I blinked. “The earl of Rutland? He’s coming to your wedding?”
“Indeed, he is.” Ellen’s self-satisfied smile grew wider. “They were great friends of my parents, if you recall. They came to my mother’s funeral so I thought why not invite them to my wedding? I daresay the papers will be abuzz with it. I only let them know this morning.”
“Dear Ellen.” I laughed along with her. “You’re a great success.”
Her smile vanished. “Don’t think too highly of me, Daphne. Sometimes I feel compelled to do these things I don’t want to do.”
“You mean playing the social game? Returning fire with fire?”
“Yes … and more.” The shadow left her face and the bright sparkle in her eyes returned. “We’re to train it then as Harry has organized cars to take us to Thornleigh.”
“Harry. How is he?”
“Oh, well. He’s Harry, isn’t he? Always looks on the bright side of life. To be sure, I couldn’t have managed without him all these years.”
“He’s been a good friend,” I said softly. “What does Teddy think of him?”
“He’s happy for Harry to stay as estate manager. Who better than Harry? And we have so much work to do. You’ll be amazed when you see Thornleigh.”
“Thank you for sending me a copy of the renovation plans. You know how much I adore old houses.”
“And your input is crucial.” Ellen squeezed my hand. “I want Thornleigh restored to its former glory, like in the painting.”
I remembered the sixteenth-century painting gracing the main hall at Ellen’s family home.
“It’s a huge enterprise,” Ellen went on, “but Teddy loves the house too and being a man, likes to ‘fix’ things. We plan to be abroad for the winter when a lot of the major renovations will take place. Repairing the roof and restoring the west wing, et cetera.”
“So you’ll travel back to Boston sometime after the wedding?”
“Yes. It’s Teddy’s mother. She’s too ill to travel and she hasn’t seen Charlotte.”
“But you’d prefer to stay at Thornleigh,” I finished for her with a tease. “I’d hate to leave, too, but think of the changes when you return! And winters are miserable here.”
“You’re right and you cheer me up immensely. Now, I suppose we have dallied long enough. I think that’s the last of the packing by the door. Can you be a darling and take down my wedding dress? I don’t trust anyone else with it.”
I was happy to comply. It kept my mind from thinking about him, Major Browning. The missing major who failed to honor his promises.
Arriving at Victoria Station, I did allow myself to search for his face among the crowds. As he hadn’t called at the house, surely he could have troubled himself to see me off at the station? Or at least send a note?
I thought my apprehension had gone unnoticed by our party.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” Ellen pulled my arm.
“I’m not sure I know what love is.” I swallowed, watching my step lest I fall over and give in to misery.
“Then there’s two of us.” Grasping my gloved hand in her own, Ellen propelled us toward Nanny Brickley. “Charlotte has brought Teddy and me back together, I know that for a fact.”
I almost tripped in shock. “Don’t you love Teddy?”
“Of course I do, but sometimes I wonder if Charlotte hadn’t come along, would this wedding be happening? It seems like a dream, after all we’ve been through, and I suppose I’m afraid to believe it lest it evaporate before my eyes.”
“It is happening,” I assured her as we reached our designated carriage.
“Teddy made all the arrangements,” Ellen said, handing our tickets to the attendant. “He wanted us to travel ‘in style.’”
Once on the train, Ellen paused, looking the epitome of the elegant sophisticated bride in her dove-gray suit and fine pearls. “I may look the part but I am not one for the center stage. I like dark corners like you and would much prefer to travel second class than first.”
She whispered this so the others didn’t hear, the others being too overwhelmed by the opulence of our carriage to care. Like a palace on wheels, the beautifully appointed Pullman carriage assigned to us (thanks to Mr. Teddy Grimshaw, millionaire) abounded in unprecedented luxury.
Resisting the urge to jump on the burgundy upholstered couch, I admired the elaborate royal interior. From the brass handles to the drapes on the wide scenic windows, every little detail had been considered and incorporated to ensure a comfortable journey.
Drawing to the window, I scaled the length of the platform, oblivious to my train companions cooing expressions of “oh, this is glorious,” “what style,” and “this trip must have cost a fortune.”
Yes, a small fortune, I thought, remembering the face of a beggar I’d seen recently on the streets. My peevishness intensified as hope faded from my eyes. There was no sight of Major Browning, no glimpse of the face I wished to see above all emerging out of the station mist.
“Are you expecting someone?”
The soft American voice caught me off guard. Peeling my gaze away from the window, I watched Nanny Brickley putting away her hand-box. In my experience, Americans were very direct while we English remained inherently coy about our private affairs.
“A gentleman, I gather?”
“A friend,” I was quick to reply.
Alicia Brickley smiled to herself.
I didn’t like the calculation in her doe-brown eyes. As a poor relative of Teddy Grimshaw, he’d seen that she had a place in his household. Formerly a secretary and now a nanny to his newfound child.
“She’s Teddy’s niece; the poor cousin,” Ellen once explained.
“Has she any experience?”
“Four younger sisters and two half-brothers. Who can go against that?”
Nobody, evidently, and Alicia Brickley intended to keep her exalted post. She was treated more like a member of the family, and little Charlotte loved her and that was all that mattered.
I consulted my wristwatch. Five minutes to go. Had he called at the house? Had he received my message?
“All aboard!”
My heart sank as the whistle blew. Frowning at the window, I promised myself to vilify Frederick Arthur Montague Browning in a future novel.
* * *
Preferring to read a book or play with little Charlotte over mixing with my lively companions, I buried my disappointment.
I had to do so. I was here as chief bridesmaid and I had a job to do.
“It’ll be the most beautiful wedding of the season,” declared Megan Kellaway. As number-two bridesmaid, Megan was optimistic, infectious, and engaging, a personality I loved perhaps because it was alien to my own. “Thornleigh at dusk! How unusual … I can’t wait to read the write-up in the papers.”
“As much as meeting all the available men?” Angela teased and Megan grinned.
“Well,” said she, “I don’t want to be a spinster.”
As the daughter of Sir Roger Kellaway, Esquire, Megan had her choice amongst the season’s offerings.
“Maybe one of the American relatives?” Eyes dancing, Megan asked Ellen again for the names of those gentlemen attending the wedding.
“I like the sound of the nephew,” Megan pronounced afterward. “Jack Grimshaw … hmm; can I see myself living in America?”
“Poor man.” Jeanne grinned. “Hunted like a fox.”
“Are you sure you want all of us sharing part of your honeymoon with you?” The third bridesmaid, Mrs. Clarissa Fenwick, crossed her long legs on the lush upholstery. “After all, darling Ellen, you and Teddy have been too long and too cruelly parted.”
With Charlotte on her lap, Ellen’s face radiated that of a contented mother. With her bouncing blond curls and mischievous little face, Charlotte had no idea of the scandalous drama her entry into the world had caused. “It doesn’t bother us at all, does it, princess?”
“I heard the Spencers turned their nose u
p at the invitation,” Angela commented. “Better for you, I say! I can’t stand that pretentious Bertha.”
“And Mama says don’t be upset about the West-Mortons,” Jeanne put in. “They are not at all ‘the thing’ anymore.”
“I don’t care a fig about any of them,” Ellen retorted, roused to the conversation when Charlotte wriggled off her lap to go to Nanny Brickley. “The past is done with and those who judge me for it I’d rather not know at all.”
“Hear, hear.” Tapping the sideboard, Megan called for champagne.
I had no complaints about the train. The new S-class sleeping cars painted blue with gold lettering and lining and accompanied by its exquisite wooden marquetry and brass fittings radiated the essence of grandeur and wealth.
Grandeur and comfort didn’t always come automatically together but this train outdid itself. From the sleeping quarters to the dining car and lounge, every tiny comfort had been addressed. It made me think whimsically of the Titanic and its tragic voyage. I prayed we experienced no such catastrophe again.
“Doom and gloom is Daphne,” Jeanne said, her eyes lighting up at the prospect of pink champagne. “Wherever we travel, she regales us with the worst stories. Last year, she frightened Mama out of her wits!”
I smiled.
It was true.
“Oh do humor us with a story, Daphne,” Megan insisted.
“But we should wait ’til after dinner,” Clarissa advised.
“Yes, after dinner,” Angela seconded.
* * *
The elaborate preparations to attire oneself for the dining car amused me. Clarissa curled her hair, Angela absconded with our mother’s hand mirror, Megan changed her dress five times, and Jeanne begged me to wear some lipstick.
Since I had the merest pink lipstick in my possession, I obliged her while Angela scowled in the corner. She didn’t like to see Jeanne growing up too fast. She liked to think of her as our baby sister.
Tinkling crystal greeted us as we entered the long carriage and the designated dining car.
“Wise of Teddy to prebook a table,” Megan whispered in my ear. “Oh, my goodness, is that Lionel Adams over there? I’m going to die!”
“Please don’t obstruct the aisleway then.” Angela winked her amusement, smiling at the famous actor. “Papa knows him, I think.”
“Papa knows everyone in the business,” Jeanne affirmed, stopping by Lionel’s table to ask for his autograph.
“I can’t believe she’s doing that.” Rolling her eyes, Angela shared Clarissa’s mortification.
“Oh, let her be.” Ellen shepherded us away. “We were all her age once.”
Until now I hadn’t realized how much one grows up from fifteen to twenty-five. I imagined the jump from thirty to forty would yield further mysteries as to one’s true character.
“We are all shaped by circumstance,” Clarissa said, reminding all of us we were here for Ellen’s wedding and not to gape at the plethora of notables on the train. “When I first met my Charles, I despised him. I thought him a great rogue and very vain.”
“And now?” Megan teased.
Clarissa’s face softened. “And now I think he’s adorable … and so good to me.”
Putting all thoughts of men aside, I tried to drink in the atmosphere from the gleaming silverware on our table to the various faces, voices, and food selections under the lulling hymn of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons.
For tonight’s dinner I’d chosen a dress Lady Kate Trevalyan had so generously bequeathed to me when I was a guest at Somner House. Silver gray, its soft satin folds reminded me of a dove’s belly. Drop-waisted, it suited me well and the black lace overlay with its mock sleeves added glamor. To my hair I slipped on the headband bearing one silver star and a black feather. I believed I looked rather fine and much older than my twenty or so years.
“That dress is a bit old for you,” Clarissa, the eldest of us all at twenty-nine, observed as we ordered from the menu.
“It belonged to Lady Trevalyan,” I replied. “And she is reputed to have the best of taste.”
“I hear she is to marry Sir Percival Clements. A splendid match.”
“You mean he’s splendidly rich,” Angela snapped. “He’s old enough to be her grandfather.”
“Father perhaps,” Ellen soothed, laughing. “Now ladies, I do believe we’re attracting certain attention from that quarter.”
Following her sweeping lashes to a table of four gentlemen diagonal to us, I daresay we made a fine impression. Honey-haired Ellen’s quiet grace contrasted to Megan’s exuberance as much as her raven hair and mischievous dark eyes. On the other hand, we du Maurier girls were often called “attractive” though not endowed with any great beauty. I considered my nose too retroussé, Angela’s chin too determined, and Jeanne a shadowy version of our mother.
“They look French to me.” Megan sighed. “Oh, what I’d give to be romanced by one of them!”
“French men don’t make good husbands,” Clarissa informed her. “I have it on good authority from my cousin, who is married to one of them.”
There was a slight superciliousness to her tone and I braced against it. Clarissa had come from a rich family and had married into an equally rich family. They had money but no title or exalted connections. She appeared the kind of person to make up for this lack by being haughty and using condescension to elevate herself.
As our meals arrived, a couple entered the carriage on the far end. I blanched, my face turning a maggoty white. I could feel the blood draining from it as I looked on, sickened at the sight of yes, him—Major Browning accompanying a dark-haired lady and assisting her to her seat, attentively arranging her sparkling shawl and grinning fondly down at her.
“Daphne, what is wrong?”
Squeezing my hand under the table, Ellen’s eyes radiated sympathy.
“It’s him, isn’t it?”
Words stuck in my throat. I could only stare, astonished, hurt, and angry. Who was she? She wasn’t his sister, I knew that much. And were those her parents seated opposite them?
Angela made a scene by openly glaring at him. She turned back to me, countless questions in her eyes.
“Who is he?” a startled Clarissa and Megan breathed.
“Daphne’s boyfriend,” Jeanne answered. “Ouch! Don’t kick me under the table, Ange; it’s true!”
“Jeanne, shhh.” I didn’t want to believe it, nor did I wish to acknowledge his presence. Searching for an escape, I figured I could leave the table and stealthily make my way back to our carriage. I could do all this without being noticed.
I had to collect my thoughts. My stomach burned. I felt like one disembowelled and weak. Sickening betrayal haunted my steps as I fled, and I paid no attention to the curious whispers.
Once in our quarters, I caught my breath, sagging against the wooden panelled door. I wanted to beat my fists and wail. Curses left my mouth as angry tears spilled down my face.
“It’s his fiancée, Lady Lara Fane,” Angela brought the devastating news. “They are going to Cornwall for the wedding but they’re not staying at Thornleigh. He seemed embarrassed to see me and kept looking behind me to see if you were there.”
“Please don’t say you told him I was on the train.”
“Of course he knows you’re on the train. He’s not an imbecile. He asked after you in a strange way.”
I waited for her to enlighten me. I didn’t know if I wanted to hear any more.
“He said: ‘Are all your family travelling with you?’ to which I replied: ‘All but my parents who are coming a week later.’ Then he introduced his fiancée and her parents. I nodded my head coolly and left.”
I was thankful Clarissa hadn’t witnessed this interchange firsthand. Angela said nobody else could fit in the aisle and as it was, she barely shared five minutes with them. She added the major looked decidedly ill at ease. “How dare he toy with my sister! I’ve a mind to box his ears and I will.”
“He’s not worth it,” I w
hispered. Now I understood why he’d not bothered to call at the house or send a note. He was too busy with his fiancée, somebody he should have mentioned. Was he engaged to her when we shared that kiss at Somner together? Was he?
I glared out of the window.
Suddenly, the world had turned very bleak. I vowed never to trust another human soul for as long as I lived. I vowed never to surrender my heart again. Never.
Angela sat beside me, a silent companion. Neither of us spoke and she kept the others away from me. I needed to be alone … to think.
The wedding and Thornleigh awaited and I prayed the busy frivolities drove all remembrance of the major firmly from my mind.
CHAPTER THREE
“Don’t torture yourself,” Ellen advised. “Consider it a good thing they are not bound for Thornleigh. Oh, I’ve got a mind to cancel his invitation. All their invitations! I had no idea Lara was engaged. Funny they didn’t mention it.”
Funny he didn’t mention it.
“He has ill-used my friend and is no friend of mine. I’ll poison his cup if I have the chance!”
I smiled at Ellen’s loyalty as we climbed into the waiting motorcars. Angela stood as sentry to ensure we did not run into his party, complete with fiancée. Clutching my handbag, I prayed to be saved that humiliation.
Gulping back painful tears, I fixed my gaze on the passing green countryside. For the first time in my life, Cornwall in the summertime failed to cheer me. The whole window became a blur of mixed colors, shapeless and moving. A bubbling tightness constricted my throat and I put my hand there to conceal it from the others. Oh why, oh why had I begged Ellen to invite him to the wedding? And how dare he accept knowing he had a fiancée and knowing I was Ellen’s maid of honor?
No, I would not cry. Not now.
I am sure I never sat on a longer journey. The minutes seemed like torturous hours and the humming of the sleek Rolls-Royce sounded like swarming bees in my ears. I wanted to block it all out. I wanted to block life out. I wanted to run away.
But I could not.
Duty beckoned and my friendship with Ellen took precedence.
The Villa of Death: A Mystery Featuring Daphne du Maurier (Daphne du Maurier Mysteries) Page 2
