The Bark Cutters by Nicole Alexander Page B

pass as somewhat gentrified.

    â€˜Nice,’ Lorna commented as her daughter descended from the two-horse dray like a lady. The girl’s brown wool dress, relieved with tuffs of white at collar and wrist, displayed a rather large gold brooch with intricate filigree work, a green stone flashing at its centre.
    Rose immediately noticed her mother’s pointed interest in the jewel. ‘A birthday gift from Sir Malcolm, Mama. He says I may stay until his return from the Parliament; six weeks, Mama, although I may return sooner.’
    â€˜Hmm, and what of your resigning and returning here to me?’ Lorna queried, her arms bulging at the seams of her tightly fitted bodice. ‘You read my letter?’ She surveyed the slim-waisted, ample-chested fifteen-year-old she had created.
    â€˜I shall marry for both position and love, Mama, and my best chances for both remain with Sir Malcolm.’ Rose observed with some distaste the deepening stains around the arm holes of her mother’s dress.
    â€˜What’s this? You think I’d be happy with a jumped-up gardener or overseer? Your best chance is currently holed up here, a Scottish gentleman if you don’t mind, with his manservant. So leave your airs and graces in that cart and come inside and ready yourself to make his acquaintance. This is our chance, for both of us and I’m not having your if you please airs ruining my plans.’
    Rose gave her mother her best look of disdain and addressed the red-faced driver of the cart, one of the many staff employed by Sir Malcolm Wiley. ‘Would you kindly carry my baggage inside the house, please?’
    The man reached around from where he had been adjusting one of the horse’s harnesses and with a bemused expression, lifted the two leather and fabric bags, dumping them unceremoniously in the dirt. ‘This ain’t the estate now, Miss.’
    Rose looked dismally at her mother as the dray rolled away.
    â€˜Now if you’ve spare coin, I’ll be needing that,’ Lorna puffed as she helped her daughter drag her belongings into the two-bedroom timber cottage. ‘I’ve been a bit poorly myself and unable to take in the laundry as usual.’
    â€˜I had planned …’ Rose began.
    â€˜Leave the planning to me. I’ve purchased a few essentials, but we will be needing brandy. Every person knows these gentlemen prefer it to the rough rum the common folk drink. And you and I will be sharing my room.’
    â€˜Actually,’ Rose begged to differ, dusting one of the kitchen chairs with a tea-towel before sitting, ‘Sir Malcolm drinks …’
    Lorna plopped down on Rose’s trunk, mopping her brow with a handkerchief retrieved from the folds of her ample bosom. ‘Brandy, Rose. This is a house of gentrified females. Now, the money, if you please.’
    Rose handed over a drawstring bag with a sigh. ‘What if I don’t like him?’
    Lorna pursed her lips together until her face was drawn into a series of small circles. ‘You’ll like him, Rose.’

    Hamish, discovering himself dumbstruck in the company of womenfolk, immersed himself in dinner. Their rather plain meal of mutton, damper and glasses of sherry was enlivened with a highly seasoned parrot pie. Lee’s contribution certainly appeared to intrigue his dining companions, for a good part of their meal was taken up with exclamations of delight. Hamish found Rose’s intricate rendering of her daily routine charming, and the minute details of the running of Sir Malcolm’s household allowed him the luxury of listening rather than having to add to the conversation. By the end of dinner he envied the lifestyle Rose’s employer enjoyed.
    â€˜With such knowledge, Mr Gordon, you can appreciate my Rose would have the capabilities to manage any sized household and, of course, she is used to staff; a most important qualification these days.’
    â€˜Indeed,’