A Bouquet of Thorns by Tania Crosse Read Free Book Online

tipped on her erect neck. ‘Because I am educated myself, ma’am.’
    â€˜Really? At which institution?’
    â€˜My father taught me, ma’am.’
    The woman’s lips compressed with disdain. ‘Your father? And he is, I take it, a teacher himself, or a man of the cloth, perhaps?’
    â€˜No, ma’am. A businessman, but educated at grammar school. He taught me everything – reading, writing, reckoning, history, geography . . .’
    â€˜But since you would be teaching my daughters, I assume you could pass on to them some of the more genteel skills – drawing and painting, for instance?’
    â€˜Yes, ma’am, I can paint and draw,’ Rose replied, though how well was another matter, she thought grimly to herself.
    â€˜And can you teach singing and music? Play the pianoforte?’
    Rose knew she stiffened. ‘I’m afraid not, ma’am.’
    â€˜And do you speak French?’
    Rose’s heart sighed as she averted her eyes. ‘I’m afraid French was not something my father had any reason to—’
    â€˜Is there
nothing
you can teach my girls, then?’ The woman’s gaze flashed with irritation. ‘Not even needlepoint and embroidery?’
    Rose jerked up her head. This so-called lady of the house seemed intent upon humiliating her, and had Rose not been so desperate, she would have given her the length of her tongue! But sewing, now that was something she knew she excelled in.
    â€˜I design and make all my own clothes.’ She dared to smile. ‘There’s nothing I can’t do with a needle.’
    â€˜Then I suggest you look for a position as a dressmaker or a seamstress! Good day to you, Miss Maddiford!’
    Rose blinked at her, her wounded pride brimming with indignation. ‘Oh, but,
please
, ma’am, just let me—’
    â€˜I believe you can find your own way out.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, ma’am! I believe I am quite capable of
something
!’
    She spun on her heel, her jaw clamped, and swept out of the room, deliberately leaving the door, and then the front door, wide open. Good Lord! Thank goodness she hadn’t been offered the position, for she could no more work for such a harridan than . . . than . . .
    She stalked along Plymouth Road, the anger emptying out of her and being replaced by tears of shame and confusion. Perhaps after all, she just wasn’t suited to working. But she
had
to find a job! Her father and Florrie were depending on her! She was intelligent, diligent, polite if she was given respect in return, so there must be something she could do!
    By the time she reached Bedford Square, her fury had calmed. She shouldn’t expect her first interview to be a success, so she took herself off to a bench in the churchyard to consume the bread and cheese she had brought with her for lunch. She sat and trembled with cold and dejection. The wind had sharpened, snow-dust blowing in scudding circles, the sky leaden with yellow-tinged, smoky grey clouds. Winter was returning, and she felt it would break her spirit in two. But she
must
find the courage to soldier on, for the war had scarcely begun!
    The second household could not have been more different. A frail young woman was sat next to a roaring fire, her two sons, aged eight and five, playing at her feet. Rose warmed to the mistress at once. They took tea like old friends, the older boy chatting away to Rose, whilst the younger child found his way on to her knee and she slipped easily into inventing a word game almost without realizing it, while their mother looked on with a contented smile.
    â€˜You are heaven sent, Miss Maddiford – or may we call you Miss Rose?’ She beamed. ‘My health is not what it should be, and I believe you would be of such help to me. I should like you to be as part of the family.’
    A welcoming glow tingled down to Rose’s feet. She had done it! And the little boys were delightful,