The MacNichols were ‘impoverished gentry’, a phrase Flora had heard whispered by one customer to another as she waited to be served at the village shop in Near Sawrey. Which was why last year she hadn’t been surprised when her mother, Rose, had told her there were simply no funds available for Flora to make a London debut and be presented at court.
‘You do understand, don’t you, Flora, dear?’
‘Of course I do, Mama.’
Flora had been secretly thrilled that she would be spared the rigmarole of being primped, perfumed and dressed up like a doll for the duration of the Season. She shuddered at the thought of being surrounded by silly giggling girls who didn’t understand that the whole event was no better than a cattle auction, where the prettiest heifer went to the highest male bidder. Which, in human terms, meant netting the son of a duke who would inherit a large estate on his father’s death.
And she abhorred London. On the rare occasions she had accompanied her mother to visit Aunt Charlotte in her grand white house in Mayfair, Flora had felt overwhelmed by the crowded streets, and the continual clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves, mingling with the roaring sound of the motor cars that were becoming so popular, even up here in her beloved Lake District.
However, Flora was equally aware that since she hadn’t been presented with the other young ladies, the chances of her finding a suitable husband of rank and status were heavily diminished.
‘I may well die an old maid,’ she whispered to herself, as she mounted the wide mahogany staircase and hurried along the landing to her bedroom before Mama could spot her soaking skirts. ‘And neither do I care,’ she said defiantly as she entered the room and saw numerous pairs of tiny eyes studying her from inside their cages.
‘I’ll always have you, won’t I?’ she said, her voice softening as she walked over to the first cage and released the catch to allow Posy, a large grey rabbit, to jump into her arms. She had rescued Posy from the mouth of one of her father’s gun dogs and she was the longest surviving member of her menagerie. Flora cradled Posy on her knee and stroked the long, silky ears – the left one missing its tip from when she’d dragged it out of the dog’s jaws. Leaving Posy to hop around the floor, she greeted her other roommates, who included two dormice, a toad named Horace who lived in a makeshift vivarium, and Albert, a sleek white rat, inherited from the groom’s son and named after the late Queen Victoria’s husband. Her mother had been horrified.
‘Really, Flora, I have no wish to deny you your passion for animals, but it comes to something when you are knowingly sharing a bedroom with vermin!’
Rose had not told Alistair, her husband, about Albert, although she had drawn a line at a grass snake Flora had found in the woods. Her shrieks when she had seen it had reverberated around the drawing room and Sarah, the one remaining upstairs maid, had to run to fetch the smelling salts.
‘Givin’ us all a fright with that creature!’ Sarah had scolded Flora, her thick Lakeland dialect more pronounced under duress. The grass snake had duly been returned to its natural habitat.
Undressing down to her bloomers, Flora fed her animals their various breakfasts, pouring small piles of hazelnuts and sunflower seeds into bowls, along with hay and cabbage leaves. For Horace, the toad, she had a handful of the mealworms her father used for fishing bait. Re-dressing hurriedly in a fresh poplin blouse buttoned up to her neck, and a blue floral skirt, she surveyed herself in the mirror. Like the rest of her and her sister’s everyday wardrobe, the fabric was somewhat faded and the style was hardly the latest in haute couture, but the garments, at their mother’s insistence, were at least well cut.
Adjusting the tight collar, Flora regarded her features. ‘I remind myself of Sybil,’ she muttered, remembering the stick insect she’d kept for almost a year in her vivarium before Horace had moved in, and how overjoyed she’d been at the realisation that darling Sybil had given birth. She hadn’t noticed the offspring until they were almost fully grown, so well had they blended in with their environment.
Ghost creatures . . . Just like her: good at being invisible.
She tucked a stray strand of her hair back into the coil at the nape of her neck, replaced Posy inside her hutch, and went to join her family for breakfast.
When she entered the gloomy dining room, her parents and her sister were already seated at the worn mahogany table. As she joined them, a distinct tut of displeasure emanated from behind The Times newspaper.
‘Good morning, Flora. I’m glad you finally thought to join us.’ Her mother’s gaze immediately fell to Flora’s feet, surveying their stockinged state. An arched eyebrow was raised, but nothing was said. ‘Did you sleep well, my dear?’
‘Yes, thank you, Mama,’ Flora answered as Sarah put a bowl of porridge in front of her with a cheerful smile. Sarah had taken care of the sisters since they were babies, and knew that the smell of cooked meat was enough to turn Flora’s stomach. Rather than the customary breakfast of kippers, black pudding and sausage that the rest of the family ate, it had finally been agreed after years of Flora refusing point-blank to eat any of it that she should have porridge instead. She vowed that when she ran her own household, no dead animals would ever be served on a plate.
‘Aurelia, dear, you look pale.’ Rose’s eyes flicked over her daughter in concern. ‘Are you feeling quite well?’
‘I am well, thank you,’ Aurelia answered, before raising a small forkful of sausage to her mouth and biting into it daintily.
‘You must rest as much as possible in the next few weeks. The Season can be very tiring and you are only just recovered from that nasty winter chill.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Aurelia replied, ever patient of her mother’s fussing.
‘I think Aurelia looks positively glowing,’ announced Flora, and her sister smiled gratefully at her.
Always sickly as a baby, Aurelia was treated by her parents and the entire household staff like the doll she so resembled. And now, especially, no one could afford for her to be sick. Their mother had announced a month ago that Aurelia would make her London debut and be presented at court to the King and Queen. It was hoped that she would catch the eye of a suitably wealthy man from a good family like their own. That was, if her sweet temper and beauty could outweigh the dearth of family money.