Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

R osalyn's palms burned as she finished washing the last teacup and set it on the rack to dry. Everyone who lived there had daily chores in order to contribute to the running of Raven House. There were still multiple housekeepers to oversee everything, but Ash felt that by participating in the upkeep of the house, they would feel some ownership in it. This week, Iris was in charge of making sure all of the teacups were washed. Rosalyn had a whole new appreciation for what a big job that was.

Mrs. Corstairs, the housekeeper who oversaw everything kitchen related, bustled in and picked up the cups to inspect them. The first three must have been fine, but on the fourth, she stopped and turned, holding up the cup so Rosalyn could see the inside. There was a tiny, dark speck inside.

"Not clean enough for my kitchen, I'm afraid." She placed all the cups back into the sink of water. "Maybe you'll do a better job the second time."

Mrs. Corstairs left, but Rosalyn continued to stare at the pile of cups in the sink in complete disbelief. She breathed in deeply and slowly let out a long breath. After repeating that three times, she set to the painful task of washing the cups all over again.

When she was sure there wasn't a single speck on any of the cups, she waved her hands through the air to dry them. The cooling sensation soothed her palms. She still had to sweep the floors in all the common areas for Daisy, but her back, and hands, needed a break first.

Rosalyn quietly opened the door to her room. Daisy would be sleeping still, and she certainly didn't want to wake her. A white rose sat in the middle of the chair beside Rosalyn's bed. She picked it up and breathed in its sweet fragrance before unfolding the note that sat beneath.

A beautiful rose for my beautiful Rosie.

At first, she smiled and smelled the rose again, but slowly, cynicism set in. How many times was she going to fall for it? Why did Patrick continue to do these sweet things for her if his only intention was to send her away? She dropped the note and the rose back onto the chair and lay on her back in the middle of the bed.

Perhaps she could learn to be content here. She may have been able to do that before she'd ruined her friendship with Daisy, but it felt so lonely now.

Rosalyn turned on her side and picked up the rose from the chair. She rubbed the petals gently over her lips, remembering what it felt like to have Patrick's against hers.

She thought back on all of the laughter they had shared, playing games, and teasing each other. He was so sweet about the food she'd made for him, savoring every single bite and raving about how delicious it was, always trying so hard to make her laugh and smile. Those were the moments she wanted to share with him again. She'd marry him in a heartbeat if it meant a lifetime of those moments.

With a sigh, she sat up and stretched. No point in wasting the whole afternoon reminiscing. She might as well get her sweeping done before everyone else woke and started preparing for their night at the club.

Rosalyn's injured palms made holding a broom nigh impossible. She'd been sure this task would be easier on her than enduring the hot water, but she'd been wrong. She tried holding the handle in a way that put less pressure on her palms, but it felt awkward, and she had no control over the broom. Perhaps gloves would help.

Rosalyn returned to her room. She rummaged quietly through her things and retrieved her gloves. When she turned to leave, Daisy was sitting on the side of her bed.

"Oh no, I'm so sorry if I woke you."

Daisy didn't respond to the apology and simply furrowed her brow. "Ash told me you're confined to Raven House this week." Her tone was coolly disapproving.

Rosalyn didn't understand where this conversation was going. "I am," she said, hesitantly.

"You don't actually think you're going to sneak out of here, do you?"

Rosalyn felt as if she'd just walked into the middle of a conversation having no idea what it was about. "I'm not sneaking anywhere."

Daisy rolled her eyes. "Then what are the gloves for?"

"Oh!" Understanding finally dawned. "Why didn't you just ask that in the first place? They're to protect my hands while I sweep."

The suspicion slowly faded from Daisy's features, but then it was her turn to be confused. "What's wrong with your hands?"

"It's nothing, just a few scrapes."

In an instant Daisy was off her bed and across the room. She grabbed Rosalyn's left arm and gasped when she saw her palm. It was an angry red with numerous scabs across it. She snatched the gloves out of Rosalyn's other hand and tossed them onto the dressing table.

"Why didn't you say something?" She grabbed Rosalyn's shoulders and steered her over to the chair next to her bed. "Sit."

"Well, you weren't exactly speaking to me," Rosalyn said, a bit more defensively than she should have. She was hardly entitled to any indignation in this situation.

Daisy rolled her eyes and pulled a small tin out of a drawer in the dressing table, then moved the other chair across the room to sit opposite her. "Give me your hand," she demanded. "I can't believe you've been suffering since yesterday and didn't say a word about it."

"Really, you don't need to worry, Daisy. They're just a bit red because I had to wash the teacups twice."

"Mrs. Corstairs is a menace," she mumbled under her breath. She simply held out her hand and waited for Rosalyn to comply. Daisy opened the tin of balm and dabbed some of it on Rosalyn's palm. The sting was instant. Rosalyn gasped and tried to pull her hand away, but Daisy held firm.

"Don't be a baby," she said, pulling Rosalyn's hand closer again. "It stings a little at first, but it will help."

It did sting, but having Daisy show her such kindness more than made up for the pain. Perhaps their friendship wasn't ruined, after all. When she finished, Daisy put the lid back on the tin and returned it to the drawer. "Don't move," she said, and retrieved a pair of gloves from inside a hat box in the bottom of her armoire. "Your gloves are practically brand new, so we don't want them to get stained from the salve. These ones are old, worn, and stained, but they're clean, and they'll serve for what you need." She slid the gloves, one at a time, onto Rosalyn's hands.

"Thank you, Daisy. I don't deserve such kindness after what I did."

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course you do." She sat back down. "I was just a bit vexed. I looked, and felt, like a drowned rat by the time we gave up looking for you." She let out a little huff. "I knew Patrick would keep you safe, of course, but I also knew if you weren't with us when we returned, you would be in serious trouble. Ash doesn't take those rules lightly."

"I'm so, so sorry, Daisy. It didn't even cross my mind that you and Iris would be out in that storm looking for me. I was caught up in the moment and didn't think about anyone but myself. I should have done better." She took Daisy's hands in hers and squeezed them gently. "I'm truly sorry."

Daisy's hands squeezed hers in return, and she smiled. "Thank you for that, Rosie. I appreciate it."

After some arguing, Rosalyn eventually convinced Daisy to let her do the sweeping like she was supposed to. Even after that, she appeared every few minutes to make sure Rosalyn didn't need any help.

* * *

Patrick wandered through the tables, greeting customers here and there. His mind, however, was somewhere else entirely. Four days had passed since he'd last seen Rosie. Before that, he'd been away from her for nearly two weeks, but these four days had been far more torturous. It was selfish of him to think of how he was feeling when she was the one enduring the actual punishment, but damned if it didn't feel as if he was being punished too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, but he didn't turn fast enough. Before he even realized what was happening, someone stumbled into him, spilling the entire contents of his drink down Patrick's front. Great.

Not wanting to create an even bigger scene, he grabbed the man by the arm. "Looks like it's time for you to go home to your wife, Larry."

"Ah, don't be a killjoy, Patrick. I was just starting to enjoy myself tonight." He let out a hiccup, followed by a loud belch.

"Would you like to leave through the front door of your own volition, or would you prefer for Brennan to remove you through the back?"

"I'll just sit over here and watch the girls. I swear I'll behave myself." Larry stumbled as he tried to walk away. Patrick snatched the mostly empty glass, then raised a hand and waved for Brennan's assistance.

He sprinted over, as quickly as a man that size could, and took a firm hold of Larry's arm. "Come now. Don't make this harder than it has to be," Brennan said, but Larry tried to shake him off. That was his mistake. In about three seconds, Brennan had both of the man's arms held securely behind his back in one of his massive hands. The other hand hoisted him by the back of his trousers, and he carried the now sobbing man out through the curtain at the back.

Patrick quickly signaled for the musicians to play something lively and the Lady Ravens to start dancing. A scene like that could kill an entire evening if you didn't get people back in the spirit of their games quickly.

"Give everyone a round on me," Patrick shouted to the bar keeper. A chorus of cheers followed.

Business back to normal, he headed up to change his shirt. Brennan was back at his post beside the curtain, and he clapped him on the shoulder on his way past. "Good man."

Ash sat at his desk, poring over some paperwork. He looked up and cracked a smile. "You see, that's one of the many reasons I only wear black. The whiskey doesn't stain."

Patrick opened the armoire that stood in the corner of the office. They each kept at least one backup of every piece of clothing in there. Having a drink spilled on you was just part of the job sometimes.

"I'll take my chances," Patrick said as he unbuttoned his shirt. "Finch is a master at getting out stains. Hopefully he'll be well enough to work on this one soon." He chuckled and removed the soiled shirt.

Ash sucked in a breath and cringed. Patrick looked down at his mostly healed shoulder wound. "I know it's a bit puckered, but I didn't think it looked that bad, considering how many times it had to be stitched."

Ash shook his head. "That's not what I was looking at."

Patrick followed his gaze. He'd nearly forgotten about the large bruise just above his navel.

"I'm sorry, Patrick. I shouldn't have done that." His voice was low and tormented.

Patrick shook his head. "I deserved it, remember? Rosie is still paying the price for my poor judgment." He quickly slipped his arms into the clean shirt and pulled it together to hide the bruise. Unfortunately, it was too little too late.

"Perhaps you did, but I still shouldn't have done that. I'm supposed to be better than that."

He placed a hand on Ash's shoulder. "I'm fine, Ash. Honestly, it looks worse than it feels."

Ash nodded, but Patrick recognized the self-hating storm brewing within him. "Besides," Patrick waited for Ash to look him in the eye before continuing. "I recently punched you in your face. I'm still not sure this makes us even."

Ash finally allowed himself the slightest chuckle.

Patrick turned in the doorway. "You're not him, Ash. You're a good man."

"You'd better get back down there." Ash gestured towards the door with his chin.

Patrick simply gave Ash a salute and trotted down the stairs to the gaming floor. There wasn't anything more he could do to help.