The Shadow Sister

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘There are thousands gathering outside the Palace, but a lot’s outside our doorstep too,’ said Nannie, who was by the window, peering onto the street below. ‘They want her to say something, but what can she say? Mrs Keppel was the people’s queen, you see, but of course, she’s not here.’

  ‘Where is she?’ asked Flora.

  ‘Gone with Mr George to stay at the James’s in Grafton Street,’ Nannie said quietly. ‘We are to follow soon. You stay with the children and I’m going to pack.’ Flora nodded.

  ‘I want to see Mama,’ Sonia sobbed into Flora’s shoulder. ‘Why has she gone with Papa and left us?’

  ‘People who are sad often want to be left in peace.’

  ‘Then why can’t we just draw the blinds in our home and be sad here?’

  ‘Maybe that’s quite hard to do with lots of people making noise outside, darling,’ she said, stroking Sonia’s hair.

  Violet pulled away from Flora and stood up. ‘Why have they gone to the James’s? It is the most dreadful house and they are the most dreadful people.’ Violet’s lips tightened as she looked down onto the crowd outside the front door. ‘Why are people so nosy? Why can’t they just leave us alone?’

  ‘They too are mourning and want to be close to those who were close to Kingy.’

  ‘I wish I could join all the people outside the Palace . . . just be invisible and mourn him.’

  ‘Well, you are all who you are, and there isn’t a lot to be done. Now, Nannie is packing, and you must both be big and brave as Kingy would have wished you to be.’

  ‘We will try, but we are not grown-ups yet, Flora – merely enfants,’ Violet said haughtily, sweeping out of the day nursery.

  Flora duly followed her to find Nannie.

  ‘Do you know if there is any directive for me? Am I to join you?’

  ‘Mrs Keppel didn’t mention you, Miss Flora. My instruction was only to take the children and Moiselle to Grafton Street.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Well, you are to be married in a week’s time. Maybe she thought you would go to stay with your sister or your fiancé’s family?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘This is the end of an era, Miss Flora.’ Nannie shook her head and sighed heavily. ‘After today, nothing will ever be the same for any of us.’

  Flora waved the girls a tearful goodbye from the entrance hall as she watched them being bundled into the brougham with Nannie and Moiselle, the reporters and the public held back by policemen. Mr Rolfe closed the door of the car and Flora thought how like vultures the onlookers appeared in their black mourning clothes. As she walked upstairs, she wondered if she would ever see any of the Keppels again.

  Back in her room, the house eerily quiet, Flora wrote a telegram to Freddie to ask whether it was convenient for her to arrive at Selbourne tomorrow, then handed it to Mr Rolfe to send. She knew there would be no refuge at High Weald.

  After packing her clothes in her cases, she went again to the window, and saw that the crowd was beginning to disperse. And as night fell, the street grew silent – silent as a grave, she thought. She tried not to feel hurt or abandoned. After all, as Nannie had said, Mrs Keppel had almost certainly presumed Flora had at least two sanctuaries to go to, if she had thought at all in the midst of her enormous grief.

  Flora opened the window in her room and sat on the sill with Panther in her arms, looking up at the clear night sky.

  ‘Goodbye, darling King. And Godspeed,’ she said to the stars above her.

  31

  ‘A visitor for you, Miss Flora,’ said Peggie as she entered Flora’s bedroom.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘The Countess of Winchester. I’ve put her in the drawing room downstairs and given her tea.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Flora was relieved that the Countess had responded to her telegram only a day after she had sent it, though surprised that Daphne had come to see her in person. She walked downstairs and opened the drawing room door to see Daphne sitting on the chaise longue, wearing a sumptuous dark velvet gown, black sapphires glittering on a band in her greying hair.

  ‘Dearest Flora, I am so very sorry for your loss.’ Daphne stood up and took Flora in her arms.

  ‘It is hardly my loss, rather the country’s, and the world’s.’

  ‘Well, we have all lost,’ said Daphne. Taking the natural role of hostess, she invited Flora to sit down. ‘’Tis all so tragic, is it not? And the timing simply couldn’t be worse.’

  ‘Perhaps no time is good to lose the King of England.’

  ‘Of course, but now the wedding simply cannot take place next week. Any form of celebration will be seen as a slight against the King.’

  ‘I understand that it will have to be postponed.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure you do. Especially under the . . . circumstances.’

  Flora didn’t quite understand her obviously barbed comment but continued regardless. ‘I assume you received my telegram. The Keppels have left the house and I feel it is not right for me to stay here either. I was hoping I could come and stay at Selbourne until Freddie and I are married.’

  ‘Surely you can stay at your sister’s house in Kent?’

  ‘That would not be . . . convenient.’

  ‘Really?’ Daphne scrutinised her. ‘I thought that dear Aurelia relied on your company?’

  ‘She does, yes, we have always been close . . .’ Flora grasped for a suitable explanation but was at a loss. ‘I cannot stay there and that is that.’

  ‘I see.’

  Silence hung about the room.

  ‘My dear,’ Daphne sighed eventually. ‘Given how things are now with the King passing on, I must inform you that the wedding can’t ever take place. I am sure you understand.’

  Flora looked at Daphne in total confusion. ‘It is cancelled?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I . . . can you tell me why?’

  Daphne took a long time to gather her thoughts before she spoke. ‘May I pour you some tea?’

  ‘No thank you. I beg you to tell me why my marriage to Freddie won’t happen. I understand the need for postponement, but—’

  ‘Because of who you are, my dear. Surely you can see that, at a time when everyone is feeling for the Queen and her dreadful loss, it would be totally inappropriate?’

  ‘Oh,’ said Flora, the penny finally dropping, ‘because of Mrs Keppel.’

  ‘Yes, that too.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘I am not quite sure you do, my dear, but for my part, all I can say is that I am grieved at this unexpected turn of events. I believed that you could give Freddie the stability he needed, and was looking forward to welcoming you into our household. But given the altered circumstances, my husband cannot now advocate any union between you and his heir. As you know, women can only do what their husbands tell them. There now, please don’t be aggrieved, my dear. It is simply the way things have turned out, and no fault of yours.’

  Flora said nothing, feeling like a leaf blown in the wind, completely powerless to control her own destiny.

  ‘Perhaps you can return to Scotland, to stay with your parents, if you can’t go to your sister’s house?’ Daphne suggested.

  ‘Perhaps I can, yes.’

  ‘Well then, I doubt there is more to say. You can be assured that Freddie is devastated, as all of us are, but no doubt he will recover, as will you.’ Daphne stood up and walked towards the door. ‘Goodbye, my dear, and God bless.’

  Flora remained frozen in her seat for a while after Daphne had left. She felt numb . . . there was neither relief at her sudden release, nor fear as to where she would go from here. In this house, her life seemed to have begun and then ended.

  ‘Or maybe it has ended and begun,’ she muttered, trying to rouse herself from her grief over the King, the Keppels’ abrupt departure and the shock at her future coming to a sudden halt.

  Dusk began to fall – a dusk that the King would never see. The streets outside w
ere deathly silent, as if the whole of the city were tucked away inside their homes mourning the passing of their monarch. Leaning back in the chair, a tear dripped down Flora’s cheek as she remembered him in this house, his great presence and zest for life. She must have dozed off, as the clanging of the doorbell jolted her awake and she opened her eyes to see that it was dark. Searching in the blackness for the door of the drawing room, she opened it slightly and listened at the crack.

  She heard Mrs Stacey and Peggie mounting the stairs.

  ‘Go and see if Miss Flora’s in her room, and I’ll put on the drawing room lights. It would be useful to know when she intends to leave – Mr George sent round a messenger earlier, asking me to mothball the house until they have decided what to do. I’ve sent the footman up to the attic for the dustsheets.’

  ‘If I was her, I’d be leaving London as soon as I could. Out of respect for the Queen if nothing else.’

  ‘I’m still not sure she even knows,’ Mrs Stacey replied.

  ‘Well, if she don’t, she ought to know; the rest of London seems to,’ hissed Peggie.

  ‘Get on with you! See if she’s up there, and I’ll light the lamps.’

  Flora backed away from the door as Mrs Stacey entered, giving a little squeal of shock as she saw Flora standing in front of her in the dark.

  ‘Goodness, Miss Flora! You didn’t half give me a fright.’

  ‘My apologies,’ Flora said as Mrs Stacey began to light the lamps.

  ‘You have a visitor,’ she said. ‘I’ll send him up and also get Mabel to come and re-stoke the fire. There’s a right chill in here.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Sir Ernest Cassel, Miss Flora.’

  Mrs Stacey left the room and Flora went to the large gilt mirror that hung over the fireplace to tidy her hair. She wondered what on earth Sir Ernest was doing visiting her or, for that matter, what Peggie had meant about leaving London out of respect for the Queen. And deducing that she must be tainted by her association with Mrs Keppel . . .

  ‘Good evening, my dear Miss MacNichol.’

  Sir Ernest Cassel entered the room and came over to her to kiss her hand. She could see that his eyes were red-rimmed, his skin pale.

  ‘Please, Sir Ernest, do sit down.’

  ‘Thank you. I am sorry to intrude on your grief; it is indeed a terrible day for all of us who knew and loved the King. And, of course, for his subjects. He would be amazed and gratified by the outpouring of sentiment from his beloved empire. They are still standing vigil by the thousands outside Buckingham Palace. And this a king who thought he could never follow in his mother’s – or his father’s – footsteps. I . . . well . . .’ He swallowed hard. ‘It is a fitting tribute.’

  ‘May I ask why you have come, sir? Mrs Keppel is no longer in residence.’

  ‘I am aware of that. I called in on her in Grafton Street to offer my personal condolences to her and her family. She was indisposed, and dear Sonia told me that her mama is quite mad with grief and will not even see her own daughters.’

  ‘She loved him so very much.’

  ‘I believe so, yes. And also, being blunt, Miss MacNichol, perhaps she cries for herself. Her “reign” is over too, along with the King’s.’

  ‘It is a very difficult time for her.’

  ‘And for her daughters. Although, knowing her as I do, I am sure that Mrs Keppel will bounce back, but it is only right that she takes a low profile now.’

  ‘Do you by any chance know if she managed to gain an audience with the King before he died?’

  ‘Yes. I was there. And the whole episode was most unfortunate. When she saw the King, Mrs Keppel became completely hysterical. The Queen had to ask for her to be removed from the room. It was not the dignified performance we have come to know from her but then,’ Sir Ernest sighed, ‘what is dignified about death? So, while I was at Grafton Street, I asked if I could see you, and was most surprised to find that you had been left behind here. You seem to have been positively abandoned.’

  ‘Oh, I am sure it was not on purpose. As you said, Mrs Keppel has become quite mad with grief. At worst it was an oversight and at best it was due to the fact she knew I would find sanctuary at my sister’s house, or my fiancé’s.’

  ‘I admire your loyalty, but I can assure you that everything Mrs Keppel has ever done in her life has been carefully thought through. Perhaps you understand why she felt it important to disassociate herself from you at this moment?’

  ‘No.’ Flora gave a grim chuckle. ‘Although you are not the first to visit me here today. The Countess of Winchester, mother of my fiancé, Viscount Soames, arrived this afternoon to tell me that my wedding next week wasn’t only postponed due to the King’s death, but cancelled. Forever.’

  ‘Then the King is a wise man indeed, for he foresaw this.’

  ‘Did he? Was that because of my association with Mrs Keppel?’

  ‘Partly, yes, but not wholly.’

  ‘Sir Ernest.’ She stood up and warmed her hands by the fire, her frustration and exhaustion and grief getting the better of her. ‘Ever since I was called to come to London seven months ago to reside under this roof, I have felt that I am an innocent pawn in a game that everyone knows the rules of, except me. Forgive me for my bluntness, but I entreat you to tell me why I was brought to London in the first place. I was a nineteen-year-old girl from a good but hardly aristocratic family, whose parents had not even the funds for their eldest daughter to make her debut. Then I suddenly find myself with Mrs Keppel as my sponsor in the highest echelons of society, taking tea with the King himself! And having a viscount propose to me, which meant that one day I would become a countess, married to an earl and presiding over one of the greatest estates in the whole of England.’

  Out of breath from emotion, Flora paused and turned to look directly at him. ‘And now, the King is dead, Mrs Keppel has left me behind here and I am no longer to be married. Sincerely, I understand neither of these abrupt changes of fortune, and it is maddening! I have felt constantly that everyone else knows something that I don’t. I—’

  ‘Miss MacNichol, I can see quite clearly now why you describe yourself as an innocent pawn. Like others, I presumed you knew. Please, let me pour us both a brandy.’

  ‘Really, I do not drink brandy.’

  ‘Think of it as medicinal. You are going to need it.’

  Sir Ernest rose and went to the tray of decanters as Flora, embarrassed by her show of emotion, did her best to regain her composure.

  ‘Here, drink it, my dear, it will warm you.’

  ‘Please, Sir Ernest, I never wished to come to London originally, and in retrospect, I am ecstatic to be released from a marriage to a man I could never have begun to love. So do not fear you will upset my sensibilities further. The very fact you are here with me tonight, on the night of the death of our king, only confirms that you must have the answers I need.’

  ‘Forgive me, for on this night of all nights, you bring my emotion to the surface. Last year, the King told me he was uncertain about Mrs Keppel’s idea of bringing you to live with her in London. But then, of course, he grew fond of you, and, just as Mrs Keppel intended, fonder of her for introducing you into his life, especially at a moment when his days were numbered. And he knew it, oh, how he knew it. Just after you had been with him in Biarritz, he sent for me and asked me to make provision for you on the event of his death. He asked me to give this to you.’ Sir Ernest opened his briefcase and removed a slim envelope which he handed to her.

  As she took it, she saw it was addressed to her in an erratic spiky hand.

  ‘Also, when I visited the King last night, he had asked me to bring some money with me – a large sum – and it was to come in notes. I went to see him, and put the amount by his bedside. He nodded and thanked me, and said he hoped to be able to pass on the money to where it was needed. Sadly, only shortly afterwards, he slipped into a coma. One of his advisors returned the envelope to me, feeling it was inappropriate for such a
large amount of cash to be sitting by the King’s bedside. It was almost ten thousand pounds. I knew who the money was intended for. And here I am.’ He reached into his briefcase once again and brought out a parcel wrapped in brown paper, which he placed into Flora’s shaking hands.

  ‘You cannot mean the money was for me? I hardly knew the King. I only met him twice—’

  ‘My dear young lady, I am truly surprised Mrs Keppel never told you. And I wish I wasn’t the one whose duty it is to tell you now.’ Sir Ernest downed the rest of the brandy as Flora watched impatiently.

  ‘Miss MacNichol – Flora . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You are his daughter.’

  Flora knew she would remember that short sentence for the rest of her life. As she stared out into the night, she began to wonder why she had never contemplated the thought before. Yet, she knew that even if she had considered it, she would have dismissed it as absurd. Now, as she looked down at the envelopes on her lap, and then at the man who had been the King’s closest advisor sitting opposite her, everything made perfect sense.

  Perhaps in some untouchable part of her psyche she had known, but because the idea was so untenable, she had never allowed it to come to the surface.

  The mistress and the illegitimate child . . .

  Deciding brandy was definitely in order, Flora took a gulp from the tumbler she had ignored earlier. ‘Forgive me, sir, it is quite a shock. And surely, there is no proof that this is so?’

  ‘It is known by all concerned to be the truth. And, most importantly, by your father. Your real father,’ he corrected himself. ‘You can understand that, after the King’s liaison with your mother, there could be no acknowledgement of her . . . predicament. Your mother agreed to marry immediately and to move away from London.’

  ‘Which is why my grandparents would not set eyes on me, or attend my wedding . . .’

  ‘It is also why you did not have a debut. How could you possibly be presented at court to the Queen, who would almost certainly know who you were?’

  ‘I could not, sir, I agree. And my father – that is, my mother’s husband – now I understand why he could hardly look at me. He must have known.’