Chapter Thirteen – Rose
ROSE
An Unlikely Ally
“ Y ou’re fucking insane.”
I fiddled inside my trench coat and met my brother’s eyes. “Is that not already a well-established fact in this town? Why are you saying it like it’s some kind of grand discovery on par with King Tut’s tomb?”
Jake sighed, dropping his chin to his chest. “Rose, I’m begging you to think this through.”
“I have thought about it. I think it’s perfectly reasonable.”
“You may think so, but there’s nothing reasonable about what you’re going to do.”
“This is an official protest approved by the council and the police force. As long as I don’t break any laws, there’s nothing that can be done.”
“You’re going to end up in jail.”
“Time-out,” I corrected him.
“A jail cell is a jail cell, Rose.” Jake ran his hand through his hair. “Is something this crazy all you can come up with?”
I adjusted the belt of my trench coat and looked away. “Good girls don’t go down in history, squirt.”
“Are you trying to go down in history?”
“Yes, as the person who saved the allotments from the tyrannical duke who raised a legal army to oppress the peasants.”
“Wow. You really do have a whole fictional universe inside your head, don’t you?”
“Shut up and obey your big sister,” I said, prodding his cheek and making him wince away from me.
“We have a media article finally going out, and this protest will be the catalyst for attention. I don’t care if my face is plastered everywhere.
Besides, I’m not the only one utilising the coverage capabilities of leafy greens today. ”
Jake blinked at me. “It’s George, isn’t it?”
“It’s a secret.”
“It’s George.” He sighed. “I was thinking about stopping by and offering my support, but I think I’ll pass. My life is tough enough without seeing the pensioners of Hanbury running around in lettuce loin cloths.”
“You traitorous little shit. Do I have to tell Mum it was you that chipped her crystal swan statues four years ago? Or that it was, in fact, an underage Jacob Lee Matthews who stole vodka from the liquor cabinet and threw up in Dad’s expensive workboots? Or that—”
He cleared his throat. “What time is the protest, again?”
“We leave the allotments in forty-five minutes. On that note, I’m off. Don’t be late.” I grabbed the box filled with protest signs from the dining table. “And don’t tell Mum what I’m up to.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not like she’s going to get you out of jail after the time you got caught having sex.”
“That was an unfortunate mistake,” I replied.
And I was much younger than I was now.
“Only because you got caught.”
“No, the whole thing was a mistake. Honestly, bad sex is always a mistake, caught or not.”
“That’s too much information.”
“I prefer to think of it as solid life advice.”
“You can think? Colour me shocked.”
“I will make my chicken shit in your shoes,” I snapped. “Go and open the front door for me, brat.”
Jake sighed and got up. “When are you moving out? My life will be so much better when I don’t have to speak to you every day.”
“Then feel free to leave,” I shot back, following him to the front door. “You’re old enough to move out.”
“You’re ten years older than me, Rose.”
“Then it’s about time you started respecting your elders, you whippersnapper.”
Jake blinked at me. “You spend way too much time with people over the age of seventy.”
It was a point I really wished I could argue.
Alas, one couldn’t argue with the truth.
I’d tried before. And, really, if anyone was going to succeed at such a thing, it would be me.
As my mother liked to point out, I’d have been an excellent lawyer if I’d have ever learnt how to control my temper… or learnt how to live indoors like a normal person.
And, you know.
Didn’t end up in a jail cell for a time out on a semi-regular basis.
That’d really put a dampener on any legal career.
“Just make sure you show up for support, all right?” I prodded him in the back and grabbed the giant basket usually reserved for my crops.
“Yes, yes,” Jake replied, tugging open the door. “Oh, hello.”
I shuffled to the side and peeked over his shoulder. A tall, incredibly beautiful chestnut-haired woman was standing on our doorstep with one hand raised as if she were about to knock.
“Oh, hello,” she parroted back, quickly blinking. “Is this the home of Miss Rose Matthews, please?”
Ah.
I had a very good feeling I knew who our guest was based on how perfectly she pronounced each word.
“Y—” Jake stopped when I pinched the back of his arm. He cleared his throat into his hand and said, “Who are you and why do you want to know?”
Oh, my God.
He was such a rude little bastard.
Good to know it wasn’t just to me, though.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. How rude of me not to introduce myself,” the mystery woman said, pressing her hand to her bosom. “My name is Eleanor de Havilland.”
Ding ding, I was right.
Jake flinched. “Are you the duchess?”
“Goodness, no. Just the duke’s mother.”
Just the duke’s mother? How many people ever got to say that? Yet here she was, saying it as if she was the neighbour two doors down who’d just moved in.
“Oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I apologise for my rudeness. I’m Jake Matthews, Rose’s brother.”
Eleanor’s face lit up. “So, this is Rose’s house? Is she here?”
I pushed onto my tiptoes and raised a hand. “She is.”
“I’ll leave you to it.” My brother stepped to the side and headed for the stairs.
“Don’t forget to come, Jake!” I called after him, then quickly turned my attention back to Eleanor. “I’m sorry, I’d invite you in, but I’m on my way out. Do you mind if we talk while I load up my van?”
“Of course not,” she replied with a bright smile stretching across her face.
“Perfect. What can I help you with, Mrs de Havilland? I apologise, I’m not sure how else I should address you.
” I asked as I busied myself with opening the back of the van and loading it up with some pre-made protest signs bearing slogans such as ‘Save Susan’s Melons,’ ‘Justice for Waffles,’ ‘Lettuce Keep the Allotments,’ and my personal favourite, ‘Just Stop Oli’ with a big ol’ orange stop sign over a crudely drawn picture of his face.
They were works of art, if I did say so myself.
And nobody else was going to, since I’d made them, and I wasn’t exactly going to have anything hung in a gallery anytime soon.
“Mrs de Havilland is fine. I wanted to talk to you about the protest.”
Brilliant.
This was going to be a wonderful start to the event, wasn’t it?
I loaded a box into the back of the van and turned to her.
“I’m not going to cancel it, if that’s what you’re here to ask.
I’m well aware that the likelihood of us overturning your son’s decision to close the allotments is highly unlikely, but I’m not going to stop trying just because the odds are stacked against me. ”
“Oh, oh!” She waved her hands frantically. “You’re misunderstanding me, Miss Matthews. I suppose that’s my fault for being so vague. Actually, I… Ah. Here. I’ll show you.” She unbuttoned her cardigan and held out the sides, revealing the t-shirt she was wearing. “Ta-dah!”
A lime green one that read ‘Save Hanbury Allotments!’
“Uh…” I blinked at it. “What?”
Eleanor looked down at her t-shirt. “There’s an enterprising pair of young lads selling them on the roundabout, so I asked the taxi driver to pull over and bought one from them before I arrived.”
“Yes, that’s Ewan and Tom. They grew up helping their nan with her plot, so Ewan designed a t-shirt to sell. But, uh… forgive me for asking, but why did you buy one?”
“Because that rotten son of mine is a bloody idiot.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself.” I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Whoops. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Eleanor threw her head back, laughing. “That makes this much easier. Please let me join your protest, Miss Matthews.”
“You… want to join our protest? Against your own son?” I waved a hand.
“I really hope you don’t take this question the wrong way, but why would you do that?
Even if you disagree with him, you have a vested interest in what he wants to do, don’t you?
You’re still part of the Hanbury household, after all. ”
She sighed, then checked her watch. “I understand your questions, but you’re running out of time, aren’t you?”
“Ah.” I glanced at her wrist when she tilted it towards me to make her point. “You’re right.”
“Why don’t I tell you on the way? I don’t have a car, and I got a taxi here, so if you don’t mind, I’ll join you in this delightful van of yours.”
That was the first time anyone had ever called Ramona delightful.
Maybe Eleanor de Havilland had a few screws loose.
Well, even if she did, she was in good company. I barely had any screws, much less loose ones.
“All right,” I said slowly, then closed the doors. “Jump in.”
She did just that while I got the rest of my things, and I climbed into the driver’s side a moment later.
“I grew up here in Hanbury,” Eleanor said after I pulled out of the driveway. “I actually knew your grandmother very well, and of course, I’m very familiar with the feud between your grandpa and the late duke.”
Who wasn’t? The tale of the beautiful woman who spurned a duke for a mere gardener was the stuff of legends around these parts.
I half expected someone to build a shrine to her one day.
“Oh, I know your mother, too, of course,” she added. “So, I am utterly unsurprised that my idiot son has such a fierce opponent in yourself.”
Was that a compliment?
Whatever it was, it was an insult to Oliver, so I’d roll with it.
Eleanor sighed. “I’m sure I don’t need to recount any tales of the de Havilland family drama with you, but you should know that I was the one person in my family who got along with Rupert.
My husband and son were largely raised outside of Hanbury thanks to the family business being headquartered in London, and so, they don’t have the same attachment to Hanbury nor its community as the rest of us do. ”
I glanced over at her. “Including yourself?”
“Indeed. My grandmother once had a plot on that allotment site, you know. I remember many afternoons as a child where I would join her to pick her strawberries and raspberries. Most left in my belly, of course.” She chuckled.
“My dear, I suppose what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m on your side.
I’ve opposed Oliver’s decision to sell that land from the very beginning, and that hasn’t changed.
I know very well how that place is the heart of the village, and you’re doing wonderful things, what with your calendar and all that.
Not to mention your delightful social media account.
The Polyamorous Adventures of Pancake, is it? ”
I coughed into my fist and quickly changed gear. “Waffles. Pancake is his first wife.”
“Ah, Waffles! Of course. My mistake.” She laughed again.
“I’ve spent a shameful amount of time reading that particular saga on Instagram, and that’s how I found out about the calendar.
Anyway, all of this is to say that my son is a bloody fool, and I cannot stand idly by while he makes such a stupid decision. ”
“So… you’re on our side.”
“Exactly that!”
I pulled into the allotment car park and killed the engine.
It was already bustling here, and the committee members were running around like blue-arse flies trying to organise everyone.
Shaun was dressed in his uniform and trying to control the human traffic as part of the local police force, while Isa was handing out protest signs to those in line and glaring at him occasionally.
“Goodness,” Eleanor said, peering out of the window. “There are so many people here.”
I stared at the back of her head. Could I trust her? My interactions with the de Havilland family had never really been anything to write home about, but there was something niggling at me where she was concerned.
She felt… different.
As if she truly did care for this place.
And, ultimately, that was why all these people were gathered here today. If we could add a voice as notable as hers…
“All right. Get out and grab a box from the back,” I said, shoving open my door. “I assume you’re willing to work if you’re here.”
Eleanor’s face lit up. “Use me as you wish, Miss Matthews!”
“Rose.”
“Pardon me?”
“Call me Rose, Mrs de Havilland.” I smiled through the car at her. “And I’ll make you regret ever offering yourself to me like that.”