Page 48 of A Sense of Misgiving
She spent the afternoon with the countess, who continued to be quarrelsome. Flora had almost exhausted her means of entertaining her when late in the afternoon the lady decreed herself bored with Flora’s endless fussing.
‘Go away, child, and stop flapping over me.’
Flora, to the best of her knowledge, had never flapped in her entire life, but the countess’s complaint was the closest she would come to admitting exhaustion. ‘Very well, ma’am, I can see that you are tired of my company.’
‘Your company constantly tires me, but you are too stubborn to leave me alone.’
‘You’re in the right of it. Which is why I will only leave once Sandwell has come to help you back to bed.’
‘Fuss, fuss, fuss!’ the old lady waved her hand. ‘Do whatever you like.’
Flora rang the bell and passed responsibility for the countess’s care to Sandwell when she answered it. She wandered downstairs and heard male laughter coming from behind the closed doors to Luke’s library. Archie Hardwick was probably in there with Luke and Paul. Most likely Alvin Watson, too. Mary and Emma were now closeted together in Mary’s sitting room and she had no idea what had become of the rest of Luke’s brothers. With time on her hands she strolled outside, welcoming the fresh nip in the air as it bit into her cheeks. She wandered around the lake, watching as a strong breeze whipped up the water, bending the reeds as the sun put in intermittent appearances from behind heavy clouds. The air smelt of impending rain.
She sat on a bench at the furthest point from the house, enjoying the solitude but wishing she did not have the problem of her father’s threats against Luke permanently at the forefront of her mind, spoiling her inner peace. Mr Farthingale would call in the morning, she reminded herself, and all would then become clearer. Even so, the persistent feeling she couldn’t shake that something would happen before then made it hard for her to relax. Or there again, unaccustomed to late nights and sleeping half the day away, perhaps her fertile imagination had got the better of her.
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…
