Free Together for Christmas by Carol Rivers Page B

called to her the moment she had seen it.

Chapter Seven
    Flora jumped. She had fallen asleep on the garden bench. She looked around her. There were dragonflies and damselflies soaring over the water of a lily pond. Its centrepiece
was a mossy urn from which flowed a stream of water. An arbour of pink roses, holly bushes and fruit trees grew by the greenhouses. A gardener and several young boys were working in one, tending
the flowers and vegetables grown under the glass roof. It was a peaceful scene, and Flora thought how much more she was enjoying her visit now that she had left Mr Leighton’s office.
    Her thoughts went back to the dark, unwelcoming butler’s quarters. However, she had liked the interesting photographs on the walls. Lord William had looked very distinguished, despite
Gracie’s comments of him being slightly barmy. His thick, dark hair was streaked with grey and he wore his military uniform with pride. His bearing was upright and dignified. Not so his son,
Lord Guy, who stood almost casually in a fashionable tailored suit and offered an impatient, arrogant expression to the camera. A mane of black hair, the ends of which touched his collar,
surrounded his somewhat surly face. What had Gracie meant when she’d whispered those words about mischief? Flora wondered. The likeness between Lady Bertha and her nephew was remarkable. Her
thick black hair was swept up to the back of her head and it was pinned at the side with a jewelled comb; her dark eyes fixed the camera with a disdainful expression. It was clear, Flora thought,
that Lord William’s sister had a taste for expensive silks and the latest style in corsetry! As for her husband, James Forsythe, he was quite the dandy. A foppish looking man, with a long,
thin nose in an equally thin face.
    ‘Flora, at last, I’ve found you!’ Flora came swiftly back to the present as Hilda rushed up. There were two bright spots of red on her cheeks. She sat down beside Flora and
pulled off her hat. ‘I won’t be wearing this cheap thing any more.’
    ‘Why not?’ asked Flora.
    ‘The colour is common. Mrs Burns thought so, I’m sure.’
    ‘But you’ve only just bought it.’
    ‘Yes, but at the market where everything is second-hand. I’ll have to smarten meself up a bit.’ Flora listened to Hilda’s breathless account of her interview with Mrs
Burns. ‘My old grey working dress won’t do either. I’ll have to buy quality material and make new dresses. I need underwear and boots too.’
    ‘But can you afford all this?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ Hilda said worriedly.
    Flora thought of her savings in the china teapot at home. ‘I could help with a pound or two, perhaps.’
    ‘It won’t be long before I can pay you back.’
    ‘What did Mrs Burns show you?’
    ‘I can’t begin to describe the house,’ Hilda replied with a far-away look in her eyes. ‘There were silk-covered walls and beautiful furniture I ain’t ever seen the
likes of before. Sofas as big as boats, mirrors that shone so bright you have to squint to look into them, and the finest silver and porcelain just about everywhere I looked. Mrs Burns showed me
the music room first. It had a great piano in the middle and all the walls, even the ceiling, was painted with scenes of the olden days.’ Hilda tried to catch her breath. ‘The dining
room had a polished table I couldn’t hardly see the end of and as for the bedrooms, well, me mind went into a spin! There’s over forty and even more in the attics. There’s beds I
didn’t even know existed, with big lumpy covers and posts to hold up their great tasselled tops. They’ve even got curtains round them.’ Hilda giggled. ‘I suppose curtains
are hung there to stop anyone disturbing the magic moments!’
    Flora smiled. ‘Did you see your room?’
    ‘There wasn’t time. But I’m sure it’ll be nice.’
    ‘The house sounds very big, with plenty to clean.’
    Hilda ignored this and rushed on. ‘We didn’t even go