Page 1 of A Sense of Turmoil
Chapter One
Swindon, England: September 1881
‘She hasn’t left her room for over a month.’ Lady Mary kept her voice low and full of anxiety. ‘Is there nothing more that you can do for her, dearest Flora? It breaks my heart to see her brought so low.’
‘She is comfortable at least,’ Flora whispered back, holding her emotions in check by sheer force of will. She glanced at her charge, the once formidable Dowager Countess of Swindon, now frail and swamped by her bedding, and her heart lurched. ‘Her time is close, Mary. We must all accept that. I know that your grandmother has. In her lucid moments she insists that she has led a full and active life, and if even half the stories she has told me about her misspent youth are not grossly exaggerated then she’s right about that. I think she’s tired now. She’s ready to join your grandpapa and father.’
Mary used her forefinger to brush away a tear that was trickling down her cheek. ‘Perhaps that is so, but I am not ready to part with her.’
Flora gave a sad little nod. ‘I know that, and you can be sure that the doctor and I are doing all we can between us to postpone the inevitable.’
‘Quite so, dearest.’ Mary covered Flora’s hand with one of her own. ‘Just so long as she isn’t in pain.’
‘She is not uncomfortable. She’s just worn out, but I am sure your news will give her something to live for.’
Mary’s mouth fell open, making Flora smile. ‘How did you guess?’ Mary asked, covering her stomach with one hand.
Flora didn’t bother to explain that there was little she didn’t instinctively sense when it affected those closest to her. Luke Beranger, the countess’s grandson and current Earl of Swindon, most emphatically did not believe in Flora’s abilities, despite the fact that her perceptions had saved him from more than one awkward situation. His intransigence on the subject saddened her. In all other respects he was an open-minded, modern young earl—albeit with compelling reasons to mistrust anything to do with the occult.
‘You and Paul have been married for over five months.’ Flora’s smile widened. ‘It was not a difficult assumption to make.’
Paul was Luke’s secretary, right hand man and one of his closest friends. The couple had made their home at Beranger Court and Paul had continued to take care of Luke’s professional interests.
‘It’s difficult to feel pleased when surrounded by so much sadness,’ Mary whispered, glancing at her sleeping grandmother, whose breath rattled through her chest each time she exhaled. ‘We weren’t planning to tell anyone quite yet.’
‘One life ends and another begins, Mary. That’s the order of things.’
‘I am glad Luke’s on his way home,’ Mary said. ‘Paul expects him within the week. He needs to be here…especially now.’
Flora nodded. She had seen little of the earl this year. He had given Mary away at her wedding in the spring, and now spent most of his time in Felsham with his oldest friend Archie Hardwick, who was now the Marquess of Felsham following his father’s recent death. Hard on the heels of that tragedy, Luke’s presence had been needed on the family’s estate in Boston. Flora knew it had been an especially poignant voyage for Luke to undertake, since his parents had perished at sea when the ship taking them to America had floundered in a storm, resulting in the loss of the lives of all on board.
Flora had worried when she heard Luke’s plans but Remus, her flamboyant Roman spirit guide, hadn’t appeared to warn her that history was in danger of repeating itself. There again, he could easily have become engrossed in gladiator fights, chariot races or whatever else it was that constantly distracted him in his spirit world. His preoccupation with hedonistic pleasures made his attention to Flora’s wellbeing—a duty which he insisted had been forced upon him, but was reluctant to explain why or by whom—at best spasmodic. Not that Luke would have listened to her if she had tried to dissuade him from going but at least she would have tried.
Luke had undertaken the journey with his youngest brother Sam. The English family who had managed the Berangers’ Bostonian estates these past ten years planned to return to England when their current contract expired. Flora wondered if Luke would decide to sell up or leave Sam there to take over the responsibilities of management. He hadn’t come to any decision before he left, and if Paul knew what arrangements had subsequently been agreed upon, he wasn’t saying.
Flora had spent a very quiet few months at Beranger Court, worrying about the countess but otherwise enjoying the freedom to do as she pleased. She wondered if Luke would find himself a wife whilst he was away, chasing off the pang of regret that possibility engendered. She was a glorified servant, his grandmother’s paid companion. He was a belted earl, expected to marry into the higher echelons of society. They enjoyed one another’s company, putting aside Luke’s stubborn determination not to trust her heightened perceptions, but there could never be anything more between them.
‘What are you two whispering about?’ The countess opened her faded eyes and sent them a mildly condemning look. ‘I might be dying but I ain’t senile, so there’s no need to whisper.’
‘You are not dying, Grandmamma,’ Mary insisted. ‘You cannot, because we can’t manage without you.’
‘Ha! Help me sit up.’ Flora did as she asked, pleased to deduce from her ladyship’s taciturn mood that this was likely to be one of her good days. ‘I’m not done for yet.’
‘Would you like some tea, ma’am?’ Flora asked, as she gently eased the countess into a sitting position and plumped the pillows behind her back.
‘I suppose you will force something on me, including those vile concoctions you insist aid my digestion, despite my objections.’
Which Flora took to mean that she was hungry; a good sign. She stood to ring the bell. Sandwell, the countess’s long-standing personal maid, answered it at once and scurried off to have something prepared for her mistress.
‘Would you like to get up for a while?’ Flora asked.
The countess nodded. ‘I might as well. Beds become boring when one occupies them alone. Now, if my Maharajah was here it would be another matter entirely.’
Flora exchanged an amused smile with Mary as she helped the old lady from her bed. It seemed to take forever for her to slip her arms into a robe, and once she had done so Flora draped a thick shawl around her shoulders. The countess leaned heavily on Flora’s arm and shuffled into the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber. By the time Flora lowered her carefully into her favourite chair, her charge was wheezing.
‘Emma is calling this afternoon, Grandmamma,’ Mary said. ‘And she’s bringing Sebastian with her.’
The countess’s eyes lit up at the prospect of seeing her baby great-grandson. ‘We haven’t seen her for months,’ she complained.
