Debutantes: In Love
Page 18
‘So how old do you think that a man should be for marriage?’ asked Daisy, watching his face.
‘Twenty-three, twenty-four,’ he said promptly, and she chuckled.
‘So you’re just the right age,’ she observed.
He made no comment, just steered the car carefully into the station car park, keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead. When he had parked, she got out without waiting for him to come around to the passenger door. She had an odd feeling of being rebuffed, almost as though the happy, confident feeling that she had always had in his presence was now a thing of the past and that he was putting up a barrier between them.
In silence they walked towards the platform for the Kent trains. They were in good time and it was five minutes before the train pulled in, snorting and puffing, the steam billowing from the funnel. It seemed a long five minutes, thought Daisy, looking up at the station clock and then down the platform at the people pouring out from the train.
‘He’ll probably wait until everyone else gets out of the carriage,’ said Daisy eventually, as there was no sign of the Earl. It was odd, she thought, and she began to worry a little. Only a few stray figures were still on the platform, and one by one the carriage doors were being slammed closed by the railway staff.
They waited another five minutes, but by then no one was emerging and the train was beginning to fill up with passengers for the return journey back down to Kent.
‘We’d better go home,’ said Daisy eventually. ‘Perhaps he missed his train.’ She didn’t believe it though. Michael Derrington was meticulous about matters like this. Morgan was worried also, she thought, as she took her place beside him. His eyebrows were knitted in a frown and his lips compressed. Neither spoke during the journey back, and it was a relief when he drew up in front of number twelve.
‘Come up with me,’ she said. ‘Something is wrong; I’m sure of it.’
And so he was beside her when she went into the hall and when Jack came out from the small sitting room that he and Elaine liked to use after lunch.
‘I’m afraid we’ve had bad news; your great-aunt rang just after you left.’ His voice was formal and businesslike and Daisy was grateful for that. She could not have stood it if he had fussed or prevaricated.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the chauffeur, but then faced her honestly. ‘It sounds to me as though he has had some sort of breakdown,’ he said. ‘According to Aunt Lizzie, he was all ready to come to London when a letter arrived in the post.’
‘The lawsuit,’ said Daisy instantly and he nodded.
‘Yes, nothing to do with young Poppy and her antics. Apparently the heir, Sir Denis, has heard of the sale of one of the woods and has brought an action against your father – what they call a stay of execution. It will be heard in London on Monday the twenty-sixth.’
‘What’s wrong with him?’ she asked, and then when he didn’t reply immediately, she said impatiently, ‘Tell me the truth, Jack.’ She was conscious of Elaine coming forward and placing her hand on her daughter’s arm, but Daisy kept her eyes fixed on Jack. ‘Aunt Lizzie used the word “catatonic”,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Do you know what that means?’ Without waiting for an answer he rushed into an explanation. ‘It means that he is sort of frozen – not able to talk; apparently he is just sitting there, gazing straight in front of him, and blind and deaf to all around him.’
Daisy turned to the chauffeur. ‘How long will it take us to get to Beech Grove at this time of day?’
‘An hour and a half – two at the most,’ said Morgan. ‘You should pack an overnight bag. Do you want to go now? There’s plenty of petrol in the car.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Daisy. She thought of going upstairs to pack and realized that it might involve her in explanations and queries. She didn’t want to talk to Elaine, nor to Poppy and Rose. ‘Let’s just go now,’ she said, and looked an appeal at him.
‘Fair enough,’ he said readily and held the hall door open for her without a single glance in the direction of Sir John.
As they went out, Daisy heard his voice calling her back, but she took no notice. Sir John Nelborough might be a big chief in the Indian Police, but he had no control, no authority over her. She knew the right thing to do and she was going to do it. She thought briefly about Violet – perhaps she should collect her on the way, but then she rejected the idea.
I’ll see for myself first, she thought desperately. Perhaps he will be fine by the time I arrive.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Friday 9 May 1924
‘Darling boy, you and dearest Poppy can’t possibly live in this tiny little house – in a mews!’ Lady Dorothy’s plucked eyebrows rose to their utmost height as she kissed Baz. She shuddered artistically as she looked around, and Poppy bit back a smile wondering what her future mother-in-law would have said if she had seen the house before Maud and the boys had scrubbed it and before the recent painting and decorating.
‘Come and see the cellar, Lady Dorothy,’ she coaxed.
‘Dear child, don’t call me Lady Dorothy – I’m determined that you shall be my little daughter. Call me . . .’
Poppy stiffened. She didn’t often allow herself to think of her dead mother, but an image of herself sobbing the word ‘Mama’ had just shot into her mind. She clenched her hands, digging the fingernails into the palms.
‘You could call her Bazmama,’ put in Rose. ‘You know; Baz’s mama.’
‘Bazmama!’ Poppy relaxed, and when she spoke she could hear her voice sounding light-hearted and careless. ‘I like it. I’ll call you Bazmama. It’s really hip and cool.’
‘Too, too modern, and bang up to date,’ said Joan enthusiastically.
‘The fashionable world has been taken by storm at the appearance of a new face and a new name: Bazmama. Her origins are suspected to be from an exotic island in the Far East, but she is chic, stylish, and has a true understanding of the needs of the Bright Young People on the London scene.’ Rose’s voice was dreamy, but then she added, ‘Turn on the gas lamp, Poppy. I want to write that into my notebook before I forget it.’
‘Oh, I say,’ said Lady Dorothy with a girlish giggle. ‘You’re making me feel young again.’
‘You look about twenty, Mama,’ said Baz affectionately.
‘I love your dress,’ said Poppy, lighting the gas lamp above the steep stairs going down to the cellar. ‘I’ve decided that I am going to wear a really short dress like that for my wedding. What do you think, Bazmama?’
‘I don’t see why not, darling Poppy. Make it properly short though. The dress worn by the Duchess of York for her wedding was the wrong length – neither one thing nor the other. Short and sewn with crystals – what do you think, Joan dearest?’
‘Light all the candles in the cellar,’ whispered Poppy to Baz as Joan and her mother went into an earnest discussion about dresses and dressmakers and where to get the best choice of materials.
‘Darling pet, you and my sweetest Basil cannot possibly live in this terrible little house, but I’ve had such a brilliant idea.’ Lady Dorothy broke off her discussion with Joan and put her arm around Poppy’s waist. ‘You know how Ambrose is planning to get married and he wants to live in Kent and that I was thinking of building an extension for myself?’ Lady Dorothy didn’t wait for an answer but rushed on. ‘But I’ve changed my mind. I really do not think that I could bear it. A Berkeley, my dear! Can you imagine? So I’ve decided that I’m going to move to London and live permanently in my own house in Belgravia Square. Now why don’t I get a couple of builders in and turn the top floor into an apartment for you and my little boy? You can live up there, just like two little birds. Do say yes. It will be just so, so lonely for one when Joan goes off and gets married.’
‘Yes,’ said Poppy promptly and immediately. She was never one to hesitate when a good offer came her way. Baz, she knew, was fond of his mother, and this was an ideal situation for them both and solved all
problems instantly – such as how they were going to eat and what they were going to live on. ‘But don’t bother about a kitchen,’ she said helpfully. ‘We’ll eat with you. I’ll be too busy with my music for all that housekeeping. Your maids will keep the place tidy – pick up things and that sort of thing, won’t they? And your food is always glorious; we’d love to have all of our meals with you – stop you getting lonely if Joan gets married, won’t it? You won’t want to come down to an empty table at breakfast-time, will you?’
‘How sweet of you to think of that!’ Lady Dorothy sounded genuinely enthusiastic, and Poppy beamed at her. She liked people who fell in with her plans without fuss or alterations.
‘Lady Poppy Derrington, well known to all of her admirers as the philanthropist of the year,’ murmured Rose, but Poppy ignored her. Baz had come to the stairs and was signalling to them to come down.
And the cellar really did look marvellous, thought Poppy. The little house faced north and the black panels of artificial silk completely blocked what little light came in through the small, below-ground-level windows, but the candles lit it all up beautifully and the red material shimmered. The floor had had a second coat of paint and now shone so that pools of light were reflected in it.
‘Oh, I say, what fun!’ Lady Dorothy clasped her hands together girlishly.
‘We’re going to save up for a piano,’ explained Baz.
‘But, darling boy, why don’t you take the one from the schoolroom in Belgravia Square? No one ever plays it these days – with all you great creatures so grown-up, and . . .’
‘And turning into Bright Young People,’ put in Rose quietly, while Poppy and Baz stared at each other with widening eyes.
‘I know what we’ll do.’ Lady Dorothy turned to Joan. ‘Joan, dearest, on our way back let’s call in on those charming people in Curzon Street – the furniture removers. They’ll have it over here in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. Oh, dear, I wish I wasn’t so old! What fun you young people have these days. When I think of my young days and all those boring dances, all that stuffy etiquette . . .’
‘Well, now you’re Bazmama; and Bazmama can do what she likes,’ said Poppy firmly. ‘You’re a new person now. You must come here tonight with us. Let’s go and get the piano first, and then we’ll teach you all of the latest dances. And you can come, too, Rose; Morgan can’t fuss if my mother-in-law is here to look after us.’
‘But you mustn’t drink anything except orange juice,’ warned Baz. ‘If you do, Morgan will be furious. He might ban you forever.’
‘Who is this Morgan?’ asked Lady Dorothy curiously.
‘Morgan? Oh, he’s an impresario from New Orleans,’ said Joan carelessly. ‘My dear, he’s quite a person. The whole of London is talking about him. Got gorgeous eyes!’
‘Oh, how too, too exciting it all sounds,’ said Lady Dorothy with a giggle.
‘I’ve just thought of something,’ said Joan. ‘Dearest Mama can be the club sponsor, can’t you, Mama?’ Without waiting she ran upstairs to the telephone. A minute later they heard her fluently dictating:
‘ I have been reliably informed that the newest fashionable figure on the London scene,’ she began to dictate, ‘has invested a substantial sum in the latest stylish jazz club
Joan changed tone and squinted down at Rose’s notebook.
‘I need not tell my knowledgeable readers that Bazmama is the chic and stylish lady that all of London is talking about
‘Quote, unquote,’ suggested Rose.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Friday 9 May 1924
It was raining heavily when Morgan turned into the gates of Beech Grove. As the big car drove up the winding avenue Daisy craned her neck to catch the first glimpse of the house. She had been so totally immersed in London, in the film studio, in the coming-out ball, that it seemed almost years since she had last seen it.
And there it stood, graceful and beautiful, its cream-coloured stone framed by the golden brown of the beech leaves and with the lake shimmering in the background.
‘You know, Morgan,’ she said quietly when he came back from closing the gates, ‘there was a time when I would do anything to get out of here, and yet, when I look at it now I think it is the most beautiful place in the world.’
But what problems were hidden behind that magnificent facade, she thought as she listened to the purr of the idling engine.
He glanced down at her. ‘I feel the same,’ he said. ‘When I came here first – just after the war – it seemed the most marvellous place. You can imagine – coming out of the trenches, of the stink and the mud and the bleeding bodies, and then to come to such a peaceful place. Well, you saw where I grew up, and then working in the foundry was no picnic, and then the war – though I have to say that I got good training there; they were desperate for men by the time that I joined up, and because I had been working metals they put me into the Royal Engineers. I was good with engines – that sort of thing.’
‘And now you are a chauffeur,’ said Daisy.
‘And lucky to get a job straight after I was demobbed. A job with a cottage – I didn’t know my own luck. Your father was very good to me. I remember what he said: “All you young fellows want to get married at some stage. Wait till you’re in your twenties and then, if you find a nice girl, you needn’t worry. The two of you will be very snug in that little cottage in the woods.”’
‘And now you are in your twenties,’ observed Daisy, looking sideways at him. ‘Have you found a nice girl yet?’ She gave a little laugh and was glad to hear that it did not sound forced.
He laughed, too, but she thought she detected a slight strained note in his voice. ‘The trouble with me,’ he said, ‘is that I am too presumptuous. I’m looking at somebody outside my range.’
‘Not a . . .’ Daisy hesitated, but then made herself go on. ‘Not a girl with no father and no proper birth certificate?’ she forced herself to say.
He waited for a moment before replying. ‘I know when someone is way above my reach,’ he said quietly.
He pressed his foot on the accelerator and moved slowly forward down the avenue. ‘No smoke from the chimneys. Why is that?’
Daisy sucked in a breath. No, there was no smoke from the front chimneys. That meant that the dining room, the hall, the library, the drawing room were all without fires. And what about the bedrooms? Great-Aunt Lizzie was a very elderly lady and she had not been in good health since that winter.
With a feeling of dread in her heart Daisy got out of the car as soon as the handbrake had been pulled up. She ran up the steps and pulled the doorbell. It took two pulls before Bateman answered it. His old face was white and his eyes dark shadows under them.
‘Oh, Lady Daisy, I’m glad to see you,’ he said. ‘And Morgan too.’ He looked past her and then turned and waved a helpless hand around. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he said in a broken voice, ignoring the fact that Morgan was, sin of sins, coming in through the front door rather than going round to the back like a well-trained servant should do.
Daisy looked around her. In six weeks the place had become very shabby. She felt a moment’s shame. If she and Poppy had not insisted on going to London, on having their season, on experiencing the fun that the big city could offer, then things might not have got into such a state. They had removed Bob Morgan and Maud – the two youngest and most able members of the
staff. Maud had tirelessly scrubbed and polished, lit fires, carried buckets of coal and cans of hot water and Morgan had chopped wood at every available second and had kept everything running as efficiently as possible.
‘Where is my father?’ she asked in a low voice.
‘In the library, my lady.’ Bateman took a step to block her path. ‘Don’t go in there, my lady. Not immediately. I’ll try to get him to take a sip of brandy. That sometimes helps.’ He hesitated for a moment and then, as though the words were being dragged out from him, he said with a sob in his throat, ‘He won’t know you, my lady. He doesn’t know anyone. He looks at me like he’s never seen me in his life.’
‘And Great-Aunt Lizzie?’
‘Her ladyship has gone to bed, my lady. She had a heavy cold that has turned into a cough. She’s eating nothing. After she had telephoned Sir John, she just went up the stairs to bed. Nora has just brought her up a couple of hot water bottles. They ease the pain in her side, she says.’
‘Pain in her side?’ repeated Morgan. ‘You don’t get a pain in your side with a cough and a cold. Sounds like pneumonia to me. Have you had a doctor?’
‘Lady Elizabeth did not wish the doctor to be called,’ said Bateman with dignity. ‘And his lordship was most upset when he heard Mrs Pearson even mention the word “doctor”.’ He shut his lips firmly, but Daisy could guess. She had seen and heard her father in these fits of rage and she had no desire to provoke him with talk of doctors. On the other hand, Great-Aunt Lizzie sounded really ill.
‘I’ll go up and speak to her and then you can fetch the doctor if necessary. Wait for a minute, would you?’ she said in a low voice to Morgan. The telephone was in the library and there would be no way of phoning without upsetting her father, but the doctor lived just outside the village and could be fetched easily. Her heart felt like lead within her.