Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  ‘How can we?’

  ‘By being there for the opening.’

  ‘I see. You think success by association will bring ‘em in, the twenty-four carat gilt rubbing off the ginger-bread.’

  ‘She’s worked hard.’ Luke’s feelings were showing. ‘I’ve seen her sewing late into the night when all else are abed. Mrs Dryden and that maid of yours, Maud, they’ve put their backs to it.’

  ‘You’ve seen them late at night?’

  Like a fool Luke blushed.

  ‘You seem to care about the lady’s wellbeing.’

  ‘I more than care!’ The declaration was out of his mouth. ‘I’d do anything for Anna Dryden. I’d lay down my life for her.’

  ‘Good heavens, would you really?’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t want you to do that. Life is precious. No one should take it from you, least of all me. I’ll help your Julianna.’

  ‘You will?’

  ‘I will. Helping a friend is the right thing to do and in this case very easily achieved. One gains a friend by being a friend. With that in mind what might I expect to receive in return?’

  Luke stumbled. ‘I...I beg your pardon?’

  ‘We all struggle to find favour, me with my paintings, Ju-ju and her tea-shop, you with your restoration of houses. We all hold up our little hands and wave our little flags.’ She removed her hat and shaking out her hair got to her feet. ‘I’ll be there for the opening and I’ll bring friends, important friends, the kind that seal one’s fate forever.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I require payment.’ Eyes bleak she turned to Luke. ‘I’ll support Julianna. I’ll sit at her dainty table. I’ll smile and I’ll eat cake, and I and my friends will be very visible on the condition that you, Mister Wolf, in return, will sit and smile and eat cake with me.’

  Twelve

  Cats and Kings

  Thank goodness for Callie Masson! Sunday evening she appeared over the rise, a manservant laden with picnic baskets trailing in their wake.

  Julia was in the herb garden talking with Joe. ‘Halloo!’ the call came across the wall. ‘Please note,’ drawled Callie, ‘we come through the gate as civilised folk and not as heathens scrambling over a wall.’ Joe, who blames the Big House for all his troubles within and without the wall was not to be humoured.

  Callie went straight to it. ‘Good day to you Mr Joseph Carmody. I understand you’re a first class plants-man and not to be considered lightly.’

  That bright blast of Philadelphia air rather tipped Joe’s sails but not cowed he took off his cap and said the things he’d been saving to say these last weeks.

  ‘Yes, I do like to grow a decent plant, ma’m, when there’s time and season and no interference from outside, but lately I’ve had nowt but trouble from your side of the wall, and while keepin’ my manners, you not from this part of the world and unfamiliar with our likings, I’m bound to say a person in your establishment is causin’ me and my dear madam here a lot of bother, and it’s not right that her garden and her well-being should be interfered with.’

  ‘Mr Carmody I agree and have come today to try to set things right and to assure you, good man that you are, there’ll be no such interference troubling you and your dear madam again, at least not from my side of the wall. ’

  Having said his piece Joe could think of nothing more to add other than it had been a right bother to everyone and had fair worrited his arthritis.

  ‘And for that I am sorry,’ said Callie, ‘and in the name of goodwill ask if you would accept these cuttings.’ Joe’s eyes popping the manservant passed the basket. ‘These are sent by a relative of mine, a gardener like your good self who has travelled far in search of the rare and lovely, and who along with these cuttings sends an invitation to join him in Warwick whenever you’ve a mind for a pint of ale in the Dog and Duck and a tour of the Castle gardens.’

  With that dear Joe, back bent and the basket heavy on his arm, took himself and his arthritis home. A picnic was then taken on the terrace and a discussion as to what Julia might wear to the Art Festival. She had given thought to the same and swallowing pride raided the attic for the apricot velvet jacket to wear over a revamped wedding gown. Brussels lace and simple in style the gown has thrice knelt before an altar, Charlotte’s wedding before Julia and Charlotte’s mother-in-law before both.

  Julia was persuaded to try it on. Callie looked and nodded. ‘Lovely but the sleeves must go. Stand back!’ She waved the garden shears and the sleeves were gone. ‘There! A couple of Joseph’s roses, décolletage, and you’re done.’

  Talk turned to a hat and Dulce later returning from Greenfields with a straw confection of the Nell Gwynne style. ‘It’s wasted on me,’ read Callie’s note. ‘To wear this well a woman needs Nell’s voluptuous breasts not wrinkled prunes.’

  An open topped carriage rolled into the drive, a uniformed chauffeur up front and the diminutive figure of Callie Masson perched up back sporting yet another gigantic hat.

  ‘The carriage is here, madam.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs McLaughlin. Are you ready, Matty?’

  Hand a la Nelson tucked into his breast pocket Matty saluted.

  Julia nodded. ‘And very smart you look too, my darling, in your sailor suit.’

  Matty is unhappy. Yet another day passed and no word from the Nelson he mopes about the house. He doesn’t enquire; he seems to know a door has closed that a child can’t hope to open.

  Julia kissed him. ‘Do you not think Matty smart in his sailor suit, Callie?’

  ‘I do, handsome as all get out. It’s you, Anna, that’s not right.’

  ‘Oh!’ Julia twitched her gown. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

  Callie bobbed under the seat and gleeful bobbed up again waving a lace parasol. ‘You’re missing the icing on the cake!’

  A long fringe blowing the parasol was practical as well as ornamental and as the day moved along proved more than useful.

  They wandered the Park. Such a carnival atmosphere and so many people! ‘Look Matty there’s a puppet show!’ said Callie. ‘Why don’t you see what they are doing?’ He ran and she turned to Julia. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

  ‘He’s missing Nan Roberts.’

  ‘I know of Mrs Roberts. She owns the Coaching Inn.’

  ‘Yes and she used to visit.’

  ‘Used to? Past tense? Any particular reason?’

  ‘A multitude of reasons I imagine and all under the heading of common sense and sound business practice.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Certainly I do! I may be old but I’m not deaf. I know what’s being whispered in the servant’s hall. I am old I could care less what they say. I choose my own company and knuckle down to none. Oh look what it says here!’ Callie read from the programme. ‘Exhibits 201 and 202 the work of Lady Evelyn Baines Carrington; matched pair of pastel and oil entitled, Faun Surprised and Faun Sleeping: NFS.’ I seem to recall Daniel crooning about those paintings. It’s you, isn’t it, you sat for them?’

  ‘I did and had I known they were to be here I wouldn’t have come.’

  ‘I shouldn’t worry. If they are anything like Milady’s other splashy stuff you won’t be recognisable as a human being.’

  ‘Are you not an admirer of her work?’

  Callie shrugged. ‘Not over much. Friends of mine have a gallery in Philly. They like her work. They say it sells. I’ve been there but never tempted. I know it is clever and all but there’s a bizarre and sometimes cruel element about her work that doesn’t suit me.’

  ‘Does sitting astride a Unicorn count as bizarre?’

  ‘Is that what you do?’

  ‘Yes while sporting a pair of wings.’

  ‘Well there you are then! No need to worry. Who the heck is gonna recognis
e you doing that! My son talks of trying to paint you though how it would turn out I don’t know him with absolutely no skill.’

  Julia popped the parasol. ‘Yes Daniel did mention it but these days I’m reluctant to sit for anyone.’

  Aware of heads continually turning Callie sniffed. ‘I don’t think you need to sit for paintings to be seen. You naturally cause it to happen. If I were you I wouldn’t worry. You’ll be old one day so make the most of it.’

  ‘Is Daniel not coming today?’

  ‘Yes but later rather than sooner. He hates crushes.’

  ‘And this is a crush! I didn’t think the English interested in art.’

  ‘They’re not. This is nothing to do with art,’ said Callie. ‘Don’t you see the morning coats and superior smiles? People are here because of a whisper circulating. A special guest is thought to be dropping by.’

  ‘Oh really, who?’

  ‘Who d’you think, the Prince of Wales. I knew he was coming. John Sargent said. It’s why I came to oversee your wardrobe. Poor guy dragged from one ugly painting to another, and he particular about beauty, I thought he might like to look at a true work of art.’

  ‘You mean me in my cut down wedding dress?’

  ‘No, me and my hat!’

  Julia laughed. ‘Alright then, Callie, if you say so. In the mean time let’s give Matty cause to be happy. Why don’t you two go to the cinematic show and I’ll look at the ugly paintings...that is unless you’d sooner come with me.’

  ‘No thank you. A cinema show is much more our thing.’

  ‘And shall I find you there then later?’

  ‘We’re likely to be on the move so it’s best we come looking for you. Toodleoo then!’ Callie stomped away. ‘Stay clear of men with shotguns. You know what happens to fauns. They get shot.’

  Julia strolled through various sideshows. She paused at a marquee set up as a Japanese theatre, gentleman in white kabuki make-up posturing on stage and young women without eyebrows and weighed down by multiple kimonos playing the shamisen. It was new and strange. She enjoyed it.

  Then John Sargent was at her elbow. ‘Julianna, how are you?’

  ‘I’m well thank you, John, and you?’

  He sighed. ‘To tell the truth I’m a bit at odds dashing about trying to make sure everything is as it should be. These marquees don’t make life easier. You can’t hang portraits on tarpaulin. You have to use easels and wooden floors to prop ‘em up. The organisers of this frolic haven’t a clue.’

  ‘It all sounds a bit of a bother.’

  ‘It’s enough to drive a man crazy.’ He saw her smiling and laughed. ‘Forgive me, Julianna, I don’t know why I’m so het up. I should be used to it by now. Where’s Matthew? Is he not with you?’

  ‘He’s at a cinematic show with Mrs Greville Masson.’

  ‘Sensible fellow! You didn’t think to go with them?’

  ‘I elected to tour the paintings.’

  ‘Poor you, but I am pleased to see you. Our last meeting was cut short by Freddie and that fool business I wanted to know you are well. Are you and Evie still at odds?’

  ‘I haven’t heard from her.’

  ‘What about Freddie? You see anything of him?’

  ‘No nothing of either.’

  ‘That’s a pity. He saw you as a good influence and so did I. He’s such a child. We’ve all tried steering him aright but he’s wayward. Such a waste! It makes me crazy. Did you know he is an excellent water-colourist?’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘Well he is and a terrific eye for form. I believe he’s showing oils here today though what I couldn’t say. I wish he’d get to grips with life. If he doesn’t there’s almost certain tragedy ahead.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I do. Paul Hellue and I encourage him to Paris but when he comes it’s to drink and doubt. No matter what is said to the contrary he thinks his work bad. The treasure burnt for firewood would break your heart.’

  ‘Can’t anyone help him?’

  ‘I’m not sure he wants to be helped.’

  ‘Poor Freddie.’

  ‘Yes and poor Evie too.’ When Julia looked he shrugged. ‘I won’t get into it. Suffice it to say I have known the Carringtons some time. I know them and accept them as dear friends and troubled souls. Freddie is as they say his own enemy as is Evie. So what do you think of the exhibition?’

  ‘It’s huge.’ Julia gestured across the Park. ‘All the different exhibits, I had no idea. I’d assumed we’d be looking at your work and only yours.’

  ‘Art is an expanding Universe. One dare not stand still. But then I’m told competition is good for the soul so I must brace up.’

  ‘Do you find it good for the soul?’

  ‘It depends on the competition. Unless your opponent wants to win there’s no point in fighting.’ He stared down from his great height. ‘Speaking of fighting I understand from Danny Masson you’re to open a coffee-shop.’

  Julia smiled. ‘You associate fisticuffs with the doling out of sugared buns?’

  ‘It seems I do. It must be an echo of childhood, a nanny with a mean pair of sugar tongs. So you plan to serve tea and sympathy to the masses?’

  ‘It’s an idea.’

  ‘Only an idea? I thought it well on its way.’

  ‘So did I but changes in temperature suggest otherwise. Have you seen the cinematic-show, John? I understand it’s quite a thing to behold.’

  ‘I’m afraid not. Like you I’m committed to the doldrums. Oh look out! The fellow flapping a kipper-hand over there is my cue to go and enlighten the Royal party on the merit of a couple of my daubs.’

  ‘Your work needs no explanation, and the Prince has an eye for beauty, or so I’m told.’

  ‘If that is the case then surely His Highness can do no better than to glance your way. The changes in temperature you mention may well give cause for battle but they in no way dint your beauty.’

  ‘You are too kind.’

  ‘Having enjoyed a summer gazing at your face I am not kind so much as in a position to know. I would’ve liked to have shown Girl Eating Strawberries today but the owner refused public show. Shame, His Highness would’ve liked that.’

  ‘You no longer own the work?’

  ‘I really never did. It was stolen from the first. I intended to keep it but a stronger power forced me out.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  John frowned. ‘I wish you had. Jumping out like this makes it seem kinda shifty. It was never a financial transaction, more a gift one friend to another.’

  ‘John!’Julia pressed his hand. ‘To be painted by you is a privilege whatever the cause. The visits to your studio gave me and my son a wonderful summer.’

  ‘Good of you to say so. Later I may be able to elaborate on the owner of Strawberries but to say now would be to break a confidence. Incidentally in the matter of who is showing today you know Evelyn brought the Fauns.’

  ‘I did hear that.’

  ‘And you’re anxious? Don’t be! They are capital pieces. I’d be pleased to have painted anything so good. I’d better go. The kipper is agitated.’ An elegant figure in morning coat and tails John replaced his top hat. ‘I understand we’re to dine at Greenfields this evening. Au revoir until then!’

  Julia mingled with the crowd. She watched weavers at looms and potters at their wheels and thought on the tea-shop. Tea and sympathy is fundamental to the Church ministry. That she might one day consider it a profession never occurred to her, not that it signifies, recent events suggest any venture she undertakes in Bakers End doomed to failure. Yesterday she sat embroidering napkins, all thirty ice-white wads of linen now stacked in a drawer beside the new cash machine August Simpkin brought.

  Red-faced and sweating he’d dropped the metal monster onto the table. ‘I saw this, Mrs Dry
den, and thought of you.’

  ‘It’s very smart. Don’t you want it yourself?’

  ‘No not me! Folks would have a blue fit if they saw my girl calculating bills on a machine. They think I cheat them as it is.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m sure it will prove useful. You’ll let me have a bill?’

  ‘Nay I’d not thought to charge only to be of help.’

  ‘And you have! Won’t you take tea, August, while you’re here, and one of Mrs McLaughlin’s éclairs? They quite melt in the mouth.’

  He’d blushed. ‘I’d dearly like to but Mrs S doesn’t know I’m here. If she did she’d be asking what curtains you’re hanging and how much the table linen cost. I thought to keep this to ourselves.’

  Mr Simpkin is not the first to suggest secrecy; no names no pack drill appears to be the motto of the month. Mr Brock, the postman, on Tuesday, ‘the wife says if you’re in need of cakes she’ll make a few but under-the-counter like.’ And Wednesday, Mrs Cross’s son, ‘Mum says she’ll send the raspberry fool and clotted cream but don’t want her name mentioned.’ There were more like that. All were sent away with the same message. ‘If you want patrons of the Tea-Shop to enjoy your food then you must be willing to declare the making.’

  A chill wind coming off the Wash one might think it winter. As yet there has been no one particular act of hostility rather a general turning away as with the letter from the vicar of St Bedes, who thanked Julia for her enquiry but regretted this year’s baking produce already allotted; ‘1900 soon upon us, the Centenary and celebrations planned, every cook in Upper and Lower Bakers will be greatly occupied this year and next.’

  Julia accepted the letter with no offence. She has anxiety enough without regretting the wives of St Bedes. Of late there’s been the odd knocking on the door middle of the night and panes smashed in the greenhouse. Joe suspects the work of ne’er-do-wells. Matty’s dog never leaves his side but now at night Kaiser sleeps on the landing bridging the gap between safety and trouble.

  ‘Call the constable,’ says Callie. ‘You can’t have your home under threat.’

  ‘I don’t know that we are,’ Julia had replied. ‘It’s perhaps meant as fun.’