Page 30 of The Thorn and the Rose

“Very well,” Rosemarie replied, outwardly calm, doing as she was commanded. She sat herself down at the large oak desk and steeled herself to read her brother’s latest tissue of lies.

“Where’s the horse?”

Rosemarie looked up in confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Everett was pointing across the study, frowning at the empty space on the bookshelf. “The horse, the bronze horse that used to sit on the shelf here. Where is it?”

He swung around to stare at Rosemarie, who met his gaze placidly though her heart thudded behind her ribs, her stomach twisting as she fought to appear calm.

“You pawned it last month, Everett. Along with the paintings in the green parlour. Do you not remember?”

Everett frowned, staring hard at her. “I told you only to pawn the landscape, didn’t I? Not all of them.”

Marie shrugged. “It seemed silly not to do them all at the same time. That room is almost bare now, so it’s not as if we can use it. Better to empty it and shut it up. Less work for the servants that way,” she added, somehow without the slightest hint of sarcasm, bearing in mind most of the staff had been let go.

“How much did we get?” he demanded.

Rosemarie set down the letter she had picked up with a sigh of impatience. “I do not remember, Everett, but I came back and put the money directly in your hands. You no longer allow me to look at the accounts or to bother myself with our finances. Did you not count it, at least?”

“Of course I did,” Everett shot back, and she knew he was lying.

He cared nothing for the money, for the damage he inflicted upon his inheritance, on her home, other than the use to which he could put it. It was a means to an end, nothing more. Still, he dropped the subject, which was all she wanted.

Careful not to look relieved, Marie returned her attention to the letter. It took a good deal of effort to keep her expression placid, her breathing even. Below the desk, her free hand clenched into a fist, her nails digging into her palm. How could he write such things, put such words in her mouth? Yet the desperate picture he drew to pluck at Mr Barry’s heartstrings was a vivid description of the fate she feared above all others. Her brother no longer seemed to consider her feelings, though, she was merely an instrument to be used to achieve his aim, whatever that might actually be.

“I am to meet him again?” she said, an odd sensation fluttering in her chest, her breathing picking up. “Before Christmas?”

It would be foolish to hope for it, she scolded herself. He would not rescue her. No one would. She must save herself, and Mama and Mills too.

Everett grinned at her, looking as innocent as a schoolboy. “No, not this time, Rosemarie. This time, you won’t be there.”

“What? Then why say—”

“Because he’ll get that lovely letter and go rushing to meet you and wait for hours in the cold for a woman who never turns up. He won’t know whether you are in desperate trouble or playing games with him. Isn’t that perfect? It will drive him distracted.”

“Indeed,” Rosemarie agreed, forcing her voice to remain calm as she got to her feet and walked out from behind the desk. “Except I doubt very much he will turn up at all. It’s been four months since I saw him last. I think you are overestimating my charms, brother, if you think he will come running. I doubt very much he even remembers who I am. Besides, if he is the kind of man you described to me, I hardly think he will worry on my account.”

Everett cut her off before she could reach the door and took her chin between his thumb and fingers. “Oh, no, sister,” he said, his voice even. “You’re an exceptional beauty, which you’d know if you’d ever had your come out. But I wasn’t about to let you lose in town with such men around to prey on you. So, you’ve kept your loveliness and your innocence. Your Mr Barry won’t have forgotten you, my pet, let me assure you of that, and if he thinks you are desperate, ready to accept any offer, no matter how degrading… Oh, he’ll come.”

Rosemarie felt her cheeks scald with humiliation and pain, but she forced herself not to react.

“Well, good for you, then,” she said coolly, wanting only to be away from him.

Everett let out a huff of laughter and let go of her chin and she hurried to the door. “I’ll see you at dinner, Rosemarie,” he said quietly.

“Certainly, Everett,” she replied, and fled.

23rd December 1845. Primrose Hill, Camden, London.

“Right, that’s everything, then.”

Thorn nodded, regarding the packed suitcase with approval. “I don’t know how you do it, Smithers. Seeing you pack a case is like watching an artist at work. I was certain it wouldn’t all fit.”

Smithers snorted. “Not the way you do it, my lord, no.”

Thorn grinned at him. “Are you sure you don’t want to take Christmas off this year? I can see to myself at Dern perfectly well, you know.”

Smithers shook his head. “I can just about stand it when it’s just me and me old mum. But she’s invited Aunt Maud this year and… no, sir. I’d do a good deal for my mum, but endure Christmas with Maud, well, it’s too much to ask of a fellow.”