Debutantes: In Love

by Cora Harrison

  Still, thought Daisy, today we are going to London. She hoped that the snow would not prevent that, but then reassured herself. April snow seldom lasted long. She and Poppy had spent weeks dreaming of the day when they would finally leave Beech Grove Manor for London. Once they got there it wouldn’t matter how cold it was.

  She and Poppy would be staying with Elaine, just back from the heat of India, and there was no doubt that she would have hired a luxurious and warm house and that there would be fires in every room as well as central heating. Elaine was a rich young woman. She had inherited a fortune, married a wealthy Anglo-Indian from whom she had inherited another fortune, and her second husband, the Honourable Sir John Nelborough, had recently been knighted by the dashing young Prince of Wales.

  Daisy smiled. London would be wonderful. They would wear lovely clothes and have fun shopping, going to balls and perhaps even meeting handsome young men. She pictured herself in a smart short dress and short coat, with one of these head-hugging little hats, dashing through London on her way to the film studios. The thought gave her courage. Rapidly she jumped out of bed, washed in icy water from a bowl in their dressing room, pulled on a pair of ancient and well-patched riding breeches and added two large jumpers on top. She gazed at herself in the mirror for a moment. She looked rather well, she thought – very like her mother, Elaine. Perhaps, she mused, with a smile at her reflection, she would, like her mother, marry a very rich man and be able to rescue the family fortunes. She knew how it all worked out. First of all, in just over a month’s time there would be the great day. THE GREAT DAY, Elaine had written, giving it the dignity of large capital letters – the day when she and Poppy had their coming-out ball. And then another great day when they would be presented at court! And sometime at one of the balls or dances that were held during the following couple of months, an incredibly handsome man, rather like Mr Darcy in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, would be attracted to her, would ask for an introduction and then would fall madly in love with her and ask her hand in marriage.

  This vague figure of her imagination would be so very rich that it would be nothing for him to rescue the Beech Grove Manor estate; he would build a house somewhere on the outskirts of the beech woods, or perhaps near to the lake, and they would spend a few weeks there every year – as well, of course, as having a house in London with a special darkroom and studio for her film work and perhaps a small apartment in the fashionable part of Paris.

  She sat for a moment with a smile on her face and the comb in her hand and laughed at herself and her visions. Then she went out, leaving Poppy still sleeping, her magnificent sheaf of red hair spread on the threadbare pillowcase.

  The snow covered everything. Daisy stopped at the large window halfway down the stairs, rubbed the frost patterns from the glass and peered out. The weed-spotted gravel avenue, the neglected lawns and unpruned shrubs were all covered in a light blanket of snow that made them look almost magical, and the frozen lake sparkled with white crystals.

  There was no one in the dining room when Daisy came in, but she was glad to see that the scullery maid had lit a small fire in the fireplace. The table was laid for breakfast and the post boy must have made his way up from the village, because there were letters already on the table – a pile of bills beside the Earl’s plate, a letter from Violet and, placed centrally between her place and Poppy’s, a letter with a Swiss stamp.

  ‘Letter from Lady Rose, my lady,’ said Bateman, who had followed her in. The elderly butler was trying to conceal a smile. Daisy picked it up and chuckled. The envelope said:

  THE DEBUTANTES

  BEECH GROVE MANOR

  WOOLSDEN

  KENT

  And in the left-hand corner, in tiny letters, was written:

  FROM A LONELY PRISONER IN A FOREIGN LAND.

  Daisy tucked the letter into the wide pocket of her riding breeches without reading it. If she opened it at table Great-Aunt Lizzie would want to know all about it and would be bound to find fault with something that Rose had said in the letter – she might even write to the headmistress. Rose was going rather over the top with her dramatic stories these days. Daisy had written to tell her to tone them down or there would be trouble, but Rose could not resist inventing new exciting happenings and dropping hints that it was not a suitable place for a well-behaved girl like herself.

  ‘She’s not really unhappy at that boarding school, Bateman,’ she said reassuringly, knowing he would have read the pathetic message in the corner of the envelope. ‘You know what she’s like; she always makes a drama out of everything. Switzerland will be very good for her coughs and colds.’ Rose’s health had always been a worry to her father, and that was the only reason why he had consented to Elaine’s plan to pay to send her to the same boarding school she had attended when she was Rose’s age.

  At that moment she noticed on her chair an ancient book with a mould-spotted leather cover.

  ‘What on earth . . . ?’ she began to say and then saw the title in faded gold lettering: Etiquette for Young Ladies.

  ‘Lady Elizabeth desired Nora to find this in the library, and to place it on your chair; she thought you would wish to take it with you to London, my lady,’ observed Bateman in his most non-committal fashion.

  Bother, thought Daisy. I’m certainly not taking this smelly, dusty old book with me. However, it would be best to show an interest and then to tuck it away in some place where Great-Aunt Lizzie would be unlikely to find it during the next few months. Daisy settled herself on a chair as near to the fire as possible and began to turn over the pages.

  ‘Never remove your gloves when making a formal call,’ she read aloud, and yawned.

  We shouldn’t be burning this wet wood, she thought as the fire hissed. Morgan, the chauffeur, who did all the odd jobs around the estate, had told Father that the timber, from one of the ancient stands of woodland, should be stacked for at least another year before burning, but they had no choice. The Earl could not afford much coal, so trees had to be cut down and the timber burned within weeks of being sawn and split.

  Daisy flicked through the dusty pages of the book, skipping the sections about letter writing and country-house visiting and moving on to Court Presentations.

  ‘Names have to be submitted to the Lord Chamberlain,’ she read. ‘Only those bearing the white flower of a blameless life will pass his scrutiny. No girl who has been born out of wedlock may be presented to their majesties and admitted to the court as a debutante.’

  Daisy felt the book drop from her hands and she gazed into the fire.

  What was she going to do if her secret was revealed?

  If that happened, any chance of meeting a wealthy young man and making a wonderful match would be destroyed.

  Chapter Six

  Tuesday 1 April 1924

  It was only when they were halfway to London in the old-fashioned Humber car that Daisy remembered the letter from Rose.

  ‘Bother,’ she said aloud, and Maud, who was coming to London with them to act as their maid, turned her head to look over the back seat and Morgan’s eyes left the road momentarily to meet hers in the mirror.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Poppy.

  ‘I left a letter to us from Rose in my old riding breeches and I hadn’t even opened it,’ said Daisy. She and Poppy had not packed any of the shabby clothes that they wore at home. Elaine had bought them elegant new outfits on her last visit to London and these they had kept wrapped in tissue paper and sealed into a trunk, so that they would be pristine for their next visit. Daisy, who was plump, had been conscious that a few of the clothes were a little tight on her. Still, Elaine had promised shopping trips in order to have everything right for their debut into London society.

  ‘Won’t be anything of importance,’ stated Poppy. She was fizzing with excitement, swinging her foot and humming fragments of jazz. ‘We’re going to be different, Daisy,’ she said. ‘We’re going to be the leaders of fashion – we’re going to have parties tha
t will make all the other girls envious.’

  Daisy giggled. ‘I can’t imagine Elaine throwing wild parties for us, and as for Jack – well, can you imagine Sir John, His Excellency, the High Commissioner of Indian Police, allowing his wife to do anything of the sort?’

  ‘We’ll find a way.’ Poppy tossed her splendid mane of red hair over her shoulder and smiled to herself. She lowered her voice to a whisper, glancing at the broad back of the chauffeur, and gave a quick giggle. ‘Baz and I have been making plans,’ she said, and looked out of the window.

  ‘You might as well put wild parties out of your head,’ Daisy said. All sorts of promises had been made and it was only when Elaine’s husband, the newly decorated Sir John, had added his plea and had undertaken to make sure that the girls were well looked after that Michael Derrington felt totally reconciled to the plans. He had made as many conditions as possible before agreeing though. They were always to be chaperoned. Morgan was to drive them everywhere. Skirts were not to be too short. And above all, they were not to get themselves labelled in the newspapers as Bright Young People. Elaine would be keeping a strict eye on them.

  Poppy shrugged and grinned slyly. Daisy frowned slightly. What was Poppy up to? Baz’s sister Joan was being presented at the same time as them. Their mother had taken a house for the season and Baz was coming too, to keep his sister company and to be away from the Pattenden estate during the refurbishment works. Joan was nearly twenty, a little old for a debutante – she had gone down with pneumonia halfway through her season the year before – but she and her married sister had a reputation of being in with rather a wild set in London.

  Daisy looked closely at Poppy. ‘You’re up to something,’ she said. Once again she could see Morgan’s dark eyes in the driver’s mirror and knew he thought so too. ‘I don’t see Baz’s mother throwing any wild parties either, whatever his sister is like,’ she added.

  ‘You’ve forgotten that Baz has his own house,’ said Poppy mischievously.

  Daisy’s eyes widened. But she said nothing as Morgan was negotiating a tricky path between a bus and a speeding sports car full of young people. In any case, if Poppy and Baz were planning something like that, perhaps the least said the better.

  ‘Be there in few minutes now,’ announced Morgan. ‘We’ll be half an hour early. I hope Lady Elaine will be in. They were due yesterday, weren’t they?’

  But when they arrived at the stylish house in Grosvenor Square only the butler came to the door, a newly engaged starchy young man with an air of self-importance, who introduced himself as Tellford and looked amazed to see them.

  ‘I regret that neither Lady Elaine nor Sir John is here yet,’ he said in answer to Morgan’s query. ‘Their ship has been delayed. They won’t dock until tomorrow or the next day. We had a wire the day before yesterday, as you did, I presume,’ he added frostily, ignoring Morgan and holding out a telegram to Poppy.

  She took it and uttered an exaggerated exclamation of surprise. Perhaps, thought Daisy, Poppy was practising for her London season when, judging by the group that their sister Violet had been part of, all the girls shrieked in astonishment or made noises like peahens. Daisy held out her hand for the telegram and read aloud:

  ARRIVAL DELAYED FOR THREE DAYS STOP

  HAVE TELEGRAPHED THE EARL STOP

  NELBOROUGH

  ‘What!’ exclaimed Daisy. ‘We received no telegram at Beech Manor. How odd!’

  ‘Perhaps, I should take you ba—’ began Morgan, but Poppy quickly interrupted him.

  ‘That will be all, thank you, Morgan. I hope that you find your quarters comfortable. Perhaps you will ask a footman to direct our chauffeur to where he should put the car and his belongings, Tellford; I presume our rooms are ready?’

  Maud gave them a quick glance and then disappeared towards the back stairs, like a well-trained lady’s maid.

  ‘Yes, indeed, my lady.’ Tellford was a little overawed by Poppy’s frosty manner. ‘Everything has been prepared for your ladyships. It’s just that—’

  ‘But . . .’ interrupted Morgan, at the same moment; the two men looked at each other.

  ‘Thank you, Morgan,’ said Poppy, raising her eyebrows in a lofty manner, and Daisy said hastily, ‘We’ll be fine, Morgan, thank you,’ and the chauffeur said no more.

  ‘This way, your ladyships,’ said Tellford, and he escorted them upstairs to their rooms, which both overlooked the square and had fires burning in them.

  ‘I’ll send your ladyships’ maid to unpack for you,’ he murmured, and then left them both in the room that Daisy had selected. She warmed her hands at the fire and waited until he had closed the door almost noiselessly behind him before saying to Poppy, ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Where’s what?’ Poppy turned her large eyes that tried to look innocent, but were brimming with mischief, towards her.

  ‘Don’t try to fool me,’ said Daisy, trying to repress a grin. ‘I’m not stupid. I know what happened. You got that telegram. I saw you meet the post boy a couple of days ago. I forgot about it afterwards. And all that talk about parties. You knew we would be on our own for a day or two.’

  ‘Lucky, wasn’t it?’ Poppy wore a wide smile. She took from her handbag a post-office form and held it out.

  ENGINE TROUBLE STOP SHIP DELAYED FOR AT LEAST THREE DAYS STOP SUGGEST GIRLS WAIT UNTIL NEXT WEEK STOP ELAINE, read Daisy.

  ‘Sounds more like Jack than Elaine, doesn’t it?’ said Poppy thoughtfully. ‘Can’t imagine her being so forceful. Anyway, why should we miss a week of our lovely, lovely time in London just because that silly ship has engine trouble? Well, let’s get rid of this, now, before anyone can see it,’ she said, throwing the telegram into the fire. ‘I just saved it for you because I thought you’d be so grateful to me that I would be able to bend you to my will in all things. Otherwise, you know, you’d still be back in Beech Grove with Great-Aunt Lizzie instructing you how to act like a young lady. And who knows, Father might have decided to cancel the whole business. You know what he’s like, especially at the moment!’

  ‘Morgan wanted to take us home again,’ said Daisy warningly.

  ‘I’ll talk him around; anyway, he has the boot of the Humber full of his own drums and Simon’s saxophone and things like that. He’ll have to take them over to Baz’s place. It’s all arranged. I can’t see him being serious about taking us back to Kent, can you?’

  Typical Poppy, thought Daisy, always thinking about her music and the jazz band that the chauffeur ran in his little cottage in the woods behind Beech Grove Manor House.

  ‘Still,’ said Daisy, half to herself, ‘it’s not as though we’re on our own. I suppose there is a housekeeper and then there’s that butler and the footman, and probably a cook and a lady’s maid, as well as Maud. And we’ll both have to swear that no telegram arrived.’ She was beginning to weaken. London would be such fun on their own. However, some things had to be established.

  ‘Listen, Poppy,’ she said as Maud came silently into the room and looked around, ‘you can forget about going out at night alone to a wild party. If that ever came out, then our reputations would be ruined, we’d be bundled straight back to Kent and Father would refuse permission for us to have a London season, not just this year, but for ever and ever. You remember all the fuss there was – all those letters and telegrams to India during the last couple of months. And there are things that I want to do in London; I’m not going to put that at risk just for one wild party. I suppose you and Baz have planned it for this evening, haven’t you?’ Daisy saw a flash of amusement in Maud’s very green eyes and guessed that she was sounding a bit elderly, but if she was going to make a good match with a rich young man, she would have to be careful. A reputation, once lost, can never be regained, was one of Great-Aunt Lizzie’s favourite sayings. She would not worry too much about romance, she thought firmly. Her destiny was to marry money and rescue her family. ‘Tell me what’s going to happen, Poppy?’ she said firmly.

  ‘It’s all settled,�
�� said Poppy sulkily. ‘Oh, come on, Daisy. It will be all right. Morgan will be there. And you know what a mother hen he is, always clucking over us and making sure that we behave like young ladies.’

  Daisy bit back a smile. Nothing was less like a mother hen than Morgan with his broad shoulders and determined jaw, but it was true that he was protective of them.

  ‘Morgan is all right to drive us to a party,’ she pointed out now, ‘but not even Elaine would consider that he was the correct person for a debutante’s escort. What do you expect him to do: sit on a little gilt-legged chair with the other dowagers and watch us dance?’

  Poppy giggled. ‘It’s not going to be that sort of party. Oh, come on, Daisy, don’t be so stuffy. We’re going to have fun, fun, fun! I’m sick of leading a dreary life with Father in his moods, the house freezing cold, Great-Aunt Lizzie lecturing if we raise our voices above a whisper. I want to be wild for just one night. Just one night, Daisy! That’s not much to ask, is it? It’s all arranged. And I’ll never forgive you if you spoil things. Don’t go if you like; I don’t care, but I’m going and you can’t stop me.’

  Daisy opened her mouth, but then shut it again. She knew Poppy was stubborn and once she had made up her mind there was little use in trying to shift her. Daisy still remembered the battles when she had given up classical music on her violin and had demanded a clarinet and jazz lessons. Great-Aunt Lizzie had a steely will, but she had met her match in her great-niece. Daisy crossed over to the window seat and stared down to the street below while she tried to think of a way out.

  ‘I know,’ she said eventually. ‘We’ll take Vi and Justin. She’s a married woman, therefore must be able to chaperone her sisters. Let’s telephone her now and tell her about the treat in store for her.’

  Poppy might not care about what people think, she thought to herself, but I can’t let my reputation be injured if I am going to make a splendid match.