‘You don’t have a beer, do you?’
‘I do, yes.’
‘This place is amazing,’ Mouse commented, as he strode to the windows where the lights of London were twinkling in the deepening dusk beneath us. ‘Now I know for certain that you’re not a gold-digger who’s after High Weald. Who needs that mouldering heap when you have this.’
‘It’s my sister that owns it,’ I explained for the second time that day.
‘Well,’ he said as I handed him the beer, ‘here’s to rich relatives. Wish I had some lying about,’ he added as he took a slug and I led him to sit down on the sofa. He eyed the malt cake hungrily. ‘May I? I haven’t eaten all day.’
‘Of course.’ I cut him a slice and smothered it in butter.
‘This is absolutely delicious, as is everything you cook. You have a real gift.’
‘Thank you,’ I mumbled, wondering meanly where this charm offensive was leading, and what it was he wanted. Because nobody just ‘passed’ our front door. In fact, one needed a map and compass to find the entrance.
‘Before I forget, here you go.’ He pulled an envelope from the pocket of his Barbour. ‘I hope you think that’s enough. I also added two weeks’ wages for the bookshop to it.’
‘You didn’t need to, really,’ I said, fully aware of his current financial plight. ‘How’s Orlando?’
‘Belligerent and non-communicative . . . which is the reason I came up to London. I hadn’t heard from him since I called him about you. Obviously I was concerned. The shop was locked when I arrived this afternoon. But luckily I have another set of keys. He’s still holed up in that bedroom of his and wouldn’t let me in there. The only way I could get him to speak to me was by threatening to call the police and break the door down to see if he was still alive.’
‘Nothing’s changed then.’
‘No. I also went to see a commercial property agent to start the process of putting the building on the market. Hopefully, if the bank sees we’re making moves to sell, and they’ll be repaid what we owe, they’ll hold off grabbing it themselves for the time being.’
‘Did you tell Orlando that?’
‘God, no, I thought he might throw himself out of his attic window if I did. It’s such a shame he won’t have you back. He’s just sitting there, brooding all day and night. Well, he’ll get over it eventually. We all have to from losing things we love.’
‘But it can take some time. Can’t it?’ I said, wondering if the remark would hit home. ‘After all, it’s only been a few days.’
‘Point taken,’ Mouse responded, and, from the expression on his face, I could see he was deciding whether to take offence or not. Frankly, I didn’t care if he did.
‘You’re right,’ he said after a long pause. ‘Now listen, Star, there’s another reason I’ve come to see you, and it’s got nothing to do with me or my family. It’s about you.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. After all, the reason you first entered the bookshop was to find out more about your own past. And now we’ve all messed your life around, through no fault of your own, might I add. So I thought it was only fair to come here and offer to tell you what more I know about Flora MacNichol. And at least explain to you where I believe that cat came from originally.’
‘I see.’
‘It’s at Sotheby’s, by the way. I dropped it off earlier today. They’ll give me a call once they’ve made their enquiries, but they’re pretty sure it is a Fabergé. And I should tell you that, if it’s authenticated, it’s worth a fortune. Even a tiny figurine like “Panther” can go at auction for hundreds of thousands.’
‘Really?’ I was amazed.
‘Yes, really. It seems like you may well have just realised your own inheritance. Now . . .’ Mouse pulled a number of slim silk-covered volumes out of another of his capacious pockets. I saw they were identical to the ones I’d found on the shelf in the bookshop. ‘This one’ – he tapped it with his fingertips – ‘continues from where my transcription left off. One way and another, I haven’t had time to do the same with this, but I have read it. Star, do you want me to tell you more? Put it this way, it’s an absolutely fascinating story. With what one might call a dramatic denouement.’
I hesitated. Yesterday, and this morning, I’d made such an effort to put the last few weeks behind me and march on determinedly into a future of my own making. Was being dragged back again to High Weald and its long-dead residents a good thing? If a connection was established between us, I would be inextricably linked to them for the rest of my life. And I was no longer sure that I wanted that.
‘Okay then,’ I said eventually, knowing that I’d kick myself if I refused.
‘It might take some time, though. Flora’s writing is quite difficult to decipher, so I’ll read it out to you, as I’m used to her hand now. We won’t be disturbed, will we?’ he asked, opening the journal.
‘Not for a while, anyway.’
‘Good. Then I’ll begin.’
Flora
London
December 1909
25
The Keppels had not been invited to attend the wedding of Archie and Aurelia, which was being held at High Weald, the Vaughan seat in Kent. This omission had surprised Flora, given that they seemed so popular in London. Mrs Keppel herself had taken it in good part.
‘Frankly, we hardly know the Vaughans,’ she said with an airy wave of her hand. ‘They tend to stick to the country set.’
Flora accepted her explanation, although she knew that Mrs Keppel had a country residence in Kent and was presumably a part of the ‘set’.
A motor car had kindly been put at Flora’s disposal for the weekend of the wedding. Sitting in the back seat as Freed drove her out of London, she wondered how she could face the next forty-eight hours. She had dreamt up dozens of plans to make it impossible to attend the wedding – from standing at the top of the stairs and trying to pluck up the courage to throw herself down so she could plead a broken leg, to standing in the park as the chill November wind and rain cascaded over her, wishing for pneumonia. It seemed that, physically at least, she was indestructible. So here she was, on her way to her sister’s wedding to Archie Vaughan, the man she loved.
And the thing that made it worse was the fact that she would have to see High Weald and Archie’s beloved gardens, which he’d described to her with so much passion in the summer. Yet she could not let herself forget that it was she who had set the events in motion.
Flora remembered her mother’s face, so animated at the engagement party that Aunt Charlotte had hosted for the happy couple at her London house. There was a genuine sense of relief that the sacrifice of Esthwaite Hall had been worth it. Her parents were already in situ at High Weald, ready for the wedding celebrations.
There were eight bridesmaids in all – although Elizabeth, Archie’s sister, would be absent. She had sailed for Ceylon with her new husband in November, and an heir to the tea plantation was already on its way.
In forty-eight hours, it will all be over and I will be travelling home, Flora thought determinedly as suburbia disappeared and ploughed fields and bare winter hedgerows began to appear on either side of the road.
An hour later, Flora spotted a number of tall, fragile chimneys peeking through the skeletons of the trees. As the motor car turned into the drive, a ravishing old red-brick building appeared in front of her.
‘I do not want to love this house,’ Flora said to herself as she gazed at the mellow facade. The charmingly uneven windows had partially surrendered to their age, the hinges and frames crooked and bowed in places, like elderly people. Even though the day was icy cold, the sun was shining, setting the frost on the perfectly clipped box hedges a-glitter. It was like the entrance to fairyland.
‘We’re here, Miss MacNichol,’ said Freed, who then duly walked to the back door of the motor car and opened it for her.
Flora stepped out and gazed at the large arched oak doors with the trepidation of a prisoner about to e
nter a jail. The doors opened as she walked across the gravel and Aurelia appeared through them.
‘Darling! You’re here. I do hope the journey wasn’t too tiring.’
‘It was barely two hours, it’s so close to London.’
‘Yet a world away, don’t you think? And so much gentler than the surroundings of Esthwaite. Now,’ she said, tucking Flora’s arm in hers, ‘as there’s much to do and so many people arriving, I thought we ought to pretend we aren’t here just for a while, so I can have you all to myself.’
They entered a low-ceilinged hall, where a fire burnt brightly in the grate, spreading its warmth across the well-worn stone floor.
‘Come up with me and we’ll hide in my room,’ said Aurelia with a giggle, pulling her sister up a wide wooden staircase, bedecked with heavy Tudor carvings. Aurelia led her along a corridor and opened a door at the end of it, revealing a small room containing two single brass beds. Its walls had the same rich oak panelling that gave the rest of the house a comforting warmth, even in the chill winter light that streamed through the narrow windows.
‘This is where I will sleep tonight. I was hoping you would stay here too in the other bed.’
‘Of course I’ll stay here, if you wish me to,’ Flora answered.
‘Thank you. It all feels rather overwhelming, as you can imagine. And I’ve hardly seen Archie since we arrived. Both of us have been so busy . . .’
Flora saw her sister’s expression darken for a few seconds, then Aurelia recovered herself and smiled brightly.
‘So firstly, do tell me everything you’ve been up to in London. From what I hear, you’ve been quite the social butterfly.’
Flora gave Aurelia a brief history of the endless dances, dinner parties and soirées she’d attended over the past two months.
‘Yes, yes’ – Aurelia flicked the detail away with her hand – ‘but what I really want to hear about is Freddie Soames.’
‘Oh yes, Freddie.’ Flora rolled her eyes. ‘He’s a leading light on the London social circuit.’
‘I know that, but I want to hear about the two of you.’
‘There is no “the two of us”.’
‘Really, Flora, I may be tucked away in the country, but even I’ve heard the gossip.’
‘He is nothing to me, really, Aurelia.’
‘I think you are being coy. London is awash with how he is courting you. Everyone is saying he is about to propose.’
‘London can say what it likes.’
‘Flora, he’s a viscount, no less! And will one day be an earl!’
‘That’s as may be. But I will never marry for a title, you know that.’
‘Not even for vast tracts of fertile Hampshire land and a tiara? You do know he’s coming tomorrow? He’s a distant cousin to the Vaughans – once removed, whatever that means.’
‘I didn’t know. But then, I’ve thrown all his letters on the fire.’
‘Flora! Almost every woman who came out with me only married their current husband because they couldn’t have Freddie. Not only is he rich, but he’s devilishly handsome to boot. And there he is, at your feet!’
The devil is an apt comparison, thought Flora with a sigh.
‘He refused the wedding invitation when we first sent it out,’ Aurelia continued. ‘Then, when he heard you were my chief bridesmaid, he wrote to Lady Vaughan to accept. Are you sure you’re not a little in love with him?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Oh, well, I am disappointed. I was hoping you were in the midst of a full-scale love affair and I’d be the first to know all the details.’
‘There are simply no details to report.’
‘Well, could you pretend? At least for tomorrow.’
‘No,’ said Flora with a laugh. ‘Now, may I see your wedding dress?’
That evening, much to Flora’s relief, the groom had been banished from the house and was staying with the Sackville-Wests at Knole, situated not far from High Weald. Supper was provided for the bridal party in the long dining room, where hundreds of candles had been lit in the chandeliers. Flora had already met the other bridesmaids in London and, as socially adept as she had become on such occasions, her mind disengaged as she did her best to make small talk.
Her mother looked happier than she’d ever seen her, and even her father seemed jovial tonight. His favourite daughter had netted the fish that he’d been so eager to catch for her; he had sacrificed their family home to ensure it.
She was glad when the bride-to-be announced she was retiring and took Flora upstairs with her.
‘This is my last night of sleeping alone,’ Aurelia said as she sat in front of her dressing table and Flora helped her to comb out her long blonde hair.
‘Really? I thought that once one was married, one was able to sleep alone as often as one wants,’ Flora commented dryly. ‘Certainly Mr and Mrs Keppel sleep separately.’
‘One can hardly question that.’
‘What do you mean?’ Flora knew very well, but wanted to hear it from her sister’s lips.
‘Well, can you imagine being poor Mr Keppel? Everyone in London knows about Alice and the King. You must too, surely?’
‘Certainly they are close friends, yes.’ Flora’s face betrayed nothing.
‘You can’t be so naive as to believe that they are merely friends? Everybody knows that—’
‘Everybody knows what they want to know. I live under their roof every day, and I have seen nothing inappropriate about the relationship. Besides, how could Mr George possibly condone what you are implying? He is a man of great pride and integrity, and Mrs Keppel adores him.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do. And like Mrs Keppel, I couldn’t give a fig for tittle-tattle. It’s like mist, with no substance, that swiftly drifts on.’
‘Well, Mrs Keppel and the King’s “mist” hangs over London like a fog.’ Their eyes met in the mirror and Aurelia’s expression softened. ‘Let us forget imperfect marriages and concentrate on one that I hope will be as perfect as I can make it.’ She stood up from the stool and walked towards the bed. Flora pulled back the blankets and helped her into it.
‘Goodnight.’ Flora kissed her gently on the forehead then got into her own bed and turned out the lamp.
‘Flora?’ Aurelia’s voice sounded small in the vast darkness of the room.
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think . . . it will hurt?’
Flora’s heart lurched at the thought of the intimacy her sister was alluding to. She paused before she replied. ‘To be truthful, I don’t know. But I believe that God is good, and wouldn’t make us suffer to show a man our love. Or to give him children.’
‘I have heard stories.’
‘That is just gossip again.’
‘I want to please him.’
‘I am sure you will. Just try not to be afraid. I hear that is the key.’
‘Do you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. Goodnight again, dear sister. I love you.’
‘And I you.’ Both women closed their eyes and went to sleep, dreaming of being embraced by the same man.
‘I am ready. How do I look?’
Flora looked at her sister, the cream lace of her gown delicate against her peachy skin, the Vaughan tiara sparkling atop her golden curls. ‘Absolutely radiant.’ Flora smiled and handed her a spray of deep red roses.
‘Thank you, darling sister. So,’ Aurelia breathed, ‘it is time to go.’
‘Yes. Papa is waiting for you at the foot of the stairs.’
‘Wish me luck.’ Aurelia reached out for Flora’s hand and squeezed it.
‘Good luck, my darling.’
Aurelia walked towards the door of the bedroom, then turned back. ‘It was you alone who convinced me to make this day possible. And I will never forget it.’
As she left the room, Flora glanced back at her reflection in the mirror and saw the pain and guilt that was written across her face.
The old ch
urch on the estate was packed to the brim with four hundred guests, as the bride, her father and the bridesmaids walked into the small lobby at the back.
‘Flora,’ whispered Aurelia, as her long train was carefully arranged behind her, ‘is he there? Can you look?’
Flora walked to the door that separated them from the congregation, and opened it a few inches to peek out. A pair of dark eyes swivelled to meet hers from where he was standing at the front of the church. Swiftly closing the door again, she turned to her sister and nodded. ‘Yes, he’s there.’
Signals were given, and the organ began to play the wedding march. The door swung back and Flora followed her father and her sister down the aisle. Flora listened to the vows, shivering in her thin ivory silk dress as she watched her sister become Archie’s wife in the eyes of God. When the bride and groom emerged from the vestry, having signed the register, Flora forced herself to meet Archie’s stare as he passed her with Aurelia on his arm. She took up her place to walk behind them out of the church and into the frosty winter day.
Despite herself, Flora could not help but appreciate the sheer beauty of her sister’s wedding breakfast. Being only three weeks from Christmas, the Great Hall at High Weald was decorated with flickering candles, and sprigs of holly and mistletoe hung from the beamed ceiling, baked from the heat of the enormous fireplace. Apparently, so one of the guests told her, Henry VIII had once romanced Anne Boleyn in this very hall. Rather than champagne, speeches had been toasted with mulled wine, and mince pies had been provided instead of trifle.
Flora felt drugged from the heat and the vast amounts of food and wine. She was grateful when Archie stood up and announced a break in proceedings while the orchestra set up for the evening’s dance. She took the opportunity to leave for some much-needed fresh air. Collecting her velvet cape, she walked out into the early evening chill. Darkness had well and truly fallen and the wide terrace and the magnificent walled garden beneath it twinkled with lanterns that had been placed along its many borders. Flora only wished she was seeing it in high summer, rather than adorned by artificial light. She made her way down the steps, pulling her cape about her more closely as she wandered the length of the gardens, the noise of the feast receding in the distance. She paused as she reached a high brick wall in front of her, her breath crystallising in the cold air.
The Shadow Sister Page 27