A Sense of Belonging

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘Ah, now I begin to see,’ Flora replied with a commendably straight face.

  ‘Harrumph! You might be worth knowing. I cannot say for sure because I am distracted by your plain clothing. You would be half-way to pretty if you made the best of yourself,’ the old lady said in a grumpy tone. ‘Although why I should have to see to the improvements is beyond my understanding.’

  ‘I did not ask you to. In fact, I wish you would not. Your attentions are kindly meant, I feel sure—’

  ‘They are no such thing. I am never kind!’

  Flora smiled. ‘Whatever the reasons for your philanthropy, I cannot afford to repay you until I myself am paid for my services here.’

  The countess fixed Flora with a defiant look. ‘Who said anything about repayment?’

  ‘Thank you, but I cannot accept charity.’

  ‘Happy enough to dish it out though, ain’t you, miss? See how it feels to be on the receiving end for a change, beholden to those who do the giving, not out of a sense of Christian charity but because it makes them feel better about themselves.’

  And they say she is senile. ‘Your ladyship mistakes my reluctance for pride.’

  ‘I don’t mistake anything. I am never wrong. I have lived long enough to always be in the right. Now, go and fetch a coat and hat. It won’t do to keep the horses standing about.’

  Knowing when she was beaten, Flora ran to fetch the required items and returned to the countess’s room with the flower pot covering her untidy hair.

  ‘Lord have mercy, the situation is worse than I realised,’ the countess said, casting a jaundiced eye over Flora’s highly serviceable yet very ugly headwear. ‘Come along then, give me your arm. We don’t have all day. I am expecting a visit from an Italian count of my acquaintance this afternoon. He adores me because I rejected his advances. He’s like you. His pride is hurt and he won’t accept defeat, graciously or otherwise.’

  Flora nodded, amending her earlier supposition that the countess was entirely rational and that her outrageous comments were a cry for attention.

  A short time later, Flora sat beside the countess inside a small carriage with a liveried groom on the boxset and another up behind as the conveyance bowled down the smooth driveway that Flora had first traversed less than a day previously. And yet Beranger Court already felt like home. More so than any of the various houses she had occupied with her parents ever had, despite the fact that each had been grander than its predecessor as his father climbed through the ranks of the clergy. Bricks and mortar did not make a home, she had good reason to know.

  ‘Where are we going, ma’am?’ Flora asked, watching the passing countryside with interest, waving to two bare-footed children who stood at the side of the road, watching the carriage drive past.

  ‘Into Swindon, of course. We should really send to London, to Swan and Edgar or Harvey Nichols. They produce half-decent ready-made garments. I myself still prefer an old fashioned modiste. There is a woman here in Swindon who is halfway between the two. She will have samples for you to try, and she can then make up the gowns in whatever colour or fabric you would prefer. And she does it quickly, too. She employs several girls who use these new-fangled sewing machines that do the work of ten girls in half the time. Don’t approve myself. Much prefer hand stitching, but one must move with the times.’

  ‘I shall not need very much,’ Flora said. ‘Just a couple more evening gowns. I only possess two,’ she admitted, enjoying the countess’s shocked reaction.

  ‘And day dresses by the looks of things,’ her ladyship replied, giving Flora’s attire a scathing glance. ‘Needless to say, we shall have to visit the milliners. Looking at that hat gives me a headache.’

  Flora gave a wry smile. ‘My mother’s choice,’ she confessed.

  The dowager sniffed. ‘I thought as much.’

  Their conversation brought them into the centre of Swindon. The coachman stopped outside of a small shop with two rather attractive gowns displayed on mannequins in the window. Flora put aside her misgivings and decided to enjoy herself. She had always secretly envied the beautifully-attired ladies she saw in Salisbury every day; made to feel dowdy by comparison. She had never been permitted to choose her own clothing, or to have any say in the choices that were made on her behalf. Her sisters didn’t seem to mind, but Flora minded very much and resented being made to look like something she was not.

  Now was her opportunity to redress the balance.

  The footman jumped down, helped the ladies to alight and then opened the shop door for them. The countess swept regally through it while Flora paused to thank the man before following in her wake. She had yet to become accustomed to being waited upon. Flora looked around with interest, dazzled by the colourful bolts of silks and muslins displayed on the walls and packed on shelves that reached to the rafters. There was ribbon, lace, bright buttons, gloves and something different to admire in every direction that Flora looked. Everything was new to her, interesting and entirely self-indulgent. Her father would despair. Flora already knew that she would enjoy every minute here.

  ‘Your ladyship.’ A woman soberly yet expensively attired, broke away from the customer she had been attending to in order to drop a curtsey. ‘How may I be of assistance today?’ She snapped her fingers and a chair was magically produced.

  ‘This is Miss Latimer,’ the countess replied, lowering herself onto the chair and resting both hands on the top of her stick. ‘She needs everything.’

  ‘My lady!’ Flora protested. ‘That is not what we agreed.’

  ‘I did not agree to anything. You merely assumed.’ She waved her away. ‘Go with Mrs Keller. Let me see everything that you try on. I shall know if it’s right for you.’

  Flora thought of the countess’s bizarre costume the previous evening and suppressed a shudder.

  An hour flew by, and afterwards Flora couldn’t recall a time when she had enjoyed herself more. Some of the fabrics that had slithered over her skin—the finest silk, cambric and muslin—had felt like a decadent pleasure. By the end of it all she was the proud possessor of three new evening gowns. She still marvelled at her daring in baring her shoulders and the top of her breasts. It made her feel like a person she no longer knew, but rather liked. Three day dresses added to her debt to the countess. A debt that she was determined to settle at the earliest opportunity.

  ‘The gowns can be ready in two days’ time, my lady,’ a smiling Mrs Keller assured the countess.

  ‘We have not finished yet.’

  ‘We absolutely have!’ Flora protested.

  ‘I suppose a ball gown is beyond your limited capabilities,’ the countess said, fixing Mrs Keller with a challenging glare.

  ‘I don’t need a ball gown, ma’am!’ Flora cried, horrified. There was a fine line between rebellion and irresponsibility.

  ‘Certainly it is not, ma’am,’ Mrs Keller said at the same time, ‘and I have just the thing to suit the young lady.’

  ‘I want to attend the ball my tiresome grandson is holding at the end of what I am sure will be an equally tiresome party,’ the countess said, addressing her comment to Flora. ‘Which means you will be obliged to attend as well. Otherwise Luke will raise silly objections to my presence.’ The countess wriggled her shoulders and made a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat. ‘Anyone would think he was ashamed of me.’

  Flora accepted that she had been neatly outmanoeuvred, only to fall instantly in love with the beautiful gown that Mrs Keller insisted she try.

  ‘We can make it up in violet silks and contrasting satins to exactly match the colour of your eyes,’ she said.

  The countess nodded her approval. ‘We’ll take it,’ she said. ‘Now, child, you have kept me sitting around her quite long enough. Let’s be gone. Make sure all the garments are delivered within the promised two days,’ she added, wagging a finger at Mrs Keller.

  ‘That was the best possible fun,’ Flora said, unable to hide her enthusiasm as they left the premises.
r />   ‘Anyone would think you’d never been fitted for a gown before.’ The countess stopped dead in her tracks and fixed Flora with a probing look. ‘You haven’t, have you?’

  ‘Do you think I would be seen dead in the clothes I own if I had the freedom of choice?’ Flora asked, deciding upon transparency.

  The countess shook her head. ‘Come along. We have to do something about that dreadful hat.’

  Chapter Eight

  Luke watched Miss Latimer leave the breakfast parlour, wondering at the level of confidence and maturity in one so young. He sensed that her character had been stifled by her strict upbringing—stifled but not suppressed.

  ‘She’s good for Grandmamma,’ Charlie said. ‘I haven’t seen the old girl in such fine form in months.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Henry added. ‘Grandmamma has been depressed, but Miss Latimer already seems to have brought her out of herself.’

  ‘I gather from Mary that no hairbrushes have been hurled at Miss Latimer yet, which must be a good sign,’ Sam remarked.

  Luke smiled. ‘Very encouraging.’

  ‘The girls need our help this morning, I gather,’ Henry said. ‘Emma has taken it into her head that your guests might enjoy a game of lawn tennis, Luke. She requires some of us to try the court out and make sure there are no uneven patches that will caused turned ankles, or worse.’

  ‘Good lord!’ Sam looked surprised. ‘She is paying attention to the smallest details.’

  ‘Perhaps she is enjoying the responsibility,’ Paul suggested, ‘and has a point to prove.’

  ‘Happy to make myself useful,’ Alvin said, when all heads turned in his direction. He had been a demon with a racket during their college years and still played whenever he could.

  ‘Me too,’ Charlie said.

  ‘Good,’ Sam said cheerfully. ‘That lets me off the hook.’

  ‘No so fast, little brother.’ Luke smiled at the wariness that crept into Sam’s expression. ‘I have to go to the bank in Swindon this morning, so you and Henry can go with Parkin and check on the repairs to the cottages in Long Fallow.’

  Sam groaned. ‘Can’t Parkin do it alone? Your steward knows a damned sight more about thatching than I ever will.’

  ‘High time you learned, in that case. It keeps moral up if a family member shows his face occasionally. The life of a country gentleman isn’t all about idleness and dissipation, you know.’

  ‘It’s not? Damn it, I’ve been misinformed.’

  Sam’s expression of mock outrage made Luke smile. His youngest brother had yet to take life seriously, and part of Luke hoped he would never have to. Luke expected and usually received practical support from his brothers more or less voluntarily, give or take the odd gentle prod. There was plenty for them all to do if they were to keep the estate running profitably, and Luke had arranged things so that Charlie and Henry received a percentage of those profits until they chose to leave Beranger Court and set up on their own. He would make the same arrangement for Sam when he finished his studies.

  ‘Never mind, Sam,’ Henry said, slapping his brother’s shoulder. ‘If we do the pretty this morning, then I dare say our slave-driver of a brother will allow us to while the afternoon away in the billiards room.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ Luke promised.

  ‘Very well.’ Sam’s expression was part grin, part grimace, as he pushed back his chair. ‘You’ve convinced me.’

  Left alone with just Paul, Luke’s expression turned sour.

  ‘You’re thinking about Magda, I imagine,’ Paul said.

  ‘I’ve thought about little else since seeing her again.’ Luke toyed with a cold slice of toast, indicating with his other hand that the footman should leave them. His servants were discreet and knew better than to repeat anything they overheard, but there were some conversations that were better conducted in private.

  ‘She probably thought she could still inveigle her way into your affections, Luke. She’s on the prowl for another husband, and unless I miss my guess your name is top of her list.’

  Luke grunted. ‘If she thinks I’ll go anywhere near her after what she caused to happen, then she’s even more delusional than I realised.’

  ‘Word of the house party and the fact that you are considering tying the knot will have spread, so she knows she will have to act fast if she is to pip the competition at the post, so to speak.’ Paul gave a grim smile. ‘The fact that Alvin was with you, preventing her from deploying her wiles will have wounded her pride.’

  Luke rapped his knuckles against the edge of the table, feeling disgruntled. ‘I can’t shake the feeling that she will try something else,’ he said.

  Paul nodded. ‘Agreed. You can be sure that Archie wasn’t her only victim during the course of her marriage, even if none of the others finished up dying because of her.’ His frown emphasised the fine lines between his brows. ‘My point is, she didn’t behave with discretion. She thought her husband was too long in the tooth and too taken up with his soldiering duties to pay much attention to her behaviour.’

  ‘Whilst Simpson might have been too preoccupied to notice, others were not, especially envious women looking for ways to discredit her. The matrons who guard society’s doors may have shut them in her face now Simpson’s dead because they disapproved of her blatancy when he was alive and risking his life for his country.’

  ‘Exactly.’ Paul nodded emphatically. ‘I can ask a few questions, if you like. See what people in the know are saying about her. If the coveted invitations no longer line her mantelpiece, that would account for her desperation. She always had an eye for you, for some inexplicable reason.’ Luke gave a half-hunted grunt. ‘You didn’t touch her because you didn’t want to tread on Archie’s toes.’

  ‘That’s partly true. I’m not saying I would have resisted, had it not been for Archie, but I think even then, at the height of our youthful indiscretions, I sensed that she was bad news. Anyway, ask your questions.’ Luke sighed. ‘I admire your ability to think so rationally, given the circumstances, my friend. Know thy enemy and all that.’

  ‘We might be seeing shadows where none exist,’ Paul pointed out.

  ‘Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.’ Luke managed a rueful grin. ‘You suffered more than most at the woman’s hands, and yet I’m the one moping around like a disappointed spinster.’

  Paul chuckled. ‘You’re not quite that bad. Besides, I chose to do what I did for Archie’s sake. Magda didn’t coerce me, and it isn’t me that she has in her sights now. If I’m right, she wants your ring on her finger in order to re-establish her respectability.’

  Luke snorted. ‘Not going to happen.’

  ‘I know that, but Magda is accustomed to using her looks and guile to get what she wants.’ Paul leaned back in his chair, calm and logical as always. ‘You have rebuffed her, made it clear that you want nothing to do with her, but unless her character has undergone a drastic change over the past nine years, that will only make her more determined to impress you.’

  ‘Now that possibility does concern me. She can’t get to me here, but I’m off the estate as often as I’m on it.’ He rubbed his chin absently between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Still, there’s no point in speculating. I shall be on my guard, and she’ll eventually admit defeat and look towards easier targets—like you or Alvin.’

  Paul laughed. ‘I am not rich enough to interest her. But Alvin’s another matter. Still, he’s a big boy and knows how to look out for himself.’

  ‘And so should I, is what you are so very delicately not suggesting.’

  Paul stood, grinning. ‘No need, lord and master. That’s what you pay me to do.’

  ‘Right enough.’ Luke stood too, feeling better for the benefit of Paul’s sound advice. ‘I’d best get myself off to Swindon. We’ll deal with today’s correspondence when I return.’

  *

  Emma and Mary, clad in white dresses with high collars and long sleeves, awaited the arrival of whichever of their
brothers decided to help test out the court.

  ‘Why must we wear white, I wonder?’ Mary mused. ‘It dirties so easily.’

  ‘A symbol of the rich, much like the sport itself, I would imagine,’ Emma replied, absently. ‘I hope the grass doesn’t prove too lush.’

  ‘Well, my dear, if it makes you slip, I dare say Mr Watson will pick you up.’

  ‘If he decides to play.’

  ‘Oh, he will. He’s very good, and you know it, which is why you suggested testing the court when it doesn’t really need it.’

  Emma pouted. ‘You know that, but he doesn’t need to.’

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ Mary said, turning at the sound of male voices approaching.

  ‘Right,’ Charlie said, bounding up to them. ‘Who’s drawn the short straw and has to be my partner.’

  ‘Emma,’ Mary said, earning herself an angry scowl from her sister. ‘She is a better player than me, so it will make the contest more even.’

  ‘Good morning, ladies,’ Mr Watson said. ‘A fine morning for it.’

  ‘Good morning,’ the girls replied, as Mary handed out rackets collected from the small pavilion that served the tennis court and the croquet lawn.

  ‘Don’t scowl at me,’ Mary hissed, as the gentlemen removed their coats and selected their preferred rackets from Mary’s supply. ‘I have already told you, make yourself less available and he will come to you. He sought you out at dinner, did he not?’ Emma reluctantly nodded. ‘Besides, if he’s on the other side of the net from you, he will be able to admire you better. You look very fetching in that dress.’

  Emma shook her head and smiled, her good humour restored. ‘You are almost as devious as I am.’

  ‘Not nearly, darling, and what deviousness I have managed to acquire sprang from Grandmamma’s example.’ She turned towards Mr Watson, racket in hand. ‘Right, shall we show them how it’s done?’