Her mind was busy, though. She had her decision to make. Elaine kept looking hopefully, waiting for a word from her, and on that morning Daisy had decided that by dinner time her decision would have to be made. As soon as the others had left the house she took a piece of paper, ruled it down the middle and put INDIA at the top of one column and ENGLAND at the top of the other. By the time she had finished writing, the first column was full of exciting prospects and the second was sadly bare.
There was no doubt about it, she told herself. It made such good sense to go to India and to make her home with Elaine and Jack.
At that moment the doorbell rang. Someone for Violet, or for Elaine, thought Daisy, throwing the list into the fire and dreamily watching the burned embers go sailing up the chimney. And then she stiffened. That was her father’s voice in the hallway – Michael Derrington’s voice, she amended. She listened to his heavy footsteps and then the door opened.
‘I’m afraid that Elaine has gone out, and so have the others,’ she said. He did not look well, she thought as she looked up at him, and she wondered whether he had one of those devastating headaches that had afflicted him since his return from the war.
‘It was you that I came to see,’ he said, closing the door behind him. He walked across the room and leaned over the fire, picking up the poker and rattling the coals vigorously.
‘How are you?’ he asked. His eyes did not meet hers.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, feeling rather puzzled. ‘We’re all fine,’ she went on when he did not respond. ‘Rose is having a wonderful time. She does enjoy her visits to the British Museum and Elaine has taken her to lots of plays. London has been very good for her. And Poppy—’
‘But what about you?’ he interrupted and she looked at him with astonishment.
He put down the poker, straightened himself, took a deep breath and then looked away again.
‘Elaine told me that you . . . that she . . .’ he muttered.
‘Told you . . .’Daisy began, but before she could finish he pulled her into an awkward, one-armed hug. Then he pulled a crumpled and much-read letter from his pocket, thrust it at her and walked away, standing by the window with his back turned to her.
‘I should have told you myself,’ he mumbled. ‘I shouldn’t have allowed you to find out like that. I’m selfish. Mary and I had planned that we would tell you when you were about fifteen or sixteen – old enough to understand. She would have done it so much better than I could, but that’s no excuse.’
Daisy smoothed out the letter and began to read.
‘Dear Michael,’ it began and beside the words was a half-scratched-out blot as though the writer, looking for the right words, had held the pen poised over the paper long enough for the ink to drip from the nib.
‘I’m afraid that Daisy knows the truth about her birth,’ the letter went on.
It’s not my fault, Michael. I didn’t say a word.
Somehow or other, she guessed. She went to Somerset House and couldn’t find her birth certificate with Poppy’s.
Don’t tell Aunt Lizzie, will you, Michael? She’s bound to blame me for it. But I thought you’d better know and I wanted to tell you that it wasn’t my fault.
I have invited Daisy to make her home with me in India. I will enjoy having her; it will be a great opportunity to throw some lovely parties. Nothing need be said to anyone else – she will come as my niece.
Your affectionate sister-in-law,
Elaine.
Daisy put the letter down. Not really about me, she thought. Elaine is more worried about being blamed for the news getting out than she is about how I feel. She walked across the floor and touched his arm.
‘Father,’ she began, but suddenly he turned around and enveloped her in his arms.
‘I’m going to miss you terribly when you are in India,’ he said, his face turned from her. ‘You must know that I’ve always thought of you as a daughter, since the first moment I held you in my arms. We loved you like you were our own – I often forgot that you weren’t. Mary always said how well you were named – little Daisy, Day’s Eye – a little ray of sunshine in the house, that’s what she used to say. I don’t know what we will all do without you.’
Daisy said nothing. She moved a little closer and nestled into him and he put his arm around her shoulders and held her tightly.
‘Still, we mustn’t be selfish. It will be a wonderful thing for you,’ he said and she could hear the amount of effort that he put into making his voice sound cheerful. ‘The others will envy you. Elaine will be rich enough to buy you anything that you want. You’ll have a fantastic time out in India.’ He released her and said rapidly, ‘I must go, darling; I’m due at the lawyers; that wretched Denis is making trouble for me. You stay here in the warmth. Tell Elaine that I’ll be back at dinner time.’
And then he was gone.
Stay here in the warmth, repeated Daisy to herself. And, indeed, she did feel warm all over. She had never known how much he had cared for her; she had forgotten about being called a ‘ray of sunshine’ by her mother, but now it came back to her. They had taken her in and cared for her, Michael and Mary. She and Poppy had been twins for more than sixteen years and nothing could change that now. And then there was Rose, and Violet. And even Great-Aunt Lizzie. They were her family and she had her place there.
Daisy was sitting dreamily by the fire when Elaine came in.
‘Jack has taken Rose to see the Tower of London, but I thought that I couldn’t stand it so I came back home,’ she said. There was a slight effort in her voice and she looked enquiringly at Daisy. Indeed, thought Daisy, it was time that an answer was given to her invitation of a few days ago.
‘Elaine,’ she said. ‘I’ve decided that I will stay in England. It’s very nice of you and Jack to invite me to India, and perhaps I could come out for a holiday some time, but for the moment, I think I should stay here.’
She expected questions, lamentations, but Elaine, after a moment’s reflection, seemed almost pleased at her decision. After all, thought Daisy, Jack and she would be a newly married couple – an almost-grown-up daughter might be a problem. Elaine, like herself, had probably been thinking over the situation during the past few days and had, perhaps, begun to regret her hasty invitation. She beamed at Daisy.
‘It’s whatever will make you happy, darling,’ she said tenderly. And then a cheerful thought seemed to strike her and she said, ‘But, of course, I will come over in the spring and present you and Poppy at court. I’ll hire a house and we’ll give some balls. You will make a lovely pair of debutantes.’
‘I’ve made up my mind.’ Daisy had waited until she and Poppy were alone in their bedroom getting ready for dinner. She was still determined to keep the secret from Violet and Rose. Let it be forgotten, she thought.
Poppy’s eyes widened at her words, but she said nothing; just waited, a half-smile on her lips.
‘Of course, it was an easy decision,’ said Daisy mischievously.
Poppy’s smile broadened. ‘You’re staying!’ she shrieked.
‘What? Staying in London? You lucky thing!’ Rose had come into their room and had overheard the last words.
‘No,’ said Daisy hastily. ‘I’m coming back to Beech Grove Manor with you all. I can work on my films there, but Elaine is coming over next spring and she will present Poppy and me at court. You will probably also be allowed to come up for the season, Rose.’
‘I shall try to get myself accepted as a roving reporter on The Evening Post before then,’ said Rose seriously. ‘In the meantime I shall practise writing some wonderful headlines about you two.’ She thought for a moment and then said triumphantly:
‘How about this?’
She seized a pen from the writing table by the window and printed in huge letters:
DERRINGTON DEBUTANTES ARE THE
SEASON’S SENSATION!
DYNAMIC DUO TAKES LONDON BY STORM
Daisy linked her little finger in Poppy’s and
grinned.
‘We might,’ she whispered. ‘We just might . . .’
Cora Harrison worked as a head teacher before writing her first novel. She has since published twenty-six historical novels for children and many books for adults. Cora lives on a farm near the Burren in the west of Ireland.
Also by Cora Harrison
I Was Jane Austen’s Best Friend
Jane Austen Stole My Boyfriend
Acknowledgements
First and foremost must come a huge vote of thanks to Rachel Petty at Macmillan Children’s Books – one of those wonderful editors who combine enormous enthusiasm with an unhesitating eye for material that needs to be firmly chopped out. She, like me, loves this period in history, and it was great to have a fellow enthusiast by my side during the writing process.
Thanks also to my agent, Peter Buckman of Ampersand Agency, who is so knowledgeable about the film world; and to my family and friends, who still encourage and admire.
First published 2012 by Macmillan Children’s Books
This electronic edition published 2012 by Macmillan Children’s Books
a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
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www.panmacmillan.com/childrenshome
ISBN 978-1-4472-1601-8 EPUB
Copyright © Cora Harrison 2012
The right of Cora Harrison to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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