Page 10 of A Sense of Paradise
She wished there was something she could do to help them, but she was at a loss to know how any such assistance could be achieved. Her intervention would not be welcomed. Her mother had written her a letter that spewed bitter vitriol of a most unchristian nature when her father lost his prestigious position in Salisbury and his aspirations for advancement in the church along with it. Her mother probably didn’t know the half of her husband’s activities, but was so downtrodden and so blindly loyal that she would still take his side even if she did.
Sighing, she and Melanie returned home after a long morning of making calls. After a brief luncheon, she sent Melanie out again to make some deliveries. It was a lovely afternoon and so she took Polly and little Alice with her.
Flora worked in her stillroom, making up more herbal remedies for those most in need but who could not afford the services of an official apothecary. She returned to the cottage after an hour and gratefully accepted Beatrice’s offer of tea, relaxing in the momentary peace and allowing her mind to wander to Archie, as it almost always did whenever she was at leisure to daydream. She hugged herself, wondering for the thousandth time what it was that he saw in her. Thinking of the woman outside the church brought on unwelcome reminders of her father’s presence and she shuddered, wondering when she would hear from him again. She was well aware that she would see him at some point and that he would play upon her conscience in order to try and get whatever it was that he wanted from her.
The sound of the door knocker roused Flora from her reverie. With Polly out, Beatrice took it upon herself to open the door and informed Flora that Mrs Janson had arrived to see her. It took Flora a moment to realise that she was referring to Pamela, the married sister about whom she had recently been thinking.
‘Thank you, Beatrice,’ she said, assuming that Pamela didn’t represent any sort of threat, otherwise Remus would have given her advance warning. She attempted to conjure up Remus in her mind, but he was nowhere to be found. ‘Typical!’ she muttered, rolling her eyes. ‘Show her in please, Beatrice, and bring another cup.’
Pamela had never visited Fox Hollow before and Flora barely had time to wonder about her reason for doing so now before her sister sailed through the door. She doubted that Pamela had come to pass the time of day in sisterly affection. She was more likely to be here to berate her or make a plea on behalf of their father. Either way, Flora didn’t relish the prospect of entertaining her. She had always been shrewish and disapproving of everything pleasurable, and had reported every little act of rebellion on Flora’s part during their childhood years to their father.
‘Pamela.’ Flora stood and summoned up a smile as her sister entered the room. ‘This is a pleasant surprise.’
Flora offered her sister her hand but didn’t attempt to instigate an embrace, aware that it would be unwelcome. Pamela wore a drab grey wool dolman over a grey striped promenade dress that was probably too warm for the fine weather. Clearly, the garments were new, since they were the height of fashion. Pamela was attempting to make an obscure point by appearing in her finery for this confrontation.
Flora was not impressed by what she saw. Grey drained Pamela’s complexion of what little colour it might otherwise have possessed. Her features were as pinched as always, and her lips were pursed in what was fast becoming a permanent line of disapproval.
‘I hope you are well,’ Pamela said stiffly, treating Flora’s brightly patterned gown to an exacting scrutiny and then allowing her glance to take in the entire room. ‘You live very comfortably.’
‘Yes, thank you. I do.’
Flora resumed her chair and indicated the one across from it, which Pamela sank into. Beatrice supplied fresh tea and cake and quietly withdrew. Flora poured for them both and distributed cake, of which Pamela accepted two slices. Rich cake had never been permitted in their family home. Their father had decreed it to be a sinful excess, but Pamela showed no scruples in taking advantage of it now, to the extent that Flora thought she might actually lick her fingers.
‘You have not asked after my husband,’ she said, setting her plate carefully aside. ‘That is most impolite.’
Flora somehow refrained from rolling her eyes, thinking their truce had been exceedingly fleeting and that Pamela was keen to get to the reason for her visit. Flora shared that ambition since she was equally keen to be rid of her judgemental sister.
‘I hope you have not come here to quarrel with me, Pamela, or to lecture me on my obligations or manners. If that is the case then you will be disappointed, since I shall refuse to oblige you. Suffice it to say that if we are to discuss incivility, then you must take your share of the blame in that regard. I have yet to receive a note of thanks for my generous wedding gift to you and Mr Janson. Now thatisimpolite.’
Flora had no intention of allowing Pamela to take the moral high ground, and started the way she meant to go on, setting the tone for this visit. Even so, part of her regretted being so confrontational. Pamela would take the opportunity to launch into a tiresome lecture that focused upon Flora’s lack of respect for their father and mother.
‘I’m sorry, Flora.’
‘Sorry?’ Flora blinked, thinking she must have misheard. An apology was the last reaction she had anticipated from Pamela and she wondered if she had imagined it. She glanced warily at her sister, who looked and sounded genuinely contrite to the extent that tears flooded her eyes. To the best of Flora’s recollection, Pamela had never seen reason to apologise, or indeed to explain herself to anyone. She most certainly had never shown any weakness by crying. ‘There’s no need to be. These things are easily forgotten.’
‘I don’t mean just about not writing. I did not forget.’
She paused and stared off into the distance. Zeus, the countess’s anti-social white cat whom Flora had inherited upon the old lady’s death, stalked in from the garden through the open French doors, peered up at Pamela through imperious green eyes, then ignored her and jumped onto Flora’s lap. Flora absently stroked the cat’s sleek back but kept her focus on Pamela, astounded by the words that had just spilled from her mouth.
‘Pamela, what is it? Why are you overset?’
Pamela produced a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Excuse me. I didn’t mean to…’
‘Your condition is responsible for your emotional state, I am sure.’
Pamela’s head jerked up. ‘How did you know? We have not yet told anyone.’
Flora smiled, unwilling to explain. Pamela would consider her second sight—or dabbling in the occult, as their father referred to it—to be the work of the devil. ‘It is not an unreasonable assumption. You have been married for several months.’
‘Oh yes, I am married right enough.’ She let out an elongated sigh. ‘There can be no doubting that fact.’
Flora frowned. ‘You are not finding married life to your liking? I thought you of all people would thrive in your position as a clergyman’s wife. You were born to it.’
‘So were you, but you found the courage to turn your back on everything we were taught to value.’ Pamela fiddled with the hem of her dolman. ‘I have always been envious of your free spirit, you know, and jealous of your courage. Especially so, when I realised you were living so well, and so independently. That is why I didn’t write.’
‘You were envious?’ Flora widened her eyes. ‘Goodness. I never would have guessed.’
‘Melanie is just like you. Where is she, by the way?’ Pamela glanced around the room, as though expecting her to appear from behind the furniture.
