Page 5 of The Thorn and the Rose

“Perfect,” he said with a tentative smile, for he did not wish to open the cut on his lip again.

She set the letter aside and looked at him critically. “I think the swelling has gone down a little, for I can see your eyes now, but the bruising is very bad. You must be in a lot of pain. I’m so very sorry this happened to you,” she added, such pain in her voice he did not doubt her sincerity. She wrung her hands together, her expression closed off and remote.

He shrugged. “Not to worry. There’s nothing broken, except possibly my head, and my sister would certainly say no one would notice if it were,” he added, trying to chase the distress from her eyes, for she looked as if she might cry.

She actually smiled a little at that, such a rarity that he stared. It lit up her face, changing her aspect entirely.

“You are close to her?” she asked and then blushed. “I beg your pardon, I did not mean to pry.”

“That’s not prying,” Thorn said with a laugh. “That’s conversation. Yes, actually, and with my brother… P… Peter. My parents are wonderful, too. I’m very lucky, though my father is rather terrifying at times.”

“He is?” she looked rather appalled by this and so he hastened to reassure her.

“Oh, not in an unkind way. I just mean… well, we all admire him so much we live in terror of doing anything to disappoint him. Do you see what I mean?”

Marie nodded. “Yes, I suppose I can understand that.”

“Is your father like that?”

“Oh, no. At least… I don’t really know. He died when I was a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it, and then grimaced as his stomach gave another audible grumble.

“You’re hungry,” she said, turning away from him with a frown of concern. “I will fetch you something to eat.”

“Marie,” he called after her. She stopped at the door, turning to look at him. “Don’t forget the letter.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed and hurried back to collect it.

“There’s money in my coat pocket,” he added, aware he must be adding an unwelcome strain on her finances, which did not appear to be plentiful, judging from where she lived. Not that he had any clear recollection of the house, but it had not been large or in a fashionable area. “Please take it and buy whatever you need. I don’t wish to be a burden to you.”

She hesitated and then bowed her head, looking as if the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. “You are not a burden to me, Mr Barry.”

Chapter 2

To the Sons of Hades,

I thought you ought to know, this is just the beginning. I will destroy your club, and I will destroy you.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Sons of Hades, from an unknown correspondent.

Somewhere in London.

The next couple of days settled into a routine. Marie would come down with his breakfast and sit chatting with him until lunchtime. Then she would disappear and return with a tray for him at midday, leaving him alone to eat as he could manage this himself now. About an hour later, she would return and play cards with him, though they often discarded the game in favour of talking. Marie was an avid reader and loved discussing books, but Thorn gained the impression of a girl who had been sheltered from life. She spoke happily and animatedly about the countryside but said little about her life in town. It appeared she had never visited a theatre or any of the galleries, which seemed odd when she was obviously thirsty for knowledge and for entertainment and questioned him about everything he had seen and done. She was one and twenty years of age, though she sometimes seemed younger to him because of her lack of experience in the world.

Occasionally he saw her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and when he looked up, she blushed and turned quickly away. It made him smile, a tender feeling of fondness towards this strange girl who was helping him. At least, he hoped she was helping. The peculiar nature of his situation did not escape him, but at least his family knew he was alive now, presuming she had posted the letter. He could not think why she wouldn’t, except that there was something so odd about everything that had happened. He thought it possible he might leave under his own steam in a day or two, if he walked very, very slowly. Yet he was aware of a growing reluctance to leave Marie, who intrigued him more each day.

She had brought her embroidery with her today and although Thorn had no interest in or eye for stitchery, he exclaimed at the exquisite work. Marie blushed and smiled at his words.

“Do you really like it?”

“It’s astonishing,” Thorn said frankly as she smoothed a loving hand over a scene of tangled roses and ivy. It seemed more of a painting than the usual flat needlework panels he was used to seeing. The embroidery was thick and lush with the rich coloured silks applied with many different kinds of stitches and clever little knots. “Is it your design?”

She nodded. “It’s not really a design as such. I just make it up as I go along. I like the feeling of the beautiful, cultivated roses, all tangled up with something wild and untamed like the ivy. Of course, the ivy will kill the rose if it is not cut back, but I like the way it looks all the same.”

Thorn stared at her, an odd feeling in his chest. She darted a shy look at him and laughed.

“You’ll think me a complete ninny now after speaking so fancifully,” she said with a sigh.