A Rose for Beauty

Chapter 13

Anna and Lydia set off for Glasbottle once more, this time with Henry driving. Anna's face was stormy; she had tried to send Clara in her stead but Clara had flatly refused and couldn't be budged even by Henry, so Anna reluctantly put on her coat and hat and stepped out into the morning chill.

They sat close together in the wagon to share a little warmth, but Anna was restless and kept shifting. Lydia, wrapped up in her own private dread, finally roused enough to speak.

“Well, what's the matter, then?”

“Why should anything be the matter?” Anna asked crossly. “This bench is the most uncomfortable seat I have had in my entire life. They must have made it that way on purpose, or else I cannot understand how it could have happened."

“Nothing to do with a visit to the Cat and Fiddle, then?” Lydia pressed, feeling more than a little cross herself.

“I don't know what you can mean,” Anna said stiffly.

“Now see here.” Lydia pressed forward, feeling too miserable to care and suddenly willing to speak her mind to the sister who had always overawed her. “I don't care. You do whatever you like, you keep your secrets so close, I hope they smother you. But if you offend Mrs. Warren's son badly enough that we lose her goodwill, you will have done our family an injury that cannot easily be recovered from.”

“Lydia!” she cried, shocked. “If you are implying -”

“I'm not implying anything but that you were rude to him on our last meeting. Remember who we are, if you please. We are no longer the richest family in town. We are a breath away from being penniless and depend on the kindness of these strangers for a life here. If you would be so good as to not destroy that, I would appreciate it.”

With that she rose and moved to the opposite corner, turning one way and then the other until she found a position that was somewhat comfortable – Anna was not half wrong about the benches. They made the rest of the drive in strained silence. Lydia's recklessness slowly drained out of her, and by the time they pulled up in front of the Cat and Fiddle she was bitterly regretting that she had said anything at all.

Lydia climbed out of the wagon. Anna followed, but made no move to take the lead, just arched one eyebrow at her younger sister as if to say, fine, let's see how well you do, then. Her heart sinking, Lydia turned to enter the tavern, Anna walking silently behind her.

Mrs. Warren bustled over to them at once, all smiles, and greeted them warmly. Anna responded graciously but said no more, turning expectantly to Lydia. Anna was always adept with the social stiletto, Lydia thought grimly. Delicate, dainty, and fatal to the unfortunate soul it was turned on, there was not one action that could be singled out as objectionable, but for the person on whom it was focused, it caused excruciating pain.

Bless kind and uncomplicated Mrs. Warren, she thought. Encouraged by her guileless inquiry, Lydia spoke. “Mrs. Warren, I was hoping you might have some more of that wonderful lavender. I'm afraid we've quite run out of it.”

“What? Out? How much did you GIVE him?” Mrs. Warren cried, her eyes suddenly sharp. She raked Lydia's face with her gaze, her eyes dwelling on the bruised forehead.

Lydia, rattled, tried to answer nonchalantly. “Once in the morning, once at night. It helped tremendously.”

Mrs. Warren made a most unladylike noise that might have been a snort. “I don't doubt it. I'm sure you two are wearing yourselves to the bone, caring for him like this. Sleep like babies at night, no doubt.”

Lydia tried awkwardly to deflect that particular question, but Anna had no reason to go along with it and spoke up with feigned surprise.

“No, indeed, Mrs. Warren – in fact just the other day Lydia woke up with a screaming nightmare.”