Fragile Blossoms

by Dodie Hamilton

  The shirt he burnt it along with the letter from his ex-publisher who having finally replied to so many calls said on consideration he didn’t believe the market ready for an obscure artist like Seurat, his work a top-shelf item not a money-maker, but there was surely a biography closer to home, ‘your cousin, Lady Brooke, for interest, anything on her would generate interest.’

  It seems Le Grand Jatte is le Grand Waste of Time as is his passion for Julianna. Beautiful and good to be with most men would cherish a woman like her as would Daniel if he didn’t suspect heat beneath the beauty and know he is not the man to draw it. Thirty-eight and single it’s time he settled down. Matthew Dryden is a good kid and bright. In Norfolk they go out on the Fens. They dredge mud for rag-worms, get dirty, and in the evening, face washed and hair smarmed down the boy is at the piano and the same fingers that grubbed mud are pulling magic from the keys. Last week having sat through an outstanding performance of a Mozart etude Daniel suggested music as a career. Matthew debated and then in that crushed larynx voice said, ‘Papa says I must listen with my head and play from my heart.’

  The kid doesn’t say much but when he does he stops traffic. To hear him talk his father’s next door reading a book not a bag of bones in an Egyptian sand dune. Matty used to show animosity towards Daniel. Now he perceives yesterday’s contender for his mother’s hand as exactly that and is amenable.

  Why not break away? It’s not as if Daniel’s mind, or body, is closed to other opportunities. Mona Dobson, a woman here investigating the camps is definitely worth a second look. Another Englishwoman she’s that rare thing a do-gooder who actually tries to do good, though the way she’s going on at the moment she’s likely to be on the next boat home. ‘Better calm down,’ he told her yesterday. ‘It’s no good shouting. They’ll shuffle you back to England. If you’re here to access information you should at least pretend to be impartial.’

  ‘Impartial?’Her eyes had flashed, nice eyes but red-tinged from a combination of fatigue and anger. ‘Don’t talk to me of impartial. These places are of Satan.’ She’d pointed to a tent. ‘Do you know how many families are closeted in one of those filthy bivouacs? How many malnourished babies dying even as you prattle of impartiality! Boer women and children are supposedly under protection of the British Government. If this is protection then the British Government should be ashamed.’

  She’d grabbed his hand. ‘You want news worthy of the good people of Philadelphia? I’ll show you what to write about.’ She took him to a tent where a child lay dying of typhoid. ‘They don’t have water never mind medicine. Something must be done, Mr Masson, and something true not a parcel of lies.’ She then asked why he was in the Transvaal as a news correspondent if not to tell the truth.

  Before he left for South Africa mother said much the same. ‘It’s my job,’ he’d argued. ‘I don’t have choice.’ Callie was treading a well-beaten track. ‘You have plenty choice. You were born with money in your diaper.’ She’d waved the Times under his nose. ‘See they’ve finally tracked down the names of the English dead at Ladysmith? One hundred and fifty dead and close to three hundred wounded? Why put yourself in that kind of danger?’

  ‘You’d better not quote such statistics,’ he’d said. ‘A lot of men died fighting the Boers, Scots, Irish-Americans, and other nationalities, a real mixed bag. So until you know what you’re saying, Mother, it’s best you say nothing.’

  ‘Why do you insist on calling me Mother,’ she’d replied. ‘You make me feel so old.’

  ‘You are old. You’re eighty next birthday. I hardly call that young.’

  ‘No I am not young but not in my coffin either. Go find a nice California gal, get married and make babies, then at least I can die happy if not live so.’

  That’s mother, when sane she berates Julianna and those associated with her and when hanging on the edge she tries contacting the dead. ‘Who are you writing to?’ he asked last week finding her scribbling. She confessed to writing to a Spiritist lately in the news. ‘It’s that woman they’re talking about, Madame Nora. I thought we might have her over and see what it’s about.’

  ‘And what does Madame Nora do?’

  ‘She brings folk back from the dead.’

  ‘Back from the dead?’ he’d snorted. ‘What is she a female version of Messrs Burke and Hare? Does she sell cadavers onto Mary Shelley for spare parts?’

  Callie had bridled. ‘Don’t be silly, Daniel. You know what I mean. She gets messages from those that have passed over.’ He told her bringing a quack into the house to talk of voodoo unbecoming for a woman of her age.

  She hit the ceiling. ‘There you go again! I swear you’ll age me into the grave!’

  ‘At least you’ll get your information first hand.’

  ‘Oh do be serious! I want to hear what that woman’s got to say. It might be interesting. It might even be fun. We don’t have fun these days.’

  ‘Tapping tables is not my idea of fun. And who would you want to speak to, surely not Pa after all these years.’

  ‘Lord no! We didn’t converse when he was alive. I’ve no wish to do so now.’

  He’d handed back the letter. ‘Then who?’

  She didn’t answer, didn’t need to, she wants what she always wanted, to curse her long-dead tutor. Curse or bless Daniel is unable to decide. Over the years the Lansdowne Estate has been the backdrop to all conversation but very little ever said of the man centre of the coil. ‘You don’t speak of Henry Lansdowne. Did you love him?’

  ‘We were promised. It was Granma’s wish.’

  ‘Was it your wish?’

  ‘I liked him well enough.’

  ‘Well enough to mourn him these sixty years?’

  ‘It would have been a good match.’

  ‘And what of Miss Justine, have you mourned her as many years?’

  With that Callie had turned her eyes so filled with pain Daniel repented the question. ‘Yes,’ she’d said, ‘every hour of every day.’

  There’ll be no séance at Greenfields, not if he has anything to do with it, there’s enough undead walking the battlements without inviting more. Why would you lay out your personal life before strangers in such a crude manner? Daniel’s heard of the Suffolk Séance as it is now universally known. He thought it crass and can’t think why Julianna got involved. Of course it was another of Evelyn Carrington’s follies. Idiotic nonsense! Daniel doesn’t care for her or her brother. John Sargent says they are good people. That cuts no ice with Daniel. He sees Carrington for what he is a fag who uses women as a smokescreen. That business with the maid, Susan Dudley, was despicable. If his hopes were not involved Daniel would’ve called Carrington out on that and given him the thrashing he deserved. If you’re going to strike your colours then have the guts to stand by them and not drag others down with you.

  Julianna needs to get away from Norfolk. Sooner or later there’ll be one rumour too many, the dice will fall, and even the Prince of Wales will be able to haul her up again. Daniel is not a snob but he knows who he is and wants to be able to bring his future wife to dine with his cousins, the Greville Warwicks, and not be embarrassed. California is what she needs, sunshine and a new life.

  Daniel sighed. She likes him, he knows she does, and he thinks were he to ask she would accept. But love and like is not the same. He wants more and hopes in delaying his offer she’ll realise and declare her need of him.

  Thus reluctant to give in on his heart’s desire he closed his eyes and ears to Messages from Above and dashed off a note: ‘Julianna, it’s lonely here in Port Elizabeth. I hope to be home in time for Christmas. When I return I shall put to you the question I have long wanted to ask. Please give special thought to your answer. The right words and the coming New Year will be the best year of my life, Yours Daniel.’

  *

  Julia took off her hat. ‘Dorothy, is Master Matthew at piano practice?’

&nb
sp; ‘He was, madam, but he’s in the yard now with Mr Faulkner building snowmen. You’ve several messages. Sir Hugh called to remind you of the charity dinner Saturday.’ Dorothy giggled. ‘He says he’s been practising his kisses and you’re not to forget the mistletoe.’

  Everyone likes Hugh. He is charming and amusing and Julia is glad of him but not that glad she’ll marry him no matter his argument of yesterday.

  They were at Holkham Hall watching the Harriers Point-to-Point. It was cold and stuck behind rails and a wind blowing East to West no one was happy. Hugh had stamped his feet and cursed. ‘Forgive me, Julianna, but this is a damnable bore. Why do we come to these things?

  ‘I know why I came,’ she’d muttered. ‘I couldn’t bear another scolding. Last week I missed a luncheon and I thought HRH would have a heart attack.’

  ‘I know I heard about it. Ridiculous! A man of his standing ought to be above such tantrums. So what if a few of us are elsewhere. Does he really need the same clutch of broody hens bolstering his feathers?’

  ‘He’s anxious, I suppose, for his mother.’

  ‘As are we all but being anxious ought not to prevent him from being kind to those that are kind to him. I was up half the night with a bad case of toe-gout, don’t you know. Did I cry off when the call came? I’m here willing to do his bidding and he treats me like a chambermaid.’

  ‘Poor Hugh! Does your toe still ache?’

  ‘Yes it does or would if I could feel anything. I mean why are we here? Can you see the runners through the sleet? And don’t bother offering field glasses! My lashes are frozen solid. I tell you I’ve had enough of this. I might have chucked in the towel years ago for all the good hanging on has done me.’

  Later inside in the Hall and Hot Toddy passed around he was in a better mood. ‘What awful company I have been. You must think me a wretch.’

  ‘Are you feeling foot better?’

  ‘I don’t know. Three tots of this and I’m past caring.’ He’d taken her arm and dragged her aside. ‘What’s this I hear about you leaving Norfolk?’

  ‘Good grief! I only thought of moving, that’s all!’

  ‘A thought is all it takes. ‘I think therefore gossip makes it so!’ It is a principle worthy of Descartes. Why didn’t you say you were thinking of moving?’

  ‘I didn’t say because there is nothing to say.’

  ‘You’re not really going to move away, are you?’

  ‘It occurs to me I might do better elsewhere.’

  ‘You mean Matty might do better.’

  ‘It’s the same thing.’

  ‘Why would he? What’s wrong with Norfolk?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with Norfolk. I like the county. It’s Matty and certain friendships that shouldn’t have been formed.’

  ‘Since when did friendship been a hindrance?’

  ‘Well you know Matty. If he likes a person he weaves his life about them attaching importance to things they say and do. He takes them where they are not meant to go and makes demands of them.’

  ‘What does he demand?’

  ‘A future.’

  ‘You’re referring to Mister Wolf of course.’

  ‘You see that’s it exactly! It was Matty who made the man into a fairy story. Now Luke Roberts is known to everyone as the Wolf. ’

  ‘Well,’ Hugh had smiled. ‘There is that wild and hungry mystique about the man and you surely can’t think he’d hurt Matty. For a wolf he is an honourable creature. I was with him recently and know it to be so.’

  ‘You were?’

  ‘Yes. I asked him to take a look at my roof. He did more than look he stripped off his jacket and climbed up there. He said the chimney stack had shifted and not to worry he’d fix it and fix he did. He sent a couple of his musclemen. Now I can go to bed at night and not have to watch water dripping down the wall.’

  ‘He is good at things like that. You could not ask for a better man.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem? Why can’t Matty have him for friend?’

  ‘Matty doesn’t want a friend.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘A father.’

  ‘Ah, I see! It makes sense. Matty’s looks for a Papa and you don’t think the Wolf right for the job.’

  It was then, Julia remaining silent that he thought to propose. ‘Do you have another candidate in mind, Delicious Daniel perhaps?’

  Julia had protested. ‘Now, Hugh, don’t make a thing of it. It’s not a thing to joke about. Matty misses his Papa.’

  ‘And seeks a replacement?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then why not me?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Why not me for Papa?’ When Julia stared he’d shrugged. ‘I know I’m a bit long in the tooth to be anybody’s Pa but if it gives Matty a man to rely on, and gets you out of a bind, why not. We like one another, me and Matty, and we like one another too, don’t we, Anna? Just think about it, we could grow old gracefully without the stress of the marital bed. And since I have neither property nor money you’d never be worried by horrid things like inheritance tax and Wills. I’d just drop off the perch and be seen no more.’

  ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘No, not kind, Julianna, desperate! I live in a cottage loaned to me Grace and Favour. When Her Majesty dies I’ll have nowhere to live. Bertie won’t keep me. He doesn’t care for us fairies. And so marriage to you would be the answer to prayer. I’d have a home with someone I like and where I could live and be happy and not worry about being tossed out on my ear.’

  ‘Oh Hugh! I didn’t know.’

  ‘I don’t know why you didn’t. Everyone else knows. My situation is common among many such households, particularly the lesser titled. People outside think we do well to serve the Household. Some do well, those that crawl on their belly or have the good fortune to sniff out the odd Gunpowder Plot. I don’t crawl on any part of me and though I served in the Hussars for years I’ve never come across a would-be Guy Faulkes. So here I am an impoverished bugger about to be cast out on my ear.’

  ‘I am sorry.’

  ‘You see now why I’m offering. I have a small pension, not much, but enough to contribute to our means. Oh do say you’ll think about it? Life with me would have advantages. Imagine the young bucks who’d try their luck thinking you an old man’s darling? You could have your pick. I wouldn’t complain. In fact I’d have a whale of time sorting the wheat from chaff. You’d be safe. No one would dare beset your name with me in tow. We Fitzwilliam are poor as church mice but have a lineage harking back to the eleventh century. And you must admit Lady Julianna Beresford Fitzwilliam has quite a ring.’

  Then he’d smiled, God Love him, with his dyed eyelashes and single blonde curl stuck to his bald pate. ‘But don’t worry, my dear. If you truly can’t bear the idea I have a couple of aging Ladies of the Bed-Chamber in tow with hefty bank balances and meagre hopes. One of them will do at a pinch.’

  Julia is determined to leave Norfolk. Like Hugh she is weary of toeing the Society line and Seeing and being Seen. Egypt scraped at her soul and made her look again at her life. These days she’s never at the cottage and it tells, Matty more familiar with Mrs Mac than with his mother. He’s with her now out in the snow, Matty squealing and Ben Faulkner laughing, a family.

  Ben came to the parlour door with questions. ‘Matty has talent, Mrs Dryden. It matters now what he does. He can remain as he is, a talented child, or he, and you, can assert discipline and he becomes an artist.’

  Mr Faulkner is not the only one to take an interest in Matty and his music, the Royal College of Music suggested by the Prince of Wales. ‘He should be heard, Ju-ju, and not by some determined lady pounding an out-of-tune piano in the school gym,’ he said. ‘Matty needs the right ear. I shall look into it.’

  At the time Julia thought nothing of
the suggestion. Beset as Bertie is by problems personal and nationwide a little boy and his education can hardly signify. She had forgotten how kind he can be. That same week she received a call from the Royal College. They were met there by an ancient German gentleman, Herr Ernst Pauer, a retired tutor. He listened while Matty played and then looked at Matty’s hands stretching fingers and manipulating his knuckles. He then asked why a piano and not another instrument.

  Matty said he was there when Mr Doodle was playing.

  Herr Pauer had frowned. ‘Mr Doodle?’

  Julia had grimaced. ‘He means Mr Faulkner, his piano tutor.’

  Matty had nodded. ‘I saw the keys spring up and down and I remembered.’

  ‘What did you remember?’ asked Herr Pauer.

  ‘I remembered making them spring higher.’

  ‘And when was that?’

  ‘When I was that other boy.’

  Herr Pauer had smiled. ‘It is my belief we choose our destiny before we occupy the flesh. Your son has chosen well. He knows a pianist doesn’t need vocal chords. The hands, if they are the right hands, will speak for him.’ He’d held Matthew’s hands. ‘These hands shall speak for the Lord God Almighty.’

  Julia came away from the interview bewildered. Matty took all in his stride and when questioned later as to whether he’d like to go to such a place to study he shrugged, ‘can I take Kaiser with me?’

  The dog is everything to him. People come and go. Ben and Mrs Mac, Daniel Masson, he misses them all, but it’s the dog that holds him. Seeming to know each other’s thoughts they have a close if worrying relationship. Knowing the brevity of life, and Kaiser getting older, Julia tried to prepare Matty for the inevitable. ‘What a dear dog,’ she said. ‘We’ll miss him when he’s gone.’

  ‘What do you mean gone?’ Matty flashed a look. ‘Where is he going?’

  ‘I meant that Kaiser is getting older and one day will leave.’

  Matty’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What day will that be?’