Rose's Pledge (2 page)

Chilled to the bone and exhausted from a day of dickering and bartering, Rose trudged up to the front entrance in the last faint light of eventide. The thirteen-mile distance from Bristol had seemed more like a hundred on the rutted, ice-crusted roads, despite the fact that, partway, a kind passerby had provided a ride in his wagon. The elements had been the ruination of her best shoes, and several spots on her feet burned as if a hot poker had tormented her heels and toes. But her return to Bath before nightfall had been imperative.

Thank Providence, the wax-sealed envelope from Mr. Solomon now lay in the hands of the constable. She’d obtained a reprieve for Papa. Gotten him another month to pay the remainder of his debt.

With a weary sigh, she reached for the door latch. The threat of this day had been conquered, albeit at great cost. Far greater than she would ever have foreseen.

She swallowed her trepidation and pushed the door open.

A cluster of relatives—her entire family—turned to face her, their grim faces snatching from her mind the fine speech she’d concocted along the way. Papa stood beside Mariah, a comforting arm about her, both looking as if they’d just returned from a funeral. In sweet contrast, her youngest sister, Lily, greeted Rose with a gentle smile. Next to Lily stood Tommy, the baby of the family. Only a scant spark of his usual mischief glowed in the twelve-year-old’s eyes.

Even Charles, their married brother, was present. By this hour of the evening, he should have been in his own home with his wife and children. In the erratic light of an untrimmed lamp wick, his lean face seemed much older. Much harder.

Mariah broke from the group. “Just where, might I ask, have you been?” Anger contorted the family beauty’s delicate features into an ugly accusation as she rushed toward Rose. Her deep blue eyes flashed fire, and her mass of black ringlets bobbed in disarray. “Look about you, Rose. We have been robbed. Our family home has been ransacked. Everything of value is gone—even the money Papa set aside for my dowry.” She paused, and her expression became accusing. “Tell me this is not your doing. If it is, I demand you explain yourself.” She planted a hand on either hip, her lips pressed into a grim line.

Rose had hoped for a moment or two to rest before facing her loved ones, but it was not to be. Somehow she would have to relate the sordid details of this trying day.

Henry Harwood, the kindest of fathers, now loomed before her, more agitated than she’d ever seen him. He grasped her by the shoulders. “I must ask what you know of this, daughter. Speak up. Tell us all.”

Rose felt the bite of his fingers through the thickness of her woolen cloak. She lifted her gaze to the beloved face that had aged noticeably in the past few weeks since the financial trouble erupted—when the flamboyant Sir Gordon Ridgeway had met an untimely death in a duel mere days after taking possession of fifty signature brooches he was in the habit of passing out to his lady friends. The gentleman had begged off paying for the jewelry, promising to return in a fortnight with the money. Papa could not have refused the young bachelor, his best customer. But now Sir Ridgeway’s uncle refused to honor the debt, refused even to acknowledge a debt existed, leaving her father, the finest goldsmith between Oxford and Bristol, in ruin.

Surely he would understand her actions of this day and forgive her desperate deeds. She fervently prayed it would be so. Hadn’t she proved how much she cared for her family these past twelve years since her mother’s death on the childbed? She’d taken charge of newborn babe Tommy, as well as the other children, run a well-ordered household. Putting the needs of her dear ones first, she’d unselfishly set aside even her own chances to wed.

Of course her father would understand. He knew her heart as she did his. She reached past the folds of her cloak to smooth a crease alongside his tight mouth. “I’ve aided the family in the one way I knew you could never bring yourself to do, Papa.”

She looked past him to Charles, who bore a strong resemblance to their lank-boned father, down to an identical trim mustache. “I know you’ll all see the wisdom in what I’ve done. I’ll tell you everything. But first—” Rose shifted her attention to her youngest sister, who had yet to venture forward. “Lily, dearest, would you mind fetching me a cup of tea? I’ve had a most tiresome day.”

The growing worry in Lily’s dove-gray eyes melted away, replaced by a simple trusting goodness that never ceased to lift Rose’s spirits. “I shan’t be a minute,” she said in her airy voice. “The kettle is already heating.”

As the girl hastened out of the parlor, Rose noticed how tall the lass had grown this past year. The child had become a maiden last month, on her fourteenth birthday. She was now old enough, Rose fervently hoped, to do without her big sister. Older than she herself had been when their mother passed from this life.

“Rose.” Her father pulled her attention back to him. “I must ask you to explain yourself. I came home from the shop to find the house stripped of everything we hold dear, and your sister Mariah in high dudgeon.”

“Aye.” Tommy nodded. “You’d have thought she was musket shot the way she wailed and clutched herself.” With an exaggerated moan, the twelve-year-old grabbed at his shirtfront and staggered toward the nearest wing chair, where he collapsed into its confines. The merry scamp could always be counted upon to lighten the gloomiest of moments.

Despite herself, Rose’s lips curled into a smile as she moved across the room and gratefully took a seat in the companion silk brocade chair. The larger pieces remained in the room only because the pony cart had been too full to fit any more items.

Obviously Mariah had derived no humor from their younger brother’s imitation of her. She shot him a scathing glower before lighting on the settee and eyeing Rose with naked malice. “If you intended to rob me of my dowry, I must know why you waited until Lily and I had gone to the Wirkworths’. I wasted hours smiling and cooing over their horse-faced heir. Had you an ounce of common discretion, you should have allowed me this one last chance to make a successful match before people learned of Papa’s huge debt. And I had Master Lawrence so close to pledging himself to me. So close,” she grated through clamped teeth. Angrily she tossed her head, sending her midnight curls to bouncing like so many coiled springs. “I shan’t be surprised were he to come here this very eve to ask Father for my hand. Can you imagine anything more dreadful? One look at this room bereft of so many fine furnishings and he’ll surely draw the most shocking conclusions. That is, if one of our neighbors doesn’t enlighten him first. Soon enough everyone will be aware of the shame that has befallen this family. We shall never be able to hold our heads up again.”

Rose got up and stepped toward her sister with an outstretched hand. “Please, Mariah, you must trust that the Lord will see us through this valley of misfortune. Today I had no choice but to act immediately and choose the only open path to reverse our tragic circumstances. Surely you will all come to understand it was the prudent one.”

“Daughter.” From her father’s tone and unyielding expression, Rose realized he had reached the end of his patience.

“Why don’t we be seated?” She pulled loose her cloak ties and carefully lifted the hood from her head, tucking a loose strand of amber-colored hair into the heavy coil resting low at the base of her neck. “I’m afraid this day’s sad happenings touch us all.”

As her father and Charles settled in the hard-backed armchairs flanking the settee, Rose’s gaze roved the room. This once cozy parlor of their neat quarried stone house now appeared stark and spartan, devoid of most of the lovely furnishings that had made it home. It was as if she saw it for the first time.

None of them had the slightest suspicion it would be her last.

But no tender memories would she take from this bare skeleton of a room, no comfort. Mariah had voiced the truth when Rose first stepped inside. Their home had indeed been robbed—of all its grace and charm.

Every wall hanging and crystal lamp, every porcelain piece, stitched tapestry, and doily had been stripped from the parlor. Even the prized Chippendale table. Rose had managed to find room in the pony cart for that one last elegant piece. And should Papa but open the music cabinet, he would discover the absence of Mariah’s violin, Lily’s flute, and her own mandolin. The windows stood bereft of their fine Belgian lace curtains; only the heavy velvet drapes remained for privacy’s sake.

The room looked as utterly cold and dreary as her journey home had been.

Charles’s voice interrupted her brief reverie, sounding every bit as overwrought as their father’s. “You should be aware, sister, that we arrived here just in time to prevent Mariah from going after the constable.”

A tremor coursed through Rose. She clasped her hands to steady them as she turned to her father. “‘Twould not have been his first visit here this day.”

Paling frightfully, Papa sat up rod straight and clutched his knees.

Rose’s brothers and Mariah also stiffened as if frozen in place. Only their eyes moved as they looked from one to the other. They had not realized how desperate their situation truly was.

Lily returned at that moment, carrying a tea tray with cups for all. Her guileless expression gave no import to the everyday crockery used in place of the fancy china now missing from the kitchen. “I thought we all might enjoy tea.” She placed the tray on the low table in front of the settee and began to pour from the pot.

Rose appreciated the few moments’ reprieve while Lily served everyone. But before she managed even a second sip of the comforting brew, her father interrupted. “Rose. We’ve waited quite long enough. Enlighten us now, daughter.”

Slowly, deliberately, Rose set her cup and saucer on the table beside her, placing the spoon just so along the side in vain effort to delay the telling. After inhaling deeply, she began. “‘Tis most fortuitous that our house sits on the line between the jail and your shop, Papa. Constable Bradley stopped here first, on the chance you were still at home.”

As she related their exchange and explained her promise to the official, Tommy broke in, wariness ringing in the boyish pitch of his voice. “I did not see the pony cart in its normal place. Where is it?”

“I’m most sorry to say I had to sell it, Tommy.”

“Surely not!” He sprang to his feet, his fists knotted. “But Corky! Surely you did not sell Corky along with it!”

“Sit!” Papa commanded with uncharacteristic harshness.

Rose’s chest tightened with pity for her father. This terrible trouble should not have befallen such a kind, gentle man, much less her baby brother. The pony had been the lad’s pet, his bonny companion. She attempted a sympathetic smile.

“Not Corky.” Tommy crumpled into his seat, his chin quivering.

Charles cleared his throat, looking as if his passion hovered on the verge of erupting. “Continue, Rose.”

“As your eyes can attest, I loaded everything I could carry and drove down to the Bristol docks, hoping to sell it. This could not wait for market day.”

“Or for Father’s approval, I daresay.” Charles’s accusatory tone effectively placed the blame squarely on Rose’s shoulders.

She ignored his comment. “Nonetheless, I was able to make more of a profit than I had even hoped. As Providence would have it, three ships were in port. They were loading cargo for the American colonies, and you know how eager the colonists are for some of our more civilized articles. Oh and Mariah, I’m very sorry to confess I also had to sell our few pieces of jewelry and our most fashionable gowns.”

Her sister gasped so violently, Rose surmised that had a crystal lamp remained in the room, its dangling pendants would have been set to tinkling.

Notching her chin a touch higher, she continued. “Some healthy competition started between the captains, and by the time all the bartering and dealing ended, I walked away with forty-three pounds sterling, two shillings, and a sixpence for our possessions.”

Papa let out a weary breath. “I say, my dear. You did exceedingly well to obtain such a goodly sum. However, I must avow ‘tis barely a third of what I owe the gold supplier.”

“So Mr. Solomon informed me. He refused to accept any less on account than seventy pounds. So Mariah’s dowry of twenty pounds had to be sacrificed as well. He left me no other choice.”

A low, mournful whimper issued from her sister.

Perhaps Mariah was at last beginning to comprehend the necessity, Rose decided as she tore her gaze from her middle sister and rested it on young Tom. “You do understand we couldn’t allow the constable to take Papa to debtors’ prison. Such a horrid fate would be punishment far beyond what should be imposed upon him.” She then turned to Charles, whose stone-hard expression had yet to yield to the gravity of the situation. “Brother, even on the chance that you possessed enough of Papa’s skills to fashion most of the pieces on order, no supplier would give you credit for gold bullion or for cut gems once they learned of Papa’s imprisonment. And you know the only way to get someone out of that unspeakable place would be to pay off all creditors in full. No more bargaining, no more promises. We would be out on the street, forced to sell the very roof over our heads.”

Charles turned to Papa. “See what comes of your relying so much on Rose.” He wheeled back to her, his jaw set tighter than before. “Had you come to us before running off in typical female panic, we would have told you Father was in the midst of arranging a mortgage.”

Papa raised a hand, effectively silencing any further outburst. “Son, I had hoped to spare you, now that you’ve your own family to be concerned about. I did obtain a loan, that much is true. But not nearly as much as I requested. And since the gem cutter was pressing harder at the moment, I had to use the funds to pay him.”

Rose hurried to further her own defense. “So you see, there was no recourse left to me but to sell even the pony and cart, as well as …as …”

Every eye focused on her, waiting.

She took firm hold of the chair arms for support and met her father’s stare as the remainder of the news poured from her lips like water over a precipice. “I suppose there is no easy way to tell you this, Papa. After I sold the cart and pony, I still lacked four pounds. And Mr. Solomon was not to be bargained with. He’d accept no less on account than the agreed upon sum. The constable was waiting. The afternoon was dwindling away. So I—” She swallowed. When she spoke again, she could barely manage a whisper. “I …sold myself.”