The Christmas Rose: The most heart-warming novel of 2018, from the Sunday Times bestseller

Cecilia turned to Rose with a curious look. ‘What’s this all about, Miss Munday? Because if you think that my brother is a good catch I can assure you that he’s the last person I would recommend as a prospective husband.’

Chapter Six (#u40ff26be-dccf-51e8-9218-248f909f4da2)

‘You couldn’t be more wrong,’ Rose said angrily. ‘Such a thought never occurred to me.’

‘Yes, that’s a bit strong, even for you, Cissie.’ Eugene strolled over to a side table and selected a cut-glass decanter. ‘Would either of you like a drink?’

Rose shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’

‘It looks to me as though you had enough last evening.’ Cecilia shook her finger at him. ‘You’re turning into a rake, Gene. What would Papa say?’

‘Father was in Cairo last time I heard from him, so he’s not here to judge me.’

‘Your father is in Egypt?’ Rose was suddenly alert. ‘Is he in the army?’

Cecilia raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘Heavens, no! Papa is in the diplomatic service, and the last letter I had from Mama said that the consulate had been relocated to Alexandria.’

‘That’s the last place I’d want to visit at the moment.’ Eugene poured himself a generous tot of brandy and swallowed it in one gulp. ‘Anyway, that’s beside the point, Cissie. Are you going to help Munday, or not?’

Cecilia shot him a scornful look. ‘How patronising you are, Gene. The poor girl has a name. Either address her as Miss Munday or Rose, but don’t treat her as if she were on the cricket pitch at your old school.’

Rose looked from one to the other. She felt like a tennis ball, being batted to and fro between the brother and sister, each trying to score points off the other. ‘Really, it doesn’t matter,’ she said hastily. ‘You can find someone else to go to see Patience, Guvnor. I don’t want to cause a fuss.’

‘There, Cissie. Now see what you’ve done.’ Eugene refilled his glass and took a sip. ‘You’ve embarrassed Munday.’

‘The only embarrassing person in this room is you, Gene.’ Cecilia turned her to Rose with a conciliatory smile. ‘I’m sorry, Rose. We’re being very ill-mannered, and of course I’ll lend you a gown.’ She glanced at her brother. ‘On one condition, Gene.’

He drained his drink and placed the glass back on the tray. ‘Go on. How much is this going to cost me?’

‘Another ticket to the opera. I’m dying to see Patience, and Rose needs a chaperone.’

‘Munday is a working woman,’ Eugene protested. ‘The stuffy rules of etiquette don’t apply.’

‘They do in the real world,’ Cecilia said firmly. ‘You live in the make-believe land of those who purport to tell us the truth, when half of the things you print have no bearing on reality whatsoever.’

‘That’s a bit harsh Cissie.’

Cecilia placed her arm around Rose’s shoulders. ‘Take no notice of him. We’ll go to my room and find you something to wear tonight, and I’ll choose my gown so that we don’t clash.’

‘My sister is a harpy,’ Eugene said, throwing up his hands. ‘Don’t listen to her if she says things about me, Rose.’

‘Shut up, Gene.’ Cecilia held her hand out to Rose. ‘Come with me. We’ll do very well without my brother’s assistance.’ She glided from the room and Rose hurried after her.

Cecilia’s bedroom was spacious and elegantly furnished with a peach and gold colour scheme that created a feeling of everlasting sunshine. Cecilia ushered Rose into a dressing room lined with cupboards. The doors were faced with mirrors, creating a kaleidoscope effect, and Rose could see several versions of herself. She had to stifle a childish urge to pull faces, but Cecilia was in deadly earnest and she opened the first cupboard to reveal shelves packed with neatly folded garments. Another was crammed with ornate gowns hanging from brass hooks. Yet another revealed sets of drawers; some of them filled with lace-trimmed undergarments, while others were overflowing with gloves, scarves and stockings. There were open shelves filled with hats of every description, trimmed with flowers and feathers in rainbow hues. Rose was both dazzled and impressed, but also slightly bewildered.

‘As you can see, I love clothes,’ Cecilia said happily. ‘My maid takes care of everything, but you may have your pick, providing I approve.’

Rose had never seen such a collection of garments belonging to one person – in fact, she had never been in a shop that was more comprehensively stocked. ‘Are you sure about this? I mean, you were pushed into it by your brother.’

‘Gene might try but he could never force me to do anything against my will. You have to treat him like your boss, but he’s just my brother. I’ll leave you to choose, try on anything you take a fancy to and come out and show me.’ Cecilia left Rose alone in the dressing room surrounded by finery that took her breath away. She was beginning to realise that the fashion in London differed from what was considered haute couture in Bendigo, and she began her search for something that was suitable, but not too elaborate.

When she finally emerged wearing a pale-blue silk gown, with a modest neckline and a small bustle, Cecilia shook her head.

‘That’s an afternoon dress, Rose. You need something a little more dashing for the opera, and I think I know exactly which one would suit your glorious copper hair and milky complexion.’ Cecilia jumped to her feet and returned to the dressing room, reappearing moments later with a shimmering armful of gold silk brocade trimmed with delicate tulle roses. ‘Try this one on.’

It was a command rather than an invitation and Rose retreated into the privacy of the dressing room and changed into Cecilia’s choice.

‘Oh, splendid.’ Cecilia clapped her hands when Rose re-emerged. ‘Take a look in the mirror and you’ll see that I was right.’

Rose stepped in front of the cheval mirror, staring in astonishment at her own reflection, although to her eyes it was a stranger who gazed back at her. Cecilia came up behind her and dragged Rose’s unruly curls away from her face, piling them on top of her head so that they fell in a cascade, framing her face and elongating her neck.

‘What a transformation. I can’t wait to see Gene’s face when he sees you dressed up to the nines. That might make him treat you more like a colleague rather than an office boy.’

Rose moved away, allowing her hair to fall back into place. ‘I am very junior at the newspaper, Miss Sheldon. The other employees don’t want to work with a female, and your brother has given me a chance to prove myself. I don’t mind if he calls me Munday. In fact I think it’s a good thing.’

‘Well, well, so you have some spirit after all, Rose. I was beginning to think that you were a doormat, but I can see that I was mistaken.’

‘Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but I can’t wear this,’ Rose said desperately. ‘This gown must have cost a fortune and I’d feel terrible if it got marked or I caught my heel in the hem.’

Cecilia stood back, frowning. ‘You and I are the same size and height. I wonder if my shoes would fit you, because you can’t wear those ugly boots tonight. They don’t go with that gown.’

‘You aren’t listening to me, Miss Sheldon. You’re just like your brother.’

‘I am not at all like Eugene, and don’t call me Miss Sheldon. I’m Cissie to my family and friends, and I want you to be my friend, Rose. I like you and I admire you for standing up to the beastly men in Gene’s office, and I see in you a kindred spirit. We’ll have no arguments about the gown. It doesn’t suit me anyway. In fact I don’t know why I bought it. Gold is your colour, not mine.’

‘You do have lovely dark hair and a beautiful complexion,’ Rose said, nodding. ‘You’re right to wear bright colours – they suit you.’

‘Yes, I know they do, and tonight I’ll wear my crimson shot silk. We’ll turn every head in the Savoy Theatre. I doubt if anyone will be looking at the stage when we’re there.’

Rose was not so sure, but she found herself trying on shoes that were a surprisingly good fit, although ultimately it was Cecilia who made the final choice. Then, having listened intently to Rose’s account of her reasons for leaving home, Cecilia insisted on turning out a quantity of garments, including daywear, underwear and nightwear, all of which she insisted she had not worn for ages, and had no intention of wearing again. She threw in several pairs of shoes and boots, a velvet bonnet and a warm mantle, which she said was last year’s fashion and fit only for the missionary barrel at the local church. She became so enthusiastic that Rose had to put a stop to her burst of generosity, gently but firmly.

‘Oh, very well,’ Cecilia said sulkily. ‘But I rarely do anything for anyone else, and you’ve probably saved my eternal soul from hellfire.’

‘I think you have a lot of living ahead of you, Cissie,’ Rose said, laughing. ‘I don’t think hellfire is waiting for you just yet.’

‘You can laugh, Rose. But I’m serious. I was spoiled by my parents and shamelessly overindulged. Just look around you.’ Cecilia encompassed the room with a wave of her hands. ‘Of course, Papa doesn’t earn a great deal working for the Foreign Office, but Mama inherited a fortune when my grandfather died a few years ago.’

‘You’re very fortunate,’ Rose said smiling. ‘And very kind. I don’t know what I would have done without your brother’s help, and now you’re doing something splendid for someone you’ve only known for an hour or so.’

‘Yes, that does make me sound much nicer than I really am.’ Cecilia picked up a silver-backed brush and began to rearrange Rose’s hair. ‘You shouldn’t wear your hair scraped back into a bun, my dear. That style went out years ago. You’re lucky to have natural curls. I have to sleep with rags in my hair every night because my hair is as straight as rainwater.’

‘You’re very elegant, Cissie. I don’t think you need to worry about your looks.’

‘I don’t really. I know I’m beautiful, everyone says so, but sometimes I feel quite plain and dull. Maybe I should think of going out in the world and earning my own living.’ Cecilia pressed Rose down on a stool in front of a burr-walnut dressing table. ‘I’m going to try a much more flattering style, and you can tell me more about yourself.’

‘I thought I’d told you everything.’

‘You told me about your life in that far-off place, but you must know some people in London, apart from the ones you’ve met recently. I don’t think missionaries or prostitutes are going to help you establish yourself in society.’