After an early breakfast, spent in the company of a subdued Gus Crowe, who complained at heavy losses the night before at cards, and Miss Ames who spent the entire meal comparing Thomas Hardy to some obscure Victorian writer Flora had never heard of, she spent the morning in her suite, re-arranging her wardrobe and putting Eddy’s scattered belongs away. He arrived during the process and pulled everything out again with the explanation that he wanted to show Ozzy a box of Napoleonic toy soldiers his father had presented him before they left.
Having seen him off again, and with nothing else which needed her attention, she strolled the saloon deck, exchanged pleasantries with a few other passengers and occupied a steamer chair where she read a whole chapter of Northanger Abbey without interruptions. She closed the book and glanced along the deck, where Gerald was organising a noisy game of shuffleboard with several young boys, among them Ozzy and Eddy. She watched for a while, but gently declined Gerald’s invitation to take a turn.
‘Have you seen Mr Harrington this morning?’ Flora asked. ‘He wasn’t at breakfast. In fact our table was almost empty.’
‘We were up late today, so we ate breakfast in our suite. The Cavendishes did too, as the steward delivered theirs at around the same time. As for Harrington, I believe he went to check on his motor car.’ Gerald pushed his panama to the back of his head. ‘He mentioned the straps had worked loose or something.’
‘I should have known, thank you.’
‘What ho.’ Gerald lifted a hand in acknowledgement of a shout from his son. ‘Looks like my turn again.’ He loped away, waylaid at the edge of the small crowd by a woman in a hat so wide, Flora couldn’t see her face, but the way in which Gerald spoke, his hand on her arm and his face tilted close to hers indicated she was attractive.
Ozzy appeared at Gerald’s side and tugged at his jacket flap, and with a final, lingering caress of the woman’s hand, he backed away and joined the game. The woman remained on the side lines as the game progressed, her face still hidden by the brim of her hat. Flora speculated on whether or not Monica knew the lady, but had come to no conclusion when a burst of familiar male laughter attracted her attention.
She glanced up to where Bunny strolled along the upper deck beside an extremely pretty blonde girl Flora did not recognize, who skipped beside him, twirling a bag on a cord on her wrist, her face turned up to his as she talked.
Disappointment conjured a bitter taste in her mouth and she stepped smartly beneath the deck canopy so they wouldn’t see her as they passed. She waited until their voices no longer reached her, then turned and strode in the opposite direction, muttering a curt ‘excuse me’ to a couple who barred her way, ignoring their surprised protests as she shouldered past.
Once inside the suite, she slammed the door hard, hurled her jacket onto a chair and strode to the bedroom and threw herself onto the bed, one arm flung over her head. Once the initial rush of anger had receded, common sense prevailed and she chastised herself for stupidity. What did she expect? Charming young men from good families did not take up with governesses. How stupid of her to believe she and Bunny had some sort of connection, when it was plain he was only being kind.
The bugle sounded for luncheon, and unprepared to witness Bunny flirt with his blonde companion, Flora stubbornly remained where she was. A shaft of light drew patterns on the ceiling as occasional footsteps, laughter and the odd murmured comment came from outside; though no knock came at her door, and eventually, the deck fell silent.
*
Flora woke, disoriented, easing up on an elbow, and groaned. The clock on her bedside stood at after four. Half the afternoon had gone, and having missed luncheon, she was ravenously hungry. Throwing off the coverlet, she washed her face and hands before swapping her creased skirt and blouse for a pastel, flower-print dress with a high collar and mutton leg sleeves.
In the sitting room, Eddy and Ozzy had come and gone, their occupation evidenced by a half-finished game of snakes-and-ladders beside an empty packet that once contained garibaldi biscuits. Out on the boat deck, the line of steamer chairs were filled with dozing or reading passengers, but neither Bunny nor the blonde girl were amongst them.
In search of something to eat to still her growling stomach, she headed up the grand staircase to the library, at the top of which Gus Crowe stood talking to a crewman.
Flora paused on the half-landing, conscious their discussion was becoming less a talk and more a lecture, delivered by Crowe and accepted with occasional, subservient nods by a sailor who was little more than a boy. Finally, Crowe wagged a pointed finger beneath the crewman’s nose, and marched away. Flora was about to follow, when Crowe halted, his gaze fixed on the door that led to the upper promenade deck that gently swung closed. From that angle, she couldn’t see what had caught his attention, but Crowe continued to stare through the window for long seconds as if pondering his next action. Then he seemed to make up his mind, straightened his shoulders and pushed through the door onto the deck.
Flora hitched her skirt and ascended the remaining stairs, but before she reached the top, she collided with the same crewman Crowe had been talking to, who was now on his way down.
‘I’m so sorry, Miss.’ He pressed his back against the wall to let her pass, his frowning expression altering in an instant to abject apology.
‘That’s quite all right.’ Flora took in a pair of troubled eyes that peered out from beneath close-cut sandy hair before she continued on to the library, where the same steward who had attended her last time greeted her at the door
‘Would you like tea, Miss?’
‘Thank you. I’ll be over there.’ She indicated the sofa she had occupied on her last visit. Before she reached it, Bunny’s face appeared round a white-painted pillar.
‘Thought it was you.’ He peered at her over his spectacles. ‘Had the same idea myself. Why don’t you join me?’ His heart-breaking smile made her stomach lurch as she imagined him directing that same gaze at the girl she had seen him with earlier. The image hurt too much, so she pushed it away, nodded in agreement and waited as he shifted sideways to make room for her.
‘Miss Maguire will take her tea here,’ he instructed the steward.
‘Those cakes look nice.’ She debated whether or not she dared order a plate of her own and devour them all, but decided against it and instead, watched Bunny poured tea for them both from his original pot, handing her a full cup.
‘You don’t use this, do you?’ he said, moving the sugar bowl out of her reach.
She shook her head, unaccountably touched that he had remembered. ‘It’s a pity about the books not having arrived in time before we sailed. I had hoped to give Eddy some work to do in preparation for school.’
‘Talking of Eddy. I heard he and the Gilmore boy persuaded the purser to let them see the wheel house this afternoon. I imagine that would add to his education every bit as well as a book.’
Flora lifted her cup and smiled at him over the rim. ‘Eddy is determined to see everything there is to see on this ship, he’s so impressed at the fact it’s so new. I hope the purser kept a close eye on them.’
‘Forgive me if you feel I’m intruding,’ Bunny said as the waiter returned and placed a small plate of finger sandwiches on the table. ‘You seem agitated where Eddy is concerned. Has he given you reason to be worried about him?
Flora returned her untasted tea to the saucer. ‘Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you. The other night, I was accosted by someone outside the dining room.’
‘Accosted?’ His brows lifted into his hairline. ‘By whom?’
‘That’s the problem, I don’t know. But whoever it was warned me to leave well alone.’
‘Good grief, how dare they? And leave what alone?’
‘I can only assume it had something to do with my asking questions about Mr Parnell’s death. Or someone overheard me saying I didn’t think it was an accident.’
‘Well, yes but even so.’ His mouth opened and closed as he floundered
. Then his features hardened, his eyes glinting behind his spectacles. ‘If I find out who the fellow was, he’ll regret it.’ He stirred sugar into his tea vigorously with a minute silver spoon. ‘Menacing ladies is not to be tolerated.’
‘Brave talk, Mr Harrington.’ Flora felt a rush of pleasure, immediately supressed beneath the knowledge Bunny was simply being himself. A kind young man who was generous to everyone. Including pretty blonde girls who liked to flirt with him.
‘Excuse me, but I was boxing champion at school.’ He crossed one ankle over the other, revealing an expanse of sock. ‘If it happens again, or anything like it, I hope you’ll refer it to me.’
‘I did tell Dr Fletcher and Mr Hersch, who promised to tell the Captain, so maybe they have dealt with it already. But thank you for your concern.’
‘In that case I sincerely hope it has been, though I wish you’d mentioned it before.’
‘I did try, but, well the moment never seemed right. The longer I left it, the more I began to believe I was imagining the entire thing.’ The relief at having unburdened herself settled on her like a warm blanket. She helped herself to a sandwich and took a bite, savouring the crisp cucumber with piquant salmon, to which the kitchen had added exactly the right amount of vinegar.
‘I like a girl with a proper appetite.’ Bunny watched her finish the sandwich. ‘Not like these silly society “gals” who push everything away with distaste. So false.’ Bunny addressed a passing waiter, one finger pointed to the nearly empty plate. ‘Could we have some more please?’ The man bowed and disappeared.
‘I imagine you know quite a few society girls.’ She tried to sound casual, but her throat constricted, making her voice high.
‘Too many,’ he murmured into his cup. ‘Here, have one of these.’ He offered her the cakes that had caught her eye on arrival.
She accepted without being asked twice and took her first bite of a vanilla slice, relishing the combination of cream, sweet icing and strawberry jam on her tongue. In no time at all the cake was gone, and she eyed the rest hungrily. Dared she take another?
Following her gaze, Bunny lifted the plate and held it out towards her. Flora hesitated and he laughed. ‘Go on, I know you want one.’ He waved the plate slowly from side to side an inch beneath her nose. ‘Besides, it will appear greedy if I do, and I hate eating alone.’
‘You were alone when I arrived,’ Flora reminded him. ‘And if I’m not mistaken, about to consume the entire contents of the tray by yourself.’ She held her breath, hoping he wasn’t going to say he was waiting for someone.
‘That’s different. Now go on, I can’t eat while you watch.’ Flora obeyed and he continued, ‘tell me about yourself.’ He sat back and folded his slender hands across his midriff.
She licked cream from her fingers, giving her time to construct a suitably fascinating answer, but failed. ‘My life is quite ordinary, I’m afraid. I’ve spent most of it in the schoolroom of a country mansion in Gloucestershire.’ She dropped the remains of her second cream slice back onto her plate. Somehow it did not taste quite as inviting as the first.
‘What made you become a governess?’ Bunny finished his in three mouthfuls, then wiped his fingers theatrically on a napkin.
‘It wasn’t so much a choice, more a transition. My father is Lord Vaughn’s head butler, all of whose daughters were educated by governesses. Lord Vaughn doesn’t believe in girls attending school. I was the same age as the youngest, Lady Jocasta, so I joined them in the schoolroom. Lady Vaughn had Eddy late in life and when I was eighteen, it seemed a natural progression for me to become his governess.’ She lifted her chin proudly. ‘In fact, you could say I’ve been educated far above my station.’
‘It doesn’t appear to have done you any harm.’
Flora smiled in agreement. She’d felt privileged to have shared a schoolroom with the earl's children, played games with them in the Capability Brown gardens, and rode ponies across the fields. What she didn’t mention was that when the Vaughn girls dined in a room where painted cherubs graced a ceiling two storeys high above an Adam fireplace, Flora ate with her father in the butler’s pantry, a candle between them to lift the gloom of the half-basement.
‘When Eddy goes to Marlborough,’ she forced her thoughts back to the present, ‘my duties will be confined to school holidays. I’ve begun teaching the daughters of gentlemen in the village for extra money. I’m cheaper than boarding school, and anyway, I quite enjoy it. The money is useful. I’ve saved quite a bit.’
‘What are you saving for?’
‘My future I suppose, whatever that is.’ Flora frowned. No one had ever asked her that before.
‘You don’t have something you want to do? Or are you content living in someone else’s house and teaching other young girls to become ladies?’
She stared at the congealing cream on her plate, the thought never having occurred to her before. She had always regarded Cleeve Abbey as her home. And yet – a distant memory lingered in the back of her mind, of a time where home was a room with a black-leaded range and a scrubbed pine table where the door opened into a sunny garden that threw a pool of sunlight onto grey flagstones. The scene was mixed with distress which mingled with the coppery smell of blood and the scrape of wool on her hands. Images too vague and elusive to put a name to, but before she could make sense of them, a shadow filled her head.
‘Are you all right, Flora? You’ve gone pale.’ Bunny plucked her hand from her lap, her fingers sandwiched in his; a touch that was comforting and exciting at the same time.
‘Too much cake, perhaps,’ she said, her voice high and brittle. Embarrassed, she snatched her hand out of his, then when his eyes filled with hurt, wished she hadn’t.
‘You’ve mentioned your father to me, but not your mother. Why is that?’
‘She died.’ Flora shrugged. ‘At least, that’s what I’ve always been told.’ She attempted a laugh but it fell flat. ‘I mean, I’ve never seen her grave, and whenever I broach the subject with Father, he changes the subject. He’s Ulster Scots and quite, well – private. He has the ability to avoid direct questions with such subtlety, you don’t even realize, then the moment passes and you cannot ask again.’
‘What’s Ulster Scots?’
‘I’m surprised at you, Mr Harrington.’ She tucked in her chin in mock surprise. ‘Don’t they teach history at Marlborough?’
‘They tried, but I dozed off sometime between the Wars of the Roses and the Repeal of the Corn Laws. I was more interested in the sciences.’
‘That’s a lot of history you missed. Anyway, in the seventeenth century,’ she began, in the same way she would deliver one of Eddy’s lessons, ‘the Scots Border Reivers were banished to Ulster as punishment for their raiding farms, cattle stealing and other dastardly deeds. Over the next hundred years or so, one of my ancestors married a Maguire, which makes me a mixture of Scots and Irish.’
‘From what little I gleaned from the perpetual drone of my history master, those border raiders had a hard life, with little choice but to steal other people’s livestock to survive.’
‘A generous view, but not everyone was a victim.’ Flora sighed.
‘Was your mother never mentioned when you were younger?’
‘Once, when I was about twelve, I heard the housekeeper say “that poor Lily Maguire” in a tone that implied something dreadful had happened to her.’
‘You never discovered what it was?’
‘No.’ Flora stared at her lap. ‘No one would have satisfied a child’s curiosity about something whispered in hallways. I have dreams about her though, all the time. Disjointed, frightening dreams where I know she’s hurt and I cannot help her.’ She turned to face him. ‘I’ve never told that to a soul before. Not even my father.’
‘Has it occurred to you,’ he began, jiggling his foot, ‘that your obsession with Parnell’s death could stem from unresolved questions about your mother?’
‘It’s not an obsess—’
; ‘No, don’t interrupt.’ He held up a hand. ‘Maybe you look for complicated explanations for straightforward things?’
‘I thought we agreed there was more to Parnell’s death than a freak accident. What changed your mind?’ Flora bridled at the fact he doubted her – again.
‘You’re avoiding my suggestion about your mother.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, not knowing quite what she was apologizing for. ‘I’m accustomed to pretending whatever happened, didn’t.’
‘Perhaps you need answers so you can make peace with it. With her. Then perhaps those dreams might stop.’
‘Maybe.’ Flora frowned, recalling her father’s haunted gaze whenever her mother was mentioned. She pressed a finger into the crumbs on her plate and carried it to her mouth, uncomfortable with the conversation but unsure as to how to change it. ‘I can’t really remember her, apart from one scene that repeats in my dreams like a stage play.’
‘Then use it,’ Bunny said gently. ‘Strip it of the dread and the panic that makes you shy away from that image and remember exactly what you saw.’ He leaned closer and picked up the teapot, the view of his exposed neck between his collar and hairline strangely sensuous.
‘What, now? This minute?’ Her hands shook and she buried them in the folds of her skirt, though not quick enough for Bunny.
‘Not if it makes you uncomfortable. Wait until you’re alone, and in control.’ He poured more tea for both of them. ‘What do you intend to do when Eddy no longer needs a governess, even for holidays?’
Flora shrugged. ‘I could never see a life beyond Cleeve Abbey.’
‘I couldn’t imagine leaving Winterbourne, either.’ He helped himself to another sandwich. ‘I had to face a different sort of life when my father died. Daunting in many ways, yet I’m glad it happened.’
‘Glad your father died, or you had to sell the family jewels?’
‘The second premise. I took my privileged, sheltered way for granted, living on an income I hadn’t earned, but with no real idea of how the world worked. Then I came to realize the society parties, shooting house weekends and the social round I was brought up to think important didn’t matter at all. Besides, I meet far more interesting people these days.’ He lifted the bar of his glasses with one hand and adjusted them on his nose. ‘You, for instance. That’s worth missing a hunt ball or two.’
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