My dear Miss MacNichol,
I beg your forgiveness for the unfortunate incident earlier today. I had a deal of a task to get my horse under control, and once I did, I rode after you to see if you needed assistance, but could not find you.
I also wish to apologise for my spiteful behaviour with the crab apples. Before today’s new catastrophe, I had made up my mind to beg your forgiveness retrospectively, and to thank you for not doing what most little girls would have done, and go running in tears to your mama. It saved me a beating.
If there is anything I can do to redeem myself in your eyes, I would like very much to try. Our acquaintance so far has been turbulent, but I hope I may be given a chance in the future to begin afresh. Third time lucky, as they say.
I will see you, I am sure, in London this Season. Until then, I am your humble and apologetic servant,
Archie Vaughan
Flora threw the letter across the room. She watched it float briefly through the air like a distressed butterfly before landing on the floor, and decided Archie Vaughan must be well practised at writing fine, elegant prose to women. Though she hated to admit it, Aurelia was right. He had a strong physique and chiselled features that the slight dimple in each cheek only enhanced, his wavy dark hair hung carelessly across his brow, and his brown eyes slanted into an easy smile. He was truly, annoyingly handsome.
But his character was a different matter altogether.
‘He assumes he will always be forgiven. Well, not this time,’ she muttered as she walked back across the room and coaxed her stiff body to kneel in front of the cages. The general scuffling from within had alerted her to the fact it was well past her menagerie’s suppertime. Reaching for the crate she used to store her seeds and vegetables, she let out a groan of despair.
‘And after all that, your food must have fallen out of the trap!’
11
‘Flora, my dear, I thought we should speak about the coming summer.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Flora stood in her mother’s boudoir as Rose sat in front of her triple-mirrored dressing table and clipped on her pearl earrings for dinner.
‘Please, sit down.’
Flora perched on a blue damask stool and waited for her mother to speak. Rose’s face was still as smooth and lovely as it must have been when she was a young debutante, but Flora could see the tightness around her mother’s lips and the slight crease of worry between her blonde brows.
‘As you know, Aurelia and I are leaving for London in a week’s time. And your father is taking his annual shooting holiday with his cousins in the Highlands. The question is, what to do with you.’ Rose paused and looked at Flora’s reflection in the mirror. ‘I am aware that you loathe the city and would not wish to accompany us to London.’
You haven’t actually asked me, she thought.
‘But by the same token,’ Rose continued, ‘women are not welcome with the men at the shoot up in Scotland. So, I have spoken to the staff, and your father and I believe it is best for you to stay here at the Hall. What do you say?’
Whatever conflicting emotions floated fast and furiously through her mind, Flora knew there was only one answer her mother wished to hear. ‘I would be happy to stay, Mama. After all, if I did not, I would worry for the health of my menagerie.’
‘Quite.’ A brief expression of relief crossed her mother’s face.
‘Although, of course, I will miss you, Aurelia and Papa.’
‘As we will miss you. But at least the matter is settled. I will inform your father of our decision.’
‘Yes, Mama. I shall leave you to ready yourself for dinner.’
‘Thank you.’
Flora stood up and walked towards the door. She was just about to open it when she saw her mother had turned round from the mirror to stare at her.
‘Flora?’
‘Yes, Mama?’
‘I love you very much. And I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
‘I . . .’
Flora watched her mother visibly compose herself.
‘Nothing,’ Rose whispered. ‘Nothing.’
‘You look radiant,’ Flora pronounced a week later, as she stood on the doorstep with Aurelia, ready to wave her sister and their mother off to London.
‘Thank you,’ said Aurelia, giving a slight grimace. ‘I must confess, this velvet travelling dress feels so heavy and uncomfortable, and the corset is so tight I don’t think I shall be able to breathe until I arrive in London and can remove it!’
‘Well, it suits you beautifully, and I’m sure you will be the debutante of the Season.’ Flora hugged her tightly. ‘Do me proud, won’t you?’
‘Time to go, Aurelia.’ Rose appeared behind them on the doorstep. She kissed Flora on both cheeks. ‘Take care, my dear, and try not to run too wild around the district while we’re gone.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mama.’
‘Goodbye, darling Flora.’ Aurelia gave her one last embrace then blew her a kiss as they stepped into the old carriage that would take them to Windermere station, after which they would change at Oxenholme for the London-bound train.
Even to Flora’s unworldly eyes, their carriage looked like a relic. She knew it was much to her father’s chagrin that they could not afford to buy a motor car. Aurelia leant out of the window to wave at her as the horse clopped off down the drive. Flora returned the wave until the carriage had disappeared out of the front gates. Then she went back inside the shadowy house, which seemed to share her sense of abandonment. Her father had left for the Highlands the previous day and as her footsteps echoed through the hall, Flora felt sudden panic at the upcoming two months of near silence.
Upstairs in her room, she took Posy from her cage and stroked her silky ears for comfort, deciding this was practice for her future spinsterhood. She must embrace it.
Bereft of the routine she had adhered to since childhood, Flora had begun to create her own. Up with the lark in the morning, she’d dress hastily and, having dispensed with any idea of a formal breakfast taken alone in the dining room, she’d join Mrs Hillbeck, Sarah and Tilly in the kitchen for a cup of tea, fresh bread and jam and a gossip. Then she’d head out, cheese sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and stowed along with her sketching equipment in a large canvas satchel.
Flora had always thought she knew the countryside around her family home well, but it was only that summer that she truly discovered its miraculous beauty.
She hiked over the hills that surrounded Esthwaite Water, picking up her suffering skirts to scramble over the low dry-stone walls that had divided the farmland for centuries. With the dedication of a practised naturalist, she catalogued each treasure she came across, such as the small crop of purple saxifrage she found nestled on a crag. Her ears sought out the high cheeps of hawfinches and the trills of waxwings, and her fingers tenderly brushed over the valleys’ spiky grass and the rough stones, baking hot from the sun.
On one of the hottest days that June, Flora hiked along the shore of a cool, mirror-smooth tarn in the hope of finding a flower she had only ever set eyes on in her botany books. After hours of searching in the sweltering heat, she finally stumbled across the bright fuchsia-coloured heads of the Alpine catchfly, clinging to the mineral-rich rocks. Struck by the contrast of the frilled petals against their hardy home, Flora lay down on the sun-warmed ground to sketch it.
She must have fallen asleep in the drowsy heat, for she found herself waking as the soft fingertips of the setting sun rested on her shoulder. Rousing herself, she looked up through the branches of the Scots pines soaring above, her gaze catching the rare shape of a peregrine falcon perched on a high branch.
Not daring to so much as breathe, she studied its sleek plumage shimmering in the light and its curved beak raised into the breeze. For a moment, neither human nor bird moved. Then with a regal sweep of its wings, the falcon launched into the air, setting the branch aquiver, and soared up into the sunset.
She returned home at dusk, and went imme
diately to paint the brief sketch she had made of the falcon in full flight.
She spent most evenings poring over her favourite book of flowers by Sarah Bowdich, comparing the blooms she’d collected to the pictures in the book and adding their Latin names to her scrapbook, along with the flower released from the press. She felt irrationally guilty that she was confining something so vibrantly alive to the pages of a book, but at least its beauty was now preserved beyond its natural life-span.
She also added a mewling kitten she’d found half drowned beside a tarn to her menagerie. Tiny enough to sit in the palm of her hand, Flora reckoned it was only a few days old as its eyes were not yet opened. Somehow, the little animal had managed to drag itself out of what would have been a watery grave. Its determination to survive moved Flora beyond any other creature she’d adopted, and with no one to stop her, the sleek black kitten shared the warmth of her bed.
She named the new addition ‘Panther’ after she found him eyeing Posy hungrily through the grill of her cage, even though the rabbit was five times the kitten’s size, and he was soon fully recovered, flexing his tiny sharp claws by climbing the curtains in the bedroom. Once he was weaned, Flora knew she’d have to take him downstairs to the kitchen, or half her menagerie would end up in his stomach.
Aurelia wrote to her once a week, reporting on her adventures in London.
I am glad that the presentation itself is over. My nerves were in shreds as I waited in line to be presented to the King and Queen. In confidence, Flora, Alexandra is far more delicate and beautiful than she appears in her photographs, and the King is uglier and fatter! To my surprise, I’ve had no shortage of dancing partners at the dances I’ve attended and two of them have asked to call on me at Aunt Charlotte’s. One is a viscount, who Mama tells me owns half of Berkshire, so you can imagine how happy she is! I am not so enamoured; he stands at only just above my height – and you know how short I am – and he walks with a limp, due, so I’m told, to having suffered from polio as a child. I feel sympathy for him, but he is definitely no Prince Charming, even though this is no fault of his own.
Talking of ‘princes’, Archie Vaughan arrived as escort to his sister, Elizabeth, at a dance last week. And oh, there is no doubt he is the most handsome man in London. The rest of the debutantes were envious indeed when he asked me to dance, not once, but three times! Aunt Charlotte said it was almost indecent! We talked for a while afterwards and he asked after you, puzzling that you weren’t with us in London. I explained you hated the town life so had remained at Esthwaite Hall. He said he hoped you had forgiven him. I confess that I might be a little in love with him, even though there’s something about him that rather unnerves me.
And that is all my news for now. Mama sends her best. I’m sure you will understand how much she is enjoying being back in the social round. Everyone seems to know her here and she was obviously a very popular debutante before she married Papa. She says she will write soon.
I miss you, my dearest sister.
Aurelia
‘My word!’ Flora exclaimed in frustration to Panther, who had climbed up her skirts and into her lap as she read the letter. ‘It would be just my luck to have Archie Vaughan as a brother-in-law.’
A few days later, on a hot July afternoon, Flora was sitting in the garden at the table sketching. She had found a wide-brimmed canvas hat of unknown origin abandoned in the boot room, and it now warded off the strong rays of the afternoon sun. Panther was prancing across the lawn, chasing butterflies and looking so adorable that Flora abandoned the flowers she had been sketching and instead sat on the grass to capture his likeness.
She was startled by the sudden sound of footfall behind her. Turning round, she expected to see Tilly home from the weekly market. Instead, a tall shadow passed across her as she looked up into the dark eyes of Archie Vaughan.
‘Good afternoon, Miss MacNichol. I do apologise if I disturbed you, but my fist’s raw from knocking on the front door, so I came round the back in search of a human being.’
‘Goodness, I . . .’ Flora scrambled to her feet as Panther’s fur stood on end and he hissed at the stranger ferociously. ‘The staff are all out. And, as you know, my family is away,’ she said abruptly.
‘So, you are a veritable orphan in your own home.’
‘Hardly an orphan,’ she countered. ‘I simply don’t care for London and chose to stay instead.’
‘In that way, at least, we share the same opinion. Especially in the mating season, when a new tranche of innocent young females must bat their eyes as coquettishly as possible, in their bid to outdo their rivals for the highest male prize.’
‘And do you consider yourself a male “prize”, Lord Vaughan? I hear from my sister you attended a dance last week.’
‘Quite the contrary,’ he said. ‘Despite our pedigree and ancient family name, we are flat broke. You may know my father died in the last Boer War seven years ago and the Vaughan ship has remained unsteered until I came of age a few months ago. However, I assure you I am doing my utmost to stay out of the clutches of any rich heiress I come across.’
Flora had not expected such a frank response to her flip-pant comment.
‘May I ask what you’re doing here?’
‘I’m on my way down from the Highlands. I was there with your father and his party for a few days’ shooting. It’s a long drive back to London, so I decided I would kill two birds with one stone.’
‘And who or what are the “birds”, exactly?’
‘Firstly, taking a break from the journey and secondly, dropping in on the off chance you’d be here and might allow me a few minutes of your company. I wish to apologise in person for what happened in April. And also, perhaps be provided with some refreshment. Although the latter may not be possible, given that there are no staff around at the moment.’
‘That is the easiest of your requests, Lord Vaughan. I’m quite capable of making tea and I might even stretch to a sandwich too.’
‘A lady who can make tea and sandwiches! I doubt my sister and my mother have the first clue.’
‘It’s hardly difficult,’ Flora muttered, standing up. ‘Will you stay here in the garden while I prepare it?’
‘No, I’ll come with you and applaud your culinary skills with awe.’
‘As you please,’ Flora answered briskly. They headed up the steps to the terrace, and she felt furious with herself that her anger towards him seemed to have dissolved in his barrage of charm and honesty. Determined to hold on to it, Flora increased her pace as they entered the kitchen. Finding the kettle was already full, she placed it on the range to boil, then busied herself at the table with a loaf of bread, butter and cheese.
‘Quite the domesticated country wife, aren’t you?’ Archie commented, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
‘Please don’t patronise me, Lord Vaughan. Especially when I’m preparing your food.’
‘May I beg a favour, Miss MacNichol? As we find ourselves in such informal circumstances, perhaps you could try “Archie”? And I could try “Flora”?’
‘I certainly don’t grant you permission to call me Flora. We are barely acquainted.’ She slammed the sandwiches onto a plate. ‘Men around here eat them with the crusts left on. Does that suit you?’
‘Good grief, you really are fierce.’ He smirked as she proffered him the plate as if she’d prefer to throw it. ‘Ouch!’ he cried suddenly, swiping at the small furry menace that had just bitten his ankle. ‘Your kitten doesn’t seem to approve of me either.’
Flora suppressed a smile as she swept up Panther into the crook of her arm and turned away to pour the tea.
‘Miss MacNichol, is there any way we could start afresh? Given that the first incident with the crab apples was when I was a snot-nosed child of six and the second, a regrettable accident.’
‘Lord Vaughan,’ she rounded on him, ‘I have no idea why you are here or why you seem to care what I think of you when, from what my sister says, half the young wo
men in London are continually worshipping your attributes. If it’s simply because you cannot bear that there is one woman in the world who you cannot seduce, then I am sad for you, but it is simply the way things are. Now, shall we carry the tray onto the terrace?’
‘Allow me. And you take him.’ Archie indicated Panther. ‘That fierce tiger in kitten’s clothes needs to be kept under control in case he attacks me again. You have chosen your pet perfectly, Miss MacNichol.’ Archie swept up the tea tray and walked towards the door.
Outside on the terrace, the sun shone merrily, in complete contrast to the pall of silence that hung between them. Flora poured the tea and they sat together as Archie devoured the sandwiches with the crusts left on them, knowing she was being intolerably rude. If her mother could see her, Rose would certainly have admonished her severely for her behaviour, but she could not bring herself to make polite conversation. Neither, it seemed, could Archie.
‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said eventually, ‘I must go and collect my sketchpad before it gets damp.’ She rose from the table, indicating the lawn.
‘Of course.’ He nodded. ‘And please take that tiger with you.’
When she returned, Archie was standing. ‘Thank you for your hospitality. I am only sad that you seem to have the wrong impression of me and I can’t convince you otherwise. I will see you anon, Miss MacNichol.’
‘I am sure I do not have the wrong impression, but my sister will be very happy to entertain you should you find yourself in these parts again.’ Flora put her sketchpad down on the table, and Archie’s eyes followed it.
‘May I take a look?’
‘There’s nothing worth looking at. They’re just rough sketches, I . . .’
The Shadow Sister Page 13