Page 19 of The Thorn and the Rose

“That is because if we talk to each other, we want to do murder very shortly afterwards,” she replied with exaggerated patience.

Leo groaned and lay his head back on the chair, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Sorry. I’m being an arse.”

“Yes, you are.”

He looked up as there was a rustle of soft fabric and shifted his arm to discover Violetta looking down at him, arms folded.

“I think I have it,” she said with a smile. “Don’t go away.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” he muttered as she smirked and left the room.

Half an hour later, and with the help of two burly footmen, Leo found himself sitting outside in a comfortable chair with his foot on a padded stool in the stable yard. Here he could see the comings and goings of the castle, banter with the grooms, and admire the beautiful horses kept by Lord Trevick.

“Well?”

“Thank you,” he said to Violetta, grinning at her as she instructed a footman to place a tray with a pot of strong coffee and a plate of cakes and biscuits within easy reach.

“I should think so too,” she said with a sniff, and turned on her heel, walking back to the house.

Leo watched her go.

16thAugust 1845. Magpie Hall, Winchelsea, East Sussex.

“Oh, how could you?” Rosemarie cried in despair. “What a despicable, dishonourable thing to do!”

Her brother sneered. “Yes, I’m the dishonourable one here. Good God, Rosemarie, how can you say so?”

“I do say so,” she flung back at him, vibrating with rage at his audacity. “You promised me you’d not involve me any further in this… this tawdry business, and here we are again. Oh, how can you do it? Do you have so little regard for me to use me so ill?”

Her brother crossed the room and grasped her arms, giving her a little shake. “You’ve no notion of what you say. I regard you in the highest esteem, but those… those debauchers think nothing of despoiling innocents and setting them aside. Do you know what I’ve discovered, sister dear? They even keep a house to put their used women in, and the bastards they sire too. Gillmont, it’s called. A lovely big house on Hampstead Heath, private and out of the way, and where they hide all their wickedness, going about the world pretending they are decent men.”

Rosemarie gasped, too horrified by his words to speak, too intimidated by the bruising hold he had upon her to say anything more to rile him. But surely… surely that couldn’t be true? She remembered Mr Barry, remembered the words he had spoken, the sincerity with which he had offered to help her however he could. He had been so reluctant to leave her, afraid for her safety.

She wondered who he really was. He did not look like a Mr Barry. She had noticed his hesitation when he gave her his name and had wondered at it. He had looked like something far grander than a mere Mr, with his fine clothes and that heavy gold signet, but her brother preferred to keep her in ignorance as far as possible, feeding her little crumbs of information when it suited him. Like now. She looked at him with undisguised scepticism, wondering how much of what he said was true and how much of it fantasy. Was he losing his wits?

“You don’t believe me,” Everett said in disgust. “Perhaps you will when he invites you to go there, promising you’ll be safe from harm. No doubt he’ll paint it in pretty colours and tell you how pleasant it is, how happy you can be there, when it’s nothing but a private brothel for those wicked bastards, a place they can keep their licentious behaviour a secret. You stupid creature, do you really think that pretty face of his can be trusted?”

“Not so pretty when I saw it,” Rosemarie retorted, goaded into speaking when she’d have done well to keep her mouth shut.

“No,” Everett’s smile made her blood run cold. “But it will be this time, and I warn you, sister. You had best do exactly as I say and don’t go getting any foolish ideas about alerting him or telling him the truth. You do as I tell you, or there will be consequences, and not just for you. Do you understand?”

Rosemarie flinched as his grip on her tightened painfully. The glittering look that flashed in his eyes was so intent and full of rage her heart skipped with fear.

“Do you understand?” he repeated, a note to his voice she did not dare underestimate.

“Yes,” she said, though it made her feel sick to her stomach.

“And you’ll do precisely as I ask?”

She nodded, afraid she really might vomit if she tried to speak.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice caressing now. “If you do just as I ask, he’ll be mad for you, so intrigued and so anxious for you it will drive him distracted. And this is just the beginning.”

He let her go and patted her cheek in an affectionate manner that made her want to weep.

Rigid with fear and misery, Rosemarie watched as he walked away and sat down behind his desk.

“Might I ask precisely what it was I wrote in this letter to Mr Barry?” she asked, still shocked to her bones to discover her brother had that very morning imitated her hand and written to Mr Barry.