The Shadow Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  She began to pace as the anger rose inside her. ‘Can’t you see what you have done? In pursuing your own selfish desires, you have destroyed my family!’

  ‘Surely, the pursuit of love is often selfish? I thought . . . I felt that you may reciprocate my feelings.’

  ‘You are wrong, but even if I did, I would never put my own feelings above the needs of those I love.’

  ‘Then you are the person I have believed you are,’ he whispered, almost to himself. ‘And of course, Flora,’ he said, sighing heavily, ‘you are right. So, what do you suggest we do?’

  ‘There is no “we”,’ she replied, weary now. ‘And there never can be. But, if you really wish to prove that you love me, and recover some modicum of integrity, you will go to Aurelia immediately and make your long overdue proposal of marriage to her. And moreover, you will convince her that you love her.’

  ‘That is what you wish me to do?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you cannot admit to any feeling for me?’

  ‘No.’

  Archie raised his eyes to meet Flora’s, and saw nothing but anger in her gaze. ‘So be it,’ he said quietly. ‘If this is what you want, then I will do as you wish.’

  ‘It is what I want.’

  ‘Then I will take my leave and wish you good luck in the future.’

  ‘And I you.’

  Flora watched him leave the parlour. ‘I love you too,’ she whispered desolately to the empty room, as she heard his carriage clatter away from the front door.

  18

  Thankfully, Mrs Keppel’s plans to launch her into the social whirl of London meant that Flora had little time to dwell on the fact that she had willingly sent Archie back into the arms of her sister.

  The following night, Mrs Keppel’s campaign began in earnest. Flora, bedecked in a gown of cobalt-blue duchesse satin with borrowed sapphires placed around her neck, was introduced as the guest of honour at a formal dinner. Over drinks in the drawing room, a sea of faces gathered around her, admiring her poise and beauty and praising Mrs Keppel for bringing Flora to London.

  ‘I feel it’s only right that she should have her own debut. I am simply doing my best to provide it for her.’ Mrs Keppel smiled at her guests. Flora had been introduced to them in such a haze of names and titles that her head spun with the effort of trying to remember them all – ‘Please meet Lady This’ and ‘Lord Someone of That’ – so she was relieved to recognise Countess Torby from afternoon tea a few days ago. And, of course, the Alingtons from across the square, whose children were playmates of Sonia and Violet.

  Dinner took place in a magnificent dining room on the same floor as the drawing room. Flora was happy to be seated on the left of George Keppel. He turned to her with a smile on his lips beneath his neatly curled moustache.

  ‘Miss MacNichol – Flora – what a pleasure to have you beside me for dinner tonight,’ he said, helping to alleviate her nerves by pouring ruby-red wine into her glass. ‘Though it must be a shock coming to live in a city after the beauty of your Lakeland home, I hope you have found much here to stimulate your passions for botany and art. The many galleries we have can teach you more than a book ever could. You must try to entice our girls into a similar passion.’

  ‘I will certainly do my best.’ Flora only half heard Mr George as Lady Alington across the table from her mentioned that it looked as though ‘the Vaughan girl has found herself a satisfactory beau. And as for that fly-by-night son of theirs, there have been rumours—’

  ‘Flora? Are you feeling quite well? You have turned rather pale.’ Mr George’s voice pulled her attention back.

  ‘My apologies, sir, I must be fatigued from the day.’

  ‘Of course you are, my dear. I hope that Violet has not been chewing your ear off with her latest idea for a poem.’

  ‘She has a strong personality,’ Flora said carefully. ‘It is to be admired.’

  A snort of laughter came from her left. Lady Sarah Wilson’s prominent eyes were bright with mirth. ‘Dear Alice said you had a knack for diplomacy, Miss MacNichol.’

  She felt out of her depth in these barbed London conversations. ‘I simply speak from what I have observed, Lady Sarah. How are you enjoying the foie gras?’

  There were ten courses – at least seven too many, Flora felt. She had nibbled around the meat, shocked at the number of animals Mrs Stacey must have roasted, stewed or curried that day.

  When Mr George finally took the men off for brandy and cigars, Flora followed the women into the drawing room and sipped her coffee quietly as idle gossip passed over her head, mostly about women who had been seen around the city with men who were not their husbands. She listened with a mixture of fascination and horror. Perhaps she was simply naive, but she had presumed that marriage was sacrosanct.

  ‘So, have you any young man in mind for Flora?’ Lady Alington asked Mrs Keppel.

  ‘Perhaps Flora has ideas of her own,’ her sponsor replied, throwing Flora a piercing glance.

  ‘Oh, and who might the lucky gentleman be?’

  ‘I . . . goodness, I am just arrived in London,’ Flora replied diplomatically.

  ‘Well, I am sure it won’t be long before someone snaps you up, what with Mrs Keppel’s patronage. There are plenty of winter dances at which you’ll have the opportunity to cast your eye around. Although most of the decent beaux have already been taken.’

  Since Archie’s enforced departure from her life yesterday, Flora was perfectly happy to return to her original plan and spend the rest of her days alone.

  Once everyone had left, Mrs Keppel kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Goodnight, my dear, and may I just say that you acquitted yourself well. I was proud of you tonight. You see, George, I was right about her,’ she said to her husband as he led her out of the room.

  ‘You were, my dear, but then, when are you ever wrong?’ Flora heard him say as they mounted the stairs.

  Flora had asked Moiselle and Mrs Keppel’s permission to take Sonia to Kew Gardens for the day. Mr Rolfe had already arranged for the motor car to take them there and Flora was tingling with excitement at the thought of being surrounded by nature and studying rare specimens. Even if the diversion she had created was likely to remind her of Archie.

  ‘I will not let him spoil it,’ she told herself firmly.

  ‘Sorry, Miss Flora,’ Peggie said as she arrived in Flora’s room with her breakfast tray, ‘but Mrs Keppel wishes you to join her and a guest for tea this afternoon. She says you will have to go to your gardens another day.’

  ‘Oh.’ Flora bit her lip. ‘Do you know who the guest is?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough, miss, but I will be attending on you before you join them in Mrs Keppel’s parlour. I will see you here at three o’clock prompt.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Flora said to Sonia when she saw her in the day nursery and she expressed disappointment at the cancelled outing. ‘I am sure Moiselle wouldn’t mind if we went instead to St James’s Park for a walk this morning. We’ll have to promise to speak French all the way there and back.’ Flora winked at her. ‘How are you this morning, Violet?’ she asked, turning to her.

  ‘I am well, thank you. My best friend Vita is coming here for lunch after lessons. We have a half-day at school.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘I shall expect you to be here at one o’clock prompt, Nannie,’ Violet said.

  As she walked from the room, Nannie raised an eyebrow at Violet’s imperiousness.

  ‘And I can tell you, Miss Sackville-West is a very strange kettle of fish altogether,’ Nannie whispered to Flora. ‘I’m only glad she isn’t in my nursery. You should hear the two of them, discussing books and literature like they were proper professors. Takes herself very seriously, does that one. And Violet’s right obsessed with her, there’s no denying it.’

  ‘Then I am eager to meet her.’

  ‘Well now, Miss Flora, I’d say that one way and another, you have an interesting day ahead of you.’
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br />   The walk through St James’s Park with Sonia was just what Flora needed. The October day was bright if chilly and the leaves were beginning to turn all shades of amber, burnished gold and red, dropping to create a vibrant carpet beneath their feet.

  ‘Look.’ Flora pointed to a rooftop high above them on the edge of the park. ‘Can you see the swallows gathering? They’re preparing to fly south to Africa. Winter is on its way.’

  ‘Oh my, Africa!’ gasped Sonia, watching the swallows chattering to each other. ‘That’s an awfully long way. What happens if they feel tired when they’re flying across the sea?’

  ‘Good question, and the answer is that I really don’t know. Perhaps they fly down and hitch a ride on a boat. Look, there’s a squirrel. He’s probably gathering nuts to store in his house for winter. He’ll go to sleep very soon; we won’t see him again until the spring.’

  ‘I wish I was a squirrel.’ Sonia wrinkled her small nose. ‘I’d like to go to sleep for the winter too.’

  Arriving home just in time for lunch in the day nursery, Flora sat down at the table with the staff and children. Violet barely looked up from her conversation, conducted in intense whispers with her friend, a dark-eyed, sallow-skinned child with short brown hair and a slim torso. If she hadn’t known this was a girl, Flora might well have taken her for a boy. She was struck by the odd intimacy between them: Violet touched Vita’s hand constantly, and at one point even rested her hand lightly on the other girl’s knee.

  ‘Nannie, Vita and I will now retire to my room. Vita wishes to read me her new poems.’

  ‘Does she indeed?’ Nannie muttered under her breath. ‘Well, mind you’re back down here at three o’clock prompt, for when Miss Vita’s nanny arrives to take her home. Your mother has her special guest arriving at four and the house must be quiet. You’re to join them at five, Miss Flora,’ Nannie added as she took Sonia off to wash her face, and Vita and Violet left the room arm in arm behind them.

  At three o’clock, Barny entered Flora’s room with a dress draped over her arm.

  ‘Mrs Keppel wishes you to wear this one for tea, so I took it downstairs to give it a freshen-up.’

  Flora sat down at the dressing table to let Barny tease her hair into ordered rather than wild ringlets, held neatly by sharp-toothed mother-of-pearl combs. Then subjecting herself to the dreaded whalebone corset, she considered that, despite Mrs Keppel’s overt generosity, she was starting to feel rather like an oversized doll being dressed up on the whim of her owner. Not that there was a lot to do about it without seeming hugely ungrateful. As Barny fastened the cream and blue striped gown, Flora thought that for all of society’s insistence that men wished their women to be trussed up, painted and adorned, she remembered climbing Scafell in her father’s breeches. And how it hadn’t seemed to matter to Archie one jot . . .

  ‘Miss Flora?’

  ‘Yes?’ She dragged herself back from her daydream.

  ‘I was asking whether you can fasten the earrings tighter. Lord help us if one fell off into your teacup this afternoon!’

  ‘Goodness, now that would be a disaster,’ she agreed, trying to suppress a smile.

  ‘I’ll put a little rose cream on each of your cheeks to give them some colour, and you’ll be ready to go down when you’re called. You just sit quietly with one of your books and Miss Draper will be up for you when they’re ready.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Good luck, miss.’

  Flora frowned as Barny left the room, wondering why on earth she needed ‘luck’ to drink a cup of tea with this mystery guest, whom she heard arriving ten minutes later. To while away the time, Flora went to her writing bureau and took out her journal to continue documenting the dreadful conversation with Archie. Even writing it brought her close to tears. Eventually, there was a knock on her door and Miss Draper appeared.

  ‘Mrs Keppel would like you to join her in the parlour now.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Flora followed Miss Draper downstairs and felt the tense hush of the house that heralded the presence of Mrs Keppel’s special guest.

  ‘Ready?’ Miss Draper asked her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very good.’ She raised her hand to tap on the parlour door and Flora noticed it shook slightly.

  ‘Come,’ came Mrs Keppel’s voice from within.

  ‘And for pity’s sake, don’t forget to curtsey when she introduces you,’ Miss Draper hissed as she grasped the door handle and opened it.

  ‘Flora, my dear.’ Mrs Keppel came towards her. ‘How lovely you look today, doesn’t she, Bertie?’ She took Flora’s hand and led her to a grey-bearded gentleman, whose enormous bulk took up the entire two-seater sofa.

  Flora felt a pair of gimlet eyes appraising her as Mrs Keppel drew her closer until she stood only a foot from him. The room was filled with a cloud of cigar smoke and the gentleman took another puff as he continued to observe her. Flora gave a start as something moved by the gentleman’s leg, and she saw that it was a white fox terrier with brown ears that had perked up at her entrance and was now coming to greet her.

  ‘Hello.’ Flora smiled down at the little dog and instinctively reached to pet it.

  ‘Flora, this is my dearest friend, Bertie. Bertie, may I present Miss Flora MacNichol.’

  As she had been told to do, Flora gave a deep – and she hoped – graceful curtsey. As she rose as elegantly as she could, she realised this gentleman was very familiar. In the ensuing silence, as the eyes continued to stare at her in a most disturbing manner, Flora finally made the connection. And her knees went weak.

  ‘Didn’t I tell you she was a beauty?’ Mrs Keppel broke the silence. ‘Come, Flora, sit down by me.’

  She followed Mrs Keppel to the chaise longue placed opposite the man who was apparently called ‘Bertie’. Flora was only grateful she could sit down or she might have fallen to the floor in shock.

  Still, the man did not speak, just continued to stare at her.

  ‘I shall ring for some tea. I am sure we could all do with a fresh cup.’ As Mrs Keppel pressed a bell to the side of the fireplace, Flora could see that even her sponsor’s fabled calm seemed disturbed by the silence. Eventually, Bertie took up his cigar once more, relit it and puffed on it.

  ‘How are you finding London, Miss MacNichol?’ he asked her.

  ‘I am enjoying it very much, thank you . . .’ Her voice trailed off as she realised she was not sure how to address him.

  ‘Please, while we are in private, you may call me “Bertie”, as dear Mrs George does. We are all friends here. And perhaps you are a little mature to address me as “Kingy”, like Violet and Sonia.’ He smiled approvingly then, his blue eyes merry, and the tension in the room lifted a little.

  ‘So,’ he said, taking another puff on his cigar, ‘how is your dear mama?’

  ‘I . . . she is well, thank you. Or at least, I believe she is, as I haven’t seen her since she left for Scotland.’

  ‘Remember, Bertie, that I told you Flora’s parents have moved from their house in the Lakes up to the Highlands?’ Mrs Keppel prompted.

  ‘Ah, yes, and a damned fine choice they made. Scotland is without a doubt my favourite part of the British Isles. Especially Balmoral. Have you visited the Highlands, Miss MacNichol?’

  ‘When I was much younger, I went to visit my paternal grandparents and I remember it being very beautiful.’ Flora struggled to calm herself enough to form coherent sentences. She was surprised by the sound of his voice, his words having an almost Teutonic timbre to them, making him sound rather foreign.

  Miss Draper and the footman arrived with tea and a trolley full of sandwiches, cakes and pastries. A black shadow raced by Miss Draper’s feet, and the terrier, who had been remarkably calm until now, launched himself towards it with a series of ear-splitting barks. Without thinking, Flora leapt to her feet and scooped the hissing and spitting cat into her arms.

  The terrier’s barks were punctuated by a booming laugh. ‘Caesar,
heel!’ he commanded, and the dog slunk back to sit down by his master. ‘Now, who might that be, Miss Mac-Nichol?’

  ‘This is Panther,’ Flora said, trying to soothe the shuddering cat.

  ‘What a splendid fellow,’ Bertie said. ‘How did you come by him?’

  ‘I rescued him from a tarn when he was a kitten, back home in the Lakes.’

  ‘Flora, please take Panther outside,’ Mrs Keppel said.

  ‘No need on my account, Mrs George. I love animals, as you know.’

  Flora duly released Panther into the corridor and firmly shut the door, then sat back down. As Mrs Keppel poured the tea, she knew she would not be able to touch it for fear her hand would shake so violently that she’d spill it all over her fine dress.

  ‘Miss MacNichol, it strikes me that you have a very cunning and clever comrade-in-arms in Mrs George here. For’ – Bertie took a puff on his cigar, smiling fondly at Mrs Keppel – ‘I can tell you truthfully that I never thought I’d see the day that—’

  What the day was, Flora would never know, because inhaling the cigar smoke prompted an enormous bout of coughing and choking. His already ruddy complexion became beetroot-red, his eyes streaming as his chest struggled to take in enough breath. Mrs Keppel poured a glass of water and squeezed next to him on the sofa as she put the glass to his lips, forcing him to sip it.

  ‘Damn you, woman! I don’t need water, I need brandy!’ He pulled a large paisley handkerchief from his topcoat and, pushing the water away so it spilt all over Mrs Keppel’s skirts, proceeded to blow his nose loudly.

  ‘Bertie, you really are going to have to give up the cigars,’ Mrs Keppel chided as she rose and crossed to the decanter sitting on the sideboard. ‘You know that every doctor you see says the same. Those things will be the death of you, they truly will.’ She handed him the brandy, which he drank in one gulp before holding the glass out for another.