Now was not the time to explain Remus’s function, especially since Flora barely understood it herself. ‘Let me see if I can guess why Papa lost patience with you.’
‘You never will.’
‘You hear voices telling you what to do, sometimes perhaps you see people guiding you.’
Melanie’s mouth fell open. ‘How did you know?’
‘You think you are losing your mind, but let me assure you that you are not. Our grandmother, Papa’s mother, you are too young to remember her—’
Melanie nodded. ‘We are not permitted to mention her name. Mama says it makes Papa angry.’
‘For a reason. You see, Grandmamma had the gift of second sight.’
Melanie took the revelation far more calmly than Flora had anticipated. There were no shocked exclamations, no denials. ‘She did?’ she asked, blinking.
Flora smiled. ‘Most assuredly, as well as an affinity with herbs. Papa disapproved of both. I suppose it must have been hard for him as a boy,’ she added, momentarily attempting to be fair to her father when he deserved no such concession. ‘People misunderstood Grandmamma’s gift and taunted her, calling her a witch.’
‘A witch?’ Melanie’s mouth gaped open.
‘She was no such thing, of course, but Papa bore the brunt of their cruelty—which I have often thought is why he turned to a career in the church. He wanted to distance himself from his rather unusual mother and show himself to the world as a God-fearing man of the cloth. Except that she was not touched with madness, as many thought. She was the most wonderfully enlightened woman, and I am privileged to have inherited a small portion of her skills—and so it seems have you. She will know it since she will be watching over you from the next life; never for a second doubt it.’
‘I don’t doubt it, actually. It is a relief to talk about it and get a better understanding of my feelings though. Naturally, I have never dared to air them at home.’
‘Very wise.’ Flora rolled her eyes. ‘No wonder Papa got so cross with you. He tried to beat the rebellion out of me as well, which is why I ran away.’
‘I cried for two days after you left.’
‘And I was too selfish, too wrapped up with my own concerns, to spare you a second thought. I feel thoroughly ashamed of myself.’
‘Oh Flora, there is absolutely no need. Your example gave me courage. If you could escape, then so could I. I just didn’t expect to do it so soon, but then I haven’t, not really…’
‘I am glad that you looked up to me, but also sorry to have neglected you.’ She smiled at her sister. ‘Now, tell me what made you run off in the middle of a snowstorm.’
‘Papa accused me of listening to his private conversation.’
‘Which I am sure you did not.’
She flashed a mischievous smile. ‘Actually, I did.’
‘Ah.’ Flora laughed. ‘I dare say you had your reasons.’
‘I was walking past Papa’s library. He had a visitor—that man who came to Pamela’s wedding whom Papa was so keen for you to meet.’
Flora tensed. ‘Mr Conrad?’
‘Yes, I think that was his name. I heard them mention you, so naturally I stopped to listen.’
‘In your situation, I would have done the same thing. What were they saying? Did you hear?’
‘Papa was berating Mr Conrad, ordering him to try harder. He was not to accept defeat, gracefully or otherwise, and find a way to make you see sense.’ Melanie frowned. ‘What are you insensible about, Flora?’
‘I wish I knew.’ Flora spread her hands. ‘For reasons that escape me, Papa wants me to smile upon Mr Conrad, but I am being most disobliging in that regard. I did not take to the man.’
‘I should be as well. I sense something unpleasant about him, despite his handsome face.’ Melanie sniffed. ‘He is well aware of his handsomeness too, which makes him vain, and since Papa insists that vanity is a sin, I am surprised he tolerates the man’s presence. It seems a little hypocritical to me.’
Flora looked at her young sister with renewed respect. ‘When did you get to be so wise?’
‘It’s probably because of all the reading that I do.’ Melanie waved her uninjured hand in the air. ‘The house was in uproar all the time that Pamela was planning for her big day. I couldn’t abide the fuss and kept out of the way, reading books Papa would not have approved of that I smuggled in from the library. I don’t much care for Mr Janson, and I don’t think he will make our sister happy, but she was determined to be married, so she only has herself to blame if he is unkind to her. Nora and Judith follow Pamela’s lead and are as silly as her, I’m afraid.’
‘I tend to agree with you.’
‘Anyway, I wanted to hear what Papa and Mr Conrad were saying about you so that I could write and give you warning, but I leaned too close to the open door and…well, I quite literally fell into the room.’ The suggestion of a giggle escaped her lips, even though Flora suspected that her sister’s rebellion had given her little to laugh about. ‘After Mr Conrad left, Papa held my hand over a candle flame until I almost fainted from the pain. He was teaching me the value of obedience, or so he insisted.’
‘You poor love.’ Flora hugged her sister, incandescent with rage at this latest example of her father’s cruelty. ‘And he calls himself a man of God.’
‘I ran away without thinking about the consequences for you. I was so angry that I just couldn’t stay. What will happen now?’ Melanie trembled. ‘I am always talking about you, which infuriates Papa. He will know at once where I have run to, and will demand my immediate return.’
‘He can demand all he likes but it won’t get him anywhere. Just you leave him to me.’ Flora stood, her bosom swelling with sisterly indignation and a fierce determination to protect Melanie from any further harm. ‘Come along.’ She took Melanie’s uninjured hand and helped her to her feet. ‘Your bath will be ready, and here’s Polly to help you into it. I shall be up in a moment.’
Melanie looked her age again, momentarily vulnerable and reluctant to leave Flora’s side. But Polly smiled gently, and her compassion reassured. She heard Polly’s voice as they made their way up the stairs. She was telling Melanie all about Alice, which was the best thing she could have done. Melanie loved children and had endless patience with them.
Secure in the knowledge that her sister was safe for now, Flora fell to stewing over the abominable treatment she had been obliged to endure. She felt guilty for abandoning her and vowed to make amends by keeping Melanie away from the family home. Somehow. Melanie was still a child, and her father would be within his rights to insist upon her return, but Flora was equally determined to oppose him every step of the way.
She was still at a loss to explain her father’s connection to Conrad. Perhaps Melanie knew something more but was unaware of its significance. She would ask her in due time. But for now, her priority was to reassure her sister and keep her safe.
Flora made her way up the stairs just after Polly had helped Melanie out of the bath. Melanie looked very young, wrapped in a robe of Flora’s that was too large for her. She sat obediently in front of the glass in the room that Polly had made up for her as Polly brushed the tangles from her wet hair.
‘Feeling better?’ Flora asked, leaning against the door jamb and watching the domestic scene unfold.
‘Much better.’ Melanie smiled up at Flora.
‘You must be exhausted. As soon as Polly has finished with your hair, you had best get to bed.’
Melanie glanced at the bed, which must seem both enormous and the height of luxury. The girls had been obliged to share rooms in the family home, and the beds had not been nearly so comfortable. Even so, Melanie looked uncertain.
‘Can I…I don’t…’
‘Of course. I should have realised.’ She smiled and pinched Melanie’s cheek. ‘Bring Melanie through to my room when she’s ready to retire, Polly. She will be sharing with me tonight.’
Chapter Eight
Archie woke early on t
he morning after Flora’s visit, grunting as he moved his limbs and waiting for the pain to subside before ringing for Pawson.
‘Morning. The blizzard has blown itself out,’ his man said, proving his point by pulling back the curtains and flooding the room with weak winter sunshine. ‘The snow’s thawing and I have the groundsmen clearing the driveway.’
‘Right.’ Archie winced as he eased himself into a sitting position and waited for his injured side to decide what tricks it would play on him that particular day.
‘I have that new cream Miss Latimer insists will help you,’ Pawson said.
‘It probably won’t.’
‘Even so.’ Pawson pulled back the covers, ignoring Archie’s bad tempered effort to hide his embarrassment and applied the cream to the affected areas. ‘You can tell her you didn’t try it if you like, but personally I wouldn’t dare.’
Archie looked away and allowed Pawson to attend him efficiently without allowing any potential revulsion for the criss-cross of ugly raised scars that decorated Archie’s body to show. Pawson had made himself indispensable, but was still, when all was said and done, a servant. A well paid one, with influence over Archie’s household and a man whom Archie listened to when he needed advice, but a servant nonetheless.
Pawson had come into Archie’s service by fortuitous accident two years after his fall when Archie had been recovering in France. Pawson had been intent upon escaping the clutches of the wife whose family he served. He was a handsome rogue of a man with a perpetually wicked glint in his eye that appealed to the ladies, and his master’s wife wanted more from him than he was prepared to offer her. He subsequently told Archie that he knew better than to begin a dalliance with his employer’s wife, an attractive woman who craved male company and enjoyed invoking her husband’s jealousy.
In retaliation for Pawson’s disinterest she made up stories about him, complaining to her husband that he had overstepped the bounds. The family had been travelling in France at the time and Pawson had beaten a hasty retreat, only to find himself broke and out of employment in a foreign land.
He had come into Archie’s service at a time when Archie wondered if he would ever walk again, and if there was any point in continuing to live if he didn’t. Pawson was a strong man, and he needed to be because he was required to lift Archie. He bullied him into attempting to walk, not showing the slightest signs of sympathy, which made Archie ashamed of the fact that he had fallen into a morass of self-pity.
The two men had become friends, the lines between master and servant increasingly blurred, and now Archie would be lost without him. Pawson knew all the particulars of Archie’s disastrous entanglement with Magda, and was the only person who also knew of the depth of his involvement with Eloise, the French nurse.
Pawson was devoted to Archie, and Archie knew that he was too well trained to show the abhorrence he must feel at the sight of his battered body.
Flora, on the other hand…
Archie pushed that thought away, aware that he could not afford to dwell upon the unattainable. She would be repulsed. He avoided looking at his naked reflection himself, but when he was unable to avoid catching a glimpse of it, he found the sight revolting. He couldn’t abide the thought of a woman he felt such an indefinable connection to pitying him, or forcing herself to touch him.
He had learned to cope with all reactions to his impediments emotionlessly, with the stark exception of pity.
‘Finished?’ he demanded crossly, unwilling to admit that the cream felt cool and soothing.
‘Just about.’ Pawson gave Archie his arm and helped him to his feet. Archie waited for his joints to adjust to being upright and then made his way into his adjoining bathroom, taking his time over his ablutions.
Dressed, Archie made his way downstairs and broke his fast, as was his custom, at the table in front of the window in his library. His secretary had placed the day’s correspondence on his desk, which he would deal with at his leisure. He consumed his breakfast as he gazed out at a world of white. Frost glistened on his lawns and thawing snow dripped from the bare branches, making a wet plopping sound as it hit the gravel outside the window. He could see a small army of gardeners and handymen clearing it from the drive, but he decided that he would not venture out himself that day. If he slipped and fell, it could prove disastrous. This latest reminder of his restrictions, the need to behave like a man forty years his senior, angered Archie. It also reminded him of all the reasons why he should not pursue Flora.
It wouldn’t be fair to land such a vibrant woman with a cripple.
He would have to marry at some point. He had assured his father on his deathbed that he would do his duty in that regard. The continuation of the family line had mattered to his respected father, and Archie would not renege on his promise. There were plenty of suitable candidates with whom he could arrange a marriage of convenience, with no emotional involvement necessary. Matters in the bedroom could be conducted dispassionately, as they so often were, without the lady being required to see his body. That would save his embarrassment—but would not, he knew, satisfy his desire for a soulmate. A desire that had grown steadily since he had become better acquainted with Flora.
Were she to become his marchioness then the clinical execution of their intimacies wouldn’t satisfy his growing desire for her. Nothing other than the physical touch of skin against skin, a mutual exploration with questing hands, would serve. Archie had forfeited a right to that particular form of bliss when he had behaved so rashly during his youth.
Sighing, he pushed his empty plate aside and transferred himself to his desk, reading through the pile of correspondence that his secretary had decided required his personal attention. The usual requests for arbitration in disputes between tenants, petitions for charitable donations and the inevitable invitations, none of which Archie intended to accept. There was however, one note that he had been hoping for a reply to and which he read twice before tapping it against his fingers thoughtfully.
He had just finished dictating letters when Pawson told him a visitor had called whom he might want to receive.
‘Are you going to tell me who it is, Pawson, or should I guess?’
‘Conrad,’ Pawson replied succinctly.
‘Good God! What the hell is he doing here? Can’t help admiring his nerve, but then he always was a presumptuous cove.’
‘Absolutely no idea what he wants. He wouldn’t tell the likes of me. Quite full of himself, so he is. That much was evident just from the few words we exchanged. I’ll throw him out of you like. In fact, it would be my pleasure, but given his interest in Flora, I thought you might want to receive him.’
‘I suppose I had better.’ Archie sighed, filled with misgivings. ‘Send him in, Pawson, and stay yourself. Whatever he has to say, I have a feeling that I shall need a witness.’
Archie remained seated behind his desk when Pawson showed Conrad in. He assessed the man as he strolled into the library as though he owned it. To Archie it felt as though he was deliberately accentuating his agility; flaunting the fact that his limbs were fully functional, lithe and limber. That, Archie decided, was a situation that could easily be rectified.
He was well dressed and, Archie conceded, handsome and self-assured. He possessed a shallow level of charm that had appealed to the ladies in their younger days, and probably still did. He was cunning and not, Archie knew, a man to be underestimated. He probably didn’t realise that his poised display failed to cover the fact that he was also nervous, as evidenced by the tic working beneath his left eye when he glanced at Archie. That situation permitted Archie to regain the upper hand—at least in his mind, where it had never been in doubt.
‘Don’t get up, Felsham,’ Conrad said.
‘I hadn’t intended to.’
Archie motioned to the chair in front of his desk without offering his visitor the courtesy of a handshake. He watched dispassionately as Conrad settled himself in a casual pose, sitting sideways on his chair with one l
eg crossed over his opposite knee as he examined the booklined walls. Despite the pretence at relaxation, Conrad looked taken aback by Archie’s acerbic tone, causing him to wonder what other type of reaction he could possibly have expected. They had never been friends—quite the reverse, in fact—and often found themselves competing for the same female’s favours. Archie inevitably won those confrontations, leaving Conrad feeling humiliated. He had been heard to complain that Archie’s title and expectations gave him the edge.
‘What can I do for you?’
Conrad sent Pawson a meaningful look over his shoulder. ‘It’s a delicate matter.’
‘You can speak freely in front of Pawson.’
Conrad looked set to argue the point but wisely changed his mind. ‘I was both surprised and delighted to learn that you were not dead.’ Archie swallowed down his anger at the other man’s obvious insincerity, but remained silent. ‘We are all older and wiser now. The wild ways of our youth are behind us—as, I hope, is the competition. Anyway, I ought to have written and for that I apologise.’
‘Get to the point, Conrad.’
‘Very well.’ But he paused, apparently in no rush to comply. ‘I am an ambassador nowadays.’ Archie quirked a brow but said nothing, well aware that silences tended to make men who were already nervous lose their perspective. ‘Not to put too fine a point on it, I come on behalf of Salisbury Cathedral’s dean, whom I have the privilege of representing.’
‘I don’t have any dealings with the cathedral, but if I did I would conduct them directly with the bishop.’
Archie’s suspicions were borne out and he felt unnaturally nervous as a consequence. This was about Flora, but Archie had no intention of making matters easy for Conrad by raising her name. A thin line of perspiration had appeared on Conrad’s brow, despite the relative chill in the room, indicating that Archie’s place in the order of things still afforded him a natural superiority that left Conrad feeling disadvantaged.
‘Yes, quite. However, this is a personal matter from the dean’s perspective.’
A Sense of Fate (Perceptions Book 7) Page 12