Page 64 of A Sense of Turmoil
She attended Sunday service at St Michael’s and was pleased to discover that the local vicar, Mr Bradley, was an advocate of mercifully short sermons. She took an instinctive liking to the parson, whose empathetic nature made him popular with his flock, but his wife set her teeth on edge with her bossy manner and intrusive questions.
‘We are delighted to have a young lady from your background in the district, Miss Latimer,’ she said to her, clearly aware of her father’s situation. Flora had written to her mother and told her where she would be living. She had not received a reply but it didn’t surprise her to discover that her father had probably contacted Bradley and pretended that Flora was at Fox Hollow with his blessing. A clumsy way of making it appear as though he approved of the arrangement. ‘Although I cannot persuade myself that you should be living here alone. Indeed, it is not safe.’
‘Why is that, Mrs Bradley?’ Flora asked disingenuously. ‘I was not aware that this delightful village has a lawless element.’ She raised a gloved hand to her lips to hide a smile that refused to be quelled. ‘You quite terrify me.’
‘Oh, it is safe enough in the ordinary way. The villagers on the whole are a God-fearing lot but a young lady without the guidance of a husband is bound to attract the wrong sort of interest.’
Flora raised a haughty brow in the same manner that she had seen the countess do on numerous occasions when she was displeased. ‘Are you implying that my moral conduct is lacking, or is it that you suppose I would deliberately invite such attentions?’
‘Oh good heavens, no!’ Mrs Bradley gave a trill little laugh, backing down as all bullies invariably did when confronted. ‘But your situation is unusual and one must never lose sight of the perceptions of others.’
‘Miss Latimer has expressed interest in our village school,’ Mr Bradley told his wife, beaming at Flora as he saw the last of his flock off from the church’s porch and bustled over to join them. She wondered if he imagined that she needed rescuing from his wife’s insistence upon interfering. She did not and would make that apparent at the earliest opportunity. Start as you mean to go on, she told herself.
‘You are applying for a teaching post?’ Mrs Bradley looked horrified. ‘Is your father aware?’
‘I am not applying for a position, Mrs Bradley, and even if I was, it would be no concern of my father’s.’ She turned her back on the woman, leaving her with her mouth hanging open, presumably because people seldom stood up to her, and smiled at Mr Bradley. The parson looked both amused by the exchange and terrified about its repercussions. No doubt Mrs Bradley would vent her spleen upon him in private. ‘Any of the children who show an interest in or aptitude for the piano should be encouraged. I shall be glad to teach them how to play their scales. I am also very good with herbs,’ she added. ‘It is an area in which I excel.’
‘Your assistance will be greatly appreciated, Miss Latimer,’ Mr Bradley replied courteously. ‘The sickly amongst our poorer villagers have no money to spare for doctors and most don’t hold with them anyway.’
Flora assured him that she would be delighted to make herself useful, and having made her point, nodded to Mrs Bradley and made her escape.
Three days after her arrival, having exercised Amethyst and caused quite a stir in the village as she rode sedately down the main street on her magnificent gelding, Flora took advantage of an improvement in the weather and set to work on her herb garden. She dealt ruthlessly with the weeds that had invaded the patch and was pleased to uncover previously choked beds of lemon balm, elder and even chicory, as well as the sage and rosemary that Will had pointed out earlier. She turned the soil around her precious discoveries gently, thinking it would make an excellent start to what she already looked upon as her healing garden.
‘A gentleman has called, miss,’ Polly said, appearing on the terrace and looking a little flustered.
‘A gentleman?’ Flora stood and removed the cotton gloves she had worn while gardening, hoping it wasn’t her father, who remained suspiciously quiet. ‘Does he have a name?’
‘Indeed he does.’
Flora’s face broke out into a wide smile when she recognised the deep, resonant voice. ‘Archie! What a delightful surprise.’
‘I see you are not wasting any time in getting your herb garden in order.’
‘It’s a priority.’
‘Ah, Amethyst and Mabel,’ Archie said, glancing at the nearest paddock, where the horses had been turned out to pasture.
‘Luke insisted that my need for Mabel was greater than his.’
‘Well, I expect he’s right about that. I somehow can’t see the suave Earl of Swindon lowering himself to drive a gig, much less one with a cob between the shafts.’
Flora smiled, then remembered all the reasons why she was angry with Archie and rearranged her features into a severe expression. ‘Polly, please ask Beatrice to make tea for our guest. Not that he deserves it,’ she addedsotto vote.
‘Yes, miss.’
‘Now you’ve put the cat amongst the pigeons.’ Flora glanced at Zeus, stalking through one of the overgrown flower beds in pursuit of some harmless rodent or other, but Archie must have realised that was not the type of cat she was referring to. ‘Come along inside so that I can give you a piece of my mind.’
‘I had hoped to receive a more fulsome welcome,’ he replied, falling into step with her.
‘Then you are very much the optimist, Lord Felsham. You know very well why I am cross with you.’ She glanced sideways at him. ‘You appear to be walking better.’
‘Every day,’ he said, smiling in an infectious manner that made it difficult for her to remain annoyed with him.
They entered the drawing room, miniscule by Beranger Court standards, and no doubt by those of Felsham Hall too. But Flora preferred this idyllic room that she had already put her personal stamp on. She had spent her first three evenings in her new home, either sitting beside the fire with Zeus in her lap and a book open on the arm of her chair or else tinkering on the piano, enjoying the serenity of her surroundings and the pleasure of doing whatever she liked. Loneliness had not come into it. Regret at the loss of Luke’s affections was another matter, but her hurt pride and damaged heart would heal given time. She refused to dwell upon the past and looked resolutely forward to a future of her own making.
Remus had put in a brief appearance, given the place his seal of approval and then dissipated once again, telling Flora that he was required elsewhere.
‘You have made it very homely,’ Archie said, glancing around the room and no doubt noticing the few personal touches that Flora had thus far added: two of Mary’s watercolours on the walls; a pair of silver candlesticks given to her by the countess that now took pride of place on the mantlepiece; Flora’s sewing basket sitting casually at the side of a chair; her grandmother’s wooden box with the decorated lid.
