A Bouquet of Thorns by Tania Crosse Read Free Book Online Page B

establish a clientele, build up a business,
premises
, none of which she had. An
assistant
, then? She glanced up at the snow-laden sky. It was only mid afternoon, but growing darker by the minute. She should collect Polly and the dog cart from where she had stabled them for the day. She regretted not having ridden Gospel and having his speed to convey her quickly home. But perhaps she might just have time to make some enquiries.
    She drew a blank. Apprentice to a dressmaker with lodgings but no wages; or a shop assistant on a paltry salary was the best she could find. Oh, why wasn’t she a man? She groaned with such fury that she drew glances from passers-by. She could have earned eight to ten shillings a week labouring, but as a woman, you received so little reward no matter how hard you worked! Perhaps she should just find out about the workhouse . . .
    The blood seemed to drain from her head and swirl about her heart as she dragged herself up Bannawell Street to the forbidding workhouse at the top, and her hand shook so violently she could scarcely knock on the intimidating wooden gates, one of which was finally opened by an even more menacing face that eyed her with hostility.
    â€˜Please,’ Rose asked in a whisper as the courage flowed from her fingertips, ‘how does one get into the workhouse?’
    â€˜Apply to the Board. In Bedford Square,’ the voice snapped. ‘They won’t take a fit young woman like you. Get yersen a job. Do some work!’ And the toothless mouth – whether it was man or woman, Rose could not tell – broke into a jeering cackle.
    â€˜â€™Tis not for me, but for my father,’ Rose blurted. ‘He’s paralysed, and—’
    The face did not flinch. ‘I told ’ee. Apply to the Board. Won’t take anyone unless they’m destitute. Nort but the clothes on yer back, and I doesn’t mean
they
sort of clothes,’ the face sneered, jabbing a finger at Rose’s good coat. ‘I means
rags
. Then maybe they’ll take ’en.’
    The gate closed with a crash, but not before Rose caught sight of two stooped figures shuffling past, clad in the drab fustian of the workhouse uniform with a large ‘P’ for pauper on the arm. So shameful. So degrading. Rose stood for a full minute, her own shoulders slumped, battling to stop herself slithering to the frozen ground. How could she have come to this? How could fate be so cruel? A feeble, anguished moan escaped from her lips, laced with anger and frustration. It wasn’t in her to give in, but at this moment, she was so lost, so defeated, so desolate that her blood seemed to have turned into water. She dropped her head back on her neck, her eyes shut as memories of her past, happy life tortured her soul, and it was only the touch of a snowflake on her frosted cheek that sparked her brain to retrieve its grip on reality. The snow was beginning to fall, the vicious wind slicing at her slender form. They were in for a snowstorm, and she had a long journey over treacherous terrain before she could reach home. She must hurry to collect Polly and set out as quickly as she could, hopefully before the snow came down too heavily.
    The memory of that soul-destroying day flashed through her brain once more. When she had arrived back at Cherrybrook, frozen to the marrow, covered in snow, terrified and exhausted from battling against the blizzard, she had been too broken to relate all the details to Florrie. Too ashamed to admit that her fine plan had failed. Just as she couldn’t bring herself to tell the dear woman now that on that fateful day, she had actually considered applying to the workhouse for her father. And then she had received a kind and generous letter from Charles, begging her once again to marry him. She had felt so low, so desperate, that her former hesitation was dispelled and she had joyfully accepted his proposal.
    But look where it had got her!
    She had been