Page 68 of The Thorn and the Rose

“How sad and lonely it looks,” Rosemarie said, her heart clenching as she looked upon Magpie Hall, dishevelled and abandoned. “I always dreamed of making it lovely again. Mills told me how glorious the gardens used to be in the summer. Mama and Papa had a garden party every year and invited the whole village. It was quite an event, according to Mills. I always hoped…”

She paused as Thomas took her hand and looked up at him.

“Yes?” he asked gently.

Rosemarie stared at him and laughed, shaking her head. “How greedy I am!” she exclaimed. “Here I am with everything I could possibly want and I’m complaining and wishing for more. You ought to scold me, my lord. I am a wicked creature.”

“I don’t think it is greedy to dream of a home, especially when it has been a place you’ve known and loved.”

Rosemarie leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “I was happy here as a child. Everett was kind to me back then, though I think perhaps I did not see the things as a girl I saw as a woman grown. I lived in happy ignorance.”

“And I thank God for that,” Thorn said firmly.

He lifted her gloved hand to his lips and kissed her fingers and Rosemarie wondered if there would ever come a time when the touch of his lips did not make her heart dance about in her chest. Smiling at her, he escorted her to the door and produced the key to the new lock he’d had fitted.

The door swung open, and he led her in.

Rosemarie stood in the hallway, taking in the scent of dust and damp, and the faint odour of wood smoke. Voices outside coming from the driveway made her spin around. She didn’t wish to see anyone. Thorn reacted at once, understanding her nervousness.

“I’ll see who it is,” he said with a smile. “Don’t go exploring without me.”

Rosemarie gave him a grateful smile, feeling foolish, but her time in the asylum had damaged her confidence and made her nervous about meeting people. Though she knew it was irrational, she could not help but feel it was not just her shorn locks that would tell tales on her, but that there was some indefinable but visible mark upon her that would give her away and make people look at her askance. It seemed like a strange and terrible nightmare now, almost as if it had happened to someone else, but it was taking time to regain her certainty in herself.

Turning back to the hall, she frowned, sniffing again as the scent of wood smoke seemed stronger. Of course, empty chimneys always smelled smoky, and the draught would blow the scent around the house, so it was probably just that. Following her nose, she went to Everett’s office and pushed open the door. It creaked as it opened and she stepped in, aware of the sound of her footsteps echoing in the empty room. Except it wasn’t empty. Not entirely.

Rosemarie froze as her gaze fell on a blanket in front of the hearth, a gin bottle lay on its side, and the greasy remains of a meagre meal on a cracked plate. Swallowing hard, she took a step back, her stomach pitching as a large hand fastened over her mouth, the sharp point of a knife pricking at the tender skin of her throat.

“Quiet now, missy,” growled a low, threatening voice. “You don’t want me to have to cut your handsome beau’s throat now, do you, eh?”

Rosemarie whimpered behind the hand, terror holding her immobile as she recognised Scuttler’s harsh voice.

“Your brother ain’t so dim as I reckoned after all. He’s out of gaol, by the way. Bet that pleases you. He said you’d come back eventually, but I’d about given up. I was going to leave tomorrow to tell him he was wrong. You arrived just in the nick of time. He’s going to be right pleased to see you, I reckon, so let’s pay him a little visit. We’re going to leave by the back door, and you’re going to come nice and easy, right? ‘Cause you wouldn’t want me to cut that pretty face of yours, would you?”

Rosemarie shook her head, her mind whirling, desperately trying to think of a way to get free, to alert Thomas. She could hear him outside, speaking to whoever it was who had seen the carriage arrive and come to investigate. Think Rosemarie, think! she told herself desperately, but her mind felt as though it were infested with ants, panicked thoughts running about in all directions, too fast for her to grab at.

Scuttler pushed her forward, his hand still at her mouth, the knife at her back now as he guided her back out of the study, heading away from the hallway and towards the back of the house. Ahead of her, Rosemarie saw the door to the servants’ staircase. Her heart leapt. It was her best chance, if only she could get free of him. But how could a woman of her size fight a man who was so much bigger and stronger? Suddenly inspired, Rosemarie did the only thing she could and went limp.

“Bugger!” the fellow said in a harsh whisper as Rosemarie fainted dead away… or appeared to.

The knife clattered to the floor as he tried to catch her, hauling her upright, and Rosemarie took her chance. She stamped on his foot with all her might whilst sinking her teeth into the filthy hand covering her mouth. He gave a muffled oath and released his hold for just long enough for her to run to the servants' door. She slammed it closed behind her, feeling along the panelled wall, seeking the edge of the hidden door. With a cry of relief, she found it and gave it a sharp shove. This time she did not stop to light the candle but ran blindly, moving from memory. She flew down the stairs as fast as she dared in the pitch dark, running down the slope that led into the under-reach, using her hand to follow the tunnel, knowing she must take the second fork on the left. She thanked Providence that she had loved these tunnels so dearly as a child and explored them so thoroughly, for she could hear heavy footsteps moving rapidly behind her and knew Scuttler was close.

Darting down the next tunnel, Rosemarie rushed on. The air changed as she emerged into the first of several caverns that the smugglers had used for storing their contraband. Rosemarie moved forward blindly. Sound was amplified in the darkness, echoing in the tunnels, and she could hear Scuttler’s heavy breathing as though he were almost upon her, but she felt sure he was a little distance off yet. Not far enough. She turned and glanced behind her, seeing the golden gleam of a candle. He’d stopped to light it and would move far easier than she would in the pitch dark. She must lose him. Her stomach pitching, Rosemarie knew there was one route where she had a chance of getting free of him, possibly for good.

With her heart thundering, she put her trust in the memories of all those childish explorations, following the mental map she had kept of each adventure into the underreach. The salt tang of seawater reached her nose as she blundered through the darkness, and she knew the tunnels that led to Pett Level were ahead of her. Praying that she chose the right tunnel, and that she could remember just how far along she needed to stop, Rosemarie hurried on. She stumbled on the uneven ground and fell heavily to her knees with a curse of pain. She struggled to her feet, limping and tugging her voluminous skirts up out of the way.

The tunnel seemed to go on forever. The darkness swallowed her up as though she were running into the mouth of hell. With every step she feared she had miscalculated and the next would see her tumbling down into the empty cavern she had almost fallen in as a child. Her hand slid over the rough stone of the wall, searching for the narrow natural alcove where she hoped to hide. Scuttler’s footsteps were close behind her and she turned, seeing with horror his snarling face lit by the candlelight.

“Get back ‘ere, you little bitch!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the tunnel.

Rosemarie suppressed a scream and then paused as the cool breeze she remembered from so long ago whistled down the tunnel, bringing with it the sound of the waves crashing on the shore in the far distance. She heard a curse and turned to see Scuttler’s candle had gone out. Her heart lifted.

“Come and get me then, unless you are afraid of the dark,” she taunted him, before rushing on, praying she found the alcove. Suddenly, she pitched sideways, tumbling into a narrow indent in the wall beside her and scraping her hands as she grappled for purchase, falling with a muffled shriek. Her heart somersaulted as, for a terrifying moment, she thought she had plunged into the gaping hole, but then she heard heavy footsteps moving quickly past her, heard a harsh, terrified scream that seemed to echo forever, and then a quiet splash.

For a moment she just sat there, trembling, heart pounding, hardly able to believe she was still alive. With a trembling laugh, Rosemarie realised she had done it, she had saved herself and Scuttler was surely dead. Her legs felt unsteady as she pushed to her feet and made her way slowly and carefully back up the tunnel. In the darkness ahead of her, she heard a faint cry, someone shouting her name.

“Here!” she shouted back, afraid Thomas might lose himself if he took the wrong path. Rosemarie ran on, making her way back to the main tunnel as fast as she could.

“Thomas, I’m here!”