Page 1 of A Sense of Injustice
Chapter One
Beranger Court, Swindon: October 1880
‘It’ll do at a pinch, I suppose.”
‘Praise indeed, coming from your lips, ma’am.’ Flora Latimer smiled at her curmudgeonly charge, the Dowager Countess of Swindon, and dipped a curtsey that created a satisfactory swish of her silk skirts.
‘I was referring to the fall of your gown,’ the countess replied, sniffing. ‘You should know by now that I never flatter.’
Flora’s smile widened. She glanced down at the shimmering bronze gown that hugged her figure, transforming her from the mousy creature she’d been when she first took employment in this magnificent house just six hectic months previously into a person she barely recognised. Trimmed in cream lace with an elegantly draped overskirt gathered behind with lace and satin ribbons, the gown was positively decadent. Flora could almost pass for the lady of the house rather that the disowned daughter of a senior cleric at Salisbury Cathedral.
The generosity of the aristocratic family who had taken her in had helped her to become a strong, independent young woman with thoughts and opinions she was no longer afraid to express. Thoughts that failed to conform to the teachings of her joyless and repressive God-fearing childhood.
‘Six yards of brocade, six more of silk, twenty of lace and three of satin ribbon went into this gown, so I am reliably informed.’ Flora grinned. ‘I hope that I can do justice to all the effort that went into its making by displaying the local modiste’s handiwork to good effect. It by far the most elaborate gown I have ever owned—and goodness only knows I have owned more than I ever imagined possible since coming into your service. I feel grown up, indulged and thoroughly spoiled.’
‘You are grown up, child. This is your one-and-twentieth birthday, in case it had slipped your mind, and all this fuss and nonsense tonight is in your honour.’
‘Fuss and nonsense thatyouinsisted upon, ma’am. Hence the need for a new gown that I could have afforded to pay for myself.’ She wagged a finger at the countess. ‘You are too generous, and you should not have done it.’
‘Just because you have inherited a few shillings, there’s no occasion to throw your money around on fripperies.’
Which is exactly what Flora had been attempting to make the countess understand every time she felt the need to spoil Flora.
‘This dress cost a good deal more than a few shillings, and I don’t have the least intention of frittering my inheritance away. It offers me independence. My father no longer holds any authority over me, although I doubt that I have heard the last of him. At least I feel more secure, knowing that I have the means to support myself when you finally grow tired of my bullying you and dismiss me from your service, as you often threaten to do.’
‘Ha! You wouldn’t go, even if I insisted. You are far too comfortable here.’
‘For which I hold you entirely to blame. You are too lenient and I never have enough to do with my time.’
‘You’re not as bad as some who have been inflicted upon me, so I suppose I can put up with you for a little longer. Anyway, I have a trifling gift for you.’ The countess snapped her fingers and her maid stepped forward carrying a small box which she handed to the countess.
‘You have already given me more than enough,’ Flora protested, glancing down at her gown. ‘I cannot accept anything else.’
‘Oh, do stop being so tiresome!’ The countess thrust the box into Flora’s hand. ‘Happy birthday, you irritating child.’
Flora shook her head, knowing when she was beaten. She opened the box and gasped as she revealed a delicate opal and seed pearl brooch nestling in the velvet lining of the box. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she breathed. ‘I have never owned any jewellery. Papa didn’t approve of personal adornments.’
The countess gave a contemptuous sniff. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Anyway, it will fit nicely on that bodice. The perfect finishing touch.’
The countess had the sensitivity not to call attention to the tears that flooded Flora’s eyes. For all that she pretended to be befuddled, her mind was still as sharp as a tack. She would be aware that Flora hadn’t heard a word from any members of her own family on this most special of days, and was attempting to make amends for the slight in her own unique way.
Flora fastened the brooch onto her bodice where it dipped low between her breasts, drawing attention to her décolletage.
‘Thank you,’ she said, holding back tears by the sheer force of her will. She had done all the crying she would ever do over her family and refused to admit that their neglect might still have the power to affect her.
‘Come along then, child. You still have duties to perform, birthday or not, and I can’t be expected to get down all those stairs unaided. Not at my age.’
‘You got up onto the roof unaided the other day when my back was turned for a moment,’ Flora reminded the old lady as she proffered her arm. ‘I still don’t know what you expected to achieve by risking your neck, other than to frighten us all half out of our wits.’
‘I was conversing with the moon, since you insist upon sticking your nose into my affairs. Intellectual stuff. I wouldn’t expect someone with your narrow-minded Christian beliefs to understand.’
Flora bit her lip to prevent a smile from escaping. ‘Of course not. But you might have more consideration for the servants. If you were to fall and break your neck, it would create a devilish amount of mess for them to clear up.’
The countess sniffed as she slowly descended the stairs. ‘They get paid well enough for doing precious little.’
Flora knew that she had spoiled her charge’s pleasure by speaking so flippantly about the possibility of her meeting a grisly end. The old lady thoroughly enjoyed being outrageous, and had probably expected to be told how much she would be mourned were she to die through her own stupidity. One of the reasons why she and Flora rubbed along so well together was because Flora refused to become flustered by the countess’s determination to make mischief.
‘Goodness,’ Flora said, blinking when they reached the lower hall and she peeped around the door to the dining room. The long table was set for twenty, with shimmering crystal, dozens of candles, pristine linen and the very best gilt-edged china. ‘All this for me? It’s overwhelming.’
