Ragged Rose. Dilly Court

      He seemed to shrink before her startled gaze, and his shoulders stooped as if burdened by an unbearably heavy weight. He dashed his hand across his eyes. ‘Yes, Rose, that would be for the best. I think I might go to my study and rest for a while.’

      The temptation to put her arms around him and give him a hug was almost irresistible, but Rose knew that her father was not the sort of man who welcomed personal contact. Even as a child she could not remember any outward demonstrations of affection on his part. As far as she was concerned, Papa had always been a slightly aloof figure of authority. Billy had always been his favourite, and no matter how hard Rose tried to please her father it had never seemed to be enough, but it was a shock to see him bowed and bent like a gnarled tree battered by a gale. She made a move to follow the doctor. ‘I’ll take care of Mama, and I’ll send Mrs Blunt to you.’

      ‘Where is Cora?’ Seymour demanded anxiously.

      ‘She’s in the kitchen, Pa.’

      ‘You must take care of her, Rose. She’s delicate, like your mother, and I worry about her health. Going out in the night air isn’t good for anyone with a weak constitution.’

      ‘Cora is perfectly well, Papa. I wouldn’t allow her to do anything that might compromise her wellbeing.’ Rose waited until her father went into his study before continuing upstairs to her parents’ bedroom.

      Mrs Blunt was standing by the bed with a doleful expression on her face. She gave Rose a reproachful look. ‘Your ma was taken ill an hour or more ago. She was calling for you.’

      Rose approached the bed, keeping a respectful distance from the doctor, who was using a stethoscope to examine his patient. Eleanor lay amongst the pillows like a broken flower, her long hair spreading out around her head in a halo of pale gold. Seeming to sense her daughter’s presence, she opened her eyes and her bloodless lips curved in a hint of a smile. ‘Rose,’ she whispered. ‘Where were you?’

      ‘No talking, please, Mrs Perkins.’ Dr Grantley shot a warning glance at Rose before continuing his examination.

      ‘I’m sorry, Mama,’ Rose said softly. ‘I was delayed, but I’m here now.’ She turned to Mrs Blunt. ‘My father looks very tired. I’m sure a cup of tea would revive him, or one of your excellent camomile tisanes.’

      ‘Yes, of course, Miss Rose.’ Despite her meek response Mrs Blunt managed to convey her reluctance with a twitch of her shoulders and a loud sniff as she left the room, but Rose was too concerned with her mother’s health to worry overmuch about offending their housekeeper’s sensibilities.

      Dr Grantley folded the stethoscope and replaced it in his medical bag. ‘Your mother needs rest and quiet, Rose.’ He leaned over the bed, fixing Eleanor with a stern gaze. ‘I’ll give you some laudanum, which will help you to sleep, Mrs Perkins, and I’ll call again in the morning.’

      He took a small glass bottle from his bag and handed it to Rose. ‘One or two drops diluted in water will ease the pain.’ He snapped the lock shut and headed for the door, beckoning Rose to follow him. ‘Your mother is very unwell. She has a delicate constitution and I’m afraid that the polluted air in the city has taken its toll on her health.’

      ‘What can we do to make her better, Doctor?’

      ‘I would advise good food, country air and above all rest, but I fear that is out of the question.’ He stroked his beard, frowning. ‘Unless, of course, you have relatives who dwell in the countryside, or a family friend who lives out of town and would care for Mrs Perkins during her convalescence?’

      ‘I don’t think so, Dr Grantley. My grandparents died several years ago and Mama has only one sister, but she lives in Old Street.’

      A grim smile curved Dr Grantley’s thin lips. ‘Ah, yes. I know Miss Day very well. A good woman, despite her colourful past. I attend her establishment on a fairly regular basis.’

      ‘And Papa was an only child. As far as I am aware, he has no living relatives.’

      ‘What about William? I believe he is at Oxford; would it be possible for your mother to stay with him for a few weeks?’

      Rose hesitated, caught unawares by the mention of Billy’s name. ‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question. My brother is staying with friends in Cornwall until the beginning of the next term. He has rooms in college.’

      Dr Grantley shook his head. ‘A great pity. However, I will come again tomorrow. We can only do so much and the rest is in God’s hands.’

      Rose returned to the bedside and measured out two drops of laudanum into a glass, topping it up with water. She helped her mother to a semi-recumbent position and held the glass to her lips. Eleanor drank thirstily and fell back on the pillows, exhausted by the effort.

      ‘I’m sorry to be such a nuisance to you all,’ she murmured.

      Rose replaced the glass. ‘Don’t talk like that, Mama. You know that’s not true. We’d do anything to make you better, anything at all.’

      ‘I feel so useless,’ Eleanor whispered. ‘I spend more time confined to my bed than I do looking after my family, or helping to care for the poor of the parish.’

      ‘You do more than enough, and that’s partly why you keep falling ill. You wear yourself to the bone looking after the sick and aged, but you mustn’t worry. Cora and I will do more to help Papa, and you must concentrate on getting well.’ Rose leaned over to kiss her mother’s pale cheek. ‘I promise you that we’ll take care of everything.’

      ‘You’re such a comfort to me, Rose.’ Eleanor’s eyelids fluttered and closed and within minutes she was sound asleep.

      Rose went straight to her father’s study. Her mother’s fragile condition could no longer be put aside as being a temporary indisposition. She knocked and entered the room without waiting for a response. ‘Pa, I need to talk to you.’

      Seymour put his cup back on its saucer, eyeing her with a worried frown. ‘What is it, Rose? Has your mama taken a sudden turn for the worse?’

      She sank down on the chair in front of his desk. ‘Mama is asleep. The laudanum has done its work, but it isn’t a cure. Dr Grantley said that she needs rest and country air. You must get her away from London before it’s too late, Pa.’

      Seymour peered at her over the top of his steel-rimmed spectacles. ‘Don’t you think I would have done that months ago had it been possible, Rose?’

      ‘I don’t think there is a choice now. There must be something we can do.’

      ‘I can’t abandon my duties as parish priest.’

      ‘Joshua is in his fourth year as curate, Papa. Surely he could take over for as long as need be? If you could take Mama to the seaside it would be beneficial to her health.’

      ‘I can’t afford it, Rose. It’s as simple as that.’

      Rose was not going to give up easily. ‘There must be a way.’

      ‘I have to trust in the Lord, my dear.’ A tired smile lit Seymour’s grey eyes. ‘Wearing yourself out with worry isn’t going to help, Rose. You’re a good daughter and I’m proud of the work you do, but you must take care of yourself or you might fall ill and then what would we do?’

      She glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and rose to her feet. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. I’ll say good night, Papa, but we’ll talk about this again in the morning. I’m not giving up so easily.’

      Rose barely slept that night and was up early next morning. She washed in cold water and dressed in her Sunday best. She left the house without disturbing the rest of the family and made her way to the church. As she had hoped, Joshua Hart was in the vestry preparing for the services that would begin with Holy Communion. He turned with a start and a slow smile spread across his plain but pleasant features, making it impossible to respond in any other way. Rose had taken to Joshua