‘Of course, my dear. Now, I will leave the three of you to work out the best timetable to accommodate the girls’ hour a day with Miss MacNichol.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ answered Nannie, dropping a respectful but awkward curtsey.
Violet sneezed suddenly and her mother turned back towards her with a frown. ‘I hope you’re not catching a cold, Violet dear.’
‘No, it is almost certainly that.’ Violet pointed at Panther, still snuggled happily in Sonia’s arms.
Flora held her breath to see if the kitten would be banished from the nursery but Mrs Keppel merely shrugged. ‘I do not believe in these so-called “allergies” and the best thing you can do in my opinion, darling, is to allow yourself to become accustomed to animal fur.’
Flora was beginning to like Mrs Keppel more and more.
Violet went off to school and Panther was dragged reluctantly from Sonia, who followed Moiselle out of the room for morning lessons. Flora was left alone with Nannie, and the two of them tried to find an hour a day for Flora to instruct the children. Which – in between dancing lessons, gymnastics, and cultural visits to museums and galleries with Moiselle, let alone numerous afternoon social engagements – seemed impossible to fit in.
‘Perhaps at six o’clock?’ A despairing Flora pointed to a blank hour in the diary.
‘Maybe sometimes, Miss MacNichol, but often they are needed downstairs to take tea with . . . a visitor of their mother’s.’
‘Well, we have to start somewhere, or I will never see them.’
‘I will talk to Moiselle and see if she can spare Sonia for a couple of hours a week in the mornings,’ Nannie comforted her. ‘And, of course, you are welcome to join us in the day nursery for lunch and supper, but I daresay you might be eating the latter downstairs very soon. Now.’ Nannie stood up. ‘I must get on.’
As she’d received no instructions as to what she should do, Flora wandered back downstairs to her bedroom. She sat on the bed, wondering why on earth Mrs Keppel had invited her to join a household where it was perfectly obvious they didn’t need her.
There was a knock on the door and Peggie came in.
‘Miss MacNichol, your mother is waiting to see you in Mrs Keppel’s parlour.’
‘Thank you, Peggie.’
Flora walked downstairs to find her mother already in her travelling cape. ‘Hello, Flora. How are you finding the children?’
‘They both seem nice girls, although I have spent only a few minutes with them so far.’
‘Good, good,’ she said with a nod. ‘I am sure you will be happy here, Flora. Mrs Keppel is a very kind and understanding woman. And you will meet many of the highest in society. I hope you will not let me down.’
‘I will do my best not to, Mama.’
‘You have our new address?’
‘I do, yes, and I will write often.’
‘Then I shall rely on you to tell me all the London gossip. I admit to being envious of you; I only wish it was me who was staying here. Goodbye, Flora dear, and I pray this decision was the right one. For all of us.’
Rose kissed her daughter on both cheeks, then swept out of the room.
Flora felt tears prick her eyes. She walked across to the window to watch her mother step into the carriage below. Even though it was she who had been sent away from her beloved home, Flora couldn’t help but feel it was her mother who was being banished.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Mrs Keppel had entered the room.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Flora quickly brushed away her tears.
‘It must be difficult leaving the Lakes and your family. But please consider this household your new home and all of us as a surrogate family. Now, my dressmaker will call on you tomorrow morning at ten o’clock. We must have a wardrobe made for you before you can be seen, and’ – Mrs Keppel circled Flora like an eagle viewing its prey – ‘that wonderful head of hair needs a good trim too.’
‘Really, Mrs Keppel, I can manage in what I have and my hair was only cut a few weeks ago.’
‘My dear girl, you may be able to manage, but I most certainly can’t!’
‘I thought I may be given a uniform.’
‘A uniform! Good grief, do you think you are here to be a servant?!’ Mrs Keppel let out a sudden peal of musical laughter. ‘My dear Flora, the situation becomes more absurd by the second! I think I shall nickname you “Cinderella”,’ she added as she led Flora to the chaise longue and pulled her gently down next to her. ‘Rest assured, you are not a servant here, but a young friend of the family who is staying as a guest. Just wait until I tell Bertie! He will be most amused. For now, however, until your wardrobe is ready, I must confine you to the upper floors with the children. Which will at least give you an opportunity to become acquainted with them. Sonia is such a sweet thing and Violet . . . well,’ Mrs Keppel sighed. ‘I think she is in need of guidance from an older girl. She is at such a vulnerable and impressionable age.’
‘I will do my best to help them both, Mrs Keppel.’
‘Thank you, my dear. And now I must change. I have guests coming for luncheon.’
Flora left Mrs Keppel’s parlour, wondering why on earth this woman would be spending time or money on her. She’d arrived believing that she was simply to be a governess of sorts. Now she had no clear indication of what her place was in the household.
Yet, from the little she’d seen, she’d already realised that this was no ordinary home. And Alice Keppel was no ordinary woman.
Flora took up Nannie’s offer of lunch and ate with Moiselle and Sonia in the day nursery. Sonia chattered away, glad of fresh company to talk to.
‘Moiselle says you might teach me to paint? And about flowers.’
‘Yes, I’d like to, if we can find time.’
‘Please find time,’ Sonia said under her breath as Moiselle stood up to collect pudding from the trolley. ‘I hate Moiselle and I hate lessons.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Flora whispered back.
‘Do you have a sister, Miss MacNichol?’
‘I do.’
‘Do you like her?’
‘Very much. In fact, I love her.’
‘Even Nannie says Violet’s a bit of a madam. And she’s not very nice to me.’
‘Some sisters aren’t, but they love you underneath.’
Sonia opened her mouth to make a further comment, then, as Moiselle approached, thought better of it. ‘I will try and love my sister more,’ she said gravely.
After lunch, Sonia was taken off by Nannie for a wash and brush-up before being driven to a dancing lesson, so Flora retired to her room to read. Then, feeling in need of some fresh air, she took Panther down the stairs to find a way outside for both of them.
On the ground floor, she had just opened a door in the back passage, the stairs beyond indicating a yard of some kind, when Mr Rolfe, the butler, caught her arm.
‘Where are you going, Miss MacNichol?’
Flora explained her mission and Mr Rolfe looked positively flustered, his eyes darting to the carriage clock on a side table. ‘I will call Peggie to collect the kitten and then have her return him to you when he has been outside.’
‘I thought that I too might take a breath of fresh air.’
‘That is not possible now. Mrs Keppel is expecting a guest for tea any second.’ Mr Rolfe called for Peggie, who appeared a few seconds later to take Panther out of Flora’s arms.
‘Don’t worry, miss, I’ll take care of him for you. I love cats, I do.’
The maid dashed off, and Mr Rolfe escorted Flora back to the main stairs, glancing constantly towards the front door. As Flora mounted them, she heard a carriage pull up outside. ‘He’s here, Johnson. Open the door, will you?’ Mr Rolfe said to the footman, who leapt to do so.
Wishing she could stay and see who this special guest was, but too frightened to disobey the butler’s orders, Flora hurried up the stairs, passing Mrs Keppel’s parlour, from which a strong, flowery perfume emanated. Up in the sanctua
ry of the floor above, she peered over the banisters, catching the sound of a male voice and heavy footsteps ascending the stairs. Whoever it was had a deep, throaty cough and a strong whiff of cigar smoke permeated the stairwell. Leaning over further to try and catch a glimpse of the man, she felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her back.
‘Now, Miss MacNichol, it’s best we don’t spy on anyone in this house,’ said Nannie, giving her an amused glance.
A door shut on the floor below and the footsteps receded behind it.
‘Mrs Keppel must never be disturbed when she is entertaining in the afternoon. Do you understand?’
‘I do, Nannie.’
Flora, red-faced with embarrassment, retreated to her bedroom once more.
16
Two weeks later, with the help of Barny, Mrs Keppel’s own lady’s maid, Flora drew in her breath as the whalebone corset was tightened and she thought her ribs might crack under the pressure.
‘There, it’s done.’
‘But I can’t breathe . . .’
‘No, none of you ladies can, but look,’ Barny said, pointing in the mirror. ‘Now you have a waist. You’ll get used to it, Miss MacNichol, all the ladies do. It’ll loosen off after a while. It’s just new at the moment.’
‘I can barely move . . .’ Flora muttered as Barny gathered a swathe of ice-blue silk and beckoned Flora to step into the middle of it.
‘Mrs Keppel’s right about this colour suiting your complexion. She’s right about everything, mind you,’ said Barny approvingly as she fastened the tiny seed-pearl buttons at the back of the dress.
‘Yes,’ Flora agreed whole-heartedly. If she was Cinderella, then Mrs Keppel was without a doubt the fairy godmother of 30 Portman Square. From the scullery maid to the finely dressed guests who appeared almost every night for dinner on the floors below, everyone adored her. She seemed to carry with her an almost magical aura of calm. Never did she have to raise her voice to get what she needed; one word was usually enough.
‘She’s like a queen,’ Flora had commented to Nannie one day last week after returning, starry-eyed, from her first shopping trip with Mrs Keppel and the girls. They’d visited Morrell’s toyshop, where the staff had bowed to her every request.
Nannie, normally so staid, had burst into laughter at Flora’s expression. ‘Aye, that she is, Miss MacNichol, and who’s to doubt it?’
Flora had begun to learn the rhythms of the house and the characters who dominated it. Just like Mrs Keppel herself, the staff who worked for her were, on the whole, charming and appeared to see it as an honour to be part of the Keppel household. Mr Rolfe and Mrs Stacey, the cook, ruled the roost, while Miss Draper, the housekeeper, and Barny had the privileged position of preparing Mrs Keppel and her private parlour for entertaining, which meant hours of flower arranging, tidying, dressing and primping.
The little Flora had seen of Mrs Keppel’s husband, ‘Mr George’, as the staff called him – a gentle giant of a man with a kind face and a soft voice – she had liked. Every night, Sonia would disappear to her father’s sitting room to curl up on his knee, whereupon he’d read tales of adventure, which Sonia would repeat to her later.
During the past two weeks, she had spent most of her time on the nursery floor attempting to help Nannie and Moiselle, for want of anything else to do. In the evenings, she and the children huddled round the fire in the day nursery toasting crumpets as Flora told them stories of her childhood at Esthwaite. Violet feigned disinterest, her head buried in a notebook, in which she wrote less often than she chewed the end of her pencil, but Flora knew she listened.
‘You drove your own pony and trap?’ she confirmed, after Flora had told them about Myla.
‘Yes.’
‘Without a driver? Or a nursemaid or a servant?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, how I long for that kind of freedom,’ Violet breathed, then promptly returned her attention to her notebook.
At least, thought Flora, bringing herself back to the present, she now was in possession of enough clothes to outfit a royal court comfortably, and she hoped Mrs Keppel would be agreeable to her taking walks in the park across the road, and maybe further afield in London. After spending so much time inside, Panther wasn’t the only one who felt like a caged animal.
‘May I dress your hair, Miss MacNichol?’
‘Thank you.’ Flora sat down in front of the dressing-table mirror and Barny began brushing out her long, thick hair with a silver-backed paddle brush.
Although everything else about the household was now reasonably clear in Flora’s mind, one mystery remained: the identity of Mrs Keppel’s afternoon guest. Flora always knew when he was due to arrive as the entire household seemed to descend into a state of palpable tension. The first thing that heralded the guest’s arrival was the sound of Mabel and Katie polishing the brass rods on the stairs just as Flora rose from her bed at seven in the morning. They would begin at the top of the house and work their way down. At noon, the florist would arrive to fill the parlour with sweet-smelling roses, and after lunch, Barny would disappear into Mrs Keppel’s boudoir to ready her mistress for his arrival.
When the guest arrived, everyone scurried out of sight and a hush fell over the house as the man with the deep-throated cough entered and made his way up the stairs, leaving the smell of stale cigar smoke in his wake. Some evenings, at six o’clock prompt, Violet and Sonia, wearing their most beautiful dresses, would be taken downstairs to Mrs Keppel’s parlour for tea.
On the guest’s departure in an enormously grand carriage – Flora had spied the roof of it from the window of her bedroom – it felt as if the household gave a collective sigh of relief, and things would return to normal. Flora longed to glean information from either of the girls on who it was they met behind the firmly shut parlour door, but felt it was rude to pry.
‘There, Miss Flora. Do you like it?’ Barny stepped back to admire her handiwork.
Flora surveyed the upswept style Barny had achieved, but doubted the combs would be strong enough to hold her hair for longer than a few minutes. Despite herself, she was surprised at the difference fine clothing and tamed hair could make.
‘I look . . . different.’
‘I’d say you look beautiful, miss,’ Barny said with a smile. ‘I think you’re ready to go down. Mrs Keppel wants to see you in her parlour.’
Flora rose, the bustle on the back of her dress and the tightness across her chest from the corset hampering her progress to the door. ‘Thank you, Barny,’ she managed as she walked out onto the landing, just as Sonia was being shepherded down the stairs by Nannie.
‘Lawks!’
This was Sonia’s new favourite expression, gleaned from Mabel, the parlour maid, when a large black spider had scuttled out of the coal bucket. ‘You look very pretty, Flora! In fact, I wouldn’t recognise you at all.’
‘Thank you.’ She chuckled and dipped an awkward curtsey to Sonia.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Your mama is holding a salon in the drawing room and has invited me.’
‘Oh, that means lots of ladies standing around drinking tea and eating cakes, doesn’t it, Nannie?’
‘It does, my love.’
‘It will be frightfully boring, Flora. Why don’t you come to the park and listen to the organ grinder and stroke the monkey and have ice cream with us instead?’
‘I wish I could,’ whispered Flora in Sonia’s ear before heading for Mrs Keppel’s parlour.
Mrs Keppel’s face was a picture of satisfaction at Flora’s appearance. ‘My dear, you look quite the refined young lady. So, let us go and greet the guests I have invited to meet you.’ Mrs Keppel offered her elbow and they escorted each other down the stairs. ‘And I have a surprise for you. Your sister is attending.’
‘Aurelia? How wonderful! I didn’t even know she was yet back in London.’
‘No, well, I think that perhaps she became a little tired of waiting for something that never seemed to happen
in Kent.’ Mrs Keppel lowered her voice as they entered the drawing room. ‘Although she insisted on bringing that rather dull friend of hers, Miss Elizabeth Vaughan. I hear she has become engaged to a tea planter, of all things, and will leave for Ceylon soon after her marriage. Do you find her dull, Flora?’
‘I . . . don’t know her well enough to judge her character, but she’s always seemed sweet enough.’
‘You are so very discreet. It will serve you well in London,’ Mrs Keppel answered approvingly as the clock chimed three and a carriage drew up outside. ‘Now, let us show your sister – and London – just how you have blossomed.’
‘Flora! Is it really you?’ Aurelia said as she entered the drawing room and embraced her. ‘You look . . . beautiful! And your dress . . .’ She took in the expensive lace on the collar and the cuffs and the intricate embroidery on the skirts. ‘Why, it’s exquisite.’ Leaning closer, she whispered in Flora’s ear. ‘It seems you too have a sponsor now, dearest. And Mrs Keppel, of all people; she’s one of the most influential women in London.’
After greeting an elated Elizabeth, who was smugly showing off her very substantial sapphire engagement ring, Flora led Aurelia away so they could speak in private. ‘Indeed, Mrs Keppel has been most awfully kind,’ she said, indicating a chaise longue. ‘Shall we sit down? I want to hear all about your summer.’
‘Then I’d better stay for dinner, and breakfast tomorrow morning,’ Aurelia sighed, none too happily. Other women were arriving and the sisters watched Mrs Keppel greet each of them with warmth and interest. ‘If only Mama could see us now: her two girls sitting amongst the cream of London society. I think she’d be very proud.’
‘Well, apart from one shopping trip, this is my first day “out”. Mrs Keppel was reluctant to let me be seen until my new wardrobe of clothes had arrived.’
‘I’m not surprised. She runs the smartest salon in London.’
‘I must admit, I’m rather confused by this turn of events. I thought I was coming here as a tutor to her girls, but Mrs Keppel seems to have other ideas.’
‘If she has chosen to back your launch into society, you could have no one better. Although you must know that there are a few dissenters and some doors that are closed to her, and I’m sure that, living here under her roof, you’re already aware of—’
The Shadow Sister Page 18