Cecily struggled not to argue and upset her sister, even if she was allowing herself to be ruled by Johnny. ‘As you wish. It’s your choice, lovey. I find it useful to visit a meeting where there’s a celebrity prepared to give new information. This lady is most interesting.’ She made no mention of the fact that Boyd had written to tell her that Lady Stanford might have some news about their father, which she was so looking forward to speaking to her about. This was not a subject she wished to discuss in front of Johnny. He didn’t seem to be in a good mood and was behaving far too domineering, his opinion of women seeming worse than ever. Presumably because he too was having difficulty finding employment, for which Cecily did have some sympathy. With a sigh, she gave Merryn a warm hug. ‘Sorry I’ve pestered Johnny to allow you to come with me. It will only be a short trip, but I can perfectly understand your need for rest. I’ll tell you all about it when I return.’
‘We’ve finally achieved a vote for some women, if not all. Many members of the suffrage movement are disappointed that Christabel Pankhurst has not been elected. We women must remain strong even if some men view us as being weak as babes,’ Lady Stanford announced firmly at the start of her speech. ‘We should acquire the strength to make our own decisions. Not simply because we are daughters doing our fathers’ bidding or wives obeying our husbands. We are not children, animals or crazy idiots. We are intelligent adults who should be granted our own rights. When children have problems, we expect their father to help resolve them. As wives, we like our husbands to be entirely supportive and not overly controlling. Men should not view us merely as domestic servants and sexual objects,’ she thundered, waving her fist in the air and making everyone in the hall jump and cheer. Cecily too felt riveted by these remarks, filled with admiration for this determined lady.
‘We cannot go through life as if we are still children. We must learn to resolve our own problems and view our husbands as equals, not as father substitutes. We need to gain their respect in addition to offering them our own.’
Cheers filled the room in response to these comments, Cecily drinking in every word with great appreciation. Lady Stanford’s talk had proved to be most fascinating. She went on to speak of how girls who had once worked as domestic servants were no longer interested in returning to those dull tasks. ‘They are more concerned with the new jobs they’ve undertaken during the war and less keen on spending their time washing, ironing and cooking, nor being confined in a fine house. I can understand that, some being obliged to work all hours from morning till night. Thankfully, I’ve never been so demanding and we do have more equipment and machines to deal with our needs these days. These girls also wish to have the freedom to attend the picture-palace or the palais-de-danse of an evening,’ she said with a smile.
Why would they not? Cecily thought. She longed for that freedom herself if she could but decide what she was going to do with her life. All too aware that Merryn would be in need of her support over the coming months, particularly after the birth of her baby, she did not see how this could be an easy decision to make.
When the meeting was over, she hurried to stand in the queue of women wishing to speak to Lady Stanford, patiently hoping for that opportunity too. ‘Are you here to request employment?’ she asked, offering a polite smile when Cecily finally came face to face with her. ‘If so, I’m afraid I’ve already granted two posts to suitable ladies and have no more to offer.’
Cecily blinked. She was obviously a most well-to-do lady who must have felt in need of more servants, not at all what she’d expected to hear. ‘No, m’lady, I’m not here to seek work, merely to understand the political problems women are facing and to see you again. If you recall, we did first meet in Plymouth on the day of that celebratory procession for votes for women and I asked if you were related to my father, but you were understandably too busy to respond.’
Her smile fading, Lady Stanford narrowed her eyes to gaze at Cecily with an odd and almost cold expression. ‘I believe I pointed out that was not at all the case, whoever your father might be.’
Slightly unnerved at her poor reaction, she struggled to explain. ‘You have the same name and I’m aware my father did live in London, which is where I was born. Mama has told us little of what went wrong with their marriage, or when and why my father Dean disappeared, so I’d love to know if you were related. Boyd, my nanny’s nephew, said he wrote to you and received a reply saying that you would speak to me.’
‘I do not recall agreeing to that. Presumably my secretary responded to his request without consulting me,’ she said, giving her a firm glare. ‘Who is your mother?’
‘Queenie Hanson. I’m assuming that was her maiden name. She did once tell my sister that she reverted to it following the separation from her husband, abandoning her married name of Stanford.’
‘You have a sister?’
‘I do, yes. She’s called Merryn. Could you by any chance be our father’s sister?’
‘Good gracious, what a ridiculous question! When were you both born?’
Seeing how Lady Stanford’s face seemed to have paled to an odd shade of white, looking infuriated for some obscure reason, it sparked curiosity within her over this question she’d asked, plus a sense of dismay. Cecily frowned. ‘Why do you wish to know that?’
‘No reason, I’m merely attempting to be courteous. I’m sorry to say that I can be of no help. If you’ll excuse me, there are other people with more important questions and comments to make. Good evening.’ Spinning round on her heel, she began to speak to the next woman in the queue. Rife with disappointment, Cecily felt she had no choice but to leave.
The meeting being over and a complete disaster so far as achieving the information she’d been seeking was concerned, Cecily was pleased to find Boyd waiting for her outside the hall. She’d written to tell him she was coming and it was a delight to meet him again. He looked much healthier than when they’d first met in Plymouth; he had put on a little weight and was no longer using a crutch. Nor were there any bruises on his head, and his eyes looked bright, wide and lively. ‘So pleased to see you looking well, Boyd,’ she said, giving his hand a firm shake.
The glow in his velvet brown eyes looked very like a flicker of affection. He lifted his arms almost as if he was about to give her a hug of welcome, then settled for a grin instead and led her into a nearby café. ‘Did you enjoy the suffrage meeting and how did it go with Lady Stanford?’ he asked, as they settled at a table.
Cecily pulled a face, feeling a resonance of frustration and disappointment. ‘What a puzzling woman she was. Quite unwilling to offer any information and far too engrossed in asking me questions. Nor was she at all polite.’
‘I wonder why that was.’
‘I’ve no idea. Such a puzzle. She certainly had no wish to discuss it, and claimed to have no knowledge of your letter, Boyd.’
He frowned, seeming to match Cecily’s despondency with some of his own. The waitress arrived and he quickly ordered afternoon tea. ‘As I explained, I did write to her and received a short note in response from her secretary stating that she would look into this issue. She felt certain Lady Stanford would be willing to speak with you. Did she tell you anything about her husband and where he was?’
‘She told me nothing, insisting she’d already made it clear my father was not related to her, whoever he might be. It would seem that this effort to see her has proved to be a complete waste of time,’ Cecily wearily admitted.
‘That’s a pity. I did, however, discover some interesting information about her husband. He was called James Stanford, apparently the kind of man who engaged himself in affairs with actresses, singers and dancers. A philanderer.’
‘Really? I remember Mama stating that many men treated them as—’ Cecily tactfully paused as the waitress appeared bringing a pot of tea and sandwiches, cakes, scones and jam served on a high-tiered cake stand, such a treat in today’s postwar world. Once she had gone, she finished her sentence with a little giggle. ‘�
�rather like prostitutes.’
Boyd laughed and encouraged her to help herself to a ham or cheese sandwich, which she happily did, feeling hungry. ‘This is purely a supposition but it’s possible Queenie was her husband’s mistress. Unless you have proof they were actually married?’
‘Oh, my goodness, that would be astonishing. Mama does claim to have been engaged in a disastrous marriage but has frequently involved herself in affairs. Still does to a degree,’ she said, giving a small sigh. ‘I guess that as a young woman she must have been pretty stunning. She still is quite beautiful with curly blonde hair, radiant blue eyes and deep red lips. It seems pretty obvious that her husband was not this James Stanford fellow.’
‘That’s a pity. He was the son of a lord.’
Cecily blinked in surprise as she tucked into another sandwich. ‘Goodness, that’s extraordinary. Mama does approve of high society and views herself as a most important person, as if she too is high-class, which I’m not convinced she was. Did you find out anything more about this lord?’
He nodded as he sipped his tea. ‘I visited the British Library to investigate numerous old newspapers and finally found one or two short articles about him. He was brought up on a large estate in Yorkshire. The family also owned a house in London, where his father Lord Stanford frequently attended the House of Lords. They gave an overview of his life. Let me show you a copy I made of it.’
James Arthur Stanford claimed he’d endured a comfortless childhood with scant interest shown in him by his parents, finding himself confined within the hands of servants. They lived on a large estate in Yorkshire where he was expected to shoot pheasants and grouse, which he had no wish to do. He was taught to ride, ordered to be vigilant with money and diligently learn how to manage the estate. In the main, he spent most of his life from the age of eight in various public schools he considered to be quite grim. He would constantly find himself expelled and moved on to a different boarding school, making few friends as a consequence. When he grew older, he preferred to stay in London where he attended the theatre most nights and indulged in wine, women and song, not being at all interested in politics. Now, for some unknown reason, he has disappeared and has not been seen for some time. If anyone knows where he might be or what has happened to him, please contact your local police or us here at the newspaper.
Having read this through twice, Cecily looked up at Boyd with a puzzled glimmer in her eyes. ‘Mama did tell us that our father’s name was Stanford, so if this man was indeed her husband he could have drowned, which would be why this article claims him to be missing. Except that if he was a lord and did marry Mama, why is she not called Lady Stanford? Doesn’t make sense.’
‘James Stanford disappeared and possibly died before his father did, so would not have survived long enough to be classed as a lord.’
‘Oh, I see. Did he perhaps have a brother?’
Boyd shook his head as he gave a shrug. ‘I’ve no idea. The information I found about this man is interesting, although I admit there’s no proof that he was your father. And there’s little point in trying to talk to Lady Stanford as it’s not an uncommon name so she and her husband James may not be related to your family. I could continue to search for more details of Dean Stanford.’
‘Please don’t feel that is essential. I’m sure you have far more important things to do with your time now that you are fit and well, and as you say there’s absolutely no proof they are in any way related.’ A little disturbed by Lady Stanford’s dismissive attitude, Cecily felt touched by Boyd’s offer, a part of her wondering why he would bother to waste his time when it seemed utterly pointless. They both remained silent for some moments as they went on to eat the scones with jam and cream, then determined to liven up the conversation Cecily gave a grin. ‘I do love this food. What a treat it is after all the boring meals we’ve had during this dratted war. I really should learn to cook.’
‘I keep thinking I should too,’ he laughed. ‘I’m not very domestically inclined and declined to help Mum with her new B & B. I’m searching instead for a job at a local newspaper, being quite interested in journalism. I am also developing a passion for jazz. It’s very African and American. Like you, I love music and greatly admire and envy your work. I wondered if you’d like to go with me to a jazz club. There’s one just a short distance away.’
The prospect of spending the evening with him gave Cecily a burst of excitement. And having dressed herself in a pleated silk dress, long beads and an embroidered wide-brimmed hat, in order to look smart for the suffrage meeting, she happily accepted his offer. ‘That would be a real treat, never having been to one before.’
‘Then let’s go and have a jolly evening.’
TWENTY-FOUR
IT PROVED to be an amazing entertainment, the floor packed with happy couples dancing. There was much thumping, stamping and cheering as the Dixieland Jazz Band played ‘Mournin’ Blues’ and many ragtime numbers, pleasure and appreciation very evident among the audience. Cecily didn’t find herself very good at this new dancing and because of his peg-leg, Boyd wasn’t able to do more than a languorous, rather than an energetic and strenuous, routine. Nevertheless, she loved dancing with him. He would twirl her around, sometimes holding her closely, his velvet brown eyes glittering with admiration and happiness. They managed a slow tango, then tried the paso doble, which was Spanish and a little too fast for them both. Cecily tripped up and fell into his arms in a fit of giggles.
‘Golly, I think I’m in need of a rest,’ she said, noticing that he too looked in need of one, starting to limp a little. They found a table and chairs along the far side of the room and flopped down. He ordered them a glass of wine each and they relaxed, cheerfully sharing details of their favourite music and plays, saying little about the war, memories no one liked to talk of any more. As they danced the last waltz, Cecily experienced a glow of happiness at being held close in his arms, his chin gently brushing against her forehead. When the dance was over, he walked her back to the hostel, saying nothing until they reached the door.
‘I’m sorry Mum couldn’t accommodate you, having moved to Bournemouth. Hopefully, this hostel will suffice. Could we meet up for breakfast at the café where we had that afternoon tea?’
‘That would be lovely,’ she said with a smile. He hovered for a moment then tenderly kissed her, the soft warmth of his mouth such a thrill, not at all what she’d expected. Cecily watched him walk away with a stir of excitement in her heart.
The hostel was not exactly comfortable but at least friendly and inexpensive. She occupied a small dormitory along with several other young women, and drifted off to sleep calling to mind how she’d savoured that evening with Boyd. She kept waking up, hearing some of the women snore while others wept having lost their job or loved one, often given comfort and advice by those facing similar difficulties. Cecily wished she too could find a job. She did still receive a small income from her mother, but the cost of her generosity was that Cecily was expected to obey Queenie’s demands to carry out various tasks to assist her, particularly since Merryn was no longer around. How she ached to earn her own living and rule her own life.
The next morning, she joined Boyd for breakfast at the café and to her delight, he offered to take her on a bus tour of London. She enjoyed seeing the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, the Tower of London and various other wonderful places. After that, they took a long walk from Trafalgar Square along the Mall, through St James’s Park to Buckingham Palace. When they finally arrived at Paddington Station for Cecily to catch a train back to Cornwall, she thanked him, feeling enormous gratitude for his attention and company, and a slight melancholy as she said goodbye.
‘This trip would have been so boring and lonely without you.’
‘I’ve enjoyed our time together too,’ he said, his smile warm and alluring.
Was she beginning to feel seriously attracted to him? Of course not! Hadn’t she made a decision to pay no further attention to any man? He was merely
turning into a good friend. She stood beside him on the platform watching the train puff into the station, almost wishing she didn’t have to leave. Opening a carriage door, he helped her to climb on board, putting her small suitcase up on the rack. ‘I hope to see you again soon, particularly if I start looking for a job in Cornwall. Not that my aunt is keen for me to do that, insisting I should stay in London, which she claims will be much better for me.’
Cecily grinned. ‘Nan can be a bit picky. I hope you find whatever you are seeking. We’d be happy to have you visit us at any time in Plymouth.’ A flush of relief flickered through her at the prospect of seeing him again.
Waving goodbye, he met her friendly gaze with a smile of admiration that stirred a deep emotion within her. Considering the losses she’d already suffered, Cecily firmly attempted to block this out. She definitely didn’t have the strength to risk falling in love ever again. Oh, but what a kind and considerate man he was. She’d loved every minute of the time they’d spent together, her mind in a whirl of confusion over her feelings towards him. As she settled down for the long journey home, she turned her mind to Lady Stanford’s dismissive attitude towards her, greatly appreciating Boyd’s generous offer to seek more information about their father. Why he was prepared to spend time doing that was astonishing. Being unemployed, he was perhaps seeking something to occupy him, which made her wonder why Nan was not in favour of him seeking work in Cornwall. Then closing her eyes, she gave herself a much-needed rest having spent a disturbed night with very little sleep.
Arriving back in Plymouth, Cecily took a tram from the station and called in at Merryn’s small terraced house behind the Co-op on Mutley Plain. She was eager to see her sister and tell her what a fascinating time she’d enjoyed in London with Boyd. ‘Nan’s nephew is a most polite and lively young man. He took me out to tea then to a local jazz club. We had great fun dancing.’
Girls of the Great War Page 21
