Lady Flora's Fantasy

by Shirley Kennedy

  "Baker, what on earth is wrong?" Flora asked when the footman left. Her lady's maid now appeared visibly upset. "Is this not a lovely room?"

  Baker sniffed and marched to one of the marble side tables. "This is unbelievable." With a grand sweep, she ran an index finger across the marble top and held it up. "Do you see?" she cried triumphantly. "Do you see this?" She waved her finger practically under Flora's nose.

  "See what?" asked Gillis who had just entered.

  "And what, pray, sir, is this?" the indignant woman asked, holding out her finger toward the butler.

  Gillis carefully examined her fingertip. "I do believe that is dust," he replied with grave solemnity, yet Flora detected a slight gleam of amusement in his eye.

  "Dust!" Baker exclaimed, her whole body quivering with indignation. "This room is in a ruinous state of disorder and I am appalled. Just look, m'lady." She circled the room, pointing at various objects. "Dust everywhere, and that's not all. Regard the dullness of that mahogany table. Have they no wax?" She pointed to a slight lump under the bed cover. "Is that a way to make a bed? It's disgracefully sloppy." She eyed Gillis accusingly. "Are you not in charge of the staff, sir? How could you allow this ..." Baker sputtered, searching for the proper word "...devastation to take place?"

  Flora listened with mixed feelings. To her, the room looked perfectly fine, charming, really, and quite cozy. Even so, she must remain loyal to her lady's maid. Despite her lack of humor and constant carping, Baker always had her mistress's best interests at heart. Diplomacy was essential here. "Do you think, Gillis, it would be better if we took up the matter with Mrs. Wendt?" She gave the butler her most charming smile. "Being as I just arrived, I most certainly do not want to cause any trouble. What small...uh, adjustments need to be made, I am sure we can discuss with the housekeeper."

  Gillis nodded agreeably. "Indeed, your ladyship, the matter should be taken up with Mrs. Wendt." Before he continued, his butler's mask of indifference was replaced by an irreverent, highly amused expression which raced like lightening across his face and fast disappeared. "I am sure Mrs. Wendt will be delighted to hear of any improvements you might wish to suggest."

  Although she didn't fully trust Gillis's last statement, Flora made a note to herself to have a chat with the housekeeper as soon as possible.

  * * * *

  New husband, new home, new servants, new life.

  Finally alone in her bedchamber, Flora's trepidation grew as the time for dinner approached. She longed for her sister, who always managed to put a humorous slant to things. She longed for her parents, who had so constricted her life in the past, yet with them she had always felt loved and protected. She even longed for the security of her well-ordered life, boring though it might have been, but at least she'd known what to expect each day–each night—whereas now...?

  Underlying all her fears was her ceaseless, inner question. Would her new husband come to her bed tonight? What would she do if he did?

  Nothing. She suppressed a choked, desperate laugh. Nothing she could do but accept her dismal fate. Terrible regrets assailed her. Yes, her heart had broken when Richard jilted her, but why had she acted so precipitously? She hadn't thought things through, and now...

  Oh, Richard, why did you leave me when I loved you so much?

  What if he still loved her? She'd been so certain that he did. What if he realized he'd made a terrible mistake? What if he...?

  A soft knock sounds on the door. She opens it. Richard. Her heart starts to pound as she asks, "What are you doing here?" He raises his finger to his lips. "Shh." He swiftly steps in and shuts the door. "Gather your things, we must be quick."

  "But what...?"

  "I have made a terrible mistake. I love you with all my heart, Flora, I realize that now. I shall explain everything later, but now I want you to come away with me."

  "But I can't. I just married your cousin."

  "Is the marriage consummated?"

  "No, but—"

  "That's all I needed to know. I want you, Flora, Lord Dinsmore be damned, the world be damned. Your marriage must be annulled. When it is, you and I shall run off to Gretna Green, marry, and live happily together the rest of our lives."

  "Oh, Richard, I love you so. I—"

  "What do you wish to wear for dinner, your ladyship?" Baker had just reentered the room.

  "What? Oh." Flora's vision of the man she loved vanished as she brought herself back to cold reality. "Dinner…what to wear…hmm, nothing fancy, I should think. The gray muslin will do."

  She had been right to choose a simple gown, Flora reflected at the dinner table that night. In fact, the meal was so informal that she wondered when, if ever, she had dined in such an unceremonious fashion. At home, dinner was a formal affair without fail, the table always set with fine linen, china, silver, and crystal. At the very least, the meal consisted of six courses and was attended by the butler and a cadre of maids and man servants. Not so at Pemberly Manor. Some sort of simple cotton cloth covered only one end of the long, dining room table. Eating utensils were of pewter, glasses were ordinary, and the dishes were of plain pottery, one of them chipped. True, it was a small chip, but one which would have aggrieved her mother no end had she spied such a major blemish upon her finely-laid table. The meal itself was a single course, consisting of roast beef, boiled potatoes and vegetables, and was served by a plainly dressed footman who quickly withdrew. Gillis poured the wine, wished them a good meal, and withdrew also, leaving the two alone.

  Lord Dinsmore picked up his glass of wine and held it high. "Here's to you, my dear, on the occasion of our wedding supper." With his one good eye he regarded her with affection. "May we have many more."

  "Many more." Flora raised her glass without enthusiasm. Wedding supper? Practically a peasant's meal. Flora tried not to show her dismay as she took a small bit of roast beef upon her fork. Before the fork had traveled halfway to her lips, she stopped and regarded it with distaste, suddenly aware her normally healthy appetite had disappeared.

  "Is it not to your liking?" asked Lord Dinsmore.

  She looked across the table at her new husband. In the dim light cast by flickering candles, she could not clearly distinguish his face, but her imagination conjured the scar, the eyepatch...oh, indeed, she knew exactly what was there. "I seem to have lost my appetite. All the excitement—I trust you understand."

  He nodded gravely. "You have much you must get accustomed to here at Pemberly Manor."

  "Yes." So very much.

  "If you like, we shall go riding in the morning. I'll invite Lynd if he's back from London. His sister, Louisa, too. You'll like her. She's a fine figure of a woman. Loves horses, too." He spoke with enthusiasm, as if he could detect her reluctance and was attempting to assuage it. "You may have your choice of horses. If nothing in my stables suits you, then we shall see about buying you whatever horse you choose."

  Ordinarily, the thought of finally having her own horse would have excited her no end, but now she could not bring herself to care. "That will be nice," she answered stiffly. He's the Hero of Seedaseer, she reminded herself bleakly. All England revered this fine, honorable man and she should feel greatly honored to be in his very presence. Instead, it was all she could do to stay at the table, not leap to her feet and flee.

  For a time they ate in silence, he seeming to give his full attention to his meal, she, forcing a few bites down. "You will forgive the simple fare," he said at last. "The first Lady Dinsmore was adamant we dine formally every night. Naturally, I went along with her wishes, although..." He gave a little laugh and continued, "At heart I'm a military man, accustomed to living at times under the most primitive conditions. Alas, I have fallen back into my old bachelor ways since Edith...ah, well. There's a fine set of French Haviland china packed away somewhere. Also silver, crystal, and the like. Mrs. Wendt would know, Gillis also. I should imagine you'll be eager to, shall we say, resurrect our fine dining things, so in the morning, feel free to talk to Mrs. We
ndt."

  He was trying to be kind, Flora knew, but she was in such a state of inner tumult she could hardly answer, let alone make herself appear enthused. "I shall if you wish me to," she said, knowing how deadly flat her voice sounded.

  "I see." Finishing his meal, Lord Dinsmore laid his knife and fork carefully on his plate, all the while appearing to be in deep thought. "You must be very tired."

  "Oh, yes, very tired," she eagerly replied, knowing she was grasping at straws. But if she could just put off the inevitable for one night—just one night—she would offer up a prayer of thanks.

  Lord Dinsmore stood and regarded her thoughtfully. Even in the dimness of the candlelight, she could see his one eye gazing at her with piercing understanding. "My dear Flora, have you forgotten what I told you?" he asked softly.

  She gulped and answered, "And what was that?"

  "Beauty and the beast, remember? Only be assured, this beast will never force himself upon you. I gave my word we would occupy separate bedrooms and so we shall."

  A vast relief swept through her. "Do you mean it, sir?"

  "I gave you my word, did I not?" Despite his continued politeness, she detected an edge of harshness in his voice. "I shall never come to you, Flora, you can count on it."

  "I understand," she answered, trying to conceal the wonderful sense of relief that had just swept through her.

  "So be it, then." A long moment passed before Dinsmore's normal, pleasant demeanor returned and he continued in a brisk but friendly manner, "I, too, am tired, and shall retire to my own bed chamber directly." He smiled down at her. "Sleep well. I trust you'll have a pleasant night. I shall see you at breakfast."

  "And what time is breakfast?"

  "Whenever you like."

  No breakfast time? Before she could express her surprise, he limped from the dining room and was gone.

  * * * *

  Flora slept fitfully that night. Not that she was afraid Dinsmore would invade her bedchamber to claim his marital rights, she believed his assurances he would not. Still, the pain in her heart would not go away. In the darkest dark of the night, she saw the truth: Richard did not love her and most certainly was not coming to rescue her. Such a foolish fantasy to ever think he would. So here she was, stuck in a strange, hostile place, trapped in a loveless marriage that would last for years and years—forever, as far as she was concerned, and it was all because of her own stupidity and rash actions.

  I shall never be happy again, she thought. In black despair she lay tossing and turning. Occasionally she thought of Lord Lynd and how glad she was she might see him tomorrow. Such a perceptive man. And how kind, actually offering to marry her to save her from scandal. Only he, other than her sister, could begin to understand the predicament in which she had willingly thrust herself against all good advice. She wished she could talk to him. He would listen and not make fun when she expressed her anguish over her foolish actions. Not that he could do anything, not that anyone could. Just the same, she pictured his warm, sympathetic smile and thought what a comfort it would be to see him again.

  * * * *

  Things were always supposed to look better in the morning, Flora reflected as, dressed in a blue chintz morning gown, she entered the breakfast room. Her mother used to say it was always darkest before the dawn. Well, it was not. Her mood was as bleak as it had been the night before and she yearned with all her heart for home.

  Lord Dinsmore, seated at the table, looked up from his newspaper and smiled pleasantly. "Good morning, Lady Dinsmore, I trust you slept well." He nodded toward a terra cotta marble side table. "We are informal here. Just help yourself to whatever you like."

  Serve herself? How strange. What were the servants for? She had never served herself, but then, what did she care? She was still not the least bit hungry. Rather than protest, she took up a plate and took a tiny helping of eggs and sausage. As she seated herself, wondering how she could ever eat what was on her plate, Lord Dinsmore spoke up.

  "Gillis tells me you are dissatisfied with the housekeeping arrangements."

  Baker. How Flora wished her lady's maid had kept her silence. "Not dissatisfied, sir, that's too strong a word. It's just...well, perhaps the furniture could be dusted a bit more frequently, and a few things such as that."

  "Tell Mrs. Wendt." Dinsmore halted a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. "You are mistress of Pemberly Manor now. Mrs. Wendt is to follow your instructions, or out she goes."

  Easier said than done. Flora remembered the icy cold look the housekeeper had bestowed upon her when they met. She had no intention of causing the poor woman to lose her position, though, and wondered how best to approach a delicate situation.

  Young though she was, she knew perfectly well how to run a well-ordered household. In fact, thanks to her mother's thorough training, she was confident she could turn Pemberly Manor into the consummate country estate, rivaling the very best in all England. If she wished, she could have a perfectly run household, complete with flawless servants, all required to strictly obey rigid rules. The only problem was, to accomplish such an end, she would need to be as imperious as the Queen of England—in other words, just like her mother.

  Wonderful, came her cynical thought. She didn't want to be like her mother. Not only that, she was acutely aware that her demands for change would cause great resentment among the servants. They would look upon her in the same way the servants at home treated her mother—polite on the surface, but underneath boiling with resentment.

  Is this what I want to do with my life?

  Do I have a choice?

  No, she did not have a choice. She had made her bed and now she must lie in it, and be grateful, she thought wryly, that her worst fears concerning her wedding night had not materialized.

  She took a nibble of sausage but could hardly swallow it down as she decided now was the time to tell Lord Dinsmore what he wanted to hear. "With all due respect, sir, certain improvements most definitely need to be made, and I shall endeavor to make them, starting with...with the servants, I suppose, and then..." Oh, dear. The more she talked, the more hopeless seemed her situation until her eyes suddenly bordered with tears. She would not cry. Not in front of the Hero of Seedaseer, it would be too humiliating. She gulped and tried to speak again, but her new husband, who had been listening with avid attention, raised his hand.

  "Enough," he said simply, "we shall go on a picnic."

  Flora was so surprised her tears stopped. What on earth was the man thinking of? The last thing she wanted to do right now was go on a picnic. "Sir, I hardly think—"

  "A picnic," he softly reiterated. "We were going riding today, remember? We shall combine it with a picnic. You're wound tight as a top. What you need is a meal by a quiet stream surrounded by nature's beauty, not this house and not the servants. Lord Lynd is coming, by the way, and his sister. I shall dispatch a footman to inform them of our new plan."

  She was astounded, wondering how her husband could plan a picnic on such short notice. In her experience, picnics meant Cook packing all sorts of fancy dishes to carry in not one, but several elaborate hampers. Picnics meant footmen scampering here and there, setting up tables under the trees and spreading fine linen tablecloths. Picnics meant half the serving staff coming along, all in attendance as her family pretended to enjoy themselves while brushing away horrid little bugs and insects. "I really don't think...it's so much trouble—"

  "No trouble at all." Lord Dinsmore arose from the breakfast table and gazed down at her with a look that proclaimed his decision was final. "You've brought a riding habit?" She nodded, thinking of the wool serge gown she wore on her rare rides atop Buttercup. "Then go put it on. We leave in an hour."

  Dinsmore started to cough. It was then Flora noticed a feverish flush upon his forehead and cheeks.

  "Sir, I fear you're not well."

  "Fit as a fiddle," Dinsmore protested, still hacking. "One more moment and I shall be fine."

  When the cough finally subsided,
Flora asked, "Are you all right?"

  "Of course. Just a touch of ‘flu.’ Nothing to it."

  Flora said no more, knowing the Hero of Seedapore had his pride.

  Chapter 10

  The day was full of surprises.

  Flora's first surprise came when, neatly attired in her one-and-only riding gown, she stepped onto the front portico. "Where is my mount?" she inquired. On the rare occasions when she'd ridden, old Grisby, the groom, stood waiting at the bottom of the steps, ready to hand her the reins belonging to ancient Buttercup, who was already saddled, ready to go. Hardly ever did she set foot in the stable, which her mother considered most unsavory with its "uncouth stable boys and unpleasant smells."

  Unpleasant? Flora loved her rare visits to the stables where she could breathe deep of the pungent aroma of the horses, mixed with oats and new-mown hay.

  "We shall proceed to the stables and saddle our own horses," said Lord Dinsmore who was dressed in breeches, dark brown riding coat, and simple stock. He still looked feverish, but at least he wasn't coughing. "Ready?" he asked.

  Followed by Gillis, they started for the stables. Their stroll was a pleasant one, along a narrow, winding path bordered with tall oaks and pink and white rhododendrons. In the distance she could see tangled gardens blooming with marigolds, carnations, pansies—it seemed every flower imaginable, their vibrant colors striking against the deep green background of the bordering woods. They reached the stable where beyond, in an open field of lush green, she could see several horses grazing peacefully. In the dimness of the stable, she peered down a long row of stalls, some empty, some with the head of a curious horse peering out. "I didn't know you owned so many."

  "Only a few," Lord Dinsmore answered in an offhand manner, yet she could see he was proud of his stables. "These are my coach horses." He pointed to four chestnuts groomed to a high gloss. "Prime cattle, by the way. These two matched greys pull my curricle. You'll be using it a lot when you make your visiting rounds." He led her along the straw-covered walkway that divided the two rows of stalls to a stall containing a young, chestnut colored filly. "Meet Primrose. What do you think of her?" He opened the stall door and slipped a bit in her mouth. "Here, I'll lead her outside."