Page 56 of A Sense of Turmoil
‘You’re right.’ Luke appeared to shake off his fit of doldrums and smiled at everyone. ‘We should raise a glass. To Grandmamma and all her foibles.’
They all did so and the mood lightened. One by one her grandchildren, all of whom were present, reminisced. They told stories about the countess’s more colourful escapades and soon everyone was laughing. Only Flora remained quiet. Archie noticed and squeezed her hand, suspecting that she felt out of place and without purpose.
Suspecting too that she regretted the loss of her intimacy with Luke.
*
Flora was glad of Archie’s company, which guaranteed a lightening of the sombre mood that had prevailed since the countess’s passing. Even so, she retired early and sat in her window seat stroking Zeus, who had adopted her since his mistress’s death and taken up residence in her room.
‘We shall be all right,’ she told the cat, unsure if she was attempting to convince him or herself. It was one thing accepting that she had to leave here, but something else entirely finding the courage to set up elsewhere. A single woman alone when she had family to protect her would be frowned upon, and Flora knew that it would not be long before her father heard of the countess’s death. He had probably seen the announcement in the newspapers already, and would renew his efforts to return her to his control. The thought reinforced her determination to remain independent, regardless of the attitudes of society.
The morning of the funeral dawned dull, with a hint of rain in the air. Flora dressed in her best mourning gown and her hat sported a half veil. She was sure that emotion would overcome her during the course of the service and had no desire for the world to see her crying. A warm black fur-lined cape and black gloves completed her attire. Satisfied that she looked dignified, she was in the drawing room with the rest of the family when the carriages arrived.
She felt a fresh wave of sadness as she espied the coffin being transferred from the bier into the waiting hearse. The glass-sided conveyance was drawn by two magnificent black horses, black velvet covers across their backs and black feathered plumes dancing on their heads.
Three more carriages were drawn up behind the hearse. Luke and his brothers and sisters climbed into the first. Flora took her place in the second, along with Paul, Alvin and Archie. Miranda and Louise took up the remaining seats. Sandwell and other senior servants took their places in the final carriage and the procession moved off. The undertaker and his men doffed their top hats and walked behind the carriages at a dignified pace until the procession reached the gatehouse. Estate workers lined the route, heads lowered respectfully, headgear removed.
The church bell sounded dolefully as the procession reached Ashton Keynes. The street was lined two-deep on both sides by villagers keen to pay their respects. Flora distracted herself by trying to count them but there were too many and she soon gave up the attempt.
She walked beside Archie and behind the family as they entered the church, Luke in the lead. She noticed Ottilie and George, swathed in black, seated just behind the pews reserved for the family, but if Luke saw them he gave no sign.
The familiar ritual of a church service, even a funeral, helped to soothe Flora’s troubled spirits. She listened to the tributes paid to the countess and later stood in the rain as her coffin was placed in the family’s crypt.
Then it was all over and they reversed the journey back to the house.
‘Mr Elliot is here,’ Luke said to Flora as they walked inside. ‘He wants to read Grandmamma’s will, and your presence is required.’
She blinked up at him. ‘Mine?’
‘Ten minutes in the library,’ he said in a gentle tone before squeezing her hand and disappearing up the stairs.
Assuming that the countess had left her some small token, Flora went upstairs herself, removed her outdoor garments and tidied her hair. Her reflection stared back at her, her eyes heavy with sadness. She wondered why she felt so disconsolate when she knew with absolute certainty that the countess was no longer in pain and embarking upon the next phase of her pre-ordained existence. Perhaps because she would never be able to talk to her again, offering spirited retorts when the old lady endeavoured to shock or complain. Perhaps she would be able to see her though, if Remus would help her. He would know and she would definitely ask him.
Not a chance.
‘Oh, you are here, eavesdropping as usual.’
You’re a fine one to talk, given that you eavesdropped on the Flemings.
‘What else was I supposed to do?’
Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
Flora sighed. ‘True, but it’s too late for that.’
Has it occurred to you that your eavesdropping was indirectly responsible for your earl proposing to the wrong person?
‘You’re not helping, Remus,’ Flora replied with a weary sigh.
Well anyway, I’m sorry the old girl’s gone from your life, but I dare say she will liven things up no end on this side.
Flora smiled. ‘Never doubt it. Send her my love.’
Oh, she knows how sentimentally inclined you are towards her.’
‘Then I am glad. But now, if you will excuse me, I am wanted in the library.’
Flora felt a rush of wind past her ear.I’ll come too. I’m curious to see what she’s left you.
