100. A Rose In Jeopardy Read online

  Lyndon felt suddenly reckless.

  “I am seeking a passage to Venice,” he replied.

  “Ah,” the man sighed. “Venice! The most beautiful City I ever saw.”

  Another sailor, a thin man sporting a gold earring, leaned across the table.

  “We’re bound for Venice. We sail on the evening tide in three days’ time,” he declared in a Scottish accent.

  Lyndon fumbled in one of the pockets of his cloak and pulled out a couple of the gold coins the Contessa had given him.

  “Here,” he said. “I’ll come with you, if I may!”

  The thin sailor’s eyes widened as he saw the gold and he scooped up the coins at once.

  The brawny man laughed.

  “Good job your cloak is black, sir. For it be coal they be a-carryin’!”

  Now Lyndon saw that there were smears of black dust on the face of the sailor with the gold earring, but he did not mind having to share the voyage with such a cargo.

  Now he had made the decision, his heart felt light and his veins sang with anticipation.

  “It be The Grace Darling,” the brawny man said. “You’ll find her down at the end of the wharf.”

  He turned to the other man.

  “Now, Jock! Don’t you go runnin’ off with that gold! Mind you go and tell the Captain you’ll be carryin’ a passenger. And that he’s paid you a more than fair price for the voyage.”

  The sailor grinned and reached across the table and shook Lyndon’s hand.

  “Come by The Grace Darling tomorrow and speak to the Captain yourself,” he suggested. “He’ll be right glad to take you.”

  And Lyndon, his head swimming with ale and with the cloudy vision of Venice rising up out of the water, got up from the table and stumbled up the stairs to his room.

  He did not know how he was going to get through the next three days, as he simply could not wait to be on his way.

  *

  Algernon Merriman had put on weight in the last week, Rosella thought, as the buttons on his waistcoat were straining to burst open.

  But he seemed rather more sprightly than usual, as he paced up and down, rubbing his plump hands together.

  “Well, well, my little angel,” he called, his small eyes gleaming. “This is a very happy day!”

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Rosella said politely. “I am glad you are feeling so cheerful.”

  For a moment she wondered if he had won some money at cards or had placed a lucky bet.

  Algernon nodded eagerly.

  “Oh yes. I have seldom felt more joyful than I did just now, when his Lordship told me that you would be agreeable to his plan!”

  “Of course I must always respect his Lordship’s wishes,” Rosella replied slowly. “But – ”

  “Then you might look just a little more pleased,” he exclaimed. “It’s not every day a girl like yourself with no prospects and such a shy violet as you are too gets a chance like this!”

  He seized Rosella’s hand in his, pushing his face up close to hers.

  She looked down to avoid his eyes that were gazing at her in a way that made her feel really uncomfortable and noticed there was egg stain on his bulging silk waistcoat.

  “I don’t know what you mean, sir,” she said, trying to free her hand.

  “You are going to be my wife, young lady! His Lordship’s suggestion and one which – I must say – I find utterly delightful!”

  He crushed her hand against his lips and called her his little angel several times in a breathless passionate tone that made Rosella’s skin crawl.

  “But I could not – ”

  She tried once again to escape from him.

  “Ah, ha!” Algernon rolled his eyes upwards. “You divine little thing. You are so modest, so exquisitely shy, that you make me want you more than any other girl I’ve ever seen.”

  She managed at last to snatch her hand out of his.

  “I do not wish to marry you,” she asserted. “I did not understand what Lord Brockley meant – I could never marry you!”

  Algernon pursed his lips and shook his head at her in a childish teasing manner.

  “But, Lady Rosella, how can you refuse? We have been brought together by the Fates, it is quite clear.”

  “I don’t think so!”

  She longed to run out of the study, but Algernon’s considerable bulk was between her and the door.

  “Of course, you are not the type of young lady that I would normally pursue, for you are certainly very retiring and somewhat backward in putting yourself forward I must say,” he was braying, his greedy eyes fixed on her face.

  “But, from the first moment I saw you, with your pretty hair all shining in the sunlight and your lovely little figure, so neat and so trim, I knew that you were my lucky angel. Why, it was because of you I won that fifty pounds at cards.”

  “How could that be?” Rosella said, “I know nothing about cards. I was simply looking for my carriage.”

  And then her heart turned over as she remembered what Lord Brockley had said – for how much longer could she call New Hall her home?

  Algernon lunged forward and, as Rosella stepped back to move away from him, he grabbed hold of her skirts and pulled her against him.

  “Oh, my darling!” he gasped. “You must be mine. How can I live without you.”

  “No,” Rosella cried, feeling she would suffocate if she did not get away from him.

  “Yes! Yes!”

  He then buried his face in her shoulder and kissed it passionately.

  “I need you. You must be my wife and take care of me, my darling angel.”

  Now at last Rosella understood what Lord Brockley had meant when he spoke to her a few moments ago.

  He intended her to marry Mr. Algernon Merriman and keep him out of trouble.

  He wanted her to stop his companion from getting too drunk and behaving foolishly and to make sure that he got up in the morning, ready to join in whatever activities his Lordship had planned for the day.

  And then – only then – would she be able to stay on at New Hall, her beloved home.

  Her heart felt as if it would burst.

  How could she possibly marry this man? She could not bear him, the sound of his childish voice, the touch of his hot plump hands. There was nothing about him that she could possibly like.

  With a great effort she dragged her skirts out of his grasp and ran to the door.

  “Come back, my angel,” he called out.

  Rosella shut the door in his face and ran upstairs to her bedroom.

  She sat on her bed and buried her face in her hands and her tears fell as fast as the rain that dripped from the gutters outside her window.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” a small voice asked.

  She looked up and could see through her tears that Pickle was watching her from his cage.

  He might only be a bird, but he seemed to know exactly how she was feeling.

  “What shall I do?” she asked him. “I don’t like Mr. Merriman at all – but do you think I should marry him, so that we can – stay here?”

  But Pickle did not have the answer to her question.

  He just put his head on one side and enquired,

  “Is it time for tea?”

  Rosella had not been in her bedroom for more than half an hour, when she heard heavy footfalls on the landing outside.

  Her heart turned over as an angry fist beat loudly on the panels of her door and then it flew open and Lord Brockley strode towards her, his face flushed with rage.

  “Insolent, stupid girl!” he shouted. “What do you mean by refusing Merriman! You agreed that you would obey my wishes.”

  Pickle squealed loudly and fluffed up his feathers.

  “Stop it at once, you naughty boy!” he squawked.

  Lord Brockley’s faced turned an even darker shade of red.

  “Quiet, you little devil!” he screamed back.

  “I did not understand what you meant when we spoke,�
�� Rosella said, and although she was trembling, her words came out clear and strong.

  Lord Brockley’s lips parted in an angry snarl.

  “Let me show you what I mean. Merriman!”

  Algernon then appeared in the doorway, looking flustered and foolish.

  “Show me what you are made of,” his Lordship called out, glaring at him. “Be a man!”

  Algernon stepped forward into the room.

  “Rosella,” he quavered, his voice coming out in a squeak. “You must be my wife.”

  Lord Brockley grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him.

  “Be a man!” he shouted. “She’s just a foolish girl – make her accept you or it will be the worse for you both.”

  “No!”

  Feeling terrified, Rosella ran to the window, where Pickle’s cage stood. He was flapping his wings in fear.

  “Marry me!” Algernon whined, following her over the room. “You and I – we’ll get along very well here at New Hall, won’t we? And I adore you. How many times must I keep telling you?”

  “I can’t!” Rosella cried. “I don’t want to marry you. I will never marry you!”

  In desperation she looked out of the window.

  It was a long drop to the lead roof of the orangery, which lay below, gleaming wet under the heavy rain.

  Lord Brockley pushed Algernon to one side and came over to face Rosella.

  “I’m warning you, if you don’t do as I wish, you will be very sorry indeed,” he yelled.

  “Stop it, stop it, stop it! Be quiet!” Pickle screamed, his voice even louder than Lord Brockley’s.

  His Lordship gave a roar of anger and, seizing the cage, he forced open the window and threw it out.

  There was a crash, as the cage hit the top of the orangery and smashed in two.

  Pickle gave a shriek of fear, then climbed out from his broken cage and flew away into the rain, disappearing into the trees.

  “Oh, no,” Rosella cried. “Come back, Pickle!”

  But the bird was gone.

  Lord Brockley slammed the window shut.

  “Good riddance,” he grunted.

  He took Rosella’s arm in a painful grip.

  “There will be no further nonsense from you,” he said, his tone cold and hard. “You will stay here in your bedroom and you will have no dinner, no luncheon and no breakfast until you come to your senses.”

  He turned to Algernon,

  “And you, sir, will go on repeating your proposal until it is accepted.”

  Rosella was shivering with fear and shock and her voice, which had seemed so strong a few moments ago, seemed to have deserted her.

  Lord Brockley gave her arm a final agonising twist with his strong hand and then, pushing Algernon in front of him, he left Rosella’s bedroom and she heard the ominous click of a key in the lock.

  Shaking, she sat down on her bed.

  Rosella now felt utterly alone and yet she suddenly found herself whispering,

  “Help me, please, please. Help me!”

  She thought longingly of Aunt Beatrice. She had missed her terribly, but never so much as at this moment.

  And for the first time in a long while, she missed her Mama and her Papa, whom she had so few memories of, only their loving voices and the embrace of their arms.

  She clung onto herself desperately.

  If only there was someone in the world to hold her, to care for her and speak gentle kind words –

  Suddenly she felt that someone was watching her, and she looked up to see the portrait of the young man in the turban hanging on the wall above her.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked him. “Look at me. I am in such despair!”

  Her tears welled up in her eyes once again, but then she realised that his smile was not mocking but bold and happy.

  His bright dark eyes seemed to be comforting and encouraging her.

  “I care for you – ” he was almost saying.

  Then Rosella remembered all the times that she had fallen down and hurt herself as a child.

  Aunt Beatrice had always picked her up, comforted her and smiled in a bright and encouraging way, so that she would quickly feel much better and carry on playing.

  She gave a last great sob and stopped crying.

  ‘That is what I must do,’ she whispered to herself. ‘I must pick myself up and keep going.’

  For dear Aunt Beatrice had left her something that might help her, if only she could escape.

  Rosella went to her dressing table and checked that the silver mesh bag with the coins inside was still there.

  Then she went to the window.

  Lord Brockley had not locked it and, if she used her sheets and bedcovers, she would be able to let herself down onto the orangery roof.

  And surely from there it would be possible to jump down to the ground.

  But then she would have to wait until everyone was asleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rain fell all through the long afternoon and it was still pattering against the windows and splashing down the gutters when Algernon came to Rosella’s room again.

  This time he was not in such a sprightly mood as when he had first proposed to her in the study.

  “You had better say you will marry me,” he said in a petulant tone, “or you will have no dinner.”

  “I cannot,” she replied and took hold of the chair that stood by her dressing table and held it between them, so that he could not come near her.

  Algernon shook his head.

  “It’s the best offer you will ever get – seeing as you have no fortune and no prospects. And there’s a delicious roast goose for dinner!”

  Rosella thought that she would be sick if she had to even look at the rich greasy meat of roast goose, let alone eat it.

  “Don’t be a silly girl,” Algernon was saying. “I’ve been in love with so many pretty young things and none of them have I asked to become Mrs. Merriman! Just think of that. Doesn’t it make you feel proud?”

  He then smiled at Rosella and twirled the end of his moustache with a plump finger. She gave a deep shudder of revulsion, she could not help it.

  He saw the shudder and his round face creased into a scowl.

  “There’s no need to look like that. You should be counting your blessings, young lady, and being very nice to someone who only has your best interests at heart.”

  Rosella gripped the back of the chair tightly. He was coming towards her now.

  “Perhaps you are not such a sweet little thing after all,” he asserted. “Perhaps I shall have to try a different approach to bring you to heel!”

  In the next instant he had pulled the chair out of her hands and thrown it aside.

  He grabbed Rosella’s waist and there was a crash of silver-topped bottles falling over as he flung her against the dressing table mirror.

  “Oh, how divine!” he grunted, pressing his heavy body against her.

  She felt his hot breath on her face and then, to her horror, his hot lips fumbling at her cheek, trying to find her mouth.

  “How delicious you are, you wilful little creature,” he sighed.

  Now he was touching her hair and her face with his thick fingers.

  “You are so soft, my little angel,” he whispered, his moustache scratching her ear. “Let Algernon adore you, that’s the way.”

  Terror rose up in Rosella’s chest. She could feel the burning tide of it pushing up through her body, as he pressed himself ever more closely against her, forcing the breath from her lungs.

  “Please,” she managed to gasp, closing her eyes so that she could no longer see his face.

  She felt his bulky body shake with laughter.

  “Please? Now that’s more like it! What is it that you want from your Algernon, my pretty angel!”

  “Let me go!”

  “Of course, of course,” he crooned. “But first you will kiss me and then you will promise to be my wife.”

  The tide of terror was threate
ning to overcome her and she realised that she was about to faint, for the same strange giddiness was now coming over her that she had experienced in the dressmaker’s shop.

  But she could not lose herself and lie helpless in the arms of Mr. Merriman.

  With a huge effort she now opened her eyes wide, willing herself to stay conscious.

  Over Algernon’s shoulder, she saw that the young man in her painting was looking down at her with the same mischievous smile still on his face.

  As her desperate gaze met his painted eyes, she felt strength and courage flooding back into her veins.

  ‘Help me, please!’ she prayed to him silently.

  And then suddenly she heard music playing, violins and flutes and saw shadowy figures dancing under the light of a huge chandelier.

  The young man stood in front of her, holding out his hands, his dark eyes glowing under the colourful turban that wreathed his head.

  “What shall I do?” she asked him.

  The young man laughed.

  “Outwit him!” he replied. “Play with him. He’s a fool and you are far cleverer than he. Then you must dance with me – I have been waiting for you a very long time – ”

  A wave of bliss rose up in her heart and she stood on tiptoe with the joy of the music and the thought that in just a moment she would be spinning across the floor of the great ballroom –

  “Rosella! Lady Rosella?” Algernon’s voice rang faintly in her ears and she felt his fingers against her cheek.

  And then she was back in her bedroom, still pinned against her dressing table.

  Her captor was frowning down at her.

  “You have gone all pale and cold,” he said. “I hope you are not going to be ill.”

  “I am fine,” Rosella managed to say and she turned her head aside to buy a moment’s time.

  ‘Outwit him,’ the young man had told her. But how could she do it?

  “Good, I am waiting for a kiss,” Algernon said in a childish wheedling tone. “And I shall not let you go until you have said you will be my wife.”

  “You are crushing me,” Rosella cried. “Please, I can hardly speak.”

  “A kiss!” he demanded.

  “I cannot breathe.”

  He shifted his weight a little, so that he did not lie so heavily on her, but kept his face close to hers.