A Sense of Misgiving (Perceptions Book 3)

by Wendy Soliman

  There was no sign of Remus, which should have reassured her. If she was in imminent danger he would warn her. Probably. Unless he was off chariot racing again, or challenging his brother to yet another violent contest, the nature of which she preferred not to contemplate. Those two took sibling rivalry to a new level.

  Romulus, the dog that Flora and mischievously named after Remus’s brother, loped up to Flora, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. Flora smiled at him and smoothed his big head.

  ‘What are you up to?’ she asked. ‘Where’s your master? I suppose they are drinking and laughing and neglecting you. Gentlemen of leisure can be that way, I’m told. But still, they are old friends and don’t get together often, so one must make allowances.’

  Romulus rolled onto his back, crushing Flora’s feet beneath the weight of his body. He waved his massive paws in the air, exposing his belly for a rub. Flora laughed and duly obliged.

  ‘Come along,’ she said, when the wind got stronger and penetrated her clothing. ‘Let’s go back to the house together and then I shall take myself off to Evensong.’

  Flora checked on the countess, who was sound asleep, snoring with her mouth open. Sandwell assured Flora that she wouldn’t be needed, probably not for the rest of the evening, so she felt no guilt about going off to church. Mary and Emma declined her invitation to join her, so she changed her attire and ordered up the gig.

  A short time later, with heavy clouds directly overhead and the light rapidly fading, Flora drove the familiar short distance into Ashton Keynes. She normally left the gig as close as possible to the church’s entrance porch when attending service alone, but if she did so today the poor cob would get soaked, so she drove on to the mews attached to the White Hart and surrendered the conveyance to the grooms. She left the cob placidly munching fresh hay as she scurried towards the church, its steeple shrouded in misty rain, drawn by the familiar sound of the bells calling the faithful to worship. Heavy raindrops were bouncing off the brim of her hat as she reached her destination.

  Mr Ingram, the kindly village vicar, greeted her with a deference that she found unsettling. ‘Miss Latimer. How delightful. Alone this evening?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. There was a party at the house last night to celebrate Lady Mary’s birthday.’

  ‘So I understand.’ The vicar kept his disapproval at the family’s lack of observance of the Sabbath to himself and didn’t remark upon the dowager countess’s absence. She had made her opinion on the subject of attending church loudly apparent on too many occasions for there to be the slightest possibility of her changing her mind. ‘Well, at least you are here.’

  ‘Indeed I am.’

  Since she was alone, Flora didn’t presume to occupy the family’s pew at the front of the church and instead took a place halfway down the aisle. She pretended not to see Mrs Ingram, who would not exercise her husband’s discretion and hadn’t given up on attempting to convert the countess to the benefits of religion. She was as forthright and opinionated as her husband was mild-mannered and liberal. Thankfully the woman was waylaid by another parishioner and Flora was saved from a homily for which she would have had little patience.

  Flora listened to the shuffle of feet and muted voices as the church slowly filled. She had not attended Evensong in Ashton Keynes before. The family customarily attended church in the morning—to get it over with, as Charlie often put it. Clearly, others thought upon similar lines and the church was only half full. Flora found attending just once more of a luxury than a chore, since back home in Salisbury she had naturally been expected to attend both services. And her father’s sermons, she had good reason to know, were the ultimate cure for insomnia.

  She glanced around as she waited for the service to begin, admiring the towering stained-glass windows, the floral arrangements courtesy of a committee of local women bossed over by Mrs Ingram and the high altar with its shimmering gold cross bathed in candlelight. The familiar aroma of incense burned her nostrils. Two young children in the pew in front of her appeared restless. One produced a length of string from his pocket, the purpose of which Flora couldn’t decide. But small boys, she suspected, took great comfort from the treasures stored in their pockets. She smiled at the boy when he pulled faces at her, then lowered her head but did not pray, convinced that the only person likely to hear her would be Remus. Which begged the question, why come to church in the first place?

  Because, she supposed, it was what respectable people did. Even Charlie, whose faith was highly questionable. And because it was inbred. Flora felt at peace, yet strangely agitated, her perceptions on high alert as she attempted to untangle her jumbled thoughts.

  She began to relax as the familiar ritual of the service took over. The sound of the heavy door opening at the last minute, presumably to admit a latecomer, did not cause her to turn her head. She’d had ecclesial discipline drummed into her from an early age and knew that one simply did not allow oneself to be distracted when in God’s house for fear of stringent parental chastisements.

  She heard the rain now pelting against the windows, audible even above the singing of the first hymn. She was glad that she had taken a moment to leave the cob in a dry stable, even if meant that she herself would endure a soaking when retrieving her transport. The sermon was light and mercifully short—with none of the dire threats of retribution likely to fall on the heads of sinners that her father would have considered necessary. All the while she felt increasingly uncomfortable, as if someone behind her was watching her every move. They probably were, she reasoned. Everyone in this small village knew who she was. They were all terrible gossips and were probably wondering why she was here alone, and why none of the family had observed the rites of the day.

  She dismissed her misgivings and felt that she had done her duty when the final hymn had been sung and the service came to an end. She turned to leave, wondering if the rain had stopped, and felt the familiar rush of wind past her ear. She jerked to a halt, causing the person behind her to cannon into her back. She apologised and stood aside, taking a moment to consider the implications of Remus’s sudden arrival. Clearly, some sort of danger awaited her outside the church. She wanted to ask Remus for guidance, but if she spoke aloud to herself she would be deemed more senile than the countess. So how was she supposed to discover what he was warning her about?

  Remus had once told her to open her mind, concentrate hard and she would hear his voice. She saw his face materialise in a misty haze in front of her. She glanced furtively to her left and right, convinced that everyone else would see him too. What on earth did he think he was doing? But there were no screams or fainting fits, and her fellow worshipers continued to file from the church, blithely unaware of the apparition. Right, so Remus had wanted her to see him, which didn’t get her any further forward. She had already known he was there. What she needed to do now was find out why. Flora briefly closed her eyes and cleared her mind.

  What is it? she silently asked, hoping he would hear the communication.

  Your father’s here.

  You heard that? Flora was astounded. How did I…

  Of course I heard you. You were shouting.

  Why is my father here?

  How should I know?

  You’re supposed to be wise beyond understanding.

  Ha!

  Flora swivelled her head, feeling trapped and alone in the throng. She recalled the latecomer and the feeling that she had been watched ever since. Perdition! The one and only time she had attended Evensong alone. How could her father have known? Panic gripped her and she found it hard to think coherently. He couldn’t have been aware of her intentions, she concluded, because she hadn’t known herself, only making up her mind to come at the last minute. What to do? The congregation was slowly filing from the church, pausing to shake the Reverend Ingram’s hand and exchange a few words with him. She didn’t delude herself into supposing that her father would have left, and if she was alone she had less chance of avoiding him. No
t that the crowd would help her much anyway. He was both her father and a senior cleric. No one would dare to question his authority over her—not here in the house of God.

  Why didn’t you warn me sooner?

  There was nothing you could have done.

  It would have given me time to prepare.

  I’ve told you before. Follow your instincts.

  Easy for you to say.

  I’ll blow his hat off for you if he becomes too agitated.

  That will be a great help.

  Flora wondered if her mental sarcasm would translate, but she had now almost reached the porch and had no further time to reflect. She squared her shoulders, as prepared as she would ever be to stand her ground in front of her dogmatic parent. The rain had lightened but had not stopped, and people paused to adjust their attire and put up umbrellas. Flora dutifully thanked Reverend Ingram for the service and then looked to his left, resigned to the fact that she would see her father standing beside him.

  And there he was, as tall, erect and severe as ever.

  ‘What are you doing here, Father?’ she asked, ungraciously.

  Reverend Ingram looked a little shocked by Flora’s acerbic tone, but wisely did not attempt to ease the tension with unnecessary chatter.

  ‘Church affairs brought me to the district, and I hoped to see you whilst I was here.’

  ‘And now you have.’

  ‘A word, if you please, Flora.’ He took her arm, but she shook him off, determined not to be trapped inside the now empty church with him. She stepped out into the rain, obliging her father to follow her.

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, so I regret that your journey has been wasted.’

  ‘Remember to whom you are speaking, Flora.’

  ‘I am hardly likely to forget, Father, but in threatening my employer in such an underhand manner you have lost all right to my duty and respect. I am going back to Beranger Court now. We shall not meet again.’

  She heard Remus inside her head, applauding her decision to go on the offensive. It was such uncharacteristic behaviour in her dealings with her father, and it had clearly temporarily flummoxed him. Although it was almost dark, she could see that his pale cheeks had bloomed red as he snorted his breath through his nose like a horse, as was his custom when riled. But he quickly recovered and continued to lambast her.

  ‘It is clearer than ever to me now that you are living with aristocrats who have a duty to lead by example, but singularly fail to do so. Oh yes, I am well aware than none of them attended church today,’ he added, sending Flora a look of smug satisfaction. ‘At least you did, which is something in your favour. However, their behaviour reflects upon you, which in turn reflects upon me.’

  ‘Ah, so we get to the heart of the matter.’ Flora increased her pace, skirting some of the puddles but stepping into others when she didn’t see them in time. Her wet hem flapped around her ankles and a cold dampness penetrated her half-boots, but she was too angry to feel the discomfort, or to care about it. ‘This is not about your concern for me, but for your own reputation. Why does that not surprise me?’

  ‘Come back to Salisbury now, Flora.’ Her father used a persuasive tone that he had never felt the need to employ in his dealings with her before. He was more accustomed to issuing orders and expecting them to be obeyed unconditionally. ‘I have, I accept, misjudged you in the past. I have tried to make you into someone you are not, I can quite see that now. But in spite of all that, you are still a dutiful Christian who does not belong in this place.’

  ‘I beg to differ. I love it here. Life in Cathedral Close was joyless, Father. Joyless. Where in the bible does it say that a good Christian must also be dour, deprived of all enjoyment? Why would I return to such austerity when I have been generously embraced by one of the foremost families in the district?’ She continued walking at a brisk pace. ‘And why are you so keen to have me back when I am nothing more than a trial and disappointment…an embarrassment to you? An outspoken daughter who does not know her place? I simply don’t understand.’

  ‘You mother and sisters miss you,’ he same lamely.

  Flora gave a derisive laugh. ‘They have none of them responded to my letters, so I stopped writing them.’

  ‘Don’t you care about your family?’

  Ah, Flora thought, so the emotional blackmail begins. ‘About as much as they care about me. I will not return so that you can force me to marry Mr Bolton, and there’s an end to the matter.’ Flora gave a weary sigh. ‘Go back to Salisbury, Father. You have had a wasted journey.’

  ‘I will not insist upon your marrying Bolton if you genuinely do not care for the man.’

  Flora made no acknowledgement of her father’s unwitting confirmation of the rift between him and his curate.

  ‘Nothing to say for yourself?’

  ‘Plenty, but nothing you would wish to hear, and only on subjects likely to anger you and upon which we will never agree. You cannot force me to be something I am not, although you will likely have more success with my sisters. I am too much like Grandmamma, and I recall how you treated her when she did not conform to your views.’

  Her father flinched and Flora knew she had struck a barb. Her inheritance, about which she was supposed to know nothing, was at the heart of his determination. ‘My mother lost her wits. I restrained her for her own good.’

  ‘Much as you imply the dowager countess has lost her wits, simply because she has no Christian beliefs?’ Flora shook her head. They had reached the White Hart, but the weather had produced a queue of people waiting for their transports to be brought out, and Flora was obliged to endure her father’s company for a little longer.

  ‘You are still not of age, young lady,’ her father reminded her, an edge to his voice as he endeavoured to control his temper. Since he never usually felt the need to do so when dealing with members of his family, he must have found it difficult. ‘I could return you to Salisbury by force.’

  ‘Of course you could. But naturally, unless you keep me under lock and key the entire time, much as you did Grandmamma, then you must be aware that I would escape at the first opportunity. Besides, if I do not return to Beranger Court, a search party will be sent out and Salisbury is the first place they will look for me.’ She turned angry eyes on her father. ‘If you had not threatened the earl in such an ungentlemanly fashion, and if you had trusted me with the real reason for your desire to have such a troublesome daughter back beneath your control, then I might have been willing to reconsider.’ Flora crossed her fingers behind her back to negate the lie, even though she had a failsafe in that he had threatened Luke, and that threat could not be undone. ‘I have not altogether lost sight of the duty that I owe to you as a father, but I cannot condone your resorting to blackmailing an ancient and respectable family because you have been gainsaid.’

  ‘We need to talk about this, Flora. There is much you do not know.’

  ‘Yes. For instance, where did you gain the information you think you hold against the earl? And why would you stoop to threaten an honourable man by exposing it, without a shred of proof to back up your allegations, ruining his reputation and that of his family?’ She turned to face him, hands planted on hips. ‘How does that sit comfortably with your Christian beliefs?’

  ‘You clearly do not know the earl’s family nearly as well as you think you do.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she replied, well aware that he hadn’t attempted to answer her questions. ‘But I would accept them above my own without a second thought.’

  Her father blew air through tightly-pursed lips. Flora had gone too far, but refused to apologise for her words. ‘As I say, we need to talk somewhere less exposed.’

  ‘And where would you suggest we go?’ She glanced towards the tavern and he shuddered. ‘I thought not. If the Canon Chancellor of Salisbury Cathedral were to be seen in a tavern on the Sabbath in the company of a young woman, his aspirations for advancement would be dashed. I am getting wet and very tired. The moment my
conveyance is produced, I am leaving. Go home, Father. I will do my very best not to embarrass you. Besides, I shall be of age in a few weeks and will no longer be your responsibility. At that point you can wash your hands of me with a clear conscience.’ She sighed with relief when the plodding sound of her cob’s hooves reached her ears. ‘But now, I am away home. Please send my dutiful respects to my mother and sisters. I bid you good day, sir.’

  Flora made to climb onto the gig’s seat but her father’s vicelike grip on her forearm prevented her.

  ‘Release my arm,’ she said, raising her voice enough for several heads to turn in her direction. As she had known would be the case, those watching frowned at the sight of a man of the cloth attempting to restrain a lone female. Her father, ever mindful of his image, released her at once, but not before a sudden and strong gust of wind blew his hat clean off his head, landing it brim down in a deep puddle. Remus did so enjoy his little jokes. Her father ground his jaw as he bent to retrieve his hat. She felt his eyes on her as she climbed onto the seat, took up the reins and steered the cob away from the mews.

  Flora didn’t look back, nor did she feel any great sense of relief at having had the final say. Instead she felt downright worried about the depth of his determination, as evidenced by his willingness to negotiate with her. She had never thought to see the day. But she also knew that he would never be happy with the stalemate. Her rebellion clearly mattered far too much for that to be allowed to continue.

  For once the cob seemed willing to move faster than his customary plodding pace, no doubt spurred on to greater efforts by the rain. She got back to Beranger Court without being intercepted by anyone acting for her father, as her lively imagination…well, imagined might happen. She would not put anything past him. The road was quiet and isolated—a perfect place for an abduction.

  With the gig surrendered to the care of one of Luke’s grooms, Flora re-entered the house. Her first instinct was to run to Luke and tell him what had happened. To warn him. But warn him of what? Her father hadn’t issued any additional threats, but Flora’s blanket determination to stick to her guns had likely made him more determined to carry out the one potentially disastrous threat he had issued, if only to give him the last word.