Debutantes: In Love

by Cora Harrison

  ‘I like Baz,’ she said. ‘He looked so thrilled with himself.’

  ‘He’s a nice young fellow,’ Morgan said judiciously, ‘but your father will have a fit. Now, stop worrying about them and tell me what the matter is. You looked as white as a sheet when I saw you standing there outside the de Montforts’ house. What happened? Remember, a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ said Daisy, trying to make her voice sound indifferent. ‘I made a mistake, that’s all.’

  ‘Let’s go for a walk,’ he said, pulling the car into the side of the road by the river, parking it efficiently and winding up the window. The sun had come out.

  Daisy sat rather still for a moment, and then turned her head to look at him when he came around to the passenger door. It was a face that she had known for a long time. As she took the gloved hand held out to her her mind went back to the picture of herself and Poppy as pigtailed twelve-year-olds, when Bob Morgan had first come to Beech Grove Manor. They were a wild pair, everyone used to say, but looking back she thought that they had been rather neglected. Violet always got on much better with Great-Aunt Lizzie than they did, and Michael Derrington, shell-shocked and still in deep mourning for his wife, had come back just a few weeks earlier and caused a deep tremor of unease to run through the household, who could not get used to the violent fits of temper and the consequent moods of black despair.

  Morgan had been a calm, humorous refuge for the girls; he had joked with them, teased them, played music to them, taught them both all the new dances that were coming out after the war, picked them up when they fell off their ponies, suggested things to do, built tree houses and always made them welcome in his little cottage, where he played the drums and all four of them danced. Soon Baz, Edwin, Simon and George had taken to visiting there and had persuaded their parents to buy them jazz instruments.

  Morgan had even got permission from the Earl to take them to the cinema in Maidstone, and once the first visit had been negotiated had followed up with a series of Charlie Chaplin comic films, romantic films, films with jazz accompaniments, films from Hollywood, films from Germany, from France, from the new London film studios. He bought them ices out of his small salary and never seemed to mind that his cottage was overrun with kids.

  And yet, thought Daisy, I’ve never really looked properly at his face before. She stayed in her seat for a moment longer, her hand still in his, and studied him.

  A dark man – dark-haired and dark-eyed; a man with a square chin and broad shoulders – no Greek god, but with a kind face, a strong jaw, tanned skin and – Joan was right – beautiful dark eyes.

  Daisy swung her legs out of the car, still holding the hand that he held out to her, and then straightened up, but she did not let go. It seemed to her almost like a lifeline, something to hold on to – something that might pull her free from . . . from the sea of despair, she thought and then smiled slightly at herself. Perhaps she was overdramatizing. It sounded like something that Rose would say.

  ‘Morgan,’ she said, ‘do you remember this time last year when you parked in about the same place and Poppy and I went up here? We climbed up this bank and we went into Somerset House . . .’ She hesitated for a moment, but somehow she wanted to unburden herself. She knew that she could trust him. ‘Poppy and I went into Somerset House and we asked for our birth certificates. I had begun to suspect from lots of things that I was not actually her twin, and when I found that only one child was born to Michael and Mary Derrington on the eleventh of October 1906, well, I knew the truth.’

  He nodded. ‘You’re Lady Elaine’s daughter,’ he said.

  Daisy looked up at him quickly. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I knew that you had had a shock that day. And I saw the way that she looked at you. And Maud had some story about an old nanny at the Duchess’s house who said that you were very backward for a three-month-old baby – more like a six-week-old one. I put two and two together. And no one thought to tell you; you were left to find it out for yourself, you poor thing.’ He stopped for a minute and then said shrewdly, ‘And I suppose Lady Cynthia got hold of the story and now young Charles has cried off.’ There was a note of savage anger in his voice but his eyes were gentle.

  Daisy was conscious of an enormous feeling of warmth. It was both confusing and lovely to have someone care so much for her. She felt as if she were suddenly seeing him with new eyes. Perhaps it’s Joan’s influence, she thought, with an inner laugh, but in a way he is more attractive than all of those elegant young men that attended our coming-out ball. There’s something quite magnetic about his decisiveness, his broad shoulders and his direct gaze . . .

  ‘Let’s sit on the bench there in the sunshine,’ she said. ‘I love looking at the river. And I have nothing to do this morning. I told Sir Guy that I would not come into the studio today. Poppy and I thought that we would sleep in this morning.’

  And then she thought of Poppy and her surprise announcement and she knew that she should get back, should be on hand to soothe matters, to speak to her father if necessary.

  But the sun was warm and the river enchanting with the reflections from the boats showing dark navy blue on its surface and suddenly she felt happier than she had for a long time – a strange feeling, rather as though someone had taken a heavy weight off her shoulders.

  ‘Well, never mind,’ she said lightly. ‘Perhaps some day my prince will come – and if he doesn’t, well . . .’

  ‘He’ll come,’ said Morgan. ‘Whether you’ll want him or not – well, of course that is a different matter.’

  ‘You think that I should forget all this romance and go back to my notion of earning my living by being a film director.’ Daisy turned her eyes towards him and was surprised to see an odd expression in those dark eyes so admired by Joan.

  ‘You could do,’ he said, and his voice was a little unsteady. ‘Don’t push love out of your life though, will you, because you are a very lovable person.’

  Daisy sat very still. There was a note in his voice that made her hesitate. She looked at him, but he looked away from her and kept his gaze fixed on the river and its boats. An impulse made her put her hand out and grasp his. He had taken off his chauffeur’s gloves. His hand was hard and callused in places from the work that he did on the estate, but its grip was firm.

  ‘Who would marry me – a girl with no father and whose mother abandoned her when she was a baby?’ she said. She was pleased to hear that there was no note of self-pity in her voice.

  ‘You’ll find someone – everyone is in love with you,’ he said lightly.

  ‘Do you mean that?’ asked Daisy unsteadily. A strange idea had come into her head and she looked at him.

  ‘That’s right,’ he said, his eyes still fixed upon the river. ‘You’ll be able to choose the pick of them all, Lady Daisy.’

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said, and she heard the hurt in her voice.

  He heard it too and he looked at her penetratingly. ‘Hush now,’ he said gently. ‘You’re upset and you don’t know what you are saying.’

  She laughed unsteadily. ‘Did you know, I was in love with you when I was twelve years old?’ He gave a grunt and his eyebrows moved down to form two bars over his dark eyes.

  ‘That’s just it,’ he said cryptically and got to his feet. ‘Twelve-year-old girls get crushes on everyone and anyone. But you’re not twelve any more. Don’t rush into things next time.’ He gave her hand one slight squeeze and then dropped it.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ he asked as if he had picked her up from a fall from her pony, and she could only nod and follow him back towards the car.

  ‘Would you like me to drive you to the film studios?’ he said when she had got in. At least he made no fuss about her sitting in the front seat, thought Daisy. She felt slightly dazed. Was I really in love with Charles? she wondered. Or was I just in love with the idea of being in love, and a good-looking, supposedly rich young man came along? When she thought of
how easily he had thrown her over at a word from his mother, at a threat that his tailor’s bills would no longer be paid . . .

  ‘I should go home,’ she said reluctantly. ‘I suppose there is a huge fuss going on about Poppy and Baz. I should be there to help smooth things over.’

  Unexpectedly he laughed. ‘I’d stay out of it, if I were you,’ he said. ‘Poppy is a determined young lady. If you go back home now, well, you’ll probably find that she’s gone out and left them all to fuss without her.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said Daisy. ‘Let’s go to Bethnal Green and find that orphanage of yours. It’s nice to have someone with you when you find out about your past. I’d have died if I hadn’t had Poppy with me, that time.’

  ‘I don’t think that I will be finding out anything too dramatic,’ he said with a grin, but then he shrugged. ‘Why not?’ he said, and Daisy echoed his words.

  ‘It will be about four miles – out the East End way,’ he warned. Daisy guessed that he had looked on a map to find where his orphanage had been and was glad that she had suggested going there.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said, snuggling into the cushioned seat. ‘You’re right; I’m just as well out of the house this morning. Jack will be organizing everything like a military campaign. I suppose at least it will take Father’s mind off the court case.’

  ‘That may not go too well,’ said Morgan with a sidelong glance at her. ‘Bateman was talking about it to me – shouldn’t have, really, I suppose, but the old fellow worries about your father. He wishes that the Earl would come to some agreement with Sir Denis. Apparently the last time that he visited – about sixteen years ago or even longer – they had such a row that Sir Denis went off and stayed in the village inn, so it’s never been an easy relationship. The housekeeper hinted about something scandalous, but Bateman stopped her. He got all haughty and said that as butler he couldn’t allow gossip about any member of the family.’

  ‘Sixteen years ago my mother, I mean Poppy’s mother, was still alive,’ said Daisy. She felt puzzled. ‘Rose wasn’t even born then, so why did Denis think that he might be the heir?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, he was the heir then, since your father had no son, but it probably wasn’t too tactful to turn up and start causing trouble, whatever he did,’ explained Morgan. ‘Don’t think of it any more. Look, there’s the Tower of London – we’ll bring Rose there one morning; she’ll have some great tales to tell, I’m sure.’

  He went on pointing out various landmarks and sights to her until they came into an area of small crowded streets and then his voice changed. ‘Here we are; this is the orphanage. I remember it well.’

  ‘Were they kind to you?’ asked Daisy. She heard the tentative note in her voice and knew that she had little idea of what Morgan and Maud had endured, being brought up in a place like this, with no parents, no brothers or sisters for support or company.

  ‘They were all right,’ he said, but there was a dead, toneless note in his voice.

  How would I have fared in an orphanage? she wondered, and knew that the honest answer was – not nearly as well as at Beech Grove Manor. She looked at the man beside her, a man who had grown up without any family at all, and a warm feeling swept over her. She reached out and touched his arm and saw him smile. What a nice smile he has, she thought. There was something very attractive and boyish about his expression.

  But what had he meant when he said that everyone was in love her?

  The woman at the reception desk of the orphanage was welcoming and helpful. She took them both into a private parlour while she went to look up the records. When she came back she was brisk and addressed the issue instantly and in plain language.

  ‘You were brought here when you were three years old,’ she informed Morgan. ‘There had been a terrible accident. The gasworks on Albert Row had blown up and three streets of houses had been demolished. Almost everyone in the neighbourhood was killed, but you were found wandering. Look at the map here.’ She crossed the room, encircled an area on a map and then came back to them again. ‘You were identified by the fireman who brought you in – I’ve got his testimony here . . .’ She peered at the pages. ‘He felt sure that you were the son of Annie Morgan – a love child, it says here.’ The woman cast a quick glance at Morgan and then averted her gaze. ‘The fireman said that she had a job scrubbing out a public house called “The Welcome Stranger”. He thought that your name was Edward, but you . . .’ she peered at the handwritten entry and read out: ‘“the child persisted that his name was Bob so it was thought that perhaps Edward might have been his first name, and he was called by his middle name . . .” That’s signed by the superintendent of the orphanage at that time, and so,’ she concluded, ‘you were known as Bob Morgan all the time that you were here.’ She turned over some more pages while Morgan stared straight ahead and Daisy’s heart ached for him.

  ‘Ah, yes, found it,’ said the woman. ‘You did well,’ she concluded. ‘You passed your labour certificate at the age of eleven, rather than at the usual age of fourteen, so this meant that you were allowed to leave school early. You got a job at a local foundry and of course you left the care of the orphanage at that time, so the record ends there.’

  The woman shut the book and beamed at Morgan, and then, somewhat uncertainly, at Daisy.

  ‘Would someone have looked after him?’ asked Daisy tentatively. Eleven, she thought. Imagine being thrown out into the world at the age of eleven!

  ‘Oh, he would have been getting a small wage,’ said the woman quickly. ‘And, suitable lodgings would have been found.’

  ‘I remember dividing up my money after I paid my rent,’ said Morgan with a grin. ‘I had a box with seven compartments in it and labelled them with the days of the week; I didn’t allow myself to spend any more than the day’s allowance.’

  ‘You should have been a banker,’ laughed the orphanage woman, but she put away the book with an air of finality and Daisy knew that the interview was over. Morgan had found out the little that was known about him and that was it.

  But did it matter? she asked herself. Wasn’t it what you made of yourself that mattered in the end? He was hard-working, honest, kind and talented. Although she didn’t want him ever to leave Beech Grove Manor, she had to admit that if Baz and Poppy’s scheme came to fruition, then Morgan might have a great future in front of him. King Oliver, now the most famous musician on the jazz scene, had been a poor man once, and as for Baby Dodds, now renowned all over the world as a drummer, he had started off playing on some empty tin cans.

  And as Daisy thought about this, suddenly she made a decision about herself.

  Morgan, she noticed, with warmth in her heart, passed some money over to the woman, stipulating that it was to be used for a treat – perhaps some ice cream – for the orphans at present under the roof of that ancient building.

  ‘Your name might not really be Bob Morgan,’ she said once they had gone outside. ‘It was just that meddlesome fireman who thought you were Morgan. You could be anything.’

  ‘Bob Nothing,’ he said with a wry grin, but he was frowning now, his heavy eyebrows overshadowing dark eyes.

  ‘It would be interesting to find out about your actual past,’ admitted Daisy. She hesitated for a moment. Perhaps he should not be the first person to know about her decision, but somehow in the last hour they had grown very close and she wanted to say something that would perhaps turn his thoughts from the gloom of feeling unknown and without family. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘that when Elaine, my mother, goes back to India – when all this fuss about the presentation at court and the season – when all of this is over and done with, I’m going to call myself by my real name. I will be Daisy Carruthers – Miss Daisy Carruthers. I’ll have to talk to Elaine about it, I suppose, but I’m sick of lies and sick of wondering whether people might guess the truth. I could perhaps let Elaine think that the title is a nuisance to me in the
world of business . . .’ She hesitated for a moment and then rushed on, looking up at him anxiously for his approval, but he said nothing, just looked at her searchingly as though he were seeing her in a new light.

  ‘When that ghastly Lady Cynthia brought out the story about Elaine,’ she continued, ‘about her being pregnant, I mean, and me being her illegitimate daughter, she thought that was enough to blackmail me into silence, that the threat of disgrace would make me give up the idea of marrying her son.’ She gave a little laugh – to her own ears it sounded unforced and not bitter, and she was pleased about that. ‘But of course she need not have bothered. The mere threat that she wouldn’t pay his tailor’s bills was enough for Charles – he backed off instantly. But, you see, Morgan, I don’t ever want to be in that position again. I want to be open and honest. I want to say to the world, “I’m not an earl’s daughter; I’m a talented film director.” And if someone asks me to marry him, then I’ll tell him the truth immediately, if he doesn’t know it already of course . . .’

  ‘Good for you!’ Now the smile was back on Morgan’s face – for a moment she thought that he might be going to hug her, but he just put his left arm around her shoulders in a brotherly fashion and squeezed them in the way that he used to do when she was twelve years old. Does he still think of me as just a child? she wondered.

  ‘Did you feel very bad when he rejected you?’ The words were blunt, but the expression on his face was tender. His right hand touched her cheek gently but he withdrew it immediately.

  ‘I thought I did,’ she said, ‘but I’ve realized that he wasn’t in love with me, not really. And what’s good is that now I realize that I wasn’t in love with him either. I was in love with the idea of being in love, if that makes sense. My pride has been crushed and I feel very foolish, but now, a few hours later, I find that I don’t really mind as much as I thought I would.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Perhaps now I’m ready to really fall in love,’ she said, and raised her eyes, watching his face. There was a sudden flush on his cheekbones that enhanced the tanned skin that stayed with him through winter and summer alike. His dark eyes glowed and then he looked away.