awkward dressing. As the last carriage crunched across the gravel, she was sorting out a blockage in the drainage tube in Major Dyson’s chest.

Rose wrote to Maria, explaining about Daisy but not mentioning her mother’s death. Three or four times a week, she walked down to the honey-coloured cottage to see the child.

Whenever she sat in Mrs Hobson’s warm and cluttered kitchen with Daisy on her lap, she knew how it must feel to be a mother. Gazing into Daisy’s wide blue eyes, she felt a tugging at her heart and a sweet yearning that was almost pain.

She had to remind herself continually that this was Phoebe’s baby. One day, Phoebe would come back and take her daughter home – wherever home might be.

Celia did her best to make sure everyone in Charton knew Daisy wasn’t Rose’s child. But people preferred to think the baby was a Courtenay bastard, for this was too delicious a piece of scandal for anyone to ignore.

When Rose was in the sluice room one December morning, she overheard some cleaning women gossiping and laughing. ‘I don’t care what that Miss Easton reckons,’ said the first. ‘It’ll most likely be my lady’s and some officer’s.’

‘Most probably ’e’ll be a married man,’ put in a second woman.

‘That Miss Easton ain’t no better than she should be.’ The first cleaning woman snorted. ‘These nobs, they covers up for one another, always has done, always will. You mark my words. If that nipper ain’t Miss Courtenay’s little indiscretion, I’m a Chinaman.’

‘It’s terrible about her ladyship.’ The second cleaner sighed. ‘Polly said they was at each other’s throats before she dropped down dead. But when Miss Courtenay was a little girl, she was the apple of her mother’s eye.’

‘It’s strange, how these rich women turn out bad. Do you remember Mrs Denham? She was a flighty piece. She took up with that artist chap, an’ then when he got sick of her she came back ’ome to Dorset bold as brass, and brought her little boy. She expected poor old Mr Denham–’

Rose had heard enough. She swept out of the sluice, favoured the cleaners with a frosty stare, and asked if they had any work to do.

They scuttled off, but not without a parting shot. ‘Some people seems to think they’re better than the rest of us,’ came floating down the corridor towards her, ‘but I dunno ’ow they got the nerve.’

The situation soon became intolerable for Rose. As the gossip spread, as the story grew more lurid and sensational, even the convalescing officers smirked and nudged and murmured. Gentlemen or not, they gave Rose sly and knowing looks.

Sir Gerard was the only person who could put an end to it, so when she came off shift one evening Rose went over to the Dower House.

‘I’m very sorry, miss.’ Polly looked embarrassed and upset. ‘Sir Gerard says he’s not at home to you.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Polly!’ Rose walked past the maid into the hallway. ‘I’m not a casual caller, I’m his daughter.’

‘Please, Miss Courtenay, don’t go in!’ Polly was almost crying. ‘Sir Gerard said you weren’t to come–’

‘What’s going on out here?’ Sir Gerard came out of his smoking room. He scowled at Rose. ‘What do
you
want? Polly, I thought I said–’

‘It’s not Polly’s fault.’ Although her father looked so angry that she feared he might quite literally throw her out, Rose faced up to him. ‘I need to speak to you. It won’t take very long.’

Sir Gerard looked from his daughter to his maid. ‘Oh, very well,’ he muttered. ‘Polly, get on with your work. Rose, come in the sitting room. Shut the door behind you. You may have five minutes. What do you wish to say?’

‘Just this – the child is not mine.’

‘You expect me to believe you?’ Sir Gerard’s tone was mildness itself, but his eyes bulged dangerously, and Rose kept her distance. ‘I have been on the Bench for thirty years, but you are the most impudent, bare-faced liar I have ever met. How you came to be my child, I shall never–’

‘Daddy, you
saw
me!’ interrupted Rose. ‘I was living here, for heaven’s sake! I can’t believe you wouldn’t have noticed if I had been carrying a child!’

‘There are ways and means,’ Sir Gerard muttered. ‘I’ve heard of several cases where women of a certain class–’

‘I give you my word.’

‘You word is worth nothing.’

‘Then how can I convince you?’

‘You must convince a doctor first.’ Sir Gerard looked down at his feet. ‘If you wish to clear your name, make an appointment to see Dr Weldon.’

‘You mean, let him examine me?’

Sir Gerard shrugged, then stared out of the window. ‘Rose,
you
sought this interview – not I.’

For a few moments, Rose considered what Sir Gerard had said. He had a point, she realised – she could prove she wasn’t lying, could become her father’s child once more. She could prove she was an honest woman, as people used to say…

But then she found she couldn’t – wouldn’t – do it. ‘I will not be examined by a doctor,’ she told Sir Gerard, knowing her face must be on fire. ‘If my own father chooses to believe the lies the local scandalmongers tell about his daughter, then so be it.’

‘I have no daughter,’ said Sir Gerard. Then he looked at the clock. ‘I said five minutes, so it’s time for you to leave.’

Rose walked out of the house. She strode along the path towards the Minster, and by the time she reached it she was breathing hard. She met the matron in the hall, and followed her into her office. ‘I wish to go to France,’ she said.

Jessie Mason looked at Rose and sighed. ‘I know some people make it hard for you,’ she murmured sympathetically. ‘I know you’ve had some problems–’

‘I’m sorry Matron, but the situation here’s intolerable!’ Rose choked back the tears that were welling up behind her eyes. ‘Please, do this for me?’

‘I’ll make enquiries,’ promised Jessie Mason. ‘But Miss Courtenay, are you sure you wish to leave? Your father’s had a dreadful shock. So won’t he need to know his daughter’s here, to help him cope?’

‘He says he has no daughter,’ Rose replied.

‘A hospital for other ranks,’ said Jessie Mason, four days later. ‘It’s mostly surgical, but some men have been gassed – not very pleasant. It sounds like quite hard work, as well. There are about three hundred men but only fifteen nurses, most of them volunteers.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Rose.

‘Do you feel fit enough? Miss Courtenay, you’re still grieving. I’m sure your father needs you, whatever he may say.’

‘I’ll go to France,’ insisted Rose.

‘Miss Dennison, Miss Courtenay and Miss Troy!’ intoned the station master, through his megaphone. ‘Please join your party at the end of Platform 3!’

‘Miss Courtenay?’ Alex swallowed the last mouthful of bitter Red Cross coffee. He pushed his plate of greasy eggs away. ‘Excuse me, David,’ he muttered to Lieutenant Richardson, with whom he’d come to Rouen. ‘I dare say you could find your own way back? There’s someone I must see.’

It would not be Rose, he thought, as he pushed his way through all the crowds. There were hundreds of Miss Courtenays in England. There were probably a fair few of them in France.

He saw a gaggle of nurses at the far end of the station concourse and strode up to them. ‘I beg your pardon, Sister.’ He smiled politely at a middle-aged woman, who glared back at him. ‘I’m sorry, could you let me through?’

Then at last he saw her, and knew there must be a God. ‘Rose!’ he shouted, waving.

She turned and stared at him. ‘L-lieutenant Denham?’ she said, frowning.

‘He’s a captain, idiot!’ hissed another nurse, whose dark eyes twinkled as she grinned at him. ‘Look, he’s got three pips.’

Rose quelled her with a look. ‘It’s nice to see you’re better, Captain Denham,’ she said crisply. ‘But how did you know I would be in Rouen?’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Alex. ‘I had a forty-eight hour pass, and I came here with another chap from my battalion. We’re waiting for the train back to our sector. But then I heard the station master call you. Rose, I want to say–’

‘Come over here,’ she interrupted testily, and walked off down the platform. Alex followed her, and soon they were out of sight of all the nurses.

She stopped between two empty trains and then turned round to face him. ‘Well?’ she said.

‘I owe you an apology,’ said Alex.

‘What do you mean?’ frowned Rose.

‘When I was in hospital, and you were so kind to me, I know that I annoyed you. When I said I couldn’t bath myself that time, and I deliberately embarrassed you – I don’t know why I did it, but I’m sorry. My behaviour was disgusting, and–’

‘You think
your
behaviour was disgusting?’ Rose laughed mirthlessly. ‘Captain Denham, you don’t know the meaning of the word.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Rose!’

‘I ought not to tell you, but – what difference does it make? Men like him do as they please. If other people suffer, they don’t care. Your dear friend and mine, your brother officer Lieutenant Easton – he asked me to marry him, you know.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘Of course, he wants my father’s money. I’m well aware of that. But after he asked me to be his wife, he was still chasing other women. Poor little Phoebe, she’s the sort of girl who probably thinks she knows it all. But really she knows nothing. She’d trust a perfect stranger with her last half crown. She trusted Michael Easton, and he left her helpless and afraid.’

Rose’s voice was shrill and rising, and her face was flushed. ‘How
could
he?’ she demanded. ‘How could he use her and abuse her, how could he just walk away and leave her? How–’

‘Rose, calm down,’ said Alex. ‘Please, don’t get so upset.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be upset?’ Rose glared at him. ‘You men, you’re all the same! Everyone in Dorset knows you got poor Mrs Denham pregnant long before you married her, so how did you entice
her
into bed? By saying that if she’d let you sleep with her, she’d get a diamond ring?’

‘You’ve said enough,’ scowled Alex.

‘I’ve hardly even started! What were you doing with Charlotte Stokeley on the cliff top, when you were in Dorset recently?’

‘I – what do you mean?’ Alex was genuinely astonished. ‘Rose, the girl attached herself to me. Whenever I’m in Dorset, she comes hanging round the house. I can’t avoid her, she–’

‘She isn’t one of your many women, then?’

‘God, Rose, she’s a child! You’re being quite ridiculous.’

‘I don’t think so. I–’

‘This is a pointless conversation.’ Alex turned on his heel to walk away. ‘Well, goodbye, Rose.’

‘You come back here and listen to me!’ Rose caught him by the sleeve and spun him round, then carried on berating him.

Alex didn’t know how to stop her ranting. If she’d been a man he would have hit her, knocked her down. So should he slap her hard, to bring her to her senses before she had a fit and fell down foaming at the mouth?

But he couldn’t bring himself to slap her, so he put his hands upon her shoulders, drew her to him – then he kissed her fiercely on the lips.