The Age of Water Lilies Read Online Free PDF

Anglesey, invested heavily in the community, establishing his own estate on the north side of the Thompson River and assuming ownership of the hotel. The senior Oakdens were comforted by the thought that suitable society existed in the colony their son was settling in, for surely there would now be polo.
    Sleeping in the bed that had come by such intricate arrangements to a room that overlooked the Thompson River, its changing grey-green waters, and the hills surrounding it, Flora dreamed of Grace that night, the child’s mouth on her own virgin nipple. She sang a song she remembered from her nanny, “Lavender Blue dilly dilly, Lavender Green,” while the baby chuckled and urged Flora’s breast to let down its milk.
    There is a child, she wrote to her mother, the colour of hazelnuts, and I spent part of the day earlier this week caring for her . Then she realized her mother would have no idea of what this meant and would only imagine gypsies or savages, so she began the letter again. She thanked her mother for sending the Panama hat and told her she had draped a pretty scarf over it and that it looked particularly fetching with her blue lawn dress. She needed a corset—could her mother send to Dickson and Jones for that? And while she thought of it, could she also order a few Shetland hoods for the coming winter? And six yards of narrow satin ribbon for trimming a bodice. And perhaps some sprigged flannel—for Flora had decided to make Grace some nightdresses.
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    A message came from Skeetchestn to say that Grace was too ill for Mary to leave her. Flora knew that things must be very serious indeed. So she prepared a basket of things to take to Mary’s home—jars of preserved fruit, fresh biscuits, a cold roasted chicken, clean flannel for poultices, barley water, and a jar of boiled sweets that she thought the children might enjoy. There was also a plain muslin nightdress for Grace—the sprigged flannel had not yet arrived—with a tiny matching bonnet. Flora had drawn pink ribbon through a border of hemstitching on both and she embroidered stalks of lavender in French knots among the smocking. George had saddled the grey mare, Vespa, before he left for the orchard and put her in the stall to be ready for his sister when Gus Alexander came by to collect her. For George had decided he could not leave his own work undone and asked Gus to accompany his sister to Skeetchestn.
    He was a man she had seen from a distance, a man who kept his distance in fact, and she could not remember him present at a dance or a tea following a polo match. He was a labourer, employed by the Anglesey Estates, but he also did work for individual orchardists; she had seen him pruning earlier in the season, for instance, and George implied that he often did repairs on the flume system and spoke of the man with admiration. When he arrived on his horse, a pretty chestnut mare who danced a little before obeying the command to stop at the gate, Flora introduced herself and quickly brought out her mare, accepting Gus’s assistance in securing the basket to the pommel of the saddle.
    â€œMiss Oakden, you must let me know immediately if you find the pace too fast or the heat too uncomfortable. My mare, not named Flight for nothing, would rather race than walk, regardless of the heat. I promised your brother I would care for you as I would my own sister.” There was a tiny smile on his lips as he said this, a smile almost cheeky, which said, almost as clearly as words, that this was what one would say to a toff. It was a moment when Flora sensed something important although she could not then have said what it was exactly.
    Riding away from the houses, Flora felt her lungs open to the morning air. It was not yet very hot, but the sun had warmed the rocks, the drifts of sage, and she could smell the lemony leaves. Gus rode ahead a little to open a gate, but once over the bridge,