House of Strangers Read online

  ‘Trifle, if you please. With plenty of cream. And when you come back, would you like to stop for a bit and have a chat?’

  ‘Of course.’ Flora knew her presence in the dining room would not be missed.

  She returned with two plates of trifle, and watched fascinated as Cousin Chris disposed of a very large portion in record time.

  ‘I like my food.’ Cousin Chris beamed. ‘Not that I am greedy, but I do like a nice meal, well cooked.’ She went on. ‘Fortunately, I have a good cook who has been with me for years; a treasure you might call her.’

  So, thought Flora, this shabby old person was not as poor as she appeared to be. That much worn silk dress, the bonnet, slightly battered—they were not the marks of someone who could not afford better.

  She wondered how to ask about Cousin Chris’s circumstances, but Cousin Chris was only too pleased to have an audience.

  ‘I live in Edinburgh,’ she said. ‘You know it? A large house, much too large, in a prosperous suburb—Morningside. My late father, God rest his soul, was in shipping and he made,’ she coughed delicately, ‘and lost a fortune’.

  Flora listened fascinated. Had this old lady fallen on hard times?

  But Cousin Chris seemed to know what she was thinking. ‘Oh, I’m not destitute,’ she said with astonishing frankness. ‘But I take in paying guests and that helps.’ She licked the last of the cream, then said, ‘I have talked far too much. That is a fault of old age. And now you must tell me about yourself. You are a poor relation. I know that—you told me so yourself. But where do you come from?’

  ‘I grew up in a fishing village not far from Ayr,’ Flora began, feeling like a character in a novel about to tell her life story. But my story, she thought, is quite uneventful.

  ‘I was an only child,’ she went on. ‘My father owned a fishing boat and he was drowned at sea when I was quite young, so I never knew him. My mother struggled on but there was no money. She was never well, and she died when I was six.’

  ‘And you had brothers and sisters?’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I am an only child.’

  ‘What a very sad tale,’ said Cousin Chris. ‘So what did you do?’

  ‘My uncle John had kept in touch with my mother, and when he heard about her death, he came to the funeral then brought me back here, to be part of the family.’

  ‘Ah...’ There was a silence. ‘And are you—part of the family?’

  Flora paused then said. ‘My aunt has done her best. I don’t think she ever really wanted me, but I’m sure Uncle insisted. And since his death… well, she has a busy life, and now Nancy is married. But, I am very lucky. I have a roof over my head. Not many girls left alone in the world can say the same. I have all my meals, and I can make myself useful, sewing, that kind of thing. And,’ her eyes shone, ‘my uncle had a wonderful library and he always allowed me to read whatever I wished.’

  ‘You like reading?’

  ‘I love books—and I like looking at paintings.’

  There was a pause. ‘I think,’ said Cousin Chris in her deep voice, ‘that you have a very dull life of it here. Have you never wished to travel?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Flora. ‘ But I have never had the chance. Here I am 22 years old, and it sounds ridiculous, but I have never been to Edinburgh.’

  The old woman stared at her. ‘Indeed. You must often have wished to leave this house.’

  ‘But what am I to do? ’ said Flora with a flash of spirit. ‘I don’t have any money, so I can’t travel, much as I’d like to.’

  ‘I always wanted to travel,’ said Cousin Chris,’ but I never had the opportunity… However, that’s that, and I have become very attached to my home city.’

  She wiped her lips with a large white handkerchief. ‘Would you be kind enough to fetch me a cup of tea, my dear?’

  ‘Of course.’ Flora removed the plates and returned in a few minutes with a tray of tea.

  ‘So,’ said Cousin Chris, ‘tell me more about yourself. What would you like to do? Marry perhaps?’

  Flora shook her head. ‘Who would marry me?’ she said. ‘I am not pretty. I am strong-willed. I would not make a good wife.’

  ‘And what,’ asked Cousin Chris, ‘are your virtues?’

  Flora hesitated. ‘I am observant,’ she said. ‘I would like to be—’ she swallowed, ‘a detective. It sounds stupid, I know, but I am very fond of the works of Conan Doyle, and I feel my modest talents might be of some use to someone…’ her voice trailed away.

  ‘Tell me,’ said the old lady, ‘what do you observe about me and what does that tell you?’

  Flora took a deep breath and gazed at Cousin Chris.

  ‘Your dress,’ she said, not wishing to sound impertinent, ‘is old and certainly out of fashion, but I think this is not because you are poor, because you are wearing a very beautiful diamond brooch—at least it would be beautiful if it had been cleaned. But this tells me you are not poor. You walk with a stick so I think you must suffer from arthritis, but your boots, though old, are most beautifully polished. So I deduce that you have a helpful servant, as you would not be able to do this for yourself. You do not wear a wedding ring, so I gather you have not been married. You arrived by cab, which you must have taken all the way from the station, so I gather,’ she said, trying to be polite, ‘that you are not short of money.’

  ‘Well done!’ the old lady’s eyes sparkled. ‘You are quite right. I have not been married. I have enough money to be comfortable but am not much concerned with possessions, though I do have some treasures in my house in Morningside to which I am very attached. And yes, I have a faithful servant, cook and helper, Nelly, who has been with me for many years. I am most impressed by you, my dear. You are very observant—and correct in all your deductions. I should call you Miss Holmes, close relation to Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. You are familiar with the great detective’s powers of observation and adventures?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Flora blushing, ‘I’ve read all the stories.’

  ‘You seem to be very quick and efficient,’ the old lady continued. ‘I should think you would be a godsend to any employer.’

  Flora shook her head, smiling. ‘I have no experience. I can read and write and count, and keep a house and I looked after my mother when she was ill, so I have some nursing experience, but aside from that, who wants a companion who is plain and has no social accomplishments? I don’t play whist—in fact I hate card games—and I don’t play the piano, so I can’t tinkle out little melodies.’

  ‘It seems to me you have quite a few useful accomplishments Look how quickly you summed up my position.’

  Flora sighed. ‘But not enough skills to please an employer.’

  There was a silence between them and then Cousin Chris said, ‘I could use a housekeeper, to help me run the guest house. What about it?’

  Chapter 3

  ‘Me?’ Flora was astonished.

  ‘You strike me as a very capable young woman—kind, too, to take the trouble over an elderly relative. I think we should get on very well. I am rather impulsive by nature, as you may have gathered, but I think reasonably easy to get along with. And something tells me that you would be glad to get away from this household.’

  ‘Oh, I would, I would!’ Flora cried.

  ‘There you are then. Think about it.’

  ‘I am impulsive too.’ Flora smiled at this astonishing old lady. ‘I don’t need to think about it. I would be very glad to come and housekeep for you—if you think I would do,’ she added a little bashfully. In the distance, Flora could hear footsteps. It must be Aunt Mina, she thought.

  ‘I think we would get along together very well,’ said Cousin Chris. ‘My lodgers—that is really what they are—are an interesting lot. A little eccentric perhaps, but then,’ she said proudly, ‘I am a little eccentric myself.’ She thought for a moment, then said, ‘Shall we say a trial three months? If you find me impossible, you are free to leave.’

  ‘I’d like to come if you wil
l have me.’

  ‘Then it’s agreed,‘ said Cousin Chris, stretching out a gnarled hand. ‘I would welcome you. Tell me,’ she said as an afterthought, ‘what made you so eager to accept my offer to be my housekeeper? After all, we only met perhaps an hour ago.’

  ‘Because,’ said Flora, ‘as I’ve already said, I am impulsive by nature.’

  ‘And was that the only reason?’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I wanted to get away from Aunt Mina.’

  The old lady chortled. ‘I can understand that.’

  Flora hesitated. ‘You have never been here before. May I ask—if it isn’t impertinent—what made you come here today?’

  ‘I’d heard about you. John wrote me when your mother died and said he was asking you to stay with them, and now I wanted to see if Mina was treating you well. She is a selfish and difficult woman. I wanted to be sure you were happy here and not being treated as a drudge.’

  Flora felt the tears welling up. No one since her uncle’s death had cared whether she was well-treated or happy. Suddenly she knew she had made the right decision.

  ‘And now if you will help me up,’ said Cousin Chris, ‘I will call for my cab, and I will write to you with directions and we must agree how much you are to be paid—there is a lot to arrange. And before I go,’ she added, ‘I must break the news to Mina.’

  She smiled and stretched out a hand. ‘Goodbye, Miss Holmes. We will meet again soon.’

  *

  That night Mina went to bed with a thankful heart. As she braided her hair and drew the winceyette nightdress over her head, she felt grateful that the day had been such a success despite all her misgivings.

  She remembered the ceremony and the tears she had wiped away as she watched Nancy make her way towards the front of the drawing room where Henry was waiting.

  ‘Dear God,’ she prayed as she slipped to her knees, ‘may she be happy. Thank you for such a perfect day.’ At this point, her thoughts strayed as they often did in prayer, to the menu: the cold chicken, the salads, and the triumph of the desserts, meringues and trifle. It had all been perfect. ‘Thank you,’ she continued, ‘for the wedding breakfast and the generous speeches and the many gifts bestowed upon my dear daughter.’ During the past few months she had often prayed for fine weather so that guests might enjoy the garden, and here too her prayers had been answered.

  And last of all there was this unexpected bonus—Cousin Chris actually seemed to want Flora to keep house for her. Goodness knows why, she thought uncharitably. Flora had never run a household - she couldn’t imagine her giving orders to the cook, for example. But Cousin Chris seemed to want to employ Flora, and Flora herself seemed eager to take on the position. ‘We’ll see how long it lasts,’ said Mina to herself. ‘And she needn’t think she can come crawling back here when Chris throws her out.’

  However, she caught herself up, it might work. She didn’t know Chris except as a very eccentric relative. ‘How glad I am that I invited her to the wedding,’ she thought, even though Chris had to be hidden from the important guests.

  ‘Perhaps it will all work out,’ she told herself. And at any rate, Chris was taking Flora off her hands. No need now to go round her friends to see who would be willing to take Flora as a companion or lady’s maid. ‘So,’ Mina said to herself, ‘I must be grateful to Chris. She has solved a problem.’ And she almost forgave her for the gift of the despised jelly pot.

  Almost but not quite. There were limits, she decided, as she finished her prayers with a quick ‘Amen’ and slipped between the linen sheets.

  *

  Anyone waiting for the train to Edinburgh on a crisp September morning would probably not have noticed a slim, fair-haired girl dressed in an unfashionable black coat who kept anxiously looking up the line for the approaching train, checking her ticket was tucked into her glove, and occasionally glancing around her at other passengers who might be catching the 11:15.

  After all, she was not beautiful, not even pretty. She had plain features and a pale complexion. No one would have spared her a second glance, so the casual passer-by would not have remotely guessed at the mixture of eagerness and dread behind that calm, almost aloof, expression.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ thought Flora. ‘This is an adventure.’

  Mina had been so relieved at the prospect of Flora’s departure that she was almost generous towards the girl. Ahead lay a pleasant and comfortable life in her new home with its beautifully worked lace curtains, little tea parties with friends, the happy thought of supervising Nancy’s new kitchen, all without the reproach of Flora’s presence, which made her feel slightly guilty. So she pressed on Flora a plain black dress of Nancy’s. Nancy had never liked it, and after all, the period of mourning had been over for some time now. It would suit Flora, she thought, poor thing. She has so little.

  As well as the black dress, which Flora did not like either, Mina gave the girl some good advice before she left for Edinburgh. ‘Mind, my dear, you must always behave like a lady. Remember how carefully you have been brought up here, and never forget that your uncle was a pillar of the community, respected by all. And an elder of the church.’ She stopped and sighed, wiping her eyes on her lace handkerchief. ‘Cousin Chris,’ she went on, ‘has not perhaps the same background. Oh, she is wealthy,’ she continued, ‘or so I understand,’ remembering the slight of the glass jelly pot. ‘But that does not mean you will move among the elite of society, as you have done while under my roof.’

  ‘Yes, Aunt,’ Flora had said obediently. ‘I am grateful to you’ (and more so to Uncle, she thought) ‘for taking me into your home.’ She thought a bit bitterly, if it had been left to you I would have not had a roof over my head—you didn’t care a jot what happened to me. But she didn’t say this, only thought how glad she would be to be quit of the place.

  And now, standing on the platform, waiting for the train to Edinburgh, she felt free for the first time in years. Free from Nancy and her patronising remarks, free from Aunt Mina and her ill-concealed exasperation at Flora’s lack of social skills. Free even from the indifference of the servants.

  Suddenly she felt as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. ‘I am Flora,’ she told herself. ‘Flora is quite different from Flo. Flo was a drudge, running to and fro at Aunt Mina’s commands. Flora is calm and capable, an independent woman.’ She liked the sound of that.

  Flora was sensible enough to realise that she wouldn’t change overnight. ‘I’ll still be afraid sometimes,’ she said, ‘but I won’t show it.’

  No one had come to see her off, and she thought it was better that way. Aunt Mina had, rather grudgingly, paid for a cab to take Flora and her belongings to the station. So now she stood with only a small trunk, waiting for the train.

  She pressed a coin into the porter’s hand as he lifted her trunk into the carriage; at least Aunt Mina had given her some money for porters. Cousin Chris, who seemed to think of everything, had written, ‘Take a cab from Waverley Station to Morningside, and I enclose money for the fare—and be sure to give the driver a tip. If he is obliging, that is. If he is not, then he doesn’t merit a tip.’

  Flora smiled to herself. There was something very direct about Cousin Chris. She felt sure they were going to get on.

  When the train arrived at Waverley, Flora felt almost dizzy with the noise and bustle. Porters hurrying about with their barrows; the steam and the smoke from the trains. And where were the cabs? She looked around her, bewildered, until she asked a passing porter. ‘They’re at the station entrance,’ he nodded towards the cab rank.

  Flora thanked him, feeling very ignorant and unsophisticated. Was it so obvious, she wondered.

  The journey from the station passed in a confusing whirl of cabs and tram cars and crowds jostling on the pavements. She saw all these large stores she had heard about—C and A Modes, Forsyth‘s, and more. Flora leaned out eagerly. She remembered Nancy shopping at these places.

  ‘Have ye no been to Edinburgh before?’<
br />
  ‘Never,’ Flora confessed. She did wonder if the cab driver was taking her the right way, but she had no means of knowing. He looked honest enough, she decided.

  ‘Then you’re in for a treat,’ said the cab driver with an air of satisfaction. ‘There’s plenty grand places to see in the city.’

  The cab stopped for a few moments in a throng of tramcars, cabs and paper boys darting through the traffic ‘You’ll be from the country,’ he commented as the traffic began moving again.

  Flora was transfixed by the crowds; she thought she had never seen so many people in her life, most of them hurrying through the streets with an air of purpose, although she saw and envied several smartly dressed ladies with muffs and fur tippets admiring the windows of the large stores. She wished the journey could last forever, but it seemed no time at all before they reached the quieter suburban streets, with their tall, grey houses and almost uniform gardens of spotted laurels and hydrangeas.

  ‘Are we nearly there?’

  ‘Not far now—you’ll not have been at the house before.’

  Flora shook her head. ‘I’m going to stay with my cousin, Miss Dunbar.’

  ‘Is that so?’ The driver sounded doubtful. ‘ I hope you’ll get on all right.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ Flora was surprised.

  ‘Och, naething. It’s just—it’ll maybe be a bit quiet for a lass like you. And don’t you believe what they say about the house. Oh, you’ll be fine. There’s plenty nice places nearby. There’s the Princes Street Gardens, they have concerts there, and the Botanic Garden, that’s near enough. It’s a fine place for a walk, they tell me.’

  After the excitement of the drive through the city streets, it seemed to Flora as if a sudden hush had fallen over the tree-lined roads. There was the occasional nursemaid pushing a pram, and a boy bowling a hoop, but there was not even the activity she had noticed on the street where Mina lived.

  ‘Ah well,’ said the cabby suddenly. ‘This is it. We’re here. Will you be all right, miss?’ The cab stopped in front of a tall house with net curtains over the downstairs windows. Flora shivered. It was a forbidding sort of house, she thought. There was no one about, no sign of activity. It hardly looked as if anyone lived here.