Cherrybrook Rose by Tania Crosse Page B

Rose,’ he whispered, ‘but the bank wouldn’t accept your father’s cheque. It puts me in a difficult position, you sees. I can maybies let you have a couple of strips of belly, and a pound of tripe for that dog o’ yourn, but only if you pays me now. In cash. I cas’n let you have ort more than that till your account be settled.’
    Rose gazed at him, slack-jawed, and she was sure her heart missed a beat. This could not be happening! But it most defin-itely was!
    She forced her most winning smile to her lips. ‘Oh, Mr Roebuck, I do apologize. I believe there’s been some error at the bank. I’ll have to go into Tavistock to sort it out. And I’m afraid I have little money with me, so I won’t buy anything today. But I’ll be back in a day or two.’
    â€˜As you wish, Miss Rose. And . . . I really am proper sorry.’
    â€˜Don’t worry about it!’ she beamed cheerfully in an effort to disguise the tremor in her voice. ‘I do understand.’
    â€˜My regards to your father, then!’ the poor man called as she left the shop.
    She stood outside on the frozen ground, unaware of the gnawing cold that pinched at her toes and turned her flushed cheeks to ice. For some seconds, the shock numbed her brain, rendering her incapable of thought. She breathed in deeply through flared nostrils, and the pain of the glacial air in her lungs seemed to bring her to her senses. Flour and potatoes were all she could think of. She had enough in her purse for those. At least they wouldn’t starve. But even they were useless without coal for the range to cook them on! She closed her eyes, forcing herself to think back. Henry hadn’t given her a cheque for the coal merchants, had he? So perhaps they hadn’t sent a bill yet. But it had been a long time, three months since the explosion. She took all the post up to her father unopened. He dealt with it, gave her back any papers to put away in his bureau in the dining room, which she did without question, and without looking at them, for they were her father’s. But what if . . .?
    She strode determinedly into Mr Richards’s establishment. They must have coal! There was only enough to last a week in these arctic temperatures, two if they were blessed with a sudden thaw and were careful in their consumption. But they already were, the kitchen range and the grate in Henry’s bedroom being the only fires that were lit, both she and Florrie shivering in their beds at night. It was warmer in Joe’s room over the stables, she often thought ruefully.
    The groceries first, for the shop served a dual purpose. With the weighty items safely stowed in her basket, she stepped up to the wooden kiosk that served as the coal-merchants’ office, and tapped nervously on the window. Mr Richards glanced up at her over the horn-rimmed spectacles that were balanced on the end of his bulbous nose.
    â€˜Yes?’ he asked gruffly, for he was not known for his friendliness.
    â€˜Please could you deliver us some coal, Mr Richards?’ Rose said politely.
    She watched through the small square of glass as he thumbed through a ledger and finally opened it at a particular page that seemed to warrant his scrutiny. He sniffed, wriggling his nose, before turning his small eyes on her. ‘Your last bill’s not been paid yet,’ he growled with annoyance.
    Rose’s heart sank to her boots. ‘Are you sure you’ve sent one?’ she replied with feigned innocence. ‘I’ve not seen one.’
    He scowled and flicked through another smaller book. ‘Definitely. But you can have this carbon copy.’ And tearing out the page, he slid it through the narrow gap beneath the little window.
    Rose took it between shaking fingers and pushed it, folded, into her purse, trying hard not to look at the faint blue figures at the bottom of the thin paper. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Richards. It must have