House of Strangers

by Forsyth, Anne

  House of Strangers

  Anne Forsyth

  © Anne Forsyth 2015

  Anne Forsyth has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published by Endeavour Press Ltd in 2015.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  1910

  ‘You look beautiful.’

  Mina gazed at her only daughter, staring at the golden ringlets crowned with a wreath of orange blossom.

  Nancy smiled at her reflection; she was very satisfied with the effect. The dress was wild silk—a fashionable style that year. She wore her mother’s pearls around her slender neck, and on her head the simple wreath of orange blossom. Yes, she was very pleased with her looks.

  ‘Now be careful as you take it off,’ her mother warned. ‘You don’t want to spoil it before the day.’

  Nancy turned to the figure in the background. ‘Try on the wreath,’ she said to her cousin Flora. ‘ See how it looks on you. It’ll be your turn next.’ Flora looked a little gloomily at her reflection. Straight hair, tied back with a ribbon, a plain freckled face—the mirror seemed almost mocking. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?’

  ‘Not you anyway,’ her reflection seemed to answer, and she felt a spurt of anger at Nancy’s well-meant suggestion. How dare she patronise me, Flora thought, just to show what a difference there is between us.

  . ‘Well, maybe you’ll be the next, Flo,’ said Aunt Mina.

  Not for the first time, Flora gritted her teeth. She had asked dozens of times, not to be called Flo. ‘It’s Flora, Aunt Mina,’ she said.

  But Mina took no notice. Who would want to marry Flo? she thought. She was plain with no gifts to speak of. Mina sighed. ‘And what are we going to do with her once the wedding’s over,’ she said to herself. ‘That’s what I’d like to know.

  ‘If only John was still with us; he would know what to do.’ She thought briefly of her late husband and glanced at the photograph on the mantelpiece, a picture of John in a frock coat, moustaches neatly trimmed, already an air of prosperity. Next to him was herself as a young bride, gazing admiringly at this handsome young businessman she had captured.

  But he’d been a fine man and a good provider. ‘ You’ll have been left comfortable,’ one of her friends had said at the time of his death, three years ago. And so she had.

  It was John who had suggested they take in his niece Flora, after Flora had lost her parents. ‘The lassie’s got nowhere else to go,’ he had said in his good-hearted way. ‘Besides, she’ll be company for our Nancy.’

  It hadn’t worked out like that, of course. Nancy had blossomed into a lively young woman, with flocks of admirers. Flora, more subdued, had been obliged to follow in the footsteps of her much more attractive cousin.

  And now, Mina wondered about Flora. She could be a governess—no, she was not at all suited. Or a seamstress? Not that either.

  Mina told herself, ‘She could come with me to the new house and help.’ Immediately she rejected the thought. It was impossible, she decided as Flora carefully removed the wreath and put it back in its box.

  The present house, which was on the outskirts of a small Borders town, was far too big—though, she could have moved to Edinburgh, Mina thought. But as soon as Nancy had become engaged to a wealthy young farmer, she had decided it was much better to find somewhere near her daughter in order to ‘help her.’ Her own new house would be ideal: a dignified stone villa, with two rooms up, two down, and room for a living-in servant. Her thoughts drifted to the new lace curtains she had ordered. Everyone in the district had lace curtains; you could walk along the street and see a different pattern at every window. But hers, Mina decided, would be finer than any.

  Nancy meantime, hoped that Mother was not going to interfere. All very well to have her living nearby, but not, she hoped, calling in every day, inspecting the parlour, checking up on the kitchen cupboards. ‘I will need to be very firm,’ she said to herself.

  ‘At least,’ she thought, flicking back a stray curl, ‘ I won’t have Flora around, a bit like a spectre at the feast.’ Then she reproached herself. That was unkind. Poor Flora, she thought with a spasm of irritation, Mother was so anxious we should be like sisters.

  But there was Flora—plain, freckled, almost silent Flora—she would sit sewing quietly in the background while Nancy and her friends gathered round the piano, laughing and joking, until the fun became so hilarious that Mina shook her head.

  Remembering this, Mina remarked to herself, ‘These young folk. How quiet it will be with Nancy away.’ She sniffed a little and brought out a lace handkerchief. ‘You’ll soon be gone.’ she said aloud, with a sob.’ My only daughter.’

  ‘For goodness sake, Mother.’ Nancy had no truck with sentiment. ‘I’m not going to India or China, only a couple of miles up the road.’ And not far enough, she thought grimly.

  Meantime what was to be done with Flora? ‘I can’t have her living with me,’ said Mina to her daughter. ‘Oh, she’s no bother, poor Flora, but it wouldn’t do.’

  Tactfully she made enquiries among her friends. Was there anyone who would like a living-in companion?

  But no one took the bait. Poor Flora, they thought, and didn’t much care what happened to her. She was plain, dependent on Mina for her board and lodging, and so quiet. She seldom uttered a word in company.

  As the day of the wedding approached, Flora was sent here and there on errands. She made herself useful sorting linen, dealing with alterations to wedding garments, and writing thank you letters for Nancy who couldn’t be bothered—‘You’ve a nice hand of write,’ she flattered Flora, ‘and no one will know it’s not from me.’

  Flora didn’t mind—it was hardly worth the trouble of protesting. But how tired she was of all these wedding preparations. The writing of place cards, the fetching and carrying from the dressmaker’s, the arrangements for the show of presents—it seemed to go on for ever. ‘Dear Flora, such a help,’ Mina would say.

  But, oh, Flora longed for all the fuss to be over and done with. Not that she was jealous. She would not have wanted Nancy’s fiancé, a quiet stocky young man who seemed quite out of place among the fripperies of Mina’s drawing room. He said very little, even to Nancy. Except for the odd murmur of agreement. ‘Aye. That’s so. Just as you please.’

  Maybe he was more talkative when he was dealing with the cattle, thought Flora, feeling sorry for the tongue-tied young man. However, Nancy seemed quite pleased with her intended bridegroom. How did he pluck up courage enough to propose, Flora wondered. But then she reproached herself for such uncharitable thoughts. ‘Just because you don’t care for him,’ she told herself, ‘there’s no need to be unpleasant. You are simply jealous because you would like to be married yourself.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ said Flora’s less charitable self. ‘Not with all this fuss and bother. And not to Henry who is as dull as ditch water.’

  ‘Stop it,’ the more charitable Flora said firmly
as she picked up one of Nancy’s trousseau frocks she was altering, ‘and make yourself useful. At least you have a roof over your head.’

  ‘And for that I must be thankful,’ said her less charitable self, ‘although it comes at a price.’

  It was a few days before the wedding that Mina dropped the bombshell. ‘Of course,’ she said with studied carelessness, ‘you won’t be coming with me to the new house.’

  ‘Oh?’ Flora looked up from her interminable sewing. ‘There isn’t the room for me?’

  ‘Well no, my dear,’ Mina rushed on. ‘It simply isn’t possible. I do wish it were.’ She bought out a mauve lace-edged handkerchief. and touched her lips delicately. ’It’s such a small house. I don’t know how I would find space for you. You do see, don’t you?’ she said, as if pleading.

  Flora was tempted to say, ’No, I don’t see at all.’ It was now she missed Uncle John, that warm-hearted man who had always insisted that Flora was one of the family.

  So she didn’t say anything at all. Mina said to herself, ‘Well, now, she’s taken the huff, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’ She tried to put the matter out of her mind for now. ‘After the wedding,’ she decided, ‘I will do something about finding her a situation,’ but for now she was more concerned about the weather on the great day. July was usually a fine month but you never knew—it could often be unpredictable. And what if it rained? Then you would have all these guests trampling over the carpets. However, by midday a showery morning had given way to fitful sunshine. Caterers and florists had done all they could. The small tables in the large dining room were decorated with roses, and a large vase of pale pink carnations was set impressively in the centre of the long table for the principal guests. Mina heaved a satisfied sigh.

  Soon the guests would begin to arrive. Mina, dressed in navy silk trimmed with small pearl buttons down the bodice and wearing a hat she had bought in Edinburgh, was confident she looked her best.

  Nancy, in her white silk dress, looked just as Mina had hoped. She gave a final tweak to the orange blossom headdress and went downstairs to meet the first arrivals.

  ‘Ma’am,’ said the little maid, ‘there’s someone to see you.’

  ‘I can’t see anyone now,’ Mina said abruptly. ‘Tell them to go away.’

  ‘She says she’s here for the wedding.’ The little maid stood her ground. ‘She’s at the front door.’

  An awful thought struck Mina. It couldn’t be... could it?

  Silk skirts swishing around her, she fumbled in her reticule for the smelling salts she knew she would need during the ceremony and made her way to the front door.

  The figure making her way up the front steps and leaning on a walking stick was escorted by the driver of the cab.

  ‘I can manage on my own, I thank you,’ said the figure in a deep, booming voice.

  It couldn’t be, thought Mina. But it was.

  Chapter 2

  ‘Cousin Chris!’ Mina said. She mumbled to herself, ‘I am going to faint, I know I am.’

  ‘How nice to see you.’ The figure who reached the top of the steps, panting a little, was indeed a strange sight. She was dressed in a black silk dress, the fabric now rusty with age, and a black straw hat with the original trimmings, including a black rose that hung rakishly over one ear.

  ‘I was determined to come,’ she said, ‘and see your girl wed. I have never been married myself, but I like a wedding. Nearly as good as a funeral. So here I am; I came by train and a cab from the station,’ she finished triumphantly.

  ‘It is my own fault,’ said Mina to herself. ‘Cousin Chris is our oldest remaining relative, so I felt she should be invited to the wedding.’ But even as she tried to justify the invitation, Mina was aware that she had invited Cousin Chris in the hope of a handsome wedding present—or even a substantial cheque. Chris had sent a glass jelly jar—that was all. But Cousin Chris, who was only a second cousin—or was it a third cousin?—was eccentric No doubt about it. Didn’t she run a boarding house in Edinburgh, or a guest house as Mina liked to describe it to her friends, though she knew very well it was only a boarding house and full of oddities at that.

  Now Mina was all of a fluster. The main thing, she thought, was that Nancy should not see Cousin Chris and certainly not before the ceremony. Oh, poor Nancy; it would quite spoil her day. Maybe it would be possible to put Cousin Chris in a corner somewhere, she thought frantically, and what, she wondered, would Henry’s people think? It was too appalling a thought to contemplate.

  ‘Well,’ boomed Cousin Chris, ‘are you not going to ask me in?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mina. ‘Do come in.’

  ‘No one will see her there’ thought Mina as she tucked Cousin Chris into a basket chair under an artificial palm tree in the conservatory. ‘I would give you a front row seat,’ she explained to Chris, ‘but as you can see, it’s filling up. And besides, I think you will be much more comfortable here.’ She turned away, deciding. ‘I can’t do any more about her at the moment. I have quite enough on my plate.’

  The organist at the small harmonium struck up ‘Here Comes the Bride’ and the guests rose to their feet. Nancy was looking, Flora thought, extremely pleased with herself and glided down the red carpet on the arm of an old family friend.

  If only dear John had been here, Mina thought, stifling a sob as she watched.

  ‘Dearly beloved,’ the minister began, and Mina forgot all about the anxieties of the past few weeks, the argument with caterers and florists, the worry about her own outfit—was the hat perhaps too youthful?—and the sudden unlooked-for appearance of Cousin Chris and gave herself up to listening to the ceremony: Nancy taking her vows in a ringing tone; Henry sounding less confident. But there it was; Nancy would soon be safely married.

  After the ceremony, waiters circled the room carrying trays of champagne while Mina was embraced by friends. The standard greetings floated across the room: ‘My dear, she looks beautiful!’ ‘What a lovely wedding!’ ‘How proud you must be!’ Mina had almost forgotten about Cousin Chris, and she had certainly forgotten about Flora, who was in pale grey satin in an old dress of Nancy’s which the dressmaker had adapted.

  Flora, on the fringe of a group, tried to make conversation with some of Mina’s whist-playing friends and found it almost impossible. ‘You’ll be next,’ said one stout, comfortable matron, and there was a silence. No one really believed her.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Flora murmured after a few minutes. ‘I promised to see to things in the kitchen.’ She had promised no such thing, and the cook would not have welcomed an intrusion, but she had to get away from these kindly, well-meaning friends of Mina.

  On her way to the kitchen, she glanced into the conservatory. Here, at least, it was cool, with peace lilies and waving palms. She was tempted to sit down—her shoes were pinching—when she noticed a strange figure who seemed to be overflowing a basket chair.. She appeared to be nodding, and Flora, tiptoeing past, wondered who she was and if she was asleep.

  ‘And who are you?’

  Flora jumped as the occupant of the chair suddenly seemed to wake up. ‘I’m sorry if I disturbed you.’ Flora said.

  ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

  ‘Would you—’ Flora hesitated. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

  ‘I most certainly would, and no one has offered one.’

  ‘I‘ll fetch a glass.’ Flora intercepted a waiter and carefully carried a glass to the old lady in the basket chair.

  ‘Thank you, my dear,’ she said as she slurped her first mouthful. ‘So tell me who you are.’

  Flora explained her connection

  ‘I know about you; you are Flora. A poor relation,’ said the old lady taking another gulp.

  Flora felt her face flush, but there was no point in denying it. ‘Aunt Mina has been very kind to me,’ she said defensively.

  ‘I‘ll wager you pay for your keep in hard work,’ said the old lady shrewdly.

  Flora was silent. It was of cours
e perfectly true.

  The old lady went on. ‘I am a distant cousin of Mina’s late husband John.’

  ‘My uncle,’ murmured Flora.

  ‘I know,’ said the old lady. ‘So we are related in a way. My name is Miss Christina Dunbar, but you may call me Cousin Chris.’ She glanced around her then continued, ‘So this is a very splendid occasion. It must have cost Mina a fair amount.’

  Flora didn’t know what to say. Surely it was vulgar to talk about money, but the wedding was a very expensive affair. ‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘that they are about to go into the dining room. May I help you?’

  And she had misgivings. What if no place had been laid for this shabby old woman? How awkward it would be!

  Cousin Chris seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘I’ll be just fine here,’ she said. ‘But perhaps you could bring me a plate of viands; chicken I like, and a slice or two of ham. Potatoes, vegetables, but no cucumber—it repeats,’ she added. ‘And another glass of wine.’

  Flora hurriedly found a waitress and produced a plate of cold meats, cutlery and a napkin, which she laid on a little table in the conservatory.

  Meanwhile, Mina wondered where Cousin Chris had got to. Flora, slipping into her place, leant over to her and whispered, ‘The old lady in the conservatory—I’ve taken her a plate.’

  Mina sighed thankfully. Flora had her uses after all. Mina gave herself up to enjoying the meal and the complimentary speeches. She would deal with Cousin Chris later.

  Just before the dessert was served, Flora disappeared from the table, returning to the conservatory where Cousin Chris was wiping her plate with a piece of bread.

  ‘Excellent,’ she said, spotting Flora. ‘I’ll say this for Mina: she lays on a good meal.’

  ‘Would you care for some dessert?‘ asked Flora. She was beginning to like this old lady who sat comfortably in her basket chair as if she was very much at home.

  ‘Indeed I would.’ Cousin Chris’s eyes shone. ‘What is there?’

  ‘There’s fruit salad, and ice cream, and meringues—and trifle,’ Flora recited.