Page 59 of A Sense of Turmoil
‘It’s vacant, Miss Latimer, but I like to have regular fires lit in the places I look after to ward off the damp. Not that there is any damp in this dwelling. Oh dear me, no.’ That, Flora thought, would make a pleasant change after everything else she had seen that day.
Flora nodded her approval. ‘A very diligent arrangement, Mr Renshaw.’
‘Well, ma’am, the owner takes care of his properties and is keen for this one to be let to someone respectable. I can see at a glance that he would approve of your tenure.’
‘Well then, let’s see if it meets with my approval.’
Flora stepped into the hallway, expecting the signs of neglect to which she had become accustomed to make themselves apparent. But instead she was agreeably surprised. The flagstones were swept clean and there was a polished hall table and sparkling mirror above it beside a padded settle. A door to the left led to a square drawing room, the size of which took Flora by surprise. She hadn’t expected anything so well-proportioned, nor nearly so well furnished. It was larger than the main room in the house she had occupied in Salisbury with the rest of her family, and far more agreeably appointed.
The handsome stone fireplace with its wide mantel dominated one end of the room and the fire that burned strongly within it was responsible for the smoke Flora had seen emerging from the chimney. The furnishings were upholstered in light floral fabrics that matched the heavy drapes drawn back from the mullioned windows. But most surprising of all was the baby grand piano occupying one corner of the room. She gasped with pleasure and her fingers itched to run across the ivory keys.
‘It’s as though the place has been equipped with me in mind,’ she said under her breath. It was most certainly several cuts above any of the other properties she had viewed that day. Flora wondered if Paul had made a mistake and that the rent was beyond her means, but doubted it since Paul didn’t make those sorts of mistakes.
Her suspicions on high alert and not daring to get her hopes up only to have them dashed, Flora explored the rest of the house. There was a cosy dining parlour with a long polished table surrounded by eight ladder-backed chairs, a sideboard occupying the whole of one wall and another smaller fireplace. She couldn’t envisage ever entertaining a total of eight people and she began to think the cottage a little too grand for her.
But that was her innate Christian guilt creeping in, and she refused to permit her father’s values to affect her judgement or spoil her enjoyment of this lovely cottage. She inspected the final room that was probably intended as a library, the shelves empty and just begging to be filled with books that took her interest. She had the means to indulge her passion in that regard and would certainly do so in the fullness of time. Flora could imagine herself sitting at the delicate desk in front of a window that looked out over the back garden, writing letters, making entries in her diary, poring over her grandmother’s herbal cures and keeping her accounts.
Adjuring herself not to get carried away, she stepped next into a large kitchen with an open range and a scrubbed table dominating its centre. There was a scullery off it and a small room that would accommodate a maid. Upstairs were three commodious bedchambers, the largest of which had a tester bed with obviously new hangings that again matched the curtains and double doors leading to a small balcony. But most surprising of all, there was a modern bathroom across the hall that was clearly a recent addition.
‘The landlord likes to offer his tenants up to the minute facilities,’ Mr Renshaw said in response to her raised eyebrow look.
‘Evidently.’ She paused. ‘Who is the landlord, Mr Renshaw?’
‘I couldn’t say, miss. I take my orders from local solicitors acting for gentlemen who prefer to keep their names out of things.’
Flora thought that rather peculiar, but unaccustomed as she was to gentlemen’s ways of doing business, she decided against pressing the issue. Instead she went back downstairs and stepped outside onto a flagstone terrace, in the centre of which was a sundial. There was a henhouse, a barn and several stalls for horses, but best of all, there was a vegetable garden situated in a sunny spot that would be ideal for growing her herbs. Flora tried not to visualise herself tending the plot with loving care and utilising one of the areas in the barn as a stillroom. Unless…until she agreed terms, it would be unwise to get carried away.
‘All four of the paddocks you can see come with the property,’ Mr Renshaw told her, ‘and there’s an apartment above the barn big enough for two grooms, or a couple.’
Flora nodded, her mind whirling as she took it all in. She hadn’t anticipated settling so far away from the Court. But was it reallythatfar; a mere twenty miles? Besides, did she want to be close to Luke and risk seeing him all the time with Ottilie? It would break her heart. And Mary would insist upon inviting her to the Court at regular intervals if she was close by, forcing her into watching Ottilie growing in stature as Luke’s countess.
Perhaps it would be better to distance herself, to settle here and acquire a new circle of acquaintances. Besides, she knew the moment she had walked into Fox Hollow that the cottage was waiting for her to take occupation of it. Some things were simply meant to be and the decision was out of her hands.
She thanked Mr Renshaw for his time, told him that she would be in touch very soon and then asked Luke’s groom to drive her back into the village. She spent an hour walking around, familiarising herself with the place. She was greeted everywhere she went with polite nods from strangers that made her feel as though she already belonged.
A walk to the end of the street took her to the Church of St Michael and All Angels. Stepping inside, a friendly warden sensed her interest and proudly informed her that the church had been restored by William Butterfield less than twenty years previously. The chancel had been rebuilt and the nave re-roofed with no expense spared.
‘I could most definitely live in this delightful village,’ she said aloud as she returned to the curricle and the groom turned the conveyance in the direction of Swindon.
She told Mary of her decision that evening.
‘Are you absolutely sure, dearest?’ Mary asked, looking exceedingly concerned. ‘There’s no need for you to rush. If you wait a while, then I am sure that something suitable, closer to here, will become available. I cannot bear to have you so far away.’
‘It isn’t so very far, and the cottage is large enough for you to be able to come and stay with me in comfort.’
‘Or you could come back here,’ Mary suggested.
‘Perhaps,’ Flora replied, knowing that she would not.
Flora asked Mr Elliot to deal with the legal aspects on her behalf and very soon she had signed the lease. She had acquired more clothing and possessions during her eighteen months at the Court than she realised, but they could still easily be accommodated in the trunk of Luke’s carriage. Temporary servants had been employed on her behalf by Mr Renshaw and she would be able to decide for herself whether she wanted to make their positions permanent once she had settled in and she could judge their efficiency for herself. She was well aware that seasoned servants might think they could take advantage of a lone female of her relatively tender years and Flora fully intended to ensure that they realised otherwise.
Luke hadn’t said a word to her about her plans. He must have known about them, but he seldom seemed to be at the Court, and almost never joined Mary and Paul at dinner. She needed to talk to him about Amethyst, and she wanted them to part on amicable terms, so she took the initiative and knocked at his library door on the morning prior to her departure.
‘Flora.’ He looked up from the papers he was studying, an unreadable expression gracing his handsome features. ‘We have missed one another these past few days.’Whose fault is that?‘Come in and sit down, if that fellow will let you.’
She made a fuss of Romulus, who had almost knocked her from her feet, and then did as he suggested. His voice was artificially bright and overly polite, but there was an underlying sadness about his behaviour that he couldn’t entirely conceal.
‘I leave here in the morning,’ she said, deciding to get straight to the point and not prolong a conversation that would be painful—at least for her. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Amethyst.’
