But Archie had already opened the pad and was leafing through the charcoal drawings. ‘Miss MacNichol, you underestimate your talent. Some of these are outstanding. This falcon . . . and that sketch of your black tiger . . .’
‘Panther is his name.’
‘Perfect,’ he acknowledged. ‘Well, it’s superb. Quite superb. You have a real eye for nature and animals.’
‘I draw purely for my own pleasure.’
‘But surely, that’s what all the great artists do? The passion comes from within, the need to express oneself in whatever artistic medium one chooses.’
‘Yes,’ Flora agreed grudgingly.
‘When I was on my tour in Europe, I saw many incredible works of art. Yet so many of their creators lived in poverty for much of their lives – slaves to their muses. It seems there were few who didn’t suffer one way or another.’ Archie’s gaze moved from the sketchbook to Flora. ‘Are you in pain too, Miss MacNichol?’
‘What a question! Just because I choose to draw and paint hardly signifies that I suffer from some form of mental or emotional malady.’
‘Good. For I wouldn’t wish you to suffer. Or be lonely. Surely, rattling around in this old mausoleum all by yourself, you must be?’ Archie pressed her.
‘I’m not by myself. I have the staff and an entire menagerie of animals to keep me company.’
‘Your sister mentioned your . . . collection of wildlife when last we spoke in London. Apparently, you once befriended a snake.’
‘A harmless grass snake, yes,’ Flora conceded, feeling breathless at his sudden hail of questions, which felt rather like the crab apples he’d once thrown at her. ‘I was not allowed to keep it.’
‘I think even I would balk at the idea of a snake living under my roof. You are a very unusual woman, Miss Mac-Nichol. I have to admit that you fascinate me.’
‘I am glad that my oddness keeps you amused.’
‘Well, I salute you, Miss MacNichol,’ Archie said after a pause. ‘You are adept at turning even the most positive comment into a negative. What more can I do to earn your forgiveness? I have tried just about everything, including motoring up and down the country when I could easily have taken the Scotch Express train straight to Edinburgh and back. There,’ he added, and Flora could see his frustration. ‘I have told you the truth.’
As if drained by his confession, Archie sat down suddenly in a chair. ‘I left the shoot early to come and see you. But as it’s obvious I cannot gain your favour, no matter how hard I try, I will continue on my way, and stop further down south at a hotel.’
Flora surveyed him, her lack of experience with men – especially men as worldly as Archie – hampering her natural instincts. She simply could not understand why he had so inconvenienced himself to apologise to her when apparently he could have any woman in London he wished for.
‘I . . . don’t know what to say.’
‘Perhaps you could consider granting me a few days in your company? And during that time, we could talk of all the subjects your sister tells me you are passionate about. As I am too.’
‘Such as?’
‘I’m a keen botanist, Miss MacNichol, and though it’s doubtful I have the extensive knowledge that you possess, I like to feel that I am on the nursery slopes of my learning. Though our garden at High Weald does not have the backdrop of raw beauty you have here, it’s equally beautiful in its own gentle way. Have you ever been to Kew Gardens?’
‘No.’ Flora brightened at the mention. ‘But I have always longed to see it. I have read that they collect species from all over the world, as far away as South America.’
‘Indeed they do, and the new director, Sir David Prain, is inspired. He’s been kind enough to lend his assistance to our own gardens. Due to the benevolent climate in the south of England, I have discovered that if sheltered, plants from foreign climes do manage to thrive there. I would enjoy seeing the indigenous flora that must grow plentifully around here too. I am eager to create an unusual collection of plants from all over England— Ouch!’
Panther had climbed Archie’s trouser leg and was now purring and preening himself in the valley between his thighs, his pin-sharp claws kneading the cloth of Archie’s trousers. Seeing that even her cat had forgiven him, Flora finally relented. ‘If you feel that I can be of any assistance to your studies, then I suppose I would be happy to show you what I can.’
‘Thank you,’ Archie said and she saw his features relax as he raised a tentative hand to stroke Panther. ‘I would be most grateful for any expertise you care to impart.’
‘But where will you stay?’
‘I’ve already taken a room in the local pub in Near Sawrey. And now,’ he said, rising and offering her the crook of his elbow, the other arm cradling her contented kitten, ‘will you show me round this beautiful garden?’
Initially, as she’d begun their tour, Flora had done her best to test his knowledge, still unsure whether this was another Archie-type ploy to insult and belittle her. But she soon realised that his interest and, indeed, his knowledge were real. There were a number of unusual plants in the flower beds that Archie had managed to name without pausing, all apart from one which she told him was called a star flower, or bog star, Parnassia palustris.
‘I believe it’s quite rare and prefers the climate here in the north of England, which is probably why you don’t recognise it.’
As they wandered along the borders, Archie told her how, as a boy, he’d followed the gardener around like a tame dog. ‘Sadly, he too died in the Boer War. I came down from Oxford a year ago and with no funds to employ a full staff, I had to educate myself. And found a passion in the process. You should see me at home, in my overalls,’ he said with a smile. ‘Next time I come to visit, I’ll wear them if you’d like. One should never judge a book by its cover, Miss MacNichol,’ he chided as he wagged a finger at her.
‘But it is your “cover” that has made you the ladies’ favourite in London.’ Flora looked at him suspiciously.
‘Does that stop me having a passion for plants? Or is it more that you thought I was simply a louche cad who spent his time carousing and spending his trust fund?’
Flora lowered her eyes in embarrassment.
‘Granted,’ he continued, seeing her expression, ‘I am only twenty-one and enjoy the occasional party and the company of pretty women. Sadly, as you also know, the grand old families of England are no longer as rich as they once were and my inheritance came in the form of the ailing High Weald estate, not through an overripe bank account. I want to do what I can to preserve its splendour, outside at least. The walled garden is famous for its beauty. And if that means getting my hands dirty, then so be it.’
Flora sat at her desk later that evening and wrote in her journal, her mind whirring with the strange turn of events. Having finished recording every word she could recall them speaking, she stowed the journal in her writing bureau. Unusually, that night Flora lay sleepless, still mulling over the Archie dichotomy she had uncovered today. And the fact that somehow, before he’d taken his leave, he’d persuaded her to take him further afield tomorrow to see the Langdale Pikes.
‘He really is an enigma,’ she whispered to Panther, his tiny head on the pillow next to her. ‘And I hate myself for beginning to like him.’
12
‘Good morning, Miss MacNichol,’ Archie said when they met as agreed in the stable yard. ‘I’ve brought us lunch. And don’t worry, the sandwiches all have the crusts left on.’ He hoisted the picnic hamper onto the trap and held out his hand to help her up.
As he climbed up beside her and she took the reins, Flora smiled at his attire. He wore a pair of ancient twill trousers, and a roughly sewn checked shirt. On his feet was a pair of thick workman’s boots.
‘I borrowed them from the publican I’m boarding with in the village,’ he explained as he saw her eyes on him. ‘The trousers are a deal too big for me, so I’ve secured them with a piece of twine. Do I look the part?’
> ‘Indeed you do, Lord Vaughan,’ she agreed. ‘A real man of the countryside.’
‘As we are spending the day being other than we usually are, would it now be possible to dispense with formalities? I am simply Archie, the gardener’s boy, and you are Flora, the milkmaid.’
‘Milkmaid! Do I look that low?’ She faked offence as she clicked the reins and they trotted off. ‘Could I not at least be a parlour . . . or even a lady’s maid?’
‘Ah, but in every story I’ve read, it is always the milkmaid who is described as the most beautiful. It was not an insult, but a compliment.’
Flora concentrated on driving the trap, thankful that her sun hat shielded her face as she felt heat rush to it. It was the first direct compliment on her physical appearance she had ever received from a man and she had no idea how to respond.
The Langdale Valley was cradled between the majestic pikes that swept upwards, high into the clouds. They stood, almost biblically parted, to encompass the green of the valley floor, which gently dissipated as the raw rock face asserted itself the higher the eye climbed.
Archie helped Flora down from the cart and they stood and looked upwards.
‘“In the combinations which they make, towering above each other, or lifting themselves in ridges like the waves of a tumultuous sea . . .”’
‘“. . . and in the beauty and variety of their surfaces and colours, they are surpassed by none”,’ Flora finished for him. ‘I’m a Lakes girl, I know my Wordsworth.’ She shrugged at his obvious surprise.
‘This is what I love about coming to the mountains,’ he breathed. ‘You feel your own insignificance. We are but a pinprick in this vast cosmos.’
‘Yes, and perhaps that’s why those in London seem so full of their own importance.’
‘They feel masters of their own universe in their man-made cities, whereas out here . . .’ Archie didn’t finish the sentence, just took in a lungful of fresh air. ‘Have you ever climbed one of these mountains, Flora?’
‘Of course not. I’m a girl. Mama would have a seizure if I suggested it.’
‘Would you like to? Tomorrow?’ Archie grabbed her hand. ‘It would be an adventure. Which one would it be, do you think? That one?’ Letting her hand go, he pointed along the pass. ‘Or that one maybe?’
‘If it’s any, of course it should be the highest. And that is Scafell Pike.’ Flora indicated the tallest one, its peak currently hidden under a halo of cloud. ‘It’s the highest in England, and my father says the view from the summit is unparalleled.’
‘So, shall we do it?’
‘Not in a dress!’
Archie laughed. ‘Then you must beg or borrow a pair of breeches. Are you game?’
‘As long as it’s our secret.’
‘Of course.’ Archie reached out a hand to tuck a stray wisp of hair back behind Flora’s ear. ‘I shall collect you tomorrow from the front gates at six thirty sharp.’
That evening, Flora did something she’d never done before, and entered her father’s dressing room. She opened the door tentatively, even though she knew there was no one around to see her – Sarah was at home in the tiny cottage she shared with her mother, and Tilly and Mrs Hillbeck were tucked away in the kitchen having their nightly gossip. As she stepped over the threshold, she shivered slightly at the sudden drop in temperature. And noticed the room smelt of dust and damp, tinged with a hint of her father’s eau de cologne. The room was bathed in evening shadows that slanted across the narrow wooden bed. A clock stood on the nightstand, ticking away the seconds of its owner’s absence.
Flora opened the heavy oak doors of the wardrobe, her fingers searching through the rack of trousers and finally settling on a pair of tweed shooting breeches. Realising she would need socks too, she opened a likely looking drawer in a mahogany chest, but found it was full of papers. In the corner of it sat a small bundle of cream envelopes tied fast with string. Flora recognised her mother’s writing and wondered if they might be love letters from their courting days. Tempted beyond measure to look, as it would perhaps help her understand the mystery behind her parents’ marriage, Flora shut the drawer firmly before her traitorous fingers could wander towards them. Finding the socks and adding a thick shirt to the pile over her arm, she walked back towards the door.
Her fingers only skimmed the handle before temptation overrode sense and she headed back to the chest. Clothes discarded on the bed, she opened the drawer and pulled out the pile of letters. After sliding the uppermost one from beneath the string, she read its contents.
Cranhurst House
Kent
13th August 1889
My dear Alistair,
In a week we will be married. I cannot thank you enough for being my knight in shining armour and saving me from disgrace. In return, I swear I will be the most diligent, faithful wife any man could wish for. My father tells me he has already made the transfer and I hope it arrived in your account.
I look forward with pleasure to seeing you and my new home.
With kindest regards,
Rose
Flora read it and reread it, trying to make sense of the word ‘disgrace’. What was it her mother could possibly have done that was so terrible?
‘Well, whatever it is, it explains their marriage,’ she told the empty dressing room. Most likely, her mother had fallen in love with an unsuitable man – that was certainly what happened in many of the books she’d read. Flora wondered who it might have been. Even though her mother never spoke of her growing-up years, Aurelia had recently remarked in her letters how their mother seemed to be known to everyone. Which only underlined the fact that she must have had a past. Flora replaced the letter in its envelope and carefully tucked it back beneath the string before returning the bundle to the drawer. She retrieved the pile of her father’s clothes from the bed and left the dressing room.
Flora rose at six the next morning and hastily pulled on her father’s breeches, shirt and socks. Tiptoeing down to the boot room, she borrowed Sarah’s stout walking boots – which were rather too small, but would have to do – and a tweed cap of her father’s. She left a note for the staff to say she had gone out for the day to collect flowers to paint, and then slipped out of the house. Walking along the drive and through the gates, she saw a brand-new silver Rolls-Royce motor car parked up on the verge. Archie swung the door open for her and she climbed in.
‘Good morning.’ He smiled at her appearance. ‘You’re looking particularly comely today, Flora the milkmaid. Perfectly attired to be driven in the Silver Ghost.’
‘At least it’s practical,’ she countered.
‘Actually, with that cap on your head, you could be taken more for a boy. Here, put on these motoring goggles to complete the look.’
She pulled them over her eyes with a frown. ‘I am only happy that no one in the area will recognise me.’
‘Can you imagine what your mother or sister would say if they could see you?’ he asked as he started the engine.
‘I’d prefer not to. And what on earth are you doing owning a car like this, having told me your family is flat broke? Papa said they cost a king’s ransom.’
‘Sadly, it isn’t mine. The owner of a neighbouring estate lent it to me in return for the use of a cottage at High Weald. I promised him not to ask any questions as to its purpose. Although admittedly, the poor fellow’s wife is currently pregnant with their sixth child in as many years, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m sure I don’t,’ she said primly.
‘Well, I’m happy to give the car a good run-in through the mountains. I’ve put a picnic in an old army rucksack that Mr Turnbull, my very accommodating publican, let me borrow, along with a couple of blankets just in case.’
Flora looked out of the window and up to the skies over the pikes in the distance. And frowned at the heaviness of the clouds. ‘I do hope we haven’t picked the only day in weeks when the heavens will open.’
‘Luckily, it’s warm this morning.’
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‘That may be, but my father often says that the temperature drops sharply at higher altitudes. He’s climbed most of the pikes over his years here.’
‘In that case, we’ll have to find a barn to park the motor car in. I’ve promised Felix on pain of death that I would return it to him in good nick, and I can’t risk having it poured on.’
A local farmer kindly agreed to house the Rolls-Royce, Archie glaring at the farmer’s wide-eyed children – not to mention the chickens – who looked eager to climb inside.
‘Papa said it took him about four hours to reach the summit,’ Flora commented as they set off towards the valley, walking on the coarse grass.
‘Your father’s an experienced hiker, I think it will take us a fair bit longer,’ Archie said, as he dug a map out of his rucksack. ‘The publican suggested a good path for us to follow. Here.’ Picking up a stick, he sketched a trail in a patch of dry dirt. ‘We need to head south towards Esk Hause, then on towards Broad Crag Col.’ Archie led the way with his map in his hand.
‘What are all those tiny white dots high up on the mountainside?’ he enquired.
‘Sheep. They leave their droppings everywhere underfoot.’
‘Perhaps we can hitch a ride on one if we become weary. Such useful animals, too, providing delicious food for our tables and covering our bodies with their wool.’
‘I loathe the taste of lamb,’ Flora stated. ‘I’ve already decided I won’t offer meat when I run my own household.’
‘Really? What will you serve instead?’
‘Why, vegetables and fish, of course.’
‘Then I’m not sure I’d want to come and have dinner at your home.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Flora shrugged as she marched off ahead of him.
The going was easy for the first couple of hours up the lower slopes of the mountain, and they paused occasionally beside the becks that ran down into the valley, cupping their hands to drink the fresh spring water and splashing their hot faces. They followed the well-trodden paths worn by climbers before them, chatting companionably about everything from favourite books to pieces of music. Then the climb became harder and the chatter ceased as they saved their breath to scramble up and over the jagged rocks that peppered the mountainside.
The Shadow Sister Page 14