The Last Mrs. Summers

by Rhys Bowen

  “The lady’s not here, miss,” a voice said and I noticed a maid, down on her hands and knees, scrubbing the front step of the next-door house. “She went off in a taxi only yesterday. She had ever so many bags and her maid with her and I heard her tell the taxi driver Victoria Station.”

  Oh rats, I thought. Zou Zou had gone off to the Continent again. And with ever so many bags it was hardly likely to be a flying visit. I came down the steps feeling rather foolish.

  It doesn’t matter, I told myself. I’ll rescue Granddad, take him down to Eynsleigh and we’ll have a lovely time together. We’ll take long walks and play cribbage in the evenings. I expect he’s feeling lonely too, now that Mrs. Huggins is no more. So I set off resolutely toward the nearest Tube station at Victoria. As I crossed the King’s Road I did pause and glance in the direction of my friend Belinda’s little mews cottage at the other end of Chesham Street. I gave a little sigh. Belinda had been in Paris for a month, honing her dress designing skills with the best in the business. I missed her. I missed female companionship. To be truthful I even missed Mummy, which was saying a lot as Mummy only liked to talk about herself.

  I sighed and walked on. As I came onto Buckingham Palace Road I looked in the direction of the palace and felt another pang of regret. In the past Her Majesty had summoned me to tea with her and given me various little assignments. These ranged from spying on her son the Prince of Wales to recovering a valuable snuffbox or hosting a foreign princess. Actually some of those assignments had been downright embarrassing or even terrifying but it still hurt a little that I might no longer be welcome in royal circles, now that I had officially renounced my place as thirty-fifth in the line of succession.

  I pushed the thought aside. I was a married woman with my own household. I had to learn to be grown-up and get on with life. Soon I hoped to be a mother with a family of my own to occupy me. Soon . . . just not yet. I had been married for three months and still no hint of a baby. I had begun to worry whether there might be something wrong with me.

  It was still a perfect day when I came out of the station at Upminster Bridge in Essex and walked up the hill toward my grandfather’s street. Leaves clung to tree branches and glowed yellow and orange against that blue sky. Some fluttered to the ground and lay in drifts underfoot. I reached the top of the hill and turned onto Glanville Drive. It was a pleasant enough little street of semidetached houses such as one sees in every suburb around London. The front garden at number twenty-two was tiny but immaculate. Most of the summer flowers had died but there were still chrysanthemums around the pocket-handkerchief-sized lawn, and the three gnomes stared at me hopefully as I opened the front gate.

  I suppose I should explain briefly for those of you who are confused at my having a grandfather who lived in a semidetached house with gnomes in the front garden, and not in a palace. My father was Queen Victoria’s grandson but he had married my mother, a famous actress and the daughter of a London policeman. For that reason I had been kept from meeting my grandfather until I was grown-up. Since then I had made up for lost time and absolutely adored him. I think that he was the one person who loved me unconditionally (apart from Darcy, that is).

  I rang the doorbell and prayed that he too wasn’t out. At least he was not likely to have gone away anywhere. If he wasn’t home it would only be shopping in the high street. I held my breath but then the front door opened and there he was.

  “Hello, Granddad,” I said.

  A big smile spread across his face. “Well, blow me down with a feather,” he said. “The last person I expected to see, my love. What are you doing here? Nothing wrong, is there?”

  “No, of course not. Everything’s perfect. I came to surprise you,” I said. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  He sucked air through his teeth, clearly embarrassed, making me wonder for a second if he had a woman in there. “I’d love to, ducks, but you see I was just . . .”

  That’s when I noticed that he was dressed in a suit and was wearing polished shoes instead of his slippers. What’s more, his hair was slicked down with bay rum.

  “Oh dear,” I said. “Have I caught you at a bad time?”

  “I’m afraid you have, my love,” he said. “You see, I’m due at my old police station in Hackney within the hour. I told my old guv that I’d be there and I can’t let him down.”

  “You haven’t gone back to work, surely?”

  He gave me a challenging look. “What, you think the old geezer is past it, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” I said hastily. “It’s just that you’ve been retired for some time and . . .”

  He put a big hand on my shoulder. “It’s all right, ducks. ’old your ’air on. I’m not back on the force. Just doing a bit of volunteer work. My old guv has started a scheme to keep the young folk in the area out of mischief. Get ’em while they are young. That’s his philosophy. And he came to me and asked if I’d have time to help him out with it. So of course I jumped at the idea. It’s bloomin’ boring rattling around in this house all day with nothing to do and no one to talk to.”

  “You know you are always welcome at Eynsleigh,” I said. “I love to have your company and the country air is good for you.”

  He gave me a sad little smile. “I know, ducks. But it’s not my sort of place, is it? Great big house like that, and all them servants. I feel uncomfortable with people waiting on me. I just don’t belong.” He paused. “Don’t get me wrong. I love seeing my granddaughter. It’s a real treat. Just not down there. Are you up in the Smoke for long? ’Cos I’ll be back this evening. I could bring in some fish and chips.”

  “I only came up for the day,” I lied, hoping he wouldn’t notice the small suitcase I was carrying. “I was hoping to take you back with me. Give those lungs of yours some good fresh air.”

  “Ain’t much wrong with the air up here right now, is there?” he asked, smiling up at the blue sky. “Smashing sort of day, isn’t it? Makes you want to get out and do some walking. I’m going to set up a football match for the boys. Do them good. There’s not much for them to look forward to in that dockland, you know. Most of them are finished with school and there’s no jobs to be had for love or money. In the end, crime seems like a good idea to them. That’s what my old guv is trying to prevent. Give them some hope and some skills. Put them on the right path.”

  He took his pocket watch out and glanced surreptitiously at it. “Which means I have to get going. Will you walk with me to the station?”

  “Of course I will,” I said. “I’m really pleased you have found something worthwhile to do. I know you must have been sad and lonely after Mrs. Huggins died.”

  He closed the front door behind us and we started walking along Glanville Drive. “You know I didn’t think I’d miss her but I did,” he said at last. “You get used to somebody, don’t you? Expect to have them around. Even if you’re listening to the wireless together it’s the companionship, isn’t it? So I’m glad I’m keeping myself busy. You’ve got your own life. You and that handsome husband of yours. And pretty soon the patter of tiny feet, eh?” And he dug me in the ribs with a grin.

  “I hope so,” I said. “But Darcy’s away at the moment and like you I’m feeling rather lonely. It’s only just beginning to sink in that I’m now mistress of my own house and I have to make a life for myself in the country. But it’s hard to know where to start. Darcy suggested I give luncheons or tea parties but the thought terrifies me. You know what some of those county set dowagers are like.”

  He chuckled then, the chuckle turning to a cough. “Actually I’ve no idea. Never met one. But take it one step at a time, my love. You’ll find your way soon enough. And your own sort of people too. Why don’t you invite that friend of yours to stay? Belinda, isn’t it? You two were always very thick.”

  “I would only she’s been in Paris for a while now. And Mummy’s back in Germany with Max.”
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  That made him give a little grunt. Having lost a son in the Great War he did not approve of Germans. “I think she’s making a big mistake there,” he said. “That Sir Hubert of yours, smashing chap, if you ask me. And clearly still keen on her. What did she want to go rushing back to that bloomin’ Hun again for?”

  “I think she likes the money for one thing. Max is awfully rich.”

  “But at what price, love, eh? Those Germans, they are slipping back to their old ways. All those rallies and that little Hitler bloke shouting and prancing around. I don’t like it one bit. I just hope your mum don’t find herself on the wrong side if another war happens.”

  “Oh surely not, Granddad,” I said. “Nobody could possibly want war after the last one. Everyone saw what a frightful waste of human life it was.”

  “Don’t count on it, ducks. That Hitler bloke, he’s got big ideas. You mark my words. Trouble’s coming.”

  “Golly. I hope you’re wrong,” I said.

  Chapter 2

  MONDAY, OCTOBER 14

  IN LONDON AND THEN BACK TO EYNSLEIGH

  I felt weighed down by a cloud of doom as I took the train back to Eynsleigh. No Zou Zou, no Belinda, no Queen Mary and no granddad. It really did look as if I’d have to start meeting those neighbors and getting involved in village life. And what Granddad had said about Hitler and Germany weighed on my mind. If there was another war Darcy would be called up to fight. I closed my eyes, not able to bear the thought.

  Phipps had dropped me at the station as I had expected to be away for a while. I thought of telephoning Eynsleigh and asking to be picked up, but it was still a glorious day so I decided to walk. Hazelnuts were thick on the trees beside the lane. I made a mental note to come and pick some. Cows and horses peered at me over gates. Sheep regarded me suspiciously and moved away. I came into the village, down the one main street, passing the Queen’s Head pub, the baker’s, the newsagents, the greengrocer and butcher. Women out doing their shopping nodded to me. One said “Lovely day, isn’t it, your ladyship?” and I agreed that it was. From the village school came the chant of children learning their four times table. “Four fours are sixteen. Five fours are twenty. . . .”

  It wasn’t such a bad place to be, I told myself. I would learn to get used to life here. I’d join the ladies’ guild at the church or help with the Girl Guides or the pony club. Then a few unbidden images formed in my head. Me being asked to iron the church altar cloths, polish the chalices, do the flowers . . . or show the Girl Guides how to tie knots. . . . Golly, I’d be hopeless. But I’d be all right with the pony club. I did know a bit about horses. And I’d learn the names of the children in the village school and invite them to Eynsleigh where Darcy could play Father Christmas. That was the sort of thing the owners of the big house had to do. I had bucked up a lot by the time I passed between the tall stone gateposts, each topped with a lion with its foot on a ball, and started to walk up the drive. The gravel road was lined with plane trees and at the end of it lay the rambling Tudor mansion. Its red brick glowed in the rays of the setting sun and smoke rose from its curly chimneys that were etched against a perfectly duck-egg-blue sky. Rooks cawed as they flew home for the night in a big elm tree. It was a scene of peace and contentment and I gave a little sigh.

  “My house,” I whispered to myself. “This is my house. My home now.”

  I started to walk up the drive and suddenly realized how hot and tired I was. The day was warm for October and the small suitcase now suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. I thought about leaving it and sending one of the servants to fetch it for me, but I didn’t want to admit any weakness to them so I gritted my teeth and marched on, sweating now under my tweed jacket.

  Suddenly I noticed a cloud of dust ahead and saw a vehicle coming toward me. A small low vehicle of some sort. Not a delivery van, then. It was a red sports car and it was approaching fast, sending up a cloud of dust behind it. I had to step hastily out of the way. Who on earth had come to visit driving a car like that? One of Darcy’s friends, maybe, disappointed to find he wasn’t at home. The car drew level, was about to pass as I stood in the dappled shade of a plane tree, then suddenly screeched to a halt.

  The driver leaped out and rushed toward me yelling, “Georgie, darling! It’s you! I thought I’d missed you.”

  Through the cloud of dust the car had stirred up I recognized the flying figure. It was my dear friend Belinda Warburton-Stoke, her sleek black hair hidden under a bright red motoring cap with a jaunty feather on one side and wearing a flame-red cape that flew out as she ran.

  “Belinda!” I exclaimed, delighted. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Paris.”

  She flung her arms around me, enveloping me in a big hug. “Just got back, darling, and thought I’d come straight down here to surprise you. You can imagine how miffed I felt when your housekeeper said you’d gone up to London for a few days.”

  “I was hoping to, but nobody was home,” I said. “I walked from the station. Thank heavens I didn’t stop in the village to get a drink or I’d have missed you.”

  She released me from the hug and examined me critically. “Yes,” she said. “You’re looking well. Sex obviously agrees with you, I can see. How is that brute Darcy treating you?”

  “He’s not a brute, Belinda, as you very well know.” I laughed. “Darcy is wonderful, except that he’s not here at the moment. He’s gone off on some assignment he can’t talk about and I’m all alone here. So I’m extra pleased to see you. Turn that spiffy motor of yours around and come and have some tea.”

  “Hop in,” she said. “You can be impressed with my new toy.”

  I climbed into the passenger seat. “This is yours?” I asked.

  “He’s an Aston Martin Le Mans. The very latest model!”

  “I didn’t even know you knew how to drive,” I said.

  “I did learn on Daddy’s estate, years ago,” she said, “but I haven’t had much chance to practice recently. I don’t actually have a license or anything, but it doesn’t really matter, does it? I have to confess to being a bit rusty, especially as this beast is quite temperamental when it comes to gears and things.”

  As if to demonstrate this the gearbox gave an awful grating sound and then the car leaped forward. Belinda managed to change direction after much maneuvering with the accompanying grating of gears.

  “I’m sure that can’t be good for it,” I pointed out.

  “He’s a good solid British motorcar,” she said. “He can stand any amount of abuse.” With that we shot up the drive toward the house so fast that my head was thrown against the back of the seat.

  “Did you know he can do eighty miles an hour?” Belinda shouted over the roar of the motorcar’s engine. “I put him through his paces over the Hog’s Back.”

  “Him? It’s definitely a male?”

  “Obviously, darling. Can’t you feel all that masculine power and testosterone flowing? I’ve named him Brutus.”

  I tried not to smirk. “How long have you had it—I mean, him?” I asked.

  “Since yesterday. I only got back from Paris two days ago.”

  “I thought you were planning on staying until the end of the year at least,” I shouted back.

  “I was, darling, but I got a telegram from the solicitor saying that Granny’s will had finally been proved and he needed instructions on what to do with the money. You remember my grandmother had named me in her will, don’t you? Lady Knott . . .”

  “Not what?” I asked.

  She shook her head so that the red feather danced. “Knott, darling. With a K. My mother had to grow up being a Knott. Luckily she married someone with a more normal name like Warburton-Stoke.”

  She paused to give me an indignant look as I laughed. “Anyway, Granny’s will has been proved, so I caught the next boat train home and, Georgie, you’ll never believe it, but I’m actually
quite a rich woman!”

  We screeched to a halt outside the front steps, narrowly missing the fountain.

  “Hence the spiffy sports car,” I said.

  She was smiling like a cat with the cream. “I came out of the solicitor’s office and spotted it in the showroom on Park Lane, and thought why not? So I went in and bought Brutus on the spot.”

  I opened my door and climbed out, brushing off the dust that still hovered in a cloud around us. “Come inside and have tea and you can tell me all about it,” I said.

  I let myself in and was just taking off my jacket in the front hall when Mrs. Holbrook appeared. “Oh, your ladyship,” she said, a worried frown on her face. “I didn’t hear you come in. We thought you’d gone up to town for a few days.”

  “Change of plans, Mrs. Holbrook,” I said.

  “And you didn’t telephone for the motorcar. How on earth did you get from the station? A taxi?”

  I didn’t like to say that I walked. “I met my friend Miss Warburton-Stoke, who gave me a lift. And I’ve brought her back for tea.”

  “I’ll tell Queenie to make the tea immediately, my lady,” she said. “Will your friend be staying the night?”

  I looked across at Belinda. “Why don’t you?”

  Belinda beamed. “Of course. Why not?”

  “Then I’ll have the end room made up right away, shall I? Did the lady bring her maid with her?”

  “The lady is without a personal maid at the moment,” Belinda said. “I’ve been slumming in Paris in a tiny flat up flights and flights of stairs.”

  “Goodness me.” Mrs. Holbrook looked flustered. “Would Miss Warburton-Stoke like a chance to wash and brush up before tea?”

  “I think that can wait,” Belinda said. “I’m parched and I’m dying to tell Georgie all my news.”

  Mrs. Holbrook lingered, the worried look still on her face. “I’m not sure what there might be in the way of cakes,” she said. “Seeing as how Queenie thought you were going away. But I expect she can whip up some scones quickly and there’s the good strawberry jam we made this summer.”