Page 7
Mama licked her dry, pale lips, her hands shaking. “Thank you. You’re very kind, Lady Virtoux.”
The Viscount of Mique stood with his nose high and clutched at a handkerchief, as though ready to use it to stop a bad smell, which none of them had.
“It’s my husband’s estate. Our home. Rose Cottage and the five farms that belong to it. I wouldn’t have asked, but the situation is very dire indeed. My husband is in London now, trying to sell everything to pay off our debts. Most of them to your family, of course. You’re a lady of great mercy. Please ask your husband to recall his writ of ca. sa. against mine.”
A writ of ca. sa., or capias ad satisfaciendum, was a complaint made by a creditor against the debtor in a court of law.
Lady Virtoux’s upper lip rose in an expression of appalled displeasure. “The court has given Mr. Rose time to sort out the payment, and it’s more than fair.”
“Indeed. However, if he fails to find a buyer or fails to gather enough money to pay off the whole debt, he will be put in the debtor’s prison. Please, Lady Virtoux, we are about to lose our home. Please do not take our children’s father from them… We already lost our son…”
To the utter horror of everyone present, standing around the lawn before the church, Mama gave out a small sob. She didn’t have a handkerchief, and clearly Lord Mique wasn’t going to offer his, and so Mama wiped her tears with her gloved fingers.
The mention of John’s suicide made everyone present stand rigid, frozen in place. Then whispers rippled through the crowd, their hushed voices carrying a mix of pity and contempt. Eyes darted between Mama and the grand lady, eager to witness the unfolding drama. Some turned away, their disapproval evident in the set of their shoulders and the tight press of their lips.
Anne grasped Patience’s hand and held it tightly.
The grand lady’s expression turned into a full sneer as she looked down her nose at Mama. “You dare to approach me with such an impertinent request? Your family’s financial disgrace is well-known, and you have the audacity to seek my assistance?” Her voice dripped with disdain.
Mama’s face paled. “Please, Lady Virtoux, I am begging… Mr. Rose might die in debtor’s prison, and my girls and I, we might be pleading for alms on the streets in just two weeks’ time.”
“You should have thought of that before borrowing money left and right,” Lady Virtoux proclaimed. “Besides, as a woman you ought to know your place, and it is not to intervene with the business of men. Do not dare to come to me again, I do not wish to be associated with such disgrace.”
Patience stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on her mother’s arm. She met the grand lady’s icy gaze without flinching. She would not let this woman’s cruelty crush her family’s spirit. They would find a way; that was what Mama and Papa had taught them.
“Please forgive Mama, Lady Virtoux,” she said as she pulled poor, sobbing Mama away. “We will not bother you again. And rest assured, we will manage.”
Under heavy gazes and whispers, they walked away, down the dirt-packed road towards Rose Cottage. It would take them at least one hour to reach home on foot, but the exercise would be welcome to distract Mama from the horrible scene that had unfolded, to absorb sunshine, and to think positive thoughts.
Besides, Patience couldn’t wait to get back to her roses.
Indeed, during the walk, Mama calmed down and even managed to put on her usual smile.
“Mama,” Patience said as she was struck with a sudden idea about halfway home, “what if we used the lavender and rose petals from my garden to make sachets? We could sell them at the market and earn a little extra coin to tide us over until Papa returns.”
“Marvelous idea, darling!” said Mama. “At last your roses might come in handy. Do you still have some dried flowers left over from last year?”
“I’m sure I do.”
“I know where they are, sister,” said Anne. “I’ll look.”
Anne was Patience’s best friend, and not just because she was closest in age. They both harbored a secret liking of science. Anne was a mathematician, while Patience was a botanist, though they could not share their passions and achievements with anyone but each other.
“But Patience,” said Emily, “who would buy anything from us?”
The question hung over the seven women in silence. Who, indeed, especially after the scene at the church?
“Someone might,” said Patience, although with little conviction. “It’s worth a try.”
And half an hour later, while Anne went to look for the rose petals and lavender, Patience went to the garden to prune her hybrid roses. She knelt beside a bush, inhaling the air that carried the promise of spring.
She wore a light green gown that had seen better days, its hem dirtied by soil, and a yellow apron with at least five patches. She used the side of her wrist to push away strands of blond hair that fell from under her battered straw bonnet. She preferred to work with bare hands, despite the toll it took on her skin—she had calluses, scratches, and dirt under her fingernails she could not remove no matter how long she scrubbed.
With no servants, her and each of her five sisters was responsible for their own domain in the household, and hers was the vegetable garden that stretched behind her. Though it was too early in the season to grow much besides peas and radishes. They still had a few wizened root vegetables and potatoes in the cellar from the previous year, but they wouldn’t last much longer.
Indulging in botanical projects such as hybridizing roses was not practical. So she had to be quick before Mama or one of the sisters other than Anne discovered her.
With her fingers, Patience inspected the bush, seeking out deadwood and diseased stems after winter. It was mostly bare, still in its dormant phase. However, small reddish leaf buds were starting to swell, showing the first signs of new growth. The hybrid’s form was upright and vigorous, with fewer thorns than the typical gallica, making it easier to handle. Though the plant had no flowers yet, Patience could already imagine the blooms to come.
