Page 18 of A Sense of Injustice
‘Very good, milady.’
‘Did you enjoy your party?’ the countess asked, as Flora settled herself in her customary place on a stool at her charge’s feet.
‘Very much so. In fact, I was overwhelmed by all the attention.’
‘Well, even you shouldn’t be denied a few minutes in the spotlight. Don’t suppose you’re accustomed to it.’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Flora grinned. ‘Vanity and the desire to put oneself forward is sinful and much frowned upon where I come from.’
The countess sniffed. ‘Of course it is. Anything the least bit pleasurable is sinful in the eyes of the church. It don’t stop them who preach these things from indulging in sin, though. I can’t abide leaders who don’t actually lead by example. I might have some respect for religion if those responsible for dishing out sermons actually lived according to their supposed beliefs.’
Flora inclined her head, knowing better than to enter into a theological debate with the countess, mainly because she agreed with most of her blasphemous views—and felt a modicum of guilt as a consequence.
‘You are all far too good to me,’ she said instead.
‘Yes well, better that than have you leave us. Don’t get ideas into your head. You are far from satisfactory, much too bossy and opinionated, but I don’t have the energy to start over with another nincompoop.’
‘How very reassuring.’ Flora bit her lower lip, endlessly amused by the countess’s determination to pretend dissatisfaction with her services. Flora knew that none of her predecessors had lasted for five minutes, simply because the countess couldn’t abide their nervous ways. She was fond of Flora but would never actually make that admission. She enjoyed the fact that Flora stood her ground in their frequent spats, despite being a little disappointed that she was unable to shock her. ‘Would you like me to read aloud to you?’
‘Heavens, no! Not today. I’d rather sit in quiet contemplation, but that’s something you young people cannot seem to abide. There is much to be said for peace and quiet.’
‘At the risk of sounding argumentative—’
‘Harrumph! When did that ever prevent you from expressing your opinion?’
‘Quite. As your ladyship is aware, I am the eldest of five girls who were brought up in a comparatively small house. Rest assured that solitude was a rare commodity during my childhood years, and therefore much cherished, so I am happy to sit with you and speak of nothing at all if you would prefer it.’
The old lady settled herself into a more comfortable position and Flora draped a rug across her knees. ‘What did you make of Louise Pearson?’ the countess asked. ‘I saw you talking to her for a long time.’
‘I liked her very much indeed. She’s calling to see me today, as a matter of fact.’ Flora tilted her head as she looked up at the countess from her low stool. ‘Why have I heard no mention of her before? I have met Marianne Pearson several times but you never told me that she had an older sister in London.’
‘I had forgotten about her. She seldom visits her grandmother. There was some difficulty, I think. Fanny Pearson seldom refers to it, so I don’t raise the subject.’
‘Tell me what you know about them. Unless you really do want to sit in silence we have to talk about something, and I confess to being curious.’
‘Fanny Pearson and I were girls together. We had our come-outs the same year. She is a viscount’s daughter and married the younger son of an earl.’
‘A bit like Sam or Henry.’
‘Correct. Highly respectable. There was some money in the marriage. Enough to see Fanny comfortably settled here in Swindon after her husband died. But obviously not enough to support future generations. Her son, Louise and Marianne’s father, went into trade.’ Flora grinned when the countess enunciated the word as if it was a contagious disease. ‘There was no necessity for the aristocracy to lower themselves in that fashion when I was a gel. Gentlemen with pockets to let simply married for money, overlooking the discrepancies in rank between themselves and their intended and elevating the fortunate females to our level. All that’s changed now though. We have these middle-classed nabobs thinking they’re our equals just because some of us have mismanaged things and don’t have the blunt to run our estates.’ The countess shook a gnarled finger beneath Flora’s nose. ‘Well, let me tell you, money does not a gentleman make.’
‘I should say not,’ Flora agreed, swallowing down a smile.
‘Anyway, Pearson married for love. A gel from amongst our ranks. Besotted with her, so he was. A bit like Charlie is with Miranda, or Watson and our Emma. Anyway, his wife died giving birth to Marianne and the poor young man was inconsolable. I remember it well. He wouldn’t look at Marianne and took himself off abroad for five years, doing whatever he did to amass his fortune.’
Flora frowned. ‘What happened to the girls?’
‘They were left with a nursemaid in Pearson’s London house. Louise was four at the time, and Marianne just a baby. His wife’s sister, who never married, moved in to keep house. The situation was a Godsend from her perspective since she had nowhere else to go. Anyway, Pearson lost all interest and no one heard from him much for those five years. When he came back, Fanny assumed he’d had time to recover from his grief and would no longer hold Marianne responsible for the death of his wife, but the foolish man still couldn’t bear to see her.’
‘So the wife’s sister offered to raise Marianne while your friend raised her other granddaughter.’ Flora sighed. ‘It must be blissful to love someone to that extent but rather unfair of him to blame the daughter for his loss. Is Mr Pearson still alive?’
‘No, he died a year ago without ever reconciling with Marianne. It was as though he only had one daughter. He was very affectionate towards Louise, perhaps because she so closely resembles her mother. He left Louise his entire, considerable fortune and not a penny for Marianne.’
‘That is so unjust!’
‘Aye well, no one said life was fair. I dare say Louise will look after her sister.’
‘Who looked after Louise after her father’s death? She is younger than me by about a year, I think. Too young to be alone in the capital, surely?’
