‘You and Corporal Cassell seem to have decided a great deal,’ Lady Carmichael interrupted. ‘I thought Colonel Aitchison was in charge.’
‘The colonel has naturally approved the details of the plan,’ Flora said, which was essentially true. The colonel having been given a brief summary by Geraint and listened to Flora’s assurances that the laird was in full agreement, had nodded, signed the latest batch of requisition orders and returned to his fishing.
‘You seem to have spent an inordinate amount of time with this corporal,’ Lady Carmichael said pointedly.
‘It has been necessary in order to carry out my duties.’ Which was true.
‘Duties you have discharged very thoroughly,’ the laird said. ‘I must say, Flora, you have surprised me.’
She had surprised herself, but she remembered just in time to suppress her gratified smile as her father got to his feet. Flora cleared her throat. ‘I am not quite finished yet, if you don’t mind.’ The laird sighed, but sat back down again. ‘The main convoy arrives next week, as I’ve said,’ Flora continued. ‘There will be a company of over two hundred men complete with a major, four lieutenants and a number of ancillary staff including officer trainers, cooks, medics and drivers.’ She paused, reminding herself not to sound apologetic. ‘The kitchen garden will form a shooting range. The high walls make it an ideal location. Artillery practice will be carried out on the grouse moor. And the croquet lawn—the croquet lawn will form the main area for parking and storage of large equipment.’
‘The croquet lawn?’ Lady Carmichael said icily.
Beneath the table, Flora clasped her hands together tightly. Despite not being the least bit interested in croquet herself, and the fact that the hoops had long been removed for the winter, Flora had been anguished, too, when Geraint raised the issue. Losing the beautifully manicured lawn set aside for the genteel pursuit seemed almost an act of vandalism. ‘Since the forecourt will be used for drilling the troops, this is the most convenient area.’
It was a full thirty seconds, which felt like thirty minutes, before her father broke the silence. ‘What about the cellars? All that valuable wine your brother Robbie has stored there?’
‘Corporal Cassell was equally concerned, so he had all the wine moved to the cellars here at the Lodge. There was just about enough space.’
Flora frowned, remembering how Geraint had been that day. The cellars at Glen Massan House were deep, a warren of narrow passageways from which various rooms led. ‘Like going down the mine,’ she had joked at the time, standing over the hatch, watching Geraint slowly descend alone, for she had no intention of encountering the rats she was certain lived down there. He had emerged no more than fifteen minutes later, sweating profusely, his pallor ghostlike. She thought he was going to faint, though he brushed her offer of water away, just as he also brushed away her concern. ‘Were there rats down there?’ she’d asked fearfully, foolishly staring at the wooden staircase as if they might have followed Geraint up. ‘I’ll get Hopkins to deal with this,’ he’d finally said, ignoring her question, pushing past her hurriedly and out of the basement.
There must have been rats after all, she had decided. And he simply didn’t want to admit his dislike of them. Although you’d think he’d be accustomed to rats, working down a mine. Presuming mines had rats.
‘Are we quite finished?’ the laird said, looking pointedly at his watch.
Flora dragged her mind away from Geraint and hastily consulted her list. ‘Unless you can think of anything we have omitted?’
He shook his head. ‘You have been most thorough. Forgive me, but I must— I need some air.’ The laird patted his wife’s shoulder as he got to his feet. ‘Flora has only done what was required of her. What is required of us is to accept these very painful decisions with good grace. Excuse me.’
The door closed behind him. ‘This bloody war,’ Lady Carmichael exclaimed. ‘I think the world going to hell in a handcart.’
Flora dropped her pencil, staring open-mouthed at her mother, who never swore.
‘I do not, as you know, have any time for those women who claim we females should be enfranchised,’ Lady Carmichael continued, ‘but I’m beginning to wonder, if we did have the vote, whether we’d have avoided this dreadful situation in the first place. I had a letter from your brother Alex this morning. He wants to leave school at the end of this term. Your father had a separate communication from him, asking permission to enlist.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘He will refuse, of course, but—I can’t bury my head in the sand for much longer. It is inevitable that my sons will join this war, and I do not want...’ Lady Carmichael dabbed frantically at her eyes.
Flora got up and knelt at her mother’s chair. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for—what you’re feeling is perfectly natural. We can be as patriotic as the next woman and still wish that our loved ones did not have to do what other people’s loved ones are doing.’
Her ladyship sniffed. ‘I am sure there is something quite flawed with the grammar of that sentence, but I must endorse the sentiment. Now the handover of Glen Massan House is nearing completion, I can admit that I have never been entirely comfortable with you having to be so much in the company of that corporal. A most intimidating young man, and insolent with it. It’s not so much in his words, but he has a way of looking at one. You will be able to spend more time with me again. I thought we could take a trip to Edinburgh next week, to do some Christmas shopping.’
Flora sighed. ‘Mother, you know that I am considering joining the VADs.’
‘You cannot, Flora. I need you here.’
‘Nonsense. These past few weeks while I have been working with Geraint, you have managed perfectly well without me.’
‘Geraint? You mean Corporal Cassell, I take it? You do realise, Flora, that he is not our sort. I sincerely hope that you have not allowed the man to take liberties.’
‘Geraint is not the sort of man to take unwelcome liberties,’ Flora said, which was true. Another thing Geraint had taught her—always tell the truth when confronted, even if you tailor it to suit your needs. And in fact, since that kiss on the top of Ben Massan they had both been at pains—extreme pains—to avoid anything but the most casual of contact.
‘Well, I am pleased to hear it,’ Lady Carmichael said. ‘I expect he will be posted somewhere else soon, in any event, since his task is nearly complete.’
‘I suppose so,’ Flora replied. She did not want to think about that. ‘Mother, what I’m trying to tell you is that I shall be looking for something else to do.’
‘Such as what, precisely? And please, Flora, do not persist with this notion that you can become a volunteer nurse. You are quite simply not cut out for it.’
‘I can learn. I do have some skills. I am an excellent organiser, and I am a good negotiator, too. It was I who agreed the terms of the regular local deliveries, and many of those coming from Glasgow. I did those on the telephone.’
‘Well! So it has come to that, my daughter discussing terms with tradesmen.’
Flora burst out laughing. ‘For heaven’s sake, Mother...’
‘It is not funny.’ Lady Carmichael pushed her chair back violently. ‘It is very far from funny. This war will not go on forever, Flora Carmichael. When it ends, if you are not careful, you will discover that you have become quite unsuited for real life. Think about that before you ruin your hands with carbolic soap and ruin your chances of making any sort of match by compromising your reputation nursing common soldiers.’
‘So much for my determination to have the last word,’ Flora said as the door swung shut behind her mother. Picking up her