The Constant Heart (45 page)

'Don't look so tragic, Rosie.' Roland lifted the silver lid of a muffin dish and sniffed appreciatively. 'English muffins. Good old Hopper – she manages the kitchen like an army sergeant. Do try one.'

She placed her cup on its saucer with an emphatic clatter. 'I'm not hungry. My whole life is in ruins and all you can think of is food. I don't want a blooming muffin.' She pushed the plate away and rose to her feet. 'I'm sorry, Roland. I do appreciate everything you've done for me, but I must find a way to get home. I can't stay here a minute longer.'

He bit into a buttered muffin. 'This is so good.'

'You are impossible.' She pushed her chair back and was about to leave the table when Roland caught her by the hand.

'I'm just teasing you, my dear. Sit down and have some breakfast. We've got a long journey ahead of us.'

'What? You mean . . .'

'There is a ship leaving at noon, bound for Harwich. I will take you to your father, and I will explain everything to him. I'm sure that Harry will respect what Captain May has to tell him, and hopefully that will be an end to the matter.'

It was not exactly what she wanted, but Rosina saw a glimmer of hope in Roland's plan. She flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. 'Thank you. Oh, thank you, Roland.'

He extricated himself from her grasp with a rueful smile. 'Sit down and eat your breakfast, Rosie. I can only resist just so much temptation.'

*

The steamship docked in Harwich early next morning. After a brief visit to his office, Roland ordered his carriage to be brought to the inn where he had left Rosina, and they travelled on together. As they approached Burnham-on-Crouch, Rosina leaned out of the open window, breathing in the fresh smell of the countryside and the tang of the salt marshes. The corn was ripe in the fields and the harvest had already begun. Men, women and children were working in the midsummer heat, reaping and stooking the sheaves of corn in preparation for threshing and winnowing the chaff from the grain. In some fields this had already been done and golden haystacks stood proud like small windowless houses. The sun burned like molten copper in a bleached sky, and the air was sultry with the hint of thunderstorms to come later in the day. Rosina could not help but be fascinated with this strange, bucolic way of life, which was so different to living in a dirty, noisy and overcrowded city. For the first time in weeks, she felt optimistic about the future. Roland would speak to Pa, and between them they would put things right with Harry. Walter would be a free man, and they would spend the rest of their lives together.

The thatched cottage belonging to Bertha's cousin was a little way out of the village, lazing in the heat of midday on the bank of the River Crouch. As the carriage drew up outside, Rosina was in a fever of excitement at the prospect of being reunited with Papa and Bertha. She could barely wait until the coachman had opened the door and pulled down the steps, holding out his hand to help her alight. Roland followed her, giving the driver instructions to walk the horses.

She reached the garden gate first, fumbling with the latch in her haste. Bees were busily collecting pollen from stately hollyhocks, and brightly coloured butterflies fluttered amongst the dog roses clambering over the porch. But even as she surveyed the peaceful scene, it struck Rosina that the cottage seemed oddly silent and lifeless. The windows were shut and the curtains were drawn together. She was suddenly apprehensive as she walked up the narrow path to the front door. She glanced over her shoulder at Roland, who was following close behind. He gave her an encouraging smile. 'Go on then, Rosie. Knock on the door. You've been agog with anticipation ever since we left Rotterdam.'

She rapped on the iron door knocker and the sound echoed throughout the house. 'Perhaps Papa and Bertha have already returned to London?' She shivered, in spite of the heat, and some sixth sense told her that something was wrong.

'I can hear footsteps,' Roland murmured. 'Someone's coming.'

Rosina held her breath. Her heart was thudding wildly against her ribs and she had to curb the impulse to beat her fists on the door and demand to be allowed inside.

The door opened just a crack.

'Hello,' Rosina said, giving it a gentle push. 'It's Rosie May. I've come to visit my papa and Bertha.'

The door opened fully and a small, thin woman of uncertain age peered short-sightedly at them both. 'How did you know? It only happened last night.'

Fear pulsed through Rosina's veins and she could barely speak. 'Wh-what . . .'

Roland slipped his arm around her shoulders. 'Pardon me, ma'am. But we've come a long way to see the captain. May we come inside?'

'Who is it, Jemima?' Bertha's voice came from somewhere inside the cottage.

Jemima did not move from the doorway; she turned her head, speaking over her shoulder. 'It's Miss Rosina and a gentleman.'

The sound of scurrying feet preceded Bertha as she pushed past her cousin to fling her arms around Rosina. 'My little pet. You've come. How did you find out?' Bertha collapsed against her shoulder, sobbing as if her heart would break.

Rosina was suddenly more afraid than she had ever been in her whole life. 'What's wrong, Bebe? Has Papa been taken ill again? Speak to me.'

Bertha drew away a little, her face ravaged with grief. 'Oh, my poor poppet. Your dear father passed away last night. There weren't nothing we could do to save him.'

The weather broke just as the coffin was lowered into the ground. Roland's coachman, Jenkins, appeared as if from nowhere and produced a large black umbrella, which he dutifully held over Rosina and Bertha. Cousin Jemima wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, shivering and winking away the black dye from her bonnet as it trickled down her face. Roland stood with his head bowed, holding his top hat in his hands. A flash of lightning momentarily illuminated the sombre scene, followed by a rumble of thunder. The vicar hastily intoned the words of the interment, casting nervous glances up at the sky as if anticipating Armageddon. Bertha sobbed noisily throughout, but Rosina held her head upright, too grief-stricken even to cry. She could hardly believe that it was her dearest papa whose body was locked inside the oak coffin. The dead man who had lain in Jemima's parlour had resembled a wax effigy at Madame Tussauds' exhibition; he had looked a little bit like her pa, but the father whom she had loved and respected all her life was gone, leaving just an empty shell.

The rain beat a rhythmic tattoo on the umbrella, and that, together with the vicar's droning voice, was having a hypnotic effect on Rosina. She swayed slightly and was comforted by the touch of Roland's hand on her arm. She looked up and managed to return his smile. He had proved himself to be a true friend during the past few traumatic days. He had organised the funeral and paid all the expenses, waving aside her promises to repay him when she was able. Soon after their arrival, and having done what he could to comfort and reassure them, Roland had removed himself to the inn, where he had been staying ever since, but he had visited the cottage every day. Even Bertha had been impressed by his gentlemanly conduct, although she had been hostile at first, especially when she had learned that Rosina had stayed in his house in Rotterdam. But Roland had charmed Bertha with his winning ways, and had eventually managed to convince her that nothing untoward had occurred.

'Come, Rosie,' Roland said, offering her his arm. 'It's all over, my dear.'

Rosina looked at him dully. She glanced down at the coffin, which was now sprinkled with earth, and she raised her eyes to meet the vicar's solemn gaze. It was all over. Papa had gone to heaven, if one believed in such a place. He was with his beloved Ellie, and the worries of the world were far behind him. Not so for herself. She had a sobbing Bertha to comfort and somehow she had to get them both back to London to face an uncertain future. She laid her hand on Roland's arm. 'Thank you, Roland. Thank you for everything.'

'It was nothing, my dear.' He turned to the waiting coachman. 'Escort Miss Spinks and her cousin to the carriage, Jenkins. Then you can bring the umbrella back for Miss May and me.' He led her to the shelter of the porch, where he shook the vicar's hand and murmured appropriate words of thanks.

Rosina managed to voice her appreciation, and the vicar disappeared into the cool depths of the church just as another flash of lightning rent the dark sky. She huddled in the shelter of Roland's protective arm, wincing as a huge thunderclap followed almost immediately. 'You will come back to the cottage, won't you, Roland? I think Jemima has laid on some refreshments for us; although I don't feel in the least like attending a wake, even a small one.'

'No, I've stayed too long as it is, Rosie. I still have business in Harwich, and then I must return to Rotterdam.'

She stared up at him, barely comprehending his words. 'But I thought – I mean, I assumed that you would return to London with us, especially now, with poor Pa dead and gone.'

'My dear, I told you that I cannot risk it, and nothing has changed.'

'Are you so afraid of Sukey Barnum and her father? Surely a man of your means could buy them off if he so wished?'

'There's something that I haven't told you. A complication far greater than my fear of a mere scandal.'

Another jagged flash of lightning turned the air blue around them. The ensuing crack of thunder almost deafened her, but Rosina was concentrating on Roland. She tugged at his arm. 'I need your help desperately. What is it that you haven't told me?'

'I am already engaged to be married. It's a marriage of convenience and I barely know the young lady. She is impoverished but well connected, and I am wealthy. No doubt it is a match made in heaven.'

She stared up at him aghast. 'Roland, how could you agree to such a union?'

'My father holds the purse strings. He chose the earl's daughter to be my bride, and if I go against his wishes I will find myself cut off without a penny. Ironic, isn't it? I am a man approaching thirty, and still under the parental thumb. When I marry Lady Mary, who is an only child with no surviving male relatives, our eldest son will inherit an earldom, and my fortune will pay for the upkeep of a dreary castle in Northumberland. So you see, Rosie, you are not the only one with problems.'

'I do see that, but at least you are not facing eviction and destitution. Your heart will not break, because you do not love this lady. I am about to lose everything that is dear to me, and my papa is dead. I have no one else to turn to but you.'

He gripped her hands, looking deeply into her eyes. 'I do love a lady, but she does not love me.'

His meaning was all too clear, and his words came as a shock. 'You can't mean me, Roland.'

His features twisted with genuine pain. 'Can't I? Why do you think that I didn't take advantage of you while you were under my roof? Did you imagine that it was due to some chivalrous feeling on my part? If you did, then you were wrong. I didn't have a business meeting to attend: I did what most men do when they are faced with an impossible situation – I went out and got drunk.'

'I – I don't know what to say.'

'There is nothing that you can say, my love.' He glanced over her shoulder. 'Jenkins is returning with the umbrella. I will see you safely back to the cottage and then I must leave.'

'Oh, Roland. I am so sorry that I put you in this situation. You are a good man.'

He threw back his head and laughed. 'Damned with faint praise!' The momentary glimmer of amusement died from his eyes and he gripped her by the shoulders. 'If things get really bad in London, you have only to say the word and I will come for you. I cannot marry you, Rosie. But I could set you up in my house in Rotterdam. You would be my wife in everything but name, and I swear that you would never want for anything ever again.'

She was saved from answering by a discreet cough from Jenkins as he held out the umbrella.

Roland linked her hand through his arm. 'Jenkins will take me back to the inn, where I've arranged for a hired carriage to take me back to Harwich. He'll drive you to Colchester and put you on the train to London. You should be there before dark.'