Page 16 of A Sense of Paradise
They were still laughing when they reached Mrs Finch, their final call of the morning. She was Flora’s favourite, an educated lady, used to good society, who had fallen on hard times and now lived for Flora’s visits, even if she would never make that admission.
‘Hello, dear Mrs Finch.’ Melanie bounced into her small room like a ray of sunshine and bent to kiss the old lady’s cheek. ‘Here we are. I hope we find you well.’
Mrs Finch, once so prickly and disinclined to accept what she referred to as demeaning charity, perked up no end at the sight of Melanie and smiled broadly at Flora.
‘I hope you are here to tell me all about the wedding. I depend upon you both for all the particulars.’
‘And you shall hear them,’ Flora replied, ‘but first I must treat your arthritis whilst Melanie makes us some tea. I have brought you some books that you might like to look into as well.’
‘Not more of those wretched novels, I trust.’
‘Heaven forbid!’ Flora replied, placing the novels Mrs Finch claimed to detest on the table beside her, aware that she would have her nose buried in the first book the moment they left her. ‘Your ankles appear less swollen,’ Flora added, peeling back the bandages and gently probing. ‘Are you finding it easier to get about?’
‘Most definitely, thanks to you, my dear.’
‘No thanks are necessary. It’s my pleasure to help.’
‘But for how much longer?’
Flora blinked up at the old lady. ‘Whatever can you mean by that?’
Mrs Finch smiled and lowered her voice, presumably so that Melanie, who was pottering about in the scullery, would not overhear them. ‘One imagines that you will soon have an announcement of your own to make.’
Flora cursed when her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘I am sure I have no idea what you mean.’
‘And I am equally sure that you understand me very well. I might be old but I am not yet senile and the clues are there to be found by those who care to look for them. However, keep your secret if you must, but just remember when it comes time to make your announcement that I had already guessed.’
‘You have a vivid imagination, Mrs Finch.’
Flora and Melanie spent half an hour with Mrs Finch, answering all her questions about the wedding. Melanie launched into a detailed explanation of who had worn what, what was said by whom, and reiterated a long list of the guests’ names.
‘I had no idea that your memory is so sharp,’ Flora said. ‘I did not realise half of those people were there myself.’
‘You were too busy being an attentive bridesmaid, whereas I was free to enjoy myself, and to observe. I do so enjoy watching people. I find it endlessly fascinating.’
‘Well, I am glad you were entertained.’
They returned home to a late luncheon, feeling satisfied after a morning well spent. Once they had eaten, Melanie took herself into the garden to enjoy the sunshine and play with Alice. With no pressing demands on her time, Flora sat at her piano and allowed her fingers to decide what to play. She lost herself in the modern tune they selected, thinking about her upcoming visit to Archie the following day. Wondering how anticipation could awaken every nerve ending in her body quite so effectively.
Her thoughts were fuelled by passion, she decided, closing her eyes against a feeling of heady delirium engendered by recollections of Archie’s wicked smile, his embrace and his heated kisses. She desired Archie with every fibre of her being and couldn’t begin to imagine a life without him in it. He made her feel complete in ways that she hadn’t realised were possible and encouraged her to laugh at life’s absurdities.
She had decided not to worry about who the lady outside the church was and why she had been so keen to attract Archie’s attention. He would tell her when he was ready. She was too sensitive and must try to accept that Archie genuinely wanted her for herself. God alone knew that if he desired a beautiful and higher born wife, he could take his pick from aristocracy’s finest.
Thus resolved, it took her a moment to realise that Polly had come into the room with a letter that had just been delivered. Flora took it from her hand and felt dread replace her peace of mind when she recognised her father’s scrawled hand.
‘Thank you, Polly.’
She waited until the girl had left the room and closed the door behind her before breaking the seal with a feeling of dread. She gasped when she read the words that her father had written, and felt blood rush to her face. What could he possibly mean by it? She tapped the letter against her fingers, attempting to calm her racing heart and think the matter through rationally. He was either being vindictive or else trying to frighten her, in which case he had succeeded.
Flora came to a decision. This couldn’t wait until tomorrow. Remus hadn’t appeared, but she didn’t need him to tell her that something was not right. Her father was plotting something that would have a detrimental effect upon Archie. She absolutely could not permit that to happen. He must be warned now. Immediately. Flora was filled with an urgent sense of dread that required action to overcome it.
She rang the bell and asked Polly to have Will saddle Amethyst, her Irish draft grey gelding—a generous present from Luke on her one-and-twentieth birthday. Whilst her horse was being readied, she ran upstairs and changed into her bronze riding habit, pushing her hair haphazardly beneath its matching hat.
‘Where are you going?’ Melanie asked, looking up from the lawns where she was playing a game with Alice.
‘I have to call at Felsham Hall. I shall not be long.’
If Melanie wondered what could be so urgent, she gave no sign and simply waved Flora away.
