Rose Rivers Read online

  ‘I don’t think she should have all that!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Oh, we’ve woken up, have we, Miss Rose? And still questioning my medical competence? Anyone would think you were the trained nurse, not me!’

  ‘You gave her an awful lot, even if it’s harmless,’ I said.

  ‘It’s just to top her up. It makes her feel better, doesn’t it, dear? She likes it,’ said Nurse Budd, stroking Beth’s tear-stained cheek in a way that turned my stomach.

  ‘Likes it,’ Beth mumbled. She looked dazed.

  ‘You have given her too much,’ I said.

  ‘Nonsense. It was just a tiddly spoonful,’ said Nurse Budd.

  While she was struggling to get Beth dressed, I peered at the bottle. It was difficult to gauge through the dark glass, but it seemed there was only an inch or so left. Nurse Budd had opened the new bottle only yesterday.

  I had to tell Mama and Papa – but would they even come down to breakfast together after last night? As I went into the dining room I felt sick with nerves. Grandmama was sitting at the end of the table, wearing a black woollen frock with a large cameo brooch pinned at the neck, making calm conversation with the Lord and Lady Provost. The Lord Provost had a little lump of porridge stuck to his moustache. It wobbled unattractively every time he spoke.

  The daughter sat beside her mother, her brown hair tied in an elaborate topknot which didn’t become her. She kept looking at Rupert, but he was giving his plate of bacon and eggs his full attention. They were the only guests to have put in an appearance.

  ‘Good morning, Rose,’ Grandmama said. ‘What would you like to eat? There’s porridge of course, and kedgeree, and bacon and eggs, and Scotch pancakes, and I dare say Cook will do you a kipper if you’d like one.’

  ‘I’m very partial to kippers, but the taste does linger,’ said the Lady Provost, and began to list her culinary likes and dislikes. The Lord Provost yawned, clearly knowing it by heart. Grandmama nodded politely like a perfect hostess, though I saw her stifle a yawn.

  I took one rasher of bacon and a spoonful of scrambled eggs, though I really didn’t want anything.

  ‘Come and sit beside me,’ Rupert said eagerly, still ignoring the poor daughter.

  ‘Where’s everyone else?’ I said.

  ‘The ball didn’t finish until gone two. Some of them are still asleep or feeling poorly.’ Rupert lowered his voice. ‘I drank several glasses of wine myself but my head doesn’t hurt a bit.’

  ‘Where are Mama and Papa?’ I whispered.

  Rupert shrugged. ‘They haven’t put in an appearance yet.’

  ‘And Mr Walker?’

  ‘Grandmama said he breakfasted early with Grandpapa and they’ve gone for a ride together.’

  ‘They’ve gone for a ride?’

  ‘Yes, I just said. They could have waited for me!’

  ‘Mr Walker has gone for a ride?’

  ‘Do stop repeating things, Rose. You’re sounding like Beth.’

  ‘But does Mr Walker ride? I can’t imagine him on a horse, he isn’t that sort of a person,’ I persisted.

  ‘Perhaps he wants to canter over to Lord Mackay’s castle to see the beguiling Miss Wentworth,’ said Rupert.

  ‘Do you think so?’ I said miserably.

  ‘Who knows?’ Rupert leaned over and whispered, ‘Do you think Papa’s gone with them to see Lady Hirst?’

  ‘Don’t joke about it, it’s horrible,’ I said, laying down my knife and fork, unable to eat.

  ‘Don’t you want that bacon?’ asked Rupert, spearing it with his fork and adding it to his pile.

  ‘Rupert, dear, I don’t really think we want nursery behaviour in here,’ said Grandmama. ‘There’s plenty more bacon in the serving dish if you’re still hungry.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d like a little more, Portia?’ Grandmama asked the Lord and Lady Provost’s daughter.

  ‘Oh, our Portia eats like a little bird,’ said the Lady Provost. ‘That’s why she’s so slender.’

  ‘Skin and bone,’ said the Lord Provost. ‘But she’s fit and healthy, aren’t you, lassie?’

  Poor Portia was now a painful crimson. They were discussing her like a brood mare.

  ‘She loves her Scottish dancing, don’t you, Portia?’ said her mother. ‘She’s very light on her feet, isn’t she, Rupert?’

  ‘Yes, you’re a very fine dancer, Portia,’ Rupert was obliged to say, giving her a cursory nod. He gave me a little kick under the table to indicate his horror.

  Papa came into the dining room looking pale and weary. We waited for Mama, but she didn’t appear.

  ‘Good morning, Edward,’ said Grandmama.

  ‘Good morning,’ Papa said tersely. He bent down and murmured something in her ear.

  She frowned. ‘Is that really necessary?’ she said in an undertone.

  Papa whispered something else, and Grandmama sighed irritably and rang a little bell. A maid appeared almost instantaneously.

  ‘Would you send for a doctor, please, Mary? Perhaps it had better be Dr Grimes, though he’s further away. Dr Macdonald seemed a little the worse for wear last night. I believe Dr Grimes is a Rechabite, and therefore teetotal,’ Grandmama said.

  The maid bobbed off importantly.

  ‘Oh dear, I do hope one of your grandchildren hasn’t been taken ill,’ said the Lady Provost.

  Papa came and sat down heavily beside me. He looked so ill that I reached out and took his hand.

  ‘Are you all right, Papa?’ I asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes, my dear. Just a little tired, that’s all,’ he said. ‘It’s your mama who’s rather unwell.’

  ‘My daughter’s been in fragile health since her last confinement,’ Grandmama said quickly, ‘but I’m sure she’s not seriously ill. She just needs a little tonic.’

  ‘Oh, I do understand,’ said the Lady Provost. ‘I was bothered with my nerves for a full year after Portia was born. Perhaps I could go and give her a little womanly advice after breakfast?’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be up soon,’ Grandmama said firmly. ‘Rose, go to your mother and wait with her until the doctor comes.’

  I hesitated. I knew that Mama wouldn’t want me there under any circumstances. I hoped Papa would make some excuse for me, but he was nodding.

  ‘Yes, go to Mama, dear,’ he said.

  I looked at Rupert imploringly, but it wouldn’t have been considered proper for him to come with me. I was the eldest daughter. It was my duty.

  I trudged up the stairs, wondering what on earth I should do or say. I hated the thought of being alone with Mama, especially if she was in bed. I knocked timidly at her door. There was no response. I knocked again, and heard a low moan from within. I pushed the door open, alarmed.

  The curtains were closed but I could see well enough in the half-light. The bedroom was in turmoil, Mama’s white dress thrown on the carpet, a pillow flung into a corner, the water jug in pieces. Mama was lying face down on the bed, fists clenched on either side of her head, her nightgown rucked up and showing her plump legs.

  ‘Oh, Mama,’ I said, trying to cover her up.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ she mumbled.

  ‘Let me help you tidy up. They’ve sent for a doctor,’ I said, opening the curtains.

  Mama moaned and put her hands over her face. Her fingers raked her long tangled hair.

  ‘Can I brush your hair, Mama, and help you wash your face?’ I asked.

  ‘Get out of my room, do you hear me!’

  ‘I’m just trying to help, Mama,’ I said, grappling with her white dress.

  ‘I don’t want your help.’ She reared up and I saw that her eyelids were swollen, her eyes bloodshot. Her nose was red too, her cheeks stained with tears. Her nightgown was torn at the neck, the skin beneath it red. She smelled strongly of perspiration – Mama, who was always so fragrant!

  ‘Oh, Mama, I’m sure you have a fever,’ I said. ‘Thank goodness the doctor is coming.’

  ‘A doctor can’t help a broken heart,’ s