The Shadow Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  As August gasped its last dying breaths and took summer with it for another year, Rose asked her daughter to come to see her after breakfast. Flora felt a strange sense of relief as she walked towards the morning room and tapped on the door; whatever it was her mother had to tell her, it would be a welcome cloudburst after weeks of pent-up pressure.

  ‘Hello, Mama,’ she said as she entered.

  ‘Come and sit down, Flora.’

  Flora sat in the chair her mother indicated. Clear light flowed in from the windows and illuminated the faded colours of the old Mahal carpet underfoot. A fire had been lit in the grate, a sign the seasons were on the turn.

  ‘Flora, over the past few weeks, your father and I have been discussing the future of . . . our family.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I am hoping that what I have to say to you will not come as too much of a shock. Even though you may say little, I’m aware that you note everything.’

  ‘Do I?’ Flora was surprised at her mother’s comment.

  ‘Yes. You are a clever and perceptive young woman.’

  Flora knew what was coming must be bad, for she could hardly remember such a compliment ever passing her mother’s lips before. ‘Thank you, Mama.’

  ‘There is no other way to tell you this, but your father is selling Esthwaite Hall.’

  Flora’s breath caught in her throat and Rose avoided her daughter’s eyes as she continued.

  ‘During the past few years, every penny has gone into its maintenance, which is why the household lives so frugally. The fact is, there is simply no more money. And, quite rightly, your father refuses to accumulate debt to fund the necessary repairs. There is a buyer who is prepared to pay a good price and has the money to restore the Hall. Your father has found us a house in the Highlands, by Loch Lee, and this is where we will be moving to in November. I am sorry, Flora. I am aware of how much, out of all of us, you love our home and its surroundings. But there is nothing to be done.’

  Flora did not . . . could not speak.

  ‘It is not ideal, I grant you and . . .’ Flora watched her mother swallow hard to keep her composure. ‘I certainly will find the move difficult, but there it is. As for you, Flora, your father and I feel it would be wrong to take you with us to such an isolated spot, when you are still young and need the company of others. So, I have secured you a position in a household in London, which I think may suit you very well.’

  For one moment, Flora had a vision of herself blacking the range or peeling the potatoes in a cellar kitchen. ‘And what is that, Mama?’ she finally managed to say, her mouth dry.

  ‘A dear friend of mine is in need of extra schooling for her two daughters. I told her of your proficiency at sketching and painting and also of your knowledge of botany. She has asked me if you would care to join her household and educate her girls in your skills.’

  ‘I’m to be a governess?’

  ‘Not in the literal sense, no. The household you are joining is wealthy, and there is a large staff to care for and educate the children. I would see your role as that of a tutor.’

  ‘May I ask the name of this friend of yours?’

  ‘Her name is Mrs Alice Keppel. She is well respected in London society.’

  Flora nodded, although, living in the wilds of the Lakes as she did, she was not acquainted with the names of anybody in London, well respected or not.

  ‘She is a woman who moves in the very highest of circles and it is an honour that she would consider you for such a position.’ An odd expression passed fleetingly across her mother’s face. ‘Well, there we are. You will be joining the household at the beginning of October.’

  ‘And what of Aurelia? Will she move up with you to the Highlands?’

  ‘Aurelia is to live with her Aunt Charlotte in London when she returns from Kent. Temporarily, at least. We hope it will not be long before Aurelia is running a household of her own.’

  Flora’s heart missed a beat. ‘She is to be wed? Who is the man?’

  ‘I am sure your sister will tell you as soon as the engagement is confirmed. Now, Flora, have you any questions?’

  ‘No.’ What was the point? Her fate was already sealed.

  ‘My dear.’ Rose reached out a tentative hand to Flora. ‘I am so very sorry. I only wish things were different for you and me. But they are not and we must simply make the best of it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Flora felt a sudden empathy with her mother, who looked just as downcast as she. ‘I will . . . adjust to my new circumstances, I’m sure. Do tell Mrs Keppel . . . tell her I am most grateful.’

  And before she could disgrace herself by bursting into noisy, desolate sobs, Flora swiftly left the morning room. Upstairs, she locked the door to her bedroom, fell into her bed, pulled the blankets over her head and wept as quietly as she could.

  Everything has gone . . . my home, my sister, my life . . .

  Panther had crept under the blankets too and the feel of his soft, warm fur brought on further tears. ‘And what will happen to you? And Posy, and the rest of my menagerie? I can hardly imagine Mrs Keppel’ – she spat the name out as though it was poison – ‘wanting an old toad and a rat spoiling her pristine home. I’m to teach children! Good Lord, Panther, I hardly know any, let alone how to educate them. I’m not even sure I like them that much either.’

  Panther listened patiently, purring in Flora’s ear in response.

  ‘How could Mama and Papa do this to me?’ Flora threw the covers off and sat upright, gazing at the glorious view of Esthwaite Water beyond the window. Anger had replaced sorrow now and she stood up and paced the room, desperately trying to think up how she could single-handedly save her beloved home. When all lines of possibility were exhausted – there simply were none – Flora opened the doors to all her cages. Her menagerie scampered and hopped out of captivity, and crowded round their mistress protectively.

  ‘Oh God.’ Flora gave a long, deep sigh, gathering them to her. ‘What on earth am I to do?’

  As a mist began to hang over the lake at dawn and dusk fell earlier each evening, Flora spent as much time away from the house as possible. Her father was yet to mention directly to her the planned sale of the Hall, or Flora’s imminent move to London. Mealtimes continued just as they always had, and Flora wondered whether her father would actually say goodbye to her when she left in two weeks’ time.

  The only sign that anything was to change occurred when a number of vans arrived at the front of the house and departed with furniture – whether destined for an auction house, or her parents’ new abode in Scotland, Flora couldn’t say. When she saw the men lifting empty crates into the library, she darted in there and, like a thief, hastily gathered as many of her favourite books as her arms could hold, then scurried upstairs with her haul.

  It was haytiming in Esthwaite and its surrounds, and the unusually good weather had the whole village out together, working the fields to bring the hay in before it rained. Flora walked the lanes with her basket, greeting familiar faces she would soon say goodbye to and cutting samples of as many different species of plant as she could find. In London, she imagined there would be a dearth of interesting flora and fauna for her new charges to sketch and draw.

  The most pressing problem of all was what to do with her menagerie. If she set them free, none of them would survive in the wild after their years of Esthwaite Hall bed and board. But what else could she do?

  And then, awake early one morning, the answer came to her. After breakfast, Flora tied on her best bonnet and walked to the stable to hitch up the pony and trap. ‘Well,’ she told Myla as she clicked the reins and they moved off, ‘she can only say no.’

  Flora brought the trap to a halt in front of Hill Top Farm and tethered the pony to a post. Then she straightened her dress and bonnet and opened the wooden gate. Walking up the path, she noted the well-tended beds, full of purple autumn crocuses and dahlias. To her left, beyond a green wrought-iron gate, lay a vegetable patch and she spied large cabbage
s and the leafy tufts of carrot tops. A wisteria vine climbed the front of the house, and ripening Japanese quinces also cheered its grey walls.

  Pausing outside, she knew that the only thing that stood between her and her heroine was the panelled oak door. Her courage almost failing her, she thought about the certain fate of her menagerie if she did not at least try, and she struck the brass knocker. Within seconds, she heard footsteps approaching. The door opened and a pair of bright, enquiring eyes appraised her visitor.

  ‘Hello. How can I help you?’

  Flora recognised Miss Potter instantly, and, having expected a maid to answer the door, felt immediately tongue-tied at the sight of her. Her heroine looked rather dishevelled, wiping her hands on an apron covered in fruit stains, worn over a plain skirt of grey wool and a simple white blouse.

  ‘You almost certainly won’t remember me,’ she began timidly, ‘but my name is Flora MacNichol and I live in Esthwaite Hall, not far from here. You came with your parents to tea there once and then wrote me a letter containing a story about a caterpillar and a slug . . .’

  ‘Why yes, of course I remember! My, Miss MacNichol, how you have grown up since. Won’t you come inside? I’m just making some blackberry jam and I must watch it as it comes to the boil. It’s my first time making it, you see.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Flora said, hardly able to believe that she was being invited in by the famed Miss Potter.

  She was greeted by a richly decorated front hall that belied the simple exterior of the house. A grandfather clock ticked by the stairs, and a large oak dresser leant against the wall, filled with little treasures. Everything was as neat as a pin, not unlike a doll’s house, and indeed Flora could almost imagine the mice from Miss Potter’s tales scurrying about and wreaking havoc in the cottage. She surreptitiously pinched herself to make sure this was real.

  ‘Oh dear, it’s caught at the bottom again,’ said Miss Potter, rushing to a cooking pot hanging over the open fire, its contents bubbling away rather too merrily. The strong scent of burning sugar pervaded the room. ‘You must excuse me while I keep stirring. It’s usually Mrs Cannon who does this for me, but I thought I should learn the skill for myself. But pray, do sit down and tell me to what I owe the pleasure of your visit?’

  ‘I . . . well, the truth is, I have come to beg a favour, or at least some advice.’ Flora sat down at the table as requested and heard a disgruntled ‘meow’ as a large tabby cat removed itself from the chair. Surely this couldn’t be Tabitha Twitchit herself?

  ‘Don’t mind Tom, he just wants a good fuss. And what exactly would that favour be?’

  ‘I . . . well . . .’ Flora cleared her throat. ‘I have rescued a number of animals, who currently reside in my bedroom at the Hall.’

  ‘Just as I did when I was a child!’ Miss Potter laughed in delight. ‘What kind of animals do you have?’

  Flora ran through her collection as Miss Potter stirred the jam and listened to her intently. ‘Yes, I had all of the animals you’ve described, except for perhaps a toad. Although, maybe I did have one at some point . . . Anyway, you still haven’t explained what the favour is?’

  ‘Perhaps you’ve heard, but Esthwaite Hall is being sold. I am to move to London and work in a household teaching children botany, sketching and painting. And the truth is, I have no idea what to do with my poor orphaned pets.’

  ‘Aha!’ Miss Potter lifted the pot off the fire and set it on a corkboard on the table. ‘The answer is quite simple: they must come and live here at Hill Top with me. I can’t say that they will get the attention they are used to, for these days I seem to find myself extraordinarily busy. I write books, you see.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Potter, I have every one that you have published so far.’

  ‘Do you really? How very kind of you. Well now, as to your problem, I have a large garden shed that is warm and dry and which I use regularly to house wounded birds and the like. Your menagerie would be most welcome to move in. There are plenty of insects in there for your toad. And we keep seeds on hand for our other animals, although I have learnt not to feed rabbits hemp seeds any more – they gave my poor Benjamin rather a funny turn once. You say you have a white rat? I’d have to take care that Tom never gains entry to the shed.’

  As Miss Potter went through a verbal checklist of how she could safeguard her new arrivals, Flora felt immense relief and gratitude. ‘I also have a kitten called Panther,’ she added hopefully.

  ‘I am afraid that may well cause a problem, as my dear Tom has ruled the roost for so long, he may not take kindly to a competitor. Is there anywhere else you can think of that Panther might go?’

  ‘I can think of no option that I truly trust.’

  ‘Well, I will ask around and I’m sure we will find someone willing to take him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Flora said, although her words felt inadequate in the face of Miss Potter’s generosity.

  ‘Could I beg your help sieving and pouring the jam into the jars?’

  ‘Of course.’ Flora stood up immediately as Miss Potter lifted a tray of them onto the table. The two of them stood side by side, as they sieved the jam through muslin to rid it of blackberry pips, then began pouring it into the jars.

  ‘It is such a very kindly berry,’ Miss Potter remarked. ‘It ripens in the rain, and, as you know, we have rather a lot of that here. So, are you eager to go to London?’

  ‘Not at all. I do not know how I can bear to leave Esthwaite,’ Flora confessed. ‘Everything I love is here.’

  ‘Well, you must bear it, and bear it you will.’ Miss Potter scraped the last of the jam out of the pot. ‘I grew up in London, and there are many beautiful parks and gardens, and, of course, there’s the Natural History Museum . . . Why, and Kew Gardens as well! My advice to you, my dear, is to make the most of what you experience there. A change is as good as a rest, so they say.’

  ‘I will try, Miss Potter.’

  ‘Good.’ She nodded, as they began to place wax discs on the jam and then screw the lids on the jars. ‘Now, I think we deserve some elderflower cordial for our labours. While I stow these in the pantry to cool down, perhaps you’d be so kind as to pour us both a glass?’

  Flora did so, wishing she could express to Miss Potter that her life was everything she desired. Afraid it might sound trite, she simply handed the glass of elderflower cordial to her heroine as they sat down at the table, trying to commit this moment to memory, to comfort her in the uncertain future.

  ‘Do you still sketch, Miss MacNichol? I remember you did when you were younger.’

  ‘Yes, but mostly just nature, and the occasional animal.’

  ‘What else is there to portray?’ Miss Potter chuckled. ‘And flora and fauna are not fearsome art critics like human beings. So, you are to be a governess of sorts. Is married life not what you wish for? You are certainly comely enough to attract a husband.’

  ‘I . . . perhaps. But life has not yet presented me with the opportunity.’

  ‘My dear, I am forty-three, and I am still waiting for life to present it to me! And unfortunately broken hearts take many years to mend.’ A sudden sadness clouded Miss Potter’s blue gaze. ‘Tell me,’ she continued, ‘who will be your employer in London?’

  ‘A Mrs Alice Keppel. I believe the children I will be educating are named Violet and Sonia.’

  At this, Miss Potter threw back her head and laughed.

  ‘Please, Miss Potter, what is so amusing?’

  ‘Oh, forgive me, I am being childish. But, my dear, surely you must have been forewarned about Mrs Keppel’s . . . connections?’

  Not wishing to appear naive, Flora hid her confusion. ‘I . . . yes.’

  ‘Well, indeed, if anything could be worth leaving the beauty of the Lakes for, I could not think of a more interesting household to be part of! Now, I really must get on, for I too have to return to London tomorrow to see my poor ailing mama, and there is a lot still for me to do here before I leave. Please, drop your menagerie here in
the next few days. If I am not back, Mr and Mrs Cannon, who live in the other wing of the farmhouse, will be happy to care for them. Rest assured they are aware that, in my house at least, the animals come first. Your pets will be cared for like . . . royalty.’ Miss Potter let out a further chuckle and showed Flora to the front door.

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Potter. I cannot thank you enough for your kindness.’

  ‘We Lake and animal lovers must stick together, mustn’t we? Goodbye, Miss MacNichol.’

  14

  The few days that remained at her childhood home flew by, and the misery in Flora’s heart deepened as she witnessed the family possessions being packed away. She was presented with a large trunk in which to stow away her personal belongings and treasures, which would then go with her parents to Scotland. As she laid out her silk-covered journals – a detailed record of her life here at Esthwaite – to wrap in brown paper, she couldn’t help but peer between the covers to read snippets of them, mourning all she was about to lose.

  Her parents were so preoccupied that rarely did either throw her a kind word. Even though she had grown used to their manner, her sense of isolation grew apace and she thought she might even be relieved when the day came for her to move to London.

  On top of all this, there’d been no word from Archie either, and Flora had decided that whatever he had said about trusting him, the memory of the time they had spent together was best packed away with the rest of her past. Given Aurelia’s obvious feelings for him, expressed in the letters she had written to Flora from High Weald, it was the only sensible thing to do. Not that the resolution helped much. She continued to think of him almost every single moment of the day.

  Most painful of all was saying goodbye to her beloved animals as she arranged them in Miss Potter’s shed and instructed Mrs Cannon on their needs. The parting was made only slightly more bearable by seeing the delight of Ralph and Betsy, Mrs Cannon’s eldest children, who immediately picked up Maisie and Ethel – the two dormice – and promised they would care for them just as Flora had.