Chapter 7 #2
‘Then I shall be your accompanist,’ Miss Rosewood announced rather daringly.
She walked to the piano a little unsteadily and dropped the music all over the floor.
This was apparently hilarious to all the women, including herself, and they spent a good five minutes picking it up and arranging it while Gwen watched with amusement.
It was rather like watching a nursery of young children.
When Miss Rosewood began to play and Mrs Dowson to sing (with an excellent alto voice that was wasted on the church congregation) it became apparent that pages three and five had become disordered and Miss Rosewood had created an entirely new song.
Throughout the display, Miss Salisbury remained upright on her chair, hands closed over the top of her cane, her face bearing an expression of mild amusement as if she was watching the bears at London Zoo.
Her eyes slid towards Gwen, and she beckoned her across the room.
Gwen left her seat and sidled round the edge to join her.
‘You haven’t taken any of your marvellous concoction. Why not?’
Feeling slightly ashamed of her poverty, Gwen admitted how she had arrived. To Miss Salisbury’s credit, she did not react.
‘You haven’t sampled it either,’ Gwen pointed out, ‘and yet you came in a carriage, I believe.’
The corner of Miss Salisbury’s mouth twitched. ‘I do not place myself in situations where I am not fully in control.’
Somebody rapped on the front door and the two women looked towards it. Immediately Miss Rosewood became alert.
‘One of the servants will get that,’ she said, breezily.
Moments later, Mr Rosewood’s voice boomed through the hall, followed by the softer murmur of another male voice.
‘Lord, he’s back early,’ Miss Rosewood sighed and closed the lid of the piano. Her voice was slightly slurred.
There was a knock on the door, then a dignified man dressed in a black suit entered.
‘Miss Rosewood, your uncle says he was not aware you had visitors, but he will carry on with his business in his study. He would be grateful if you could ensure that chatter is kept to a minimum.’
‘Thank you, Evans. Please assure him we will endeavour not to disturb him,’ Miss Rosewood instructed, with composure that was admirable. She turned back to the room and Gwen was quick enough to see the irritation on her face before she blinked and drove it off. She held her hands out.
‘Ladies, I’m afraid, we must curtail our merriment for now.’
The women began to gather their skirts, slightly clumsily, standing and exchanging affectionate farewells.
Gwen moved slowly, hoping to be able to speak with Miss Rosewood alone.
Miss Salisbury was the last of the other women to leave.
She paused on the doorstep and drew close to Miss Rosewood, beckoning Gwen to join them.
‘I found this afternoon very intriguing. I wonder if you might both be free for a morning visit with me on the fifteenth day of February. I fully intend to sample it myself in my own home, and I assume that you will have enough left in the bottle by then? Miss Rosewood, you know my address. Mrs Walters, please take my card.’
She held a visiting card out to Gwen who took it, then she walked towards a single Brougham, snapping her fingers in the air to alert the coachman of her approach.
‘What a remarkable woman,’ Gwen murmured.
‘Yes, she is.’ Miss Rosewood’s voice was thick with admiration. ‘Would you like to stay a little longer? I’m sure Uncle Conrad would be pleased to speak to you and there’s plenty of cake left.’
‘Do you think it’s wise that you see him?’ Gwen asked, glancing over Miss Rosewood, who was swaying slightly and had a beatific smile on her lips.
‘Perhaps not. In which case, please keep me company so that he doesn’t come searching for me.’
Miss Rosewood and Gwen returned to the sitting room. They sat side by side on the settee, plates laden with cake. There was an informality to their closeness that was very pleasant.
‘I think that was a success, other than my uncle appearing and preventing us selling doses. It’s very vexing when he comes home early.’ Miss Rosewood sighed.
It was rather an unfair judgement, given that it was his house, Gwen considered.
‘Never mind. Miss Salisbury appeared very keen on sampling it. Do you think we should go visiting?’
‘We absolutely must! I’ve always wanted to see inside her house,’ Miss Rosewood said. It would be interesting to see how Miss Salisbury lived, especially if she was considering setting her cap at Uncle Conrad.
Gwen looked at the card and the inscription printed in curling script.
The Hon. Miss S. Salisbury. Cartwright Square, Bloomsbury.
‘Honourable? How did you meet her?’ Gwen asked. It explained the woman’s authoritative nature and her calling Miss Rosewood by her given name.
‘She met my uncle somewhere. She’s the youngest daughter of a baron, though I believe the line died with him. I think she hopes to marry my uncle for his money. Or he hopes to marry her for hers.’ Miss Rosewood sounded quite unconcerned about either possibility.
‘Wouldn’t that affect your position here?’ Gwen asked. ‘Pardon my nosiness. It’s really none of my business.’
Miss Rosewood giggled. ‘I don’t mind nosiness. I call it frankness. I’ve never been certain of my position here. When my parents died, I was taken in by Uncle Conrad. He’s my father’s only surviving brother. I was sent to board at an adequate school for an acceptable number of years.’
She gave a brittle smile, her humour dissolving. ‘Though, strictly speaking, that was my aunt’s doing. My uncle doesn’t really have much time for educated women, I’m afraid. Or any women.’
‘Yes, I know his views well,’ Gwen said tactfully. ‘My husband is in accord with them. I consider myself fortunate that neither of them objects to me keeping some of the accounts.’
‘Oh, Uncle Conrad objects,’ Miss Rosewood said. ‘I’ve heard him grumbling. But I think he knows that your husband is a better druggist than he is an accountant, so he puts up with it. If he didn’t, he would have to expend more energy verifying the books himself.’
Gwen flashed her a grin, liking the younger woman more and more with each passing moment. ‘How much we all put up with rather than inconvenience ourselves.’
Miss Rosewood’s eyes had been glinting merrily, but now the joy dropped out of them.
‘Oh, my dear, did I say something indelicate?’ Gwen asked.
‘No. But I am mindful of how I am not brave enough to inconvenience myself.’
She turned to face Gwen. ‘My father left me three hundred and twelve pounds, which my uncle invests on my behalf. The interest pays for the expenses he incurs from me living with him. I am given an allowance, but I cannot touch the capital. I have often wondered whether I should consult a solicitor to see if I could challenge that.’
‘You might,’ Gwen replied.
It was likely the effects of the tincture working, because Miss Rosewood looked as if she was about to burst into tears. She squeezed her hands together, with a determined look fixed on her face.
‘I’m thirty now, not a child. Surely any court of law would deem me capable of managing my own affairs. Plenty of women do. If I could, I would use the money to furnish a room in a lodging house for women and live there instead of here.’
‘You would rather live in one room than this entire house?’ Gwen asked doubtfully. She gazed around at the furnishings; velvet drapes with ruched pelmets kept out the wind that whistled down the chimney. A deeply napped carpet in an oriental style stretched almost to the skirting boards.
Miss Rosewood waved her hand around. ‘If it was a room of my own and I was able to come and go as I please, I believe I would. I think I have been rather lazy. I could have done something with myself. Set myself up as a paid companion to an elderly woman, for example. Or share with a friend of my own age.’
She sighed deeply and looked wistful.
‘There’s something to be said for that,’ Gwen agreed, feeling unexpectedly sorry for the young woman. A beautiful home and a comfortable life clearly only brought surface contentment. A cage might be gilded but still feel like a cage.
‘I don’t suppose you need a companion,’ Miss Rosewood asked, her eyes lifting to Gwen’s. They crinkled around the edges, hinting at fine lines which were just beginning to form.
Gwen looked into them, and a warm flash of affection rose within her. ‘Unfortunately, not, though if I did you would be my first consideration.’
Miss Rosewood beamed. She slipped her hand into Gwen’s and squeezed it. ‘Thank you.’
The resonant chimes of four o’clock came from the grandfather clock in the hallway. Miss Rosewood yawned. Gwen reluctantly placed her plate back on the table and murmured the customary niceties about the time. She gathered up the china cup and divided the money.
‘It’s very frustrating,’ Miss Rosewood said gloomily as she stared at her handful of coins. ‘I don’t believe that we will be able to sustain this business with only a few customers.’
‘Will you reply to Miss Salisbury, accepting her invitation?’ Gwen asked.
‘Of course. We’ll have fun there, sell her a few doses of the tincture – by the by, we’ll have to think of a name for the company – and with any luck we might even become quite wealthy.’
Gwen walked home, her head down and collar turned up against the wind and rain. She could catch a bus, but if she did that, then she would eat into the money they’d made.
She distracted herself from the cold by wondering what Miss Rosewood would do with her share of the profits.
Perhaps she would consult a solicitor and see about emancipating herself from Conrad’s care and manage to find a home of her own.
Thinking back to how pleasant the afternoon spent in her company had been, Gwen was sorely tempted to join her.