That evening, Flora did something she’d never done before, and entered her father’s dressing room. She opened the door tentatively, even though she knew there was no one around to see her – Sarah was at home in the tiny cottage she shared with her mother, and Tilly and Mrs Hillbeck were tucked away in the kitchen having their nightly gossip. As she stepped over the threshold, she shivered slightly at the sudden drop in temperature. And noticed the room smelt of dust and damp, tinged with a hint of her father’s eau de cologne. The room was bathed in evening shadows that slanted across the narrow wooden bed. A clock stood on the nightstand, ticking away the seconds of its owner’s absence.
Flora opened the heavy oak doors of the wardrobe, her fingers searching through the rack of trousers and finally settling on a pair of tweed shooting breeches. Realising she would need socks too, she opened a likely looking drawer in a mahogany chest, but found it was full of papers. In the corner of it sat a small bundle of cream envelopes tied fast with string. Flora recognised her mother’s writing and wondered if they might be love letters from their courting days. Tempted beyond measure to look, as it would perhaps help her understand the mystery behind her parents’ marriage, Flora shut the drawer firmly before her traitorous fingers could wander towards them. Finding the socks and adding a thick shirt to the pile over her arm, she walked back towards the door.
Her fingers only skimmed the handle before temptation overrode sense and she headed back to the chest. Clothes discarded on the bed, she opened the drawer and pulled out the pile of letters. After sliding the uppermost one from beneath the string, she read its contents.
Cranhurst House
Kent
13th August 1889
My dear Alistair,
In a week we will be married. I cannot thank you enough for being my knight in shining armour and saving me from disgrace. In return, I swear I will be the most diligent, faithful wife any man could wish for. My father tells me he has already made the transfer and I hope it arrived in your account.
I look forward with pleasure to seeing you and my new home.
With kindest regards,
Rose
Flora read it and reread it, trying to make sense of the word ‘disgrace’. What was it her mother could possibly have done that was so terrible?
‘Well, whatever it is, it explains their marriage,’ she told the empty dressing room. Most likely, her mother had fallen in love with an unsuitable man – that was certainly what happened in many of the books she’d read. Flora wondered who it might have been. Even though her mother never spoke of her growing-up years, Aurelia had recently remarked in her letters how their mother seemed to be known to everyone. Which only underlined the fact that she must have had a past. Flora replaced the letter in its envelope and carefully tucked it back beneath the string before returning the bundle to the drawer. She retrieved the pile of her father’s clothes from the bed and left the dressing room.
Flora rose at six the next morning and hastily pulled on her father’s breeches, shirt and socks. Tiptoeing down to the boot room, she borrowed Sarah’s stout walking boots – which were rather too small, but would have to do – and a tweed cap of her father’s. She left a note for the staff to say she had gone out for the day to collect flowers to paint, and then slipped out of the house. Walking along the drive and through the gates, she saw a brand-new silver Rolls-Royce motor car parked up on the verge. Archie swung the door open for her and she climbed in.
‘Good morning.’ He smiled at her appearance. ‘You’re looking particularly comely today, Flora the milkmaid. Perfectly attired to be driven in the Silver Ghost.’
‘At least it’s practical,’ she countered.
‘Actually, with that cap on your head, you could be taken more for a boy. Here, put on these motoring goggles to complete the look.’
She pulled them over her eyes with a frown. ‘I am only happy that no one in the area will recognise me.’
‘Can you imagine what your mother or sister would say if they could see you?’ he asked as he started the engine.
‘I’d prefer not to. And what on earth are you doing owning a car like this, having told me your family is flat broke? Papa said they cost a king’s ransom.’
‘Sadly, it isn’t mine. The owner of a neighbouring estate lent it to me in return for the use of a cottage at High Weald. I promised him not to ask any questions as to its purpose. Although admittedly, the poor fellow’s wife is currently pregnant with their sixth child in as many years, if you know what I mean.’
‘I’m sure I don’t,’ she said primly.
‘Well, I’m happy to give the car a good run-in through the mountains. I’ve put a picnic in an old army rucksack that Mr Turnbull, my very accommodating publican, let me borrow, along with a couple of blankets just in case.’
Flora looked out of the window and up to the skies over the pikes in the distance. And frowned at the heaviness of the clouds. ‘I do hope we haven’t picked the only day in weeks when the heavens will open.’
‘Luckily, it’s warm this morning.’
‘That may be, but my father often says that the temperature drops sharply at higher altitudes. He’s climbed most of the pikes over his years here.’
‘In that case, we’ll have to find a barn to park the motor car in. I’ve promised Felix on pain of death that I would return it to him in good nick, and I can’t risk having it poured on.’
A local farmer kindly agreed to house the Rolls-Royce, Archie glaring at the farmer’s wide-eyed children – not to mention the chickens – who looked eager to climb inside.
‘Papa said it took him about four hours to reach the summit,’ Flora commented as they set off towards the valley, walking on the coarse grass.
‘Your father’s an experienced hiker, I think it will take us a fair bit longer,’ Archie said, as he dug a map out of his rucksack. ‘The publican suggested a good path for us to follow. Here.’ Picking up a stick, he sketched a trail in a patch of dry dirt. ‘We need to head south towards Esk Hause, then on towards Broad Crag Col.’ Archie led the way with his map in his hand.
‘What are all those tiny white dots high up on the mountainside?’ he enquired.
‘Sheep. They leave their droppings everywhere underfoot.’
‘Perhaps we can hitch a ride on one if we become weary. Such useful animals, too, providing delicious food for our tables and covering our bodies with their wool.’
‘I loathe the taste of lamb,’ Flora stated. ‘I’ve already decided I won’t offer meat when I run my own household.’
‘Really? What will you serve instead?’
‘Why, vegetables and fish, of course.’
‘Then I’m not sure I’d want to come and have dinner at your home.’