Sweet Rosie Read online

  Sweet Rosie

  Iris Gower

  Transworld (2012)

  * * *

  Synopsis

  Rosie, sixteen, beautiful and vivacious, is in love with Watt Bevan, the manager of the famous Mainwaring Pottery. Content to adore him from afar, when he comes to her seventeenth birthday party she realizes that he is the only man she will ever love. But Watt, unaware of her feelings, is becoming increasingly drawn into the problems facing pottery owner Llinos Mainwaring, whose romantic marriage to Joe, the American Indian who stole her heart all those years ago, now seems in trouble. Before long, Rosie discovers that she is changed for ever from the innocent girl she once was, as she becomes involved with a man whose love she is destined never to have. A story of human love and conflict that spans two continents.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  About the Author

  Also by Iris Gower

  Sweet Rosie

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  About the Author

  Iris Gower was born in Swansea. The mother of four grown-up children, she now lives with her husband in Swansea in a house overlooking the sea she loves. She has written over fifteen best-selling novels, and has recently been awarded an MA in English at the University of Cardiff. This is the third novel in her Firebird sequence, and Daughters of Rebecca, the fourth novel in the series, is now available from Bantam Press.

  Also by Iris Gower

  COPPER KINGDOM

  PROUD MARY

  SPINNERS’ WHARF

  MORGAN’S WOMAN

  FIDDLER’S FERRY

  BLACK GOLD

  THE LOVES OF CATRIN

  THE SHOEMAKER’S DAUGHTER

  THE OYSTER CATCHERS

  HONEY’S FARM

  ARIAN

  SEA MISTRESS

  THE WILD SEED

  FIREBIRD

  DREAM CATCHER

  DAUGHTERS OF REBECCA

  This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Epub ISBN: 9781407083490

  Version 1.0

  www.randomhouse.co.uk

  SWEET ROSIE

  A CORGI BOOK : 0 552 14449 5

  Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Bantam Press edition published 1999

  Corgi edition published 2000

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Copyright © Iris Gower 1999

  The right of Iris Gower to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Condition of Sale

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Set in 1 l/12pt Plantin by Falcon Oast Graphic Art

  Corgi Books are published by Transworld Publishers,

  61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA,

  a division of The Random House Group Ltd,

  in Australia by Random House Australia (Pty) Ltd,

  20 Alfred Street, Milsons Point, Sydney, NSW 2061, Australia,

  in New Zealand by Random House New Zealand Ltd,

  18 Poland Road, Glenfield, Auckland 10, New Zealand

  and in South Africa by Random House (Pty) Ltd,

  Endulini, 5a Jubilee Road, Parktown 2193, South Africa.

  Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks.

  To my dear friends Rhys and Les

  CHAPTER ONE

  The summer sun rose high above the sprawling streets of the town, frosting the surrounding waters of the bay with glittering foam. On the sloping banks of the river, the pottery buildings buzzed with activity. Apprentices whistled as they stacked the saggars, still warm from the kilns, in neat rows against the walls. It was 17 August and Llinos Mainwaring had been in labour for the best part of two days.

  ‘Will it be long now?’ Llinos’s voice was thin with pain, her brow was beaded with sweat and her face flushed from her exertions. The midwife stood near the bed, her narrow arms folded, and looked down at the woman, pitying her. This child had better be healthy for it was the last one madam would bear.

  ‘Not too long now, Mrs Mainwaring.’ The midwife glanced at the doctor; he was seated close to the large window, reading the paper. He was not concerned about his patient; he would be paid whether the child was safely delivered or not.

  Mrs Mainwaring had been a model patient and she enjoyed all the privileges money could buy: good clean sheets, no layers of paper to save the bed from staining, not for Mrs Mainwaring. If sheets were ruined they could be replaced. A pile of fluffy pillows supported her head and the counterpane was rich old-gold satin. But the woman was suffering and it was time the doctor did the job he was being paid for.

  ‘Dr Rogers, could you come over here, please?’ The midwife spoke meaningfully and, with a sigh, the doctor shook out the newspaper and reluctantly closed it.

  ‘Very well, Mrs Cottle, if you can’t manage alone, I suppose I will have to assist.’ He came to the foot of the bed and the midwife spoke quietly to him. ‘I’ll have to turn the baby’s head; by the look of it the child is pushing against the pubic bone.’

  ‘I see the problem, what do you want me to do?’ Dr Rogers asked.

  ‘Be ready in case she floods on delivery,’ the midwife said tersely. She turned to the patient. ‘Just a little help needed here, Mrs Mainwaring, and then the baby will be born; be brave now, this may hurt a bit.’

  Llinos wanted to nod her head but she was too tired. She seemed to be lapsing into a haze of pain and weariness. She no longer cared if she lived or died. She had tried so hard to give birth and to no avail. Had she felt this sick when her son had been delivered? But then Lloyd was an amenable child, he had been born wanting to please. She felt a flicker of strength, she must fight to live; if she gave up now she would leave her son to grow
up motherless.

  Pain swamped her; she growled low in her throat. She felt the midwife’s hands helping her as she strained with every vestige of her remaining strength. The world seemed to stand still; a silence fell upon the room. Llinos was in despair, convinced she would die in the attempt to give birth to her child. And then, at last, the baby slipped silently into the world.

  Llinos fell back against the pillows; her face was wet, sweat ran like tears down her cheeks. She was exhausted but her child had been born at last. Already the pain was receding and Llinos was able to draw breath without the pain tearing at her like claws. She closed her eyes, waiting for the sharp cry of her child. It did not come.

  ‘It’s a girl,’ Mrs Cottle said quietly. ‘Oh Lordy.’ She turned the child and cleared her mouth, slapping her back briskly. The child lay inert, her face pale, too pale. An ominous silence filled the room. Llinos lifted her head in time to see the midwife shake her head.

  ‘The labour was too long, Mrs Mainwaring. I’m so sorry.’ The midwife laid the child on Llinos’s breast. Llinos looked down at the small face, the eyes closed, long lashes resting against alabaster cheeks. ‘My little girl,’ she whispered. ‘My poor little girl.’

  Tears ran down her face. A sense of disbelief came over her. Her baby could not be dead. She looked at the small still face again. All her efforts had been in vain. Her baby was stillborn.

  Mrs Cottle busied herself, moving the baby into the crib and tenderly covering the tiny form with a sheet.

  ‘Terrible it is seeing a little ’un stillborn. I feel the loss of each one of my little pets.’ She sniffed as the doctor stood uselessly by the crib, not knowing what to say or do.

  ‘You go on home, sir,’ she said. ‘Nothing you can do here, not now.’

  She washed Llinos with warm water, her hands gentle, comforting. ‘At least you’ve come through your ordeal without losing too much life blood.’ She forced a smile. ‘You’ll soon be up and about again.’ She glanced over her shoulder at the doctor who had not moved. Mrs Cottle made a wry face and returned to her task.

  Llinos felt as if she would never have the strength to rise from the bed. The ache, low in her belly, was nothing to the ache in her heart. She had failed to give Joe the gift he had wanted for five long years. A daughter.

  When Llinos was clean and neat in a bed covered in fresh sheets, her husband was allowed into the room. He sat beside her and took her hand, kissing her fingers one by one. Llinos tried to smile bravely but she did not feel brave.

  ‘My poor Llinos,’ he said. Even with sadness etched into his face, he was still so handsome, the sunlight bronzing his fine-boned cheeks. His eyes, startlingly blue, looked down at her, seeing into her soul, and Llinos felt fresh tears start in her eyes. Mrs Cottle coughed to hide her emotion. ‘I think we should all have a cup of tea.’ She spoke briskly. The doctor, galvanized into action, moved to the door.

  ‘Not for me, I’d better get back, I have other patients to see.’

  As he left the room, Mrs Cottle grimaced at his departing back. ‘Doctors! Not one of them worth a half-penny dab.’

  Mrs Cottle followed the doctor to the door and Llinos heard her calling for some tea. Mrs Cottle was a good woman, careful and kind, but even her skills had failed to save the baby.

  ‘Rosie is bringing a tray for us,’ Mrs Cottle said with satisfaction. ‘I’m gasping for a cuppa, mind.’ She spoke cheerfully, as if to dispel the air of sadness in the room.

  Rosie was new to the job and she bustled into the room with her eyes downcast. She was a shy girl, unlike her mother Pearl who worked in the paint shop.

  ‘Put the tray down by there, love,’ Mrs Cottle said. ‘I’ll do the honours.’ Rosie bobbed and curtsied and risked a look at the bed.

  ‘How are you doin’, Mrs Mainwaring?’

  Llinos made an effort to lift her head. ‘I’m all right, Rosie, thank you.’

  ‘But you had a bad time, I can tell. My mam just births easy, like shelling peas.’ Rosie smiled; she was a sweet girl, smaller than her mother and finer boned. She had curly hair and a peachy skin that enhanced her blue eyes.

  ‘All right then, girl,’ Mrs Cottle said briskly, ‘enough chattin’. Be off with you now. Mrs Mainwaring needs a bit of peace after all that work.’ She looked at Llinos. ‘I’ll take my tea down to the kitchen.’

  She hesitated near the door. ‘Shall I send one of the maids for the vicar?’ She glanced quickly at Joe. ‘But perhaps you don’t want no vicar, sir, you being foreign-like.’

  Llinos shook her head. ‘My husband will see to it.’ Would the people of Swansea never stop thinking of Joe as a stranger? Llinos was glad when she was alone with him. She glanced across to the silent crib and Joe followed her gaze. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she wiped them away. She watched Joe cross the room and lift the sheet away from the face of his daughter.

  He carried her to the window, holding the tiny motionless body above his head. He was chanting some words, a prayer, Llinos thought, to the Great Spirit and the monotonous sound of his voice brought her some sort of comfort. She knew Joe’s beliefs were strong, they sprung from the American Indian culture into which he had been born. After a moment, he kissed his daughter’s face and returned her to the crib.

  ‘I haven’t cried, not in all the long hours of my labour,’ Llinos said, her voice little more than a whisper. ‘Now I can’t stop crying.’

  ‘You’ve had a bad time,’ Joe said, pushing back her tangled hair. ‘I prayed to the spirits to help you, my little firebird, but this was woman’s work and something you had to do alone.’

  He bent and kissed her mouth. Llinos felt his lips, warm, loving, and her heart contracted. She put her arms around his neck and held him close.

  ‘There will be no more children.’ The words were a sigh and Llinos fell back against the pillows exhausted by her efforts.

  ‘I know,’ Joe said and he did. Her husband was wise beyond imagining. Joe seemed to know most things about her without being told. ‘But we have a wonderful son, you must never forget that.’ He paused. ‘Are you strong enough to see him? Lloyd’s been asking for you.’

  Llinos’s heart lifted as she thought of her son; she felt an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude that Lloyd was a strong healthy boy. She had so much to thank God for. ‘Of course I’m strong enough,’ she said.

  The boy came into the room slowly, he was not used to seeing his mamma in bed. He stood beside her, head bowed.

  ‘Come on, Lloyd, give me a kiss.’ Llinos drew him nearer, holding him and kissing him and he wriggled away. He was growing up, the plumpness of babyhood was leaving his face.

  ‘You grow more like your grandad every day, Lloyd,’ she said softly. ‘You could be the spit out of his mouth.’ She was glad she had named him after her father. She and Joe had debated long and hard about the name of their first-born; they had considered many names but, even from the first, the boy had the stamp of Llinos’s family and so he had become Lloyd Mainwaring.

  ‘Grandad was a soldier,’ Lloyd said proudly. ‘Will I be a soldier too, Mamma?’

  ‘I hope not!’ Llinos looked down at her son; he was tall for his age and held himself well. He learned his lessons quickly and was blessed with a good memory. But then he had been given a good start, a secure home life had seen to that.

  Llinos thought briefly of her own young days, unhappy days with a stepfather who abused and insulted those he claimed to love.

  Lloyd walked towards the crib. Llinos opened her mouth to protest but Joe held up his hand warningly.

  ‘Is the baby asleep? She’s very small, isn’t she? Will she grow big enough to play in the trees with me?’

  Joe touched his son’s shoulder. ‘She’s gone to her long sleep. You know what that means, don’t you, son?’

  Lloyd nodded. ‘She has died and gone to heaven.’ Over her son’s head, Llinos met Joe’s eyes. She was grateful to him for breaking the news gently.

  ‘I didn’t want her to di
e, I wanted to play with her, to show her the wind in the trees and the grasshoppers in the hedge.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I want Granny Charlotte. Can she come and see us, Father?’

  ‘What does your mother think about that?’ Joe looked at her and Llinos nodded. ‘You can fetch her in a minute,’ she said, her voice small. It would be just as well to let everyone know at the outset there would be no new baby in the house. ‘But give me a kiss first.’

  Joe sat beside Llinos and took her hand in his. ‘This is so hard for you, I know that, my love, but together we’ll come through it.’

  Llinos sighed. ‘It’s hard on all of us. I know Charlotte’s looked forward to the baby so much.’

  ‘She still has Lloyd.’ Lloyd was Charlotte’s two eyes; she loved the boy as if he was the child she had never borne. Charlotte was Joe’s sister, older than he was by many years. She insisted on being called ‘Granny’ by her brother’s son. It gave her a sense of belonging, she said.

  ‘Go on,’ Joe urged as his son hesitated in the doorway, ‘fetch your Granny Charlotte, if it will comfort you.’ He forced a smile. ‘We shall let her see how well your mother is looking, shall we?’ It was a lie; Llinos was looking pale and worn. There were tears on her lashes and lines of strain etched around her mouth. Joe touched her cheek.

  ‘I know you’re exhausted but you’ll always look beautiful to me.’

  Charlotte entered the room peering from beneath her mourning veil. She continued to wear her widow’s weeds even though she had lost her husband some years ago.

  Lloyd tugged Charlotte’s hand. ‘Come and see her, Granny. Our baby has gone to the long sleep. She’ll be in heaven with grandpa and Uncle Samuel. They’ll take care of her.’

  Joe took his sister’s arm and shook his head. Charlotte understood at once. Her face paled, she put her hand to her lips to stifle a cry. Then she looked down at Lloyd and took a deep breath before turning towards the crib.

  ‘She is so beautiful!’ Charlotte touched the delicate hands with the tips of her fingers. ‘What name are we going to give her to take her on her journey?’ Charlotte drew Lloyd close to her side. ‘Do you think your mamma will let me call the baby Letitia? It’s a name I like very much.’