With a somewhat surprised expression on his face, Charles followed.
As he looked at the Marquis, he saw that he was scowling and he had the feeling that their drive to London was not going to be particularly congenial.
However he said nothing but sat back wondering, as he did so, whether Mimosa was, at that moment, still as unhappy as she had looked when she drove away in the Marquis’s carriage.
*
Mimosa sat in silence, but Jimmy complained petulantly as they drove through the drive gates,
“Why must we go home, Mimosa? How did Cousin Norton have an accident? Why could we not stay longer at Heron Hall? I want to ride the Marquis’s horses on his Racecourse and fish in the lake.”
His sister did not answer and after a moment he went on,
“It’s not fair that he should have so much when we have so little! It’s no use you telling me that I am lucky to have Buster and Silver to ride, for they are old and slow, when I want a really fast horse.”
“I know – I understand,” Mimosa said in a strangled voice, “but I don’t – think we can – afford them.”
“Why not?” Jimmy asked. “Now that Grandpapa is dead and I am the Earl, I am sure that we can find some money, as Papa would have done if he had been alive.”
Mimosa turned her face to look at him.
“Jimmy!” she exclaimed in a different voice from the one she had used before. “You have given me an idea!”
“What is it?” Jimmy asked.
“I have just remembered that at breakfast Major Toddington said Sir Alexander Barclay was back in London and you know who he is?”
“No, who is he?” Jimmy asked without much curiosity because he was still thinking about horses.
“He was Papa’s General and I remember Papa saying what a splendid man he was.”
“I don’t suppose he will give me a decent horse to ride,” Jimmy muttered gloomily.
“But that, I think indirectly, is what he might be able to do,” Mimosa answered.
“How?” Jimmy asked.
“I was thinking when I was at Heron Hall,” Mimosa replied, “how well the estate is run and how extensively it is cultivated, so very different from ours, or rather yours, Jimmy, which has been sadly neglected and has gone to rack and ruin.”
Jimmy was listening to her, trying to understand what she was saying as she went on,
“I will tell you what we are going to do, we are going to London!”
“To London?” Jimmy exclaimed in astonishment. “Why should we go there?”
“We are going to see Sir Alexander Barclay and ask him if he knows of somebody who could manage the estate for you until you are old enough to manage it yourself. Somebody clever who I am sure will find ways of making it profitable as it ought to be.”
“Do you think I will then be able to have some horses?” Jimmy asked, harping on about the subject he was most interested in.
“Yes, I am sure of it,” Mimosa answered. “You can have horses, we can do up the house and have young servants instead of those old ones, many of whom should have been pensioned off long ago!”
“If that is what Papa’s General could do for us,” Jimmy said, “then let’s go and see him quickly!”
“We will,” Mimosa promised, “as soon as Cousin Norton has been buried.”
*
It was a week later when Mimosa and Jimmy set out for London.
As it was a fairly short distance Mimosa decided that they could be extravagant enough to hire a Post chaise, feeling that their own horses would find the journey too much for them.
They therefore left home after an early luncheon, as Mimosa wished to call first on Sir Alexander Barclay before they went to Petersfield House in Brook Street where it might be necessary for her and Jimmy to stay.
As the house had not been open for at least ten years and there were only two old caretakers in charge of it, she did not expect that they would be at all welcome or comfortable.
In fact she had decided in her own mind that if Sir Alexander was not co-operative they would return to the country the same afternoon.
She knew that it was not correct to call on any fashionable person before three o’clock in the afternoon and it was exactly two minutes before three when the Post chaise drew up outside 60 Park Street.
Mimosa felt rather nervous, in case she was not welcomed by Sir Alexander.
And yet she was sure that he would remember her father and, when she explained the predicament they were in, would be ready to help them.
She told the Post chaise to wait as she and Jimmy raised the silver knocker on the rather impressive front door.
It was opened by an elderly servant who looked exactly, Mimosa thought, as a family butler should.
There were two footmen in attendance and, because of the smart way they held themselves, she was certain that they had been soldiers in her father’s Regiment.
“Would you ask Sir Alexander Barclay if he would be kind enough to receive the Earl of Petersfield and Lady Mimosa Field?” she asked in her soft voice.
“Her Ladyship’s receiving this afternoon,” the butler replied, “so I’ll announce you, my Lady.”
Mimosa looked a little surprised, as she had not realised that Sir Alexander had a wife.
She and Jimmy followed the butler across the narrow but well-furnished hall and heard him announce in stentorian tones,
“Lady Mimosa Field and the Earl of Petersfield, my Lady.”
For a moment Mimosa found it difficult to breathe.
Then she saw at the end of an attractively furnished room with the sunshine streaming in through the windows that there were two people and, as she looked first at Sir Alexander, she thought that he looked exactly as she had expected him to do.
Middle-aged, with hair that was going grey at the temples, he was a handsome man and had the air of one who was used to command.
As they advanced, it was he who moved first, asking in a deep voice,
“Can you really be the children of Julian Field who served in my Regiment?”
“He was our father,” Mimosa answered him.
The lady who had also risen to come towards them gave a sudden cry.
“Julian’s children! I intended to come to find you as soon as we returned to London and now you are here!”
Also grey-haired, Lady Barclay was, however, still an attractive woman and, as Mimosa realised as soon as she looked at her, exceedingly smartly dressed.
She held out both hands to Mimosa, then to Jimmy and said,
“How can we be so fortunate that you should call on us so soon after our arrival? And how is your mother?”
“Mama – is dead,” Mimosa replied.
“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry!” Lady Barclay exclaimed.” I had no idea of it. As you probably know, we have been in Paris and are very much out of touch with what has been happening in England.”
“Suppose we sit down,” Sir Alexander interrupted, “and you can tell my wife and me why you are here. I feel that there must be some special reason, apart from the fact that we are delighted to meet you.”
They sat down as Sir Alexander suggested and Mimosa said,
“When I learned a week ago from The Times that you had arrived in London, I thought that because Papa had been so fond of you and spoke about you so often that you might be able to help my brother.”
“But, of course, we will help if it is possible,” Lady Barclay said. “I expect you know that your father, of whom we were very, very fond, saved my husband’s life?”
“No – I did not know – that,” Mimosa murmured.
“Well, he did,” Lady Barclay smiled, “and you can imagine how grateful I am and how sad I feel that he did not live so that I could express my gratitude to him for his bravery.”
“How did Papa save your life, sir?” Jimmy interposed.
“I will tell you about that another time,” Sir Alexander replied. “First I want to know from your sister how I can help you.”
He looked at Mimosa, who after a moment said a little hesitatingly,
“I-I read in the newspapers how many men are being – discharged from the Services – and how difficult it is for them – to find employment. I thought therefore that you might be – able to recommend somebody who could manage the estate for Jimmy until he is old enough to cope with it himself.”
“We want to make some money,” Jimmy chipped in, “so that I can have horses, really good horses to ride. Because Grandpapa was so old everything has been very neglected.”
“That is true,” Mimosa added before Sir Alexander could speak. “Our Grandfather was ninety when he died a short while ago and, as he was very ill during the last years of his life, everything has been, I am afraid, sadly run down.”
“You have no relatives living with you?” Lady Barclay enquired in a sympathetic voice. “No chaperone?”
Mimosa shook her head.
“I suppose – really I should have one,” she replied, “but there has been no time to consider it – nor is there much – money to pay for her services.”
“How old are you?” Lady Barclay asked unexpectedly.
“I am – eighteen,” Mimosa replied.
“My dear, you should by this time have made your curtsey at Buckingham Palace and enjoyed a Season in London.”
Mimosa laughed.
“That has been quite impossible. There is no money for frivolities.”
As she spoke, she thought that Lady Barclay glanced at her cheap travelling gown and old-fashioned cape and she knew what a contrast they made to the elegance of the older woman.
Lady Barclay looked at her husband.
“Alexander,” she said, “we have to do something for these children and I have a feeling that you are thinking the same.”
Sir Alexander smiled.
“You know I will agree to whatever you suggest, my darling.”
“What I am going to suggest,” Lady Barclay said to Mimosa, “is that, while my husband finds somebody to look after your brother’s estate and I know he will find exactly the person you require, you both stay here with us!”
Mimosa looked wide-eyed, but she said nothing as Lady Barclay went on,
“It is the very least we can do for Julian Field’s daughter to introduce her to the Social world and in that way pay back a little the enormous debt of gratitude we owe him.”
Mimosa stared at Lady Barclay as if she had not heard her aright.
Then she said,
“Do you mean – do you really mean – ?”
“I mean,” Lady Barclay replied, “that anyone who is as beautiful as you, my dear, should shine like a star in the Social firmament and, while we can leave your brother’s estate and the horses he requires to my husband, you and I will see if London can provide the beautiful clothes that make women look like Birds of Paradise!”
*
Mimosa went to bed that night in a very comfortable room at the back of the house in Park Street where, as Lady Barclay said, she would not be disturbed by the noise of the traffic and felt once again that she was dreaming.
Sir Alexander and his wife had taken charge in almost the same way that the Marquis had done when she had gone to him for help.
They had sent the Post chaise away and she, Jimmy and Hunter had moved into the house in Park Street so smoothly that it was almost as if the rooms had been waiting for their arrival.
While Jimmy talked excitedly and, Mimosa noticed, without the least shyness to Sir Alexander, Lady Barclay said to her,
“You are just as lovely as your mother, my dear. I remember when I first saw her I thought that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life!”
“How kind of you to say that!” Mimosa answered. “But after Papa was – killed, Mama took very little interest in – anything and grew thin and lined because she was so unhappy.”
“I can understand how much she must have missed your father,” Lady Barclay said. “He was one of the most charming and delightful of men. In fact both my husband and I liked him better than any other Officer in the Regiment.”
“If only he had lived,” Mimosa sighed, “I am sure he would not have allowed the house and the estate to deteriorate in the way it has.”
“I am sure he would not,” Lady Barclay agreed, “but don’t worry. My husband loves managing things and will set the wheels in motion to make sure that your brother’s inheritance is looked after as it should be.”
“You are so kind,” Mimosa said. “Since Mama died, I have often been – lonely and there has been no one to talk to or – advise me.”
“Now that is all over,” Lady Barclay replied. “And I want you to have no troubles except how to make yourself look as beautiful, if not more beautiful, than your mother and take London by storm!”
She gave a little laugh as she added,
“I was wondering what I would do with myself now that my husband has virtually retired, although he has what might be called an ‘armchair’ position at the War Office. But you have given me a great deal to do, for which I am very grateful.”
“I would not wish to impose on you,” Mimosa said, feeling that she had said the same words to the Marquis, “and I feel it is quite wrong – that you should give me such beautiful clothes – but I don’t – see how I could manage to – pay for them.”
“They are a present not to you, my dear, but to your father,” Lady Barclay replied, “and, as I thank him every day when I say my prayers for saving my beloved husband’s life, you can imagine that where such feelings are concerned money is of little importance.”
She glanced at Mimosa and added,
“I can see that you are still worrying, so let me tell you, although it sounds rather boastful, that I happen to be a very rich woman and can easily afford every penny I am going to spend and a great deal more besides! So now smile again, my dear, because it makes you look so very enchanting.”
Her words made Mimosa remember that the Marquis had told her to smile and she wondered if he would ever know how lucky she and Jimmy had been to find the Barclays or, indeed, if he would be at all interested.
It struck her when she was fitting the clothes that Lady Barclay was buying for her from the most expensive dressmakers that, while she had longed for just one gown for the Marquis to would admire her in, she was now acquiring dozens.
But, she thought unhappily, that there was no likelihood of her ever meeting him.
As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she realised for the first time what a good figure she had and what a difference these glorious clothes made to her whole appearance.
She found herself longing with an intensity that was a physical pain that the Marquis could see her wearing them.
Then she told herself that it was doubtful, in fact extremely improbable, that it would make any difference anyway.
She had learned from Henson exactly the type of beautiful women he spent his time with when he was in London, and she was aware that they were very much older than she was and had a sophistication and polish that no number of pretty gowns could give her.
‘How can I be witty and amusing when I don’t know what interests him or what really makes him laugh?’ she asked herself.
She felt despairingly that whether she was in the country or in London she would never see him again.
He had come into her life and filled it.
And had saved Jimmy and herself from a terrible fate.
But she remembered that he had obviously been only too glad to be rid of them very quickly when Norton Field was dead, without even giving her time to thank him for what he had done.
She had written to him, as soon as she gone home, a stiff, stilted little letter that she thought very immature and in fact, when she read it through, rather dull.
She had sent a groom with it to Heron Hall, knowing that it would be forwarded to the Marquis in London.
She wondered if he would be interested when he read it and told herself tha
t he would doubtless glance at it perfunctorily and then throw it into the waste-paper basket.
‘He came into my life like a meteor,’ she reflected, ‘and now he has vanished and I am all alone and exactly as I was before.’
That, she knew, was not quite true, for she had Lady Barclay.
But it was not the same as listening to the Marquis’s deep voice giving orders or feeling his arms holding her protectively as he had when she had ridden back to Heron Hall on the front of his saddle.
“I love you!” she whispered in the darkness of her bedroom every night.
Then, because she could not help it, she would cry herself to sleep.
While Jimmy went with Sir Alexander to Tattersalls, visited Vauxhall Gardens and the Tower of London, and watched a military parade in Hyde Park, Mimosa had fittings for her gowns.
She was given bonnets from the smartest milliner in the whole of Bond Street and visited other shops for gloves, handbags, shoes, and what seemed to her a million other things that Lady Barclay assured her were absolutely essential for a young Lady of Quality.
“How can I want so much?” she asked not once but a thousand times.
Lady Barclay merely laughed and said she was quite certain that a month from now Mimosa would be saying that she had nothing to wear!
Lady Barclay had insisted that she should not appear in public until she was properly dressed.
“I am producing you, my dear,” she said with satisfaction, “as if I was a magician, which is what I intend to I be, and I am longing to see the expression on my friends’ faces when they first set eyes on you.”
“Suppose they – ignore me and you are – disappointed?” Mimosa murmured.
“You cannot have looked in your mirror lately,” Lady Barclay replied.
It was certainly a very different reflection from anything Mimosa had seen there before.
The most expensive and sought-after hairdresser in the whole of London had, with Lady Barclay, studied her face from every angle before deciding what style would suit her best.
Now she thought it looked deceptively simple and at the same time was extremely becoming and she could not I imagine why she had never thought of arranging it that way herself.
“There is no other lady in the whole of the Beau Monde who will look as sensational as you, my Lady,” the hairdresser enthused.
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