Flora patted her hand. ‘You have repaid me ten times over.’ She watched the passing scenery from the comfort of Archie’s carriage, worried about the impediment to her movements that the snow would bring. She felt momentarily guilty for taking the day for herself when she could have used it to ensure the comfort of her ladies, then chased the thought away. She had attended to the most vulnerable the previous day, and the rest of them could manage for a while.
She turned her thoughts to her parting exchange with Archie. His behaviour had confused her. He was at once attentive yet distant. Then occasionally he said or did something to make her think that his feelings ran deeper. The countess had been of that opinion, but Flora had disregarded her view as sentimental nonsense. Mrs Finch expressed a similar conviction, but she was not even acquainted with Archie, so her view could be disregarded too. She had got one thing right, though. Archie would have to think in terms of siring an heir sooner rather than later, so perhaps the downstairs gossip that Polly had referred to was accurate, as servants’ gossip so often seemed to be.
Archie was on the point of declaring himself to some fortunate and eminently suitable female.
Flora suppressed a renewed bout of jealousy, wondering how that could be when he professed not to be receiving and therefore wasn’t exposed to the company of the
oh-so-suitable aspiring marchionesses in question. His circumstances didn’t preclude him from accepting invitations, she assumed. Hostesses would not expect him to reciprocate since he lived alone, making him all the more desirable in their eyes.
If he had accepted any such invitations, he’d refrained from mentioning them. Flora felt uncomfortable, thinking that he might have done so out of deference for her feelings. She probably wasn’t very good at hiding them, a situation for which she held him entirely responsible. He had no business looking quite so robustly and distractingly handsome. His attentions made her breathless and she found herself chattering more than usual when in his company in an effort to hide her confusion about her complex feelings for the damaged, highly intelligent and influential marquess.
A marquess whom she felt drawn to, but who was never likely to be hers. He had pretended to laugh when she referred to an invasion of the middle classes lowering standards at Coutts, but she sensed that her barb had hit home. Archie would have known what was expected of him since the cradle. His father had been enormously supportive following his accident, but even from beyond the grave he would expect Archie to remember his place and marry a lady of quality.
Archie would not disappoint the man he had admired and respected so unconditionally. Which meant that Flora would just have to keep her own aspirations a closely guarded secret. That was perhaps just as well. She relished her hard-won freedom—she absolutely did—and had a point to prove. She would enjoy Archie’s friendship and the fact that he was willing to confide in her to a degree, as well as taking an active interest in her own problems. That would have to be enough for her.
She blushed when she recalled telling him that he was her guilty pleasure. What on earth had made her blurt out something so inappropriate?
The answer was obvious. The feel of his lips on her neck had been as sublime as it had been unexpected. She had momentarily let her guard down, kissed him and then made that foolish admission—one that he had probably already dismissed as the ridiculous ravings of an equally ridiculous female who harboured ambitions above her station in life.
‘Here we are, miss. Home safe and sound.’
Polly’s voice recalled Flora’s wandering attention. Her maid stared at her, looking a little alarmed by Flora’s introspection. She hoped that the nature of her thoughts had not been too apparent in her expression.
‘So we are. Thank you, Mr Pawson,’ she said, when he opened the door and handed her down. ‘I will not invite you in. Doubtless you will want to get back before the weather worsens.’ She looked away and allowed a moment for Polly and Archie’s man to say their fond farewells. ‘Come along, Polly. You will freeze to death if you linger.’
Polly, standing still and gazing up at Mr Pawson, didn’t seem to mind the prospect of freezing. She did however recall her duty and moved away from the man who fascinated her, giggling at something he had just said to her.
Flora stripped off her tippet, hat and gloves, handed them to Polly in the hallway and headed for the sitting room.
‘Tea and toasted crumpets will suffice,’ she said when Polly followed her, awaiting instructions, ‘if you would ask Beatrice to arrange it. I cannot eat more than that after such a huge luncheon.’
‘I will see to it at once, miss,’ Polly said, disappearing in the direction of the kitchen. Her first priority was doubtless to check on her daughter, for which Flora couldn’t fault her. Polly, far from resenting the child who was a product of rape, doted on the little girl and was an exemplary mother.
Flora warmed her hands in front of the fire, smiling at Zeus when he deigned to jump onto her lap. He fixed her with the accusatory stare of a parent demanding to know where she had been all day. Having made his displeasure at her abandonment clear, he then settled down and purred.
‘You are a contrary creature,’ she told him, smoothing his sleek back. ‘You only ever crave affection on your own terms, or if you think you are being neglected. Since I know that you are sensible enough to have befriended Beatrice, you never go hungry or cold.’ Flora smiled and bestowed a kiss upon the cat’s head. ‘In fact, you are quite horribly spoiled. If you were a child, you would be the sort whom everyone avoided.’
Polly brought Flora her tea and crumpets, and she tipped an indignant Zeus off her lap in order to enjoy her refreshments, still deep in thought about her afternoon with Archie. Things between them had become more intimate, and she sensed it was a deliberate ploy on Archie’s part. What did he expect from her, and would she be willing to oblige him? Would she enter into a liaison with her damaged marquess and become his mistress? A liaison of the type she had never once been tempted to embark upon, even if it would give her the satisfaction of horrifying her father.
Until now.
Remus would be delighted. He lived vicariously through Flora’s exploits and was fond of telling her that she was too strait-laced. He hadn’t appeared at all that day, which was unusual. He didn’t ordinarily waste an opportunity to sigh over Archie. But at least his non-appearance meant that she hadn’t been in danger.
At least not the sort of danger that Remus was charged with protecting her from.
Her willingness to even consider an affair, since that must surely be all that Archie would require from her, both astounded and thrilled her. How far she had come in such a very short space of time.
She was tempted; so very tempted.
‘Are you finished, miss?’
Polly’s voice recalled Flora to the here and now.
‘Thank you, yes.’
‘Would you like anything else?’
‘No thank you. I am still very full from luncheon.’
‘It was a great treat. We ate what you did, but below stairs, and everyone was most obliging.’
Flora smiled. ‘I’m perfectly sure that they were. I dare say Mr Pawson is a figure of authority in the servants’ hall and no one would dare to offend his favourite.’
Polly blushed. ‘I am not his favourite.’
Flora laughed. ‘Of course you are not.’
‘Well anyway, it was a lovely day.’ Polly picked up Flora’s tray. ‘I’ll leave you in peace, Miss Latimer.’
Flora watched the girl go, wondering how to occupy her evening. She was still unaccustomed to idleness, since it hadn’t been permitted in her childhood home. The devil made work for idle hands, apparently. Deciding that she would indulge herself with a novel, she had only just picked up the book when a commotion outside had her glancing out of the window, the view partially obscured by the snow gathering against the glass. She felt a chill trickle down her spine that had nothing to do with the weather conditions. She worried th
at Mr Conrad had contrived to call at a time when he assumed he wouldn’t be turned away again on account of the fat snowflakes that were now falling thick and fast.
If that was the case, he would soon discover his mistake.
‘Bring her in at once!’
Her? The sound of Polly’s stricken tone caused Flora to jump to her feet and run into the hallway.
‘What’s happened?’ She blinked at the sight of the landlord of the Stag and Hounds, standing in the open doorway with a semi-conscious young woman in his arms. Flora was no doctor but she would do what she could for the child, which was presumably why Mr Trench had brought her to Fox Hollow. ‘Mr Trench? What on earth…’
‘This young lady was…’
‘Flora? Must find Flora…’
The young woman stirred in Mr Trench’s arms, muttering Flora’s name incoherently. Flora hadn’t yet seen her face since it was obscured by wet hair, but she recognised the voice immediately. ‘Melanie? Oh good heavens.’ Flora’s mind span. What on earth was her sister doing here, alone and soaked to the skin. ‘Bring her in and put her in front of the fire please, Mr Trench.’
The big man nodded and carried Flora’s sister as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. Compared to the barrels of ale that he was constantly obliged to heft during the course of his working days, Melanie must be a much easier burden. He placed her gently down on the settee closest to the blaze, then stood back and scratched his head.
‘I didn’t know quite what…’
‘You did the right thing, Mr Trench. Thank you so much. Polly, please bring hot tea for Mr Trench.’ Flora crouched down in front of Melanie and took her frozen hands in her own. Melanie flinched at the touch and Flora released them again, recognising raw fear when she saw it. ‘Fetch a blanket please, Polly, and have Beatrice heat up some soup for my sister.’ Flora squeezed Melanie’s arm. ‘Get warm, darling. I will be but a moment.’
She took Mr Trench aside. ‘What happened?’ she asked. ‘How did she get to be in this state? Did she come alone?’
Mr Trench held up his hands to ward off the slew of questions. ‘She arrived in a dogcart from the station and stopped to ask for your direction at the tavern. Then she collapsed. I saw the family resemblance, so thought I should bring her here myself. Did I do right?’
‘You did. She is my youngest sister but goodness knows what she’s doing here alone, and in such weather. Thank you for ensuring her safety, Mr Trench. I will look after her now.’
The big landlord nodded just once, took a final mouthful of tea and trudged off back into the snow with a tale to tell the curious denizens of his taproom. Flora returned to the sitting room as Polly arrived with a blanket. Together they removed Melanie’s sodden outer garments. The thick wool gown that she wore beneath was relatively dry, so they made do with wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. Melanie sat as still as a statue. The only sound that came from her was the chattering of her teeth, and she appeared oblivious to her surroundings. Worryingly, she didn’t utter a word, clearly suffering from delayed shock.
But shock from what?
Flora and Polly unlaced Melanie’s half-boots and eased them from her frozen feet. The boots had leaked where the soles had worn through and her feet were soaked and cold as ice. Flora rolled her garters down and removed her stockings.
‘Fetch a warm pair of my stockings please, Polly. Her feet are much smaller than mine so my slippers will be of no use to her.’
Beatrice bustled into the room while Polly was gone, bearing a tray with soup and bread for Melanie.
‘The poor lamb,’ Beatrice muttered. ‘Whatever can have happened to her?’
‘That is what I intend to find out, just as soon as she is warm enough to speak to me.’
‘Right. I’ll leave you to it then.’ She threw another log into the fire and prodded it into place with the poker. ‘Call if I can help.’
‘Thank you, Beatrice. I shall.’
Flora sat beside Melanie and coaxed her into drinking a little of the soup. She was worryingly unreceptive at first, but gradually revived as the soup warmed her from the inside. Before long she took the spoon in a trembling hand and managed to feed herself after a fashion. As she finished the soup, ignoring the bread, Flora rubbed her cold feet with a towel and then pulled on clean stockings. Polly, seeing that her services were no longer required, picked up the tray and left the room.
‘Now then, my love. What adventures have you got yourself into?’
‘Oh, Flora! What am I to do?’
Melanie collapsed into Flora’s arms and sobbed her heart out. Flora, growing more worried by the moment, felt impotent. All she could do was hold her sister and smooth her back with reassuring sweeps of her hands. It hardly seemed enough.
‘Here,’ Flora said, releasing Melanie when her tears finally subsided and she was reduced to the odd hiccup. ‘Take my handkerchief, dry your eyes and tell me what’s happened. I am sure it can’t be that bad.’
Flora passed the handkerchief into Melanie’s right hand and her sister winced, snatching her hand away again.
‘What is it? What have you done?’ Ignoring Melanie’s protests, she gently peeled her glove off and gasped when she saw the blistered skin on her palm. ‘You’ve burned yourself badly. How did that happen? No, never mind that for now, let’s fix it first.’
Flora rang for Polly and asked her to bring the distilled alder water she had prepared a month previously to help a child who had scalded his arm.
‘This will sting, darling,’ she told Melanie, ‘but I promise that you will feel almost immediate relief.’
Melanie cried out but withstood Flora’s ministrations bravely. By the time her palm had been tightly bandaged she had revived a little, and some colour had returned to her previously wan cheeks.
‘Draw a bath for my sister please, Polly. Find her one of my nightgowns and prepare the spare room next to mine.’
Polly acknowledged her orders and scampered off to carry them out.
‘Now, what other injuries have you incurred?’ Flora asked, anger coursing through her when she suspected how she must have come by the burnt hand.
‘I don’t…I can’t…’ Melanie shifted on the couch and tried to stand.
‘Your buttocks?’
Melanie’s eyes widened. ‘How did you know?’
Flora grit her teeth. ‘Papa regularly took his belt to me as well.’
‘You? I didn’t think you would have…’
‘I wouldn’t now, but I was your age once, and somehow I always managed to get on Papa’s wrong side. Let me see.’
Flora was obliged to withhold a gasp when Melanie stood, lifted her skirts and she observed the extent of the welts across Melanie’s buttocks and the backs of her thighs. Several were still weeping and required more of Flora’s healing ointments before infection set in. When she had finished her ministrations, she sat beside Melanie and took her uninjured hand in her own.
‘Now, start from the beginning and tell me everything. How long has Papa been beating you?’
Melanie sniffed. ‘Since you left.’
‘Dear God in heaven!’ Flora clutched her cheeks, appalled to learn that Melanie, the youngest and kindest of her sisters, had borne the brunt of their father’s temper. ‘Why did you not say?’
‘He made me feel that I deserved to be punished. That I had disappointed him. And you were no longer there to talk to.’
Flora tamped down her rising anger. ‘He is very good at deflecting blame away from his own inadequacies.’
Zeus, who had been in the kitchen, returned to the sitting room and jumped up on Melanie’s knee without hesitation.
‘Oh!’ Melanie looked alarmed.
‘That’s Zeus. I told you about him. He was the countess’s cat and I inherited him. You are very honoured. He obviously likes you, and he doesn’t like many people.’
Melanie freed her hand from Flora’s and stroked Zeus’s back, making him purr. Flora often thought that the cat
was more attuned to human distress than humans themselves tended to be. He sensed only good in Melanie, but he also sensed her deep unhappiness. Zeus seemed to calm her, which was probably his intention.
‘Tell me what you did to anger Papa. Not that one needs to do anything to invoke one of his moods.’
‘He kept accusing me of looking too much like you and behaving in the same manner.’ Melanie tossed her head, reviving quickly. Flora recognised the same quick temper in her sister that she herself possessed. ‘I was proud of that accolade, but Papa didn’t seem to think that I should be. He said there was no place for disobedient daughters in his household. He had been too lenient with you, allowing you to develop independent ideas, and had no intention of making the same mistake again.’
‘Papa never makes mistakes,’ Flora replied, her voice edged with a sarcasm that elicited a smile of understanding from Melanie. ‘He is beyond compare in the eyes of the Lord, or so he likes to think. Even so, there has to be more of a reason for his cruelty than your appearance, for which you cannot be held responsible.’
Melanie turned her wide eyes upon Flora. ‘Promise not to laugh. This will sound fanciful, so I haven’t ever confided in anyone else before.’
‘Of course I will not laugh. Whatever it is, it clearly matters to you and is therefore important to me.’
Flora glanced up as Remus materialised. Realisation struck when Melanie looked up too and brushed at her ear, her expression quizzical, as though she couldn’t think what had caused the draught. Well she might, since there was no draught other than the usual waft of air that preceded Remus’s arrival. A waft that only Flora could ordinarily detect.
That is where you have been these past days. She reached out to scold her spirit guide with her mind. Why did you not warn me that Melanie was in trouble?
Not allowed to. I got her to come to you though, didn’t I?
Thank you.
And missed spending the day with your handsome marquess as a consequence. You are in my debt.
‘Flora?’ Melanie sent her an odd look. ‘What is it? You were miles away.’
A Sense of Fate (Perceptions Book 7) Page 11