A LADY NAMED ROSE
Chapter Twenty-Seven
As the days lengthened and the oppressive
heat hung like a murky cloud in the atmosphere, so did the tension in the Scott
household. Belinda never made good on her threat to inform William of the
bourbon on his wife's night table, but Rose suspected that it wouldn't have
mattered to him. He still spent most of his days at the office, and his time at
home cloistered in the study with strict orders not to be disturbed.
The only member of the family in whom Mr.
Scott took more than a passing interest was Bill. As soon as the lad turned
sixteen, he informed everyone at supper one evening, he would be taking a
summer apprenticeship at his father's firm.
"He'll start in the mailroom, like all
the others, but by next summer he'll have enough experience to be promoted to a
clerk or even an assistant's position."
Victoria mustered up a smile, while the other
children were indifferent, as expected. The only person at the table who showed
any real enthusiasm was Lucille Hammond, Victoria's mother, who cheerily raised
a cocktail glass as a congratulatory gesture. William glared at her. The woman
was only supposed to visit for a week or two following her husband's funeral,
and then move on to other relatives, but it appeared that she was taking up
permanent residence.
Bill said nothing, his face glum.
Rose was clearing the dishes when she heard the
cadence of rising voices in the study. She stopped what she was doing and
drifted closer to the hallway, feeling guilty all the while, but unable to stop
herself.
"...and did you ever stop to think how
his piano lessons would be affected by your illustrious plans?" Victoria's
accusing words had the resonance of a slap across the face.
"What's more important, Victoria, that
our son learns to bang out some more tunes, or that he learns how to earn a
living in the business world?"
"He's not just 'banging out tunes.'
You've heard him play, William! His instructor says he could be giving a
recital at Carnegie Hall in two years."
"In two years, he'll be enrolling at
Harvard."
"Why can't he do both?"
"Both?" William's laugh was
mocking, almost cruel. "Do you have any idea of the discipline required to
pass muster at Harvard?"
"Obviously you're planning to force that
on him, too."
He ignored that biting comment and instead
returned one of his own. "Have you ever considered that the reason why
Bill plays so well may be that he's trying to please you? We've invested so
much in these lessons and Lucy and Richard can still barely master the
scales."
"We're not talking about them,
William."
"It ain't nice to eavesdrop, Rose."
She started and looked upward at the stairway,
where Bill stood teasingly wagging a finger at her.
"I wasn't," she replied
indignantly, and as if to prove her point, she returned to the chore at hand.
The voices behind the study's closed door had faded and she could no longer
make out the words.
Bill followed her into the dining room.
"I know that must be embarrassing for you. God knows it is for me."
"It's none of my business," Rose
said, and wheeled the cart bearing the dirty dinnerware into the kitchen, where
Arnold waited to wash it. Thoughtful soul that he was, the cook made no
indication that he'd overheard the argument, though he must have.
Bill trailed Rose upstairs, stopping at the
attic door. She needed to study for an art history class the next day, but
waited patiently, sensing that he needed her ear.
"The old man's really going to make me
work for him this summer." Bill covered his face with his hands and leaned
against the wall. "I can't do it, I can't spend all that time cooped up in
a hot, stuffy mailroom."
"It won't be so bad," Rose attempted
to console him. "Just think of the money you'll make."
Bill snorted. "A pittance! I could make
more money in tips playing in a tavern."
"And how do you know that, Mister?"
He grinned. "Night, Rose." He
started for his bedroom, but she stood in his path.
"Not so fast. Just what do you prep
school boys do for entertainment?"
"You don't want to know."
"Oh, really? Well, I'll just have to
come down there and see for myself."
Bill laughed, his morose mood temporarily
lifted. "The invitation's open, Rose."
*****
When her twentieth birthday arrived in July,
Rose planned not to have any plans. She had never enjoyed any of the elaborate
parties her mother had arranged for her growing up, culminating in that
dreadful debutante affair four years earlier.
But at different times during the past year,
both Teddy and Angelica had succeeded in prying the date out of her. Now
everyone knew.
When she arrived home from Vassar that
afternoon, Josephine met her at the door. She was trying to keep a straight face
and failing miserably. "Hurry!" she cried, dragging Rose along by the
arm. "There's a mess in the dining room and you have to clean it."
"Josie, did you spill food on the floor
for Skipper again?"
A tiny giggle escaped Josie's lips.
"Close your eyes." Rose played along.
"SURPRISE!"
The entire family, servants included, had
gathered in her honor around the table, which was laden with Rose's favorite
dishes. Rose let out a squeal as Meg rushed up to her and gave her a big
squeeze.
"I was wondering when you'd come
visit," Meg said accusingly. Rose hadn't seen her since the wedding.
"Happy Birth-day, Wosie," came a
whisper from Rose's knee.
She could barely see Cecilia's face behind a
bouquet of yellow long-stem roses. The toddler smiled with pride and held up
her offering.
"They're beautiful, thank you."
Bridie took the arrangement from her to put
it in a vase, and Rose scooped Cecilia up in her arms. To her surprise, not
even the tight-lipped Belinda objected. Arnold lit twenty candles on the
chocolate layer cake and Rose held the child over it. "Go ahead, help me
blow them out."
Cecilia took a deep breath and let loose a
surprisingly healthy puff of air, extinguishing three candles. Rose took care
of the rest.
As everyone applauded, Rose took a long look
at the two families who'd adopted her as one of their own. For once, no one was
squabbling. Rose's eyes turned to Victoria. The older woman was watching
Cecilia with an expression of genuine happiness.
On Sunday Rose departed for Greenwich Village
and a different kind of celebration altogether. There was bratwurst and beer in
the Geisel boarding house kitchen, and the floor in the parlor had been cleared
for dancing.
"Any excuse to throw a party," Anna
Geisel, Angelica's mother, exclaimed to Rose while escorting her to a seat of
honor. She was the spitting image of her daughter in looks and in temperament,
with the same untamed black curls and impetuous behavior, and like Angelica,
always dressed in the latest fashions. People often mistook them for sisters.
The entire theater troupe was there, not
wanting to miss out on free food and drink--except for one person. Rose did not
ask after him; she didn't need to.
"Sebastian will be here later this
evening," Angelica informed her. "He had some business to tend to
first."
So it was back to the old games. Apparently,
Sebastian's surprise appearance at Angelica's play was a one-time phenomenon.
He had shown up to escort her to the off-Broadway production...an hour late.
She forgave him, of course, but they hadn't gone anywhere together since.
Angelica only saw him at rehearsals.
"Some business to tend to, ha!"
Hans, sipping a glass of ale, was listening in on his sister's conversation.
"I wonder what her name is."
Angelica looked ready to spit fire. Rose said
quickly, "I wonder what your parents would think if they saw you drinking
that." Hans scowled at her and disappeared.
"He's so obnoxious...oh, my, there he
is! Rose, how do I look?"
She looked flawless, as usual, but as
Sebastian finished saying polite hellos to the host and hostess and made his
way toward them, he never took his eyes off Rose. She refused to meet his gaze,
settling her eyes somewhere on his forehead.
"Happy Birthday," he said, and took
her hand.
"Hello, Sebastian."
"Hello, Angel." Angelica twittered
excitedly at his use of her father's pet name.
He turned back to Rose. "Are we having
fun?" Rose mumbled that she was indeed enjoying herself immensely, and
excused herself for a trip to the powder room.
Examining the color of her cheeks in the
mirror, Rose wondered what in God's name had gotten into her. Her stomach was
aflutter and her hands wouldn't stop trembling. She used a handkerchief to blot
her makeup. Too much rouge.
She hadn't felt like this since...
"Don't be silly," she spoke, daring
her reflection to challenge her. "It will never happen."
Upon opening the door, she ran right into
Sebastian.
"Pardon me. I just wanted to see if you
were all right?" His voice carried concern, but his eyes were laughing at
her. Rose felt naked.
She squeezed around him and headed for the
safety of the parlor. "I'm fine. You needn't have come searching for
me."
Sebastian hurried to keep up. "You know,
I wanted to bring you a gift, but I wasn't certain of your tastes. Angelica
wasn't much help; everything she suggested was something she desired for
herself."
Only a few more steps and she'd be there.
"Thank you for asking," Rose replied without slowing down, "but
you don't have to buy me a present."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her
around, pulling her so close that their faces were merely inches apart.
"Why are you running from me, Rose?" he asked softly. "I won't
hurt you."
He cupped her chin in his right hand and
lowered his mouth to hers, fingertips caressing her skin. The music and boisterous
laughter in the parlor faded to a low hum for a moment; Rose thought she heard
the rustle of skirts, a gasp, and a flustered "excuse me!" in the
doorway, but she didn't care. Without being aware of it, she leaned into
Sebastian and responded eagerly.
Suddenly, and with great reluctance, he
pulled away. "I'll have your gift next time we meet," he promised,
somewhat gruffly, and left her standing there, frozen in place. Gradually, one
hand wandered to her lips.