Fair Is the Rose by Liz Curtis Higgs

Author:Liz Curtis Higgs [Higgs, Liz Curtis]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-05-12T15:22:02+00:00

Rose was markedly improved the next day. Limited to weak tea and lukewarm soup, she nonetheless swallowed all that was offered and nodded for more. “Sic a guid patient I have!” Neda crowed, tucking a bib round Rose’s neck and feeding her by spoonfuls.

“Jane,” Rose managed to say after her dinner, a bit more clearly this time.

Leana informed her they’d received no news from Dumfries. “But Peter Drummond stopped by this morning to inquire how you are doing. Might you like to see him when he comes again?” Leana was surprised when Rose shook her head no. Her sister had no other prospects, and Peter was an amiable young man of sufficient breeding and income to please their pernickitie father. Odd that Rose would refuse his suit, as though she had another in mind. Had she been introduced to a gentleman in Dumfries? Or did she still think she might claim Jamie’s heart? The kirk session had opened the door to that terrible possibility. If Rose continued to mend, she would need to be told sooner rather than later. Until then, Leana would shower her with affection and pray their sisterly bond would hold fast.

On Friday morning Rose was able to sit by the side of the bed without support and then, with Leana’s help, stand to her feet and walk a few steps. “Bath,” she croaked, and so the wooden tub was carried to her room and filled with hot water by a household staff eager to see their mistress healed.

Leana herded all but Annabel out of the room so Rose might have some privacy. While the maid tended to Rose’s skin, grown nearly transparent from her illness, Leana washed her sister’s hair. She whisked the whites of half a dozen fresh eggs into a froth and poured it over Rose’s head. After letting it dry, Leana rinsed her hair with rum and rose water in equal measure and rubbed the strands dry with a towel, draping her hair across her shoulders. “See how it shines! Like a silk cape.”

Rose touched her hair and smiled. “Like Jane’s.” Sitting by the hearth in her old reading chair, she was swathed in blankets, for the February day was predictably cold and damp.

Leana produced a letter from her pocket, hoping it might bear good news. “Look what Willie brought from the village. A surprise, posted from Dumfries.”

“Please … read,” Rose labored to say, sinking deeper into the cushions. Her sister was far from well; the frailty in her movements and the sparseness of her words pointed to her discomfort.

Leana broke the wax seal—stamped with an elegant C for Carlyle—and unfolded the paper, recognizing the schoolmistress’s bold penmanship. “What a fine hand she has.” She placed the stool from the dressing table next to Rose’s chair and sat, arranging her skirts to keep them clear of the hearth. “Now let me read to you.”

To Miss Rose McBride

Wednesday, 3 February 1790

Dear Miss McBride:

We were all most distressed to hear of your sudden illness and pray this letter finds your health improving.

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