Page 30 of A Sense of Turmoil
The countess leaned heavily on her stick, coughing as she struggled to her feet. Flora knew she wasn’t well enough to be downstairs and hoped she would be able to persuade her to return to her chamber as soon as the meal was over. The atmosphere in the dining room that night was tense, but Flora was unable to think of a reason for the tension. She had never known anything other than an air of light-hearted conviviality in this room before. Perhaps everyone was thinking about the countess’s frailties, but Flora sensed there was more to it than that. She wondered if Mary approved of Luke’s choice but it wasn’t a question she could ask her directly, intimate though they were. Henry and Louise, newly married, were still very much wrapped up in one another and had probably not even noticed the atmosphere.
Flora took her regular chair beside the countess at the foot of the table and told herself that she must be imagining things. Archie sat directly across from her once again, on the countess’s opposite side. She suppressed a sigh when George Fleming asked permission to sit on Flora’s left.
‘By all means,’ she replied absently, not especially wanting him there but unable to decline his company. Flora could find nothing to fault in the demeanour of Ottilie Fleming, but her brother, outwardly suave and elegant, had a dark side to his character that set her teeth on edge.
Archie set about amusing the countess and soon had her roaring with laughter. Flora joined in their conversation spasmodically but felt morose, unsettled for reasons beyond her understanding.
Luke stood, raised a glass to Charlie and Miranda and their new son and everyone drank to their good health.
‘It will be your turn next, Louise,’ Flora said.
Louise smiled. ‘The thought of it terrifies me.’
‘Young gels nowadays have no backbone,’ the countess complained.
‘Not like in your day, eh, Grandmamma,’ Henry suggested, making everyone smile.
‘We knew what was expected of us and didn’t make an almighty fuss about doing our duty.’
‘Have you found a property that attracts your interest yet, Mr Fleming?’ Flora asked, when the conversation became more general.
‘We are spoiled for choice and quite unable to make up our minds,’ he replied with what was probably supposed to be a disarming smile, but which had no discernible effect upon Flora. She sensed Archie listening to their conversation at the same time as he chatted with the countess, almost as though he was protecting her interests.
Or staking a claim.
‘A happy situation.’
‘Indeed. We intend to view the three we like the most again tomorrow and then decide. We cannot exploit the earl’s hospitality indefinitely. Although,’ he added, dropping his voice to a seductive level, ‘I shall be sorry not to have known you better.’
‘I am a servant, Mr Fleming, and beneath your notice. I dare say the earl can introduce you into local society. You will find people of your own class within their ranks, where you will no doubt be more comfortable.’
‘You do yourself a disservice, Miss Latimer.’ His leg pressed against her thigh beneath the table, a situation that Flora refused to tolerate since she knew the contact had not been accidental. Their chairs were set too far apart for there to be the slightest possibility of that happening.
‘Am I crowding you, Mr Fleming?’ she asked, making a point of shifting her chair away from his and drawing the attention of everyone at the table. She noticed the countess frown and Archie suppress a smile. George flushed, begged her pardon and instantly removed his leg. She glanced down the table and found Luke’s attention fixed on her. She could see Ottilie’s lips moving as she addressed a comment to him, but he wasn’t paying his dinner companion any attention. Instead, he inclined his head and offered Flora the suggestion of a smile. She turned away from him without responding.
She sensed a simmering anger from George for the rest of the meal and he barely spoke to her again. She regretted putting him down quite so publicly, but failed to see why she should have to tolerate being insulted. If he had taken the trouble to get to know her better, he would have realised that she was not the passive type, nor was she grateful for the attentions of her supposed betters.
As soon as the meal was over, the countess asked Flora to return her to her room. Flora was more than happy to comply.
‘The Fleming lad tried to take clumsy liberties, I assume,’ the countess said, once she had regained her chamber and sat long enough to catch her breath, which rattled through her chest.
‘I could have been more discreet in my rejection of his presumptions, I suppose, but it makes my blood boil when so-called gentlemen think they can take advantage of my being in service,’ Flora said, surprised that her anger had not abated. ‘It’s not as though I encouraged him. Quite the opposite.’
‘That’s probably why he behaved as he did,’ the countess replied, nodding emphatically, which brought on another coughing fit. ‘You were supposed to be grateful for the attention, not repelled by it.’
Flora gently removed the countess’s headdress, draped a shawl around her shoulders and threw a log on the fire. Sandwell would help her to undress when she had recovered from the climb up the stairs.
‘What did you make of Miss Fleming?’ Flora asked, setting herself down on the footstool.
‘She’s an empty-headed ninny who will bore my grandson rigid, but if he likes her, then I don’t have the energy to talk him out of the match. I tried that with my son and got nowhere. There’s not the slightest chance of Luke listening to my opinion.’
‘He didn’t seemthatattentive,’ Flora reasoned. ‘One imagines that if she is not the entire focus of his thoughts and deeds now then the flame that attracts him will soon be extinguished.’ She let out a long sigh. ‘However, it is none of my affair.’ She got to her feet. ‘Sandwell will be here directly to help you into bed. I will run down and get another posset to help you sleep.’
‘Fuss and bother about nothing,’ the countess complained as her head fell forward and she struggled to keep her eyes open.
By the time that Flora returned with the countess’s medicine, Sandwell had managed to get her into bed. The countess drank Flora’s concoction without her usual litany of complaints and fell back on the pillows. They had been banked up behind her at Flora’s suggestion. She knew it would ease the pressure on her lungs if she was not supine.
‘Good night, ma’am,’ Flora said, bending to impulsively kiss the old lady’s wrinkled brow. ‘I hope you manage to sleep.’ She turned to Sandwell. ‘Make sure I am sent for if she gets any worse,’ she said in an undertone before quietly leaving the room.
