The latest acquisition is a six string choker said to belong to the Tsarina. Black pearls, black as to midnight blue, Callie got it in Lucerne autumn of ’97. Daniel caught a glimpse of the necklace the day it was ferried in an armed escort accompanying the messenger. He hasn’t seen it since. She doesn’t wear the more costly pieces. They are back in Philly in a vault, box 1576, C A G M.
Last October Daniel stayed with Cousin Francis for the grouse shoot. The morning he was due to leave Daisy Warwick came scratching at the bedroom door a jewel case in her hand. She was short of ready cash ‘did he think Great Aunt Callista would be interested in this ruby ring.’ He knew damn well Great Aunt Callista would be interested but the ring is a family heirloom, and not wanting to rattle the Warwicks shaky marriage, he cried off. He wonders now if in seeking Julianna he’d done less thinking and more giving of ruby rings and pearl necklaces then he wouldn’t be on the outside looking in.
The carriage turned into the drive. ‘How are things here, Crosby?’
‘Middling.’
‘Middling?’
‘Yes, sir, nothing too bad happening.’
‘But nothing too good either.’
‘No sir.’
As usual the House was a wedge of shadows only the Hall and first-floor front showing light. The louring shadows and general depressive air of Greenfields was in marked contrast to the cottage where every window blazed.
‘Is the Tea-Room open for business?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So what’s going on? For a dreary day the place looks festive?’
Crosby cleared his throat. ‘I understand Mizz Dryden’s throwing a party for her maids and their families.’
‘I see.’
‘Mizz Callie did say she might pop along later but that was before she knew you were coming. I doubt she’ll bother now.’
‘Does she go out much?’
‘Mizz Callie don’t go out at all, at least not when she should.’
Daniel gazed back down the rise. The cottage sparkled, music and laughter drifting up on the evening air. It made him miserable to see it. It’s not how it should be. He’s been away. Julianna should be missing him, the cottage in darkness and a solitary candle burning in the window to bring the wanderer home. As with the death of Victoria it would seem life goes on.
‘Anna’s getting married.’
He’d barely a foot in the door when Callie came running. Most mothers not seeing their son in a while would rush to tell how much he’d been missed. Not Callie. She came down the stairs like the Crone in the Gingerbread House, black silk dress and a front tooth missing.
‘What happened to your tooth?’
‘I fell. They’ve called the banns.’
‘What do you mean fell?’
‘As I said, I fell. They’ve called the banns in St Bedes Church.’
‘Thanks, Crosby.’ Daniel took his bag. ‘I’ll manage it. Do you happen to know if the hot tap in my bathroom is working?’
‘It is, sir. It’s been fixed.’
‘Well that’s something.’ Daniel took to the stairs.
Callie followed behind. ‘Did you hear what I said, they’ve called the banns?’
‘I did hear you though I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’
‘I’m talking about Julianna and the man she’s to marry, the builder feller, the one that’s tearing up half of England! The one’s that fixed the taps in your bathroom! She’s marrying him!’
‘You don’t say.’
‘I do say. They’ve put up banns and are to wed on the twenty-sixth.’
‘Good for them.’
‘Good for them?’ Callie scuttled along beside him Dulce trying to haul her back. ‘You can’t mean that.’
‘I do. I’m glad for them.’
‘You are not.’
‘I am! If Julianna being married means me free of this pathetic charade and able to get back to civilisation then I am more than glad, I am delighted!’
The door slammed he set down his bag. A wedding planned! She’s to be married! Good God, how did that happen? Taking off his coat he went through to the bathroom and spun the taps. Hot water gushed out, good clean hot water none of your rust-red poison. He stared down at the worn surface of the bath thinking now what do I do now. For a moment he dithered, not sure whether to walk back out again and hightail it out of England. He wanted to do it but couldn’t, not with the Gingerbread Woman falling to pieces before his eyes.
They took tea. Under normal circumstances on a day like this Callie’s talk would be of the news and the dramatic change within a Royal Dynasty, but such is the grip of the Past it is the proposed marriage between Julianna and Milady Carrington’s former tamed brute that holds all.
‘Former tamed brute!’ asked Daniel. ‘Who calls him such?’
‘Who does not?’
‘Disgraceful!’ Daniel curled his lip. ‘The British are such snobs. Whatever his beginnings he always seemed to me a dignified sort of fellow. It’s Carrington that’s the brute, and his crazy sister.’
‘Well there you are. It is typical of this little island. They don’t want the Old Order changing. They want things to stay the same. I know. It happened to me when I married your father. The Aunts didn’t want me aligned to a nobody.’
‘A wealthy nobody.’
‘Yes but still a nobody. I should’ve wed Henry. Had I done so it might well be you with a title and not Frances. ’
‘In that case God Bless the Founding Fathers. And bless you, mother, for not marrying Henry. I am an American. Why would I want to live in such a backward place? The Pilgrims sure knew what they were doing when they shook this archaic dust of their boots.’
‘So what about you? What do you plan to do now you are a free man?’
‘I was always a free man.’
‘Yes well that was the problem. You were too free. Had you been more like the feller down there, passionate and red-blooded, you might have won though.’
‘You didn’t want me to win though.’
‘No I didn’t. She may have risen of late but still a rector’s daughter. Grevilles don’t wed paupers and Lansdowne don’t bed the governess.’
Daniel went out on the terrace. ‘It sounds like they’re having fun down there.’
Callie nodded. ‘And Her Majesty not yet cold! You’d think they show a little more respect.’
‘Crosby says it’s a party for the maids.’
‘So it is. There is always something going on. The noise those two women make keeps me awake nights. Crashing and banging, music playing and carriages coming and going and no thought for a body. Henry should close the avenue, that’s what he should do, and then no one could get through.’
There it is again, a time-slip, Callie hovers between worlds. What a state she is in! Being here day after day he didn’t see it, but now coming fresh you’d think it was her in a refugee camp. ‘I called your doctor.’
‘When?’
‘Just now. He said he’d be down tomorrow to see you.’
Callie snorted. ‘That’ll be interesting. What did you do dig him out the ground or is this some kind of biblical miracle, ‘Arise, Good Doctor Adelman! Take up thy coffin and walk.’’
‘God’s sake, mother! I didn’t mean Adelman. I meant the chap in the village.’
‘Oh him,’ she screwed up her face. ‘I’m not seeing him. He’s useless.’
‘Then who are you seeing?’
‘I don’t want to see anyone. I want to sit here on the terrace waiting for the spring and watching history repeat itself.’
‘History is not repeating anything. Julianna Dryden and Justine Newman are two entirely different people.’
‘They have the same initial.’
‘So do I and a donkey but it doesn’t mean anything.’
‘What do you mean your? Don’t draw me into your craziness, mother. Henry Lansdowne is dead and so is Justine Newman, and if you don’t straighten up you’ll be joining them. That’s your triangle. There isn’t another.’
‘You don’t think you, Julianna, and the man down there are another?’
‘I do not. We are individuals living our own lives. We’re not adrift in any serendipitous Universe. And if you must talk numbers there were five players in this game, Stefan Adelman and the Prince of Wales the other two.’
‘No. They were never at the heart of any Universe. They are moons revolving around the edge pushing the Celestial Beings closer together.’
‘What rubbish you do talk!’
‘That’s it scoff.’ Callie sighed. ‘You’re like all the rest. You think I’m old and crazy and don’t know what I am talking about. I do know. Ask Dulce, she’ll tell you. Stefan Alderman isn’t the only death we’ll be talking about. I feel there is to be another. It’s why I invited Madame Leonora.’
‘I thought I told you not to get into that hocus-pocus?’
‘It isn’t hocus-pocus! It’s tearing aside the veil. Anyway she’s coming Friday for my birthday. And it’s no use looking like that! This is my house and I’ll do what I want in it. I’ve sent out invitations and I’ve people coming so you’ll have to grin and bear it.’
‘I don’t have to do anything. You may do what you like, mother. You may combs the paths of heaven and hell and invite all the screwballs in the world to fill your head with fancy tales I don’t have to suffer it.’
‘That’s up to you. My plans are my plans. I never expected your support. You’re like your father selfish to the end.’
‘Selfish? Why thank you very much. You shoulda put that in a wire to Port Elizabeth. I would’ve known not to bother coming back.’
‘I wonder you did.’
‘So do I if this is my welcome.’
‘There go again thinking of yourself. You never consider me.’
Daniel spread his hands. ‘Mother, what do you want of me?’
‘I don’t want anything other than to be left alone.’ She closed up the telescope. ‘You can manage that, can’t you? You’ve had plenty practice.’
Daniel snatched up his jacket and vaulting over the rail dropped down into the snow. ‘I wish I were alone. Then I could get the hell out of this miserable country and start living my life again!’
Hands in his pockets he trudged toward the village but then, a fish on the end of a line, he did a U-turn and headed back toward the Nanny.
They’d pulled the tables together in a line and covered them with a sheet, Luke at one end and Julia at the other, and they’d hung discreet lanterns from the rafters and though it was past Christmas redecorated the tree.
‘You shouldn’t do that,’ Maggie had said, thumb in her mouth. ‘It’s bad luck.’
‘So you don’t want a gift from the tree then?’ said Julia.
‘I do. I’m only saying it’s bad luck.’
Trout followed by a saddle of lamb and for those that wanted it venison stew, it was a good meal. For pudding they had Mrs Mac’s éclairs and apple dumplings and fresh cream. Julia steered away from fancy foods selecting those she knew everyone would enjoy, and enjoy they did, every plate scraped clean. Now they are all settled about the table with mugs of beer and Ben Faulkner is at the piano, and Reggie, the baker, about to sing.
‘Oh don’t let him, madam!’ squeaked Dorothy. ‘He thinks he sings like a bird but he don’t.’
Reggie began to sing, or rather to bawl: ‘Tom Pearce, Tom Pearce, lend me your grey mare! All along, down along, out along lea. For I would be going..!’
‘Oh not that one!’ Dorothy groaned. ‘We’ll be here forever.’
‘Yes,’ said Julia calling halt. ‘In view of the sad news about Her Majesty I think we might choose something a little less raucous.’
‘How about ‘Somewhere a Voice is Calling,’’ said Reg. ‘Is that better?’
‘Not much,’ said Dorothy.
Three choruses later Julia slipped away to the kitchen. It is the maid’s party and as such she must attend to the dishes. The Maid’s Party is a new observation. It was Mrs Mac’s idea meant to mark the opening of the first Nanny but somewhere along the way expanded to an after-Christmas party. It was meant for family, mostly Dorothy and Maggie’s family, Mrs Mac and Leah having none. This time there’s a crowd, Ben Faulkner, the pot-boy from Greenfields, Mr Croft, the widower greengrocer who rather likes Leah, bar-staff from the Nelson, and Nan and Albert. It was planned for next Saturday but has been brought forward because of the wedding. With the news of Her Majesty passing they should have cancelled but so many dear friends are dying of late one can’t stand still.
Luke came into the kitchen. ‘You want help with that?’
‘It’s alright. There’s not too much.’
‘E’en so,’ he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. ‘I’ll help.’
‘I know what this is,’ said Julia filling the bowl. ‘This is not about helping with the dishes. This is you trying to get away from the singing.’
‘Darn right,’ he said. ‘That fellow’s got a voice like a cow with bellyache.’
They worked together Julia washing and Luke drying. They didn’t speak. Words were unnecessary. They were so aware of one another, of soap bubbles glistening on her fingers and of the white of his shirt against a sun-beaten arm.
‘A good party,’ said Luke.
‘Your mother seems happy.’
‘She is.’
‘And Albert?’
‘He’s coming round.’
‘I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you at odds with your parents.’
‘If I have you I am not at odds with anyone.’
Firelight glimmers and the stove crackles and the pots are washed and dried.
‘It’s not long now to our do.’
‘No, not long.’
‘You know Nan offered us the pub for after the church?’
‘Yes but I’d rather a small dinner party here.’
‘Are you sure? It suits me but doesn’t seem much of a wedding breakfast.’
‘It’s fine.’
Silence and then, ‘you are very quiet,’ said Luke.
‘And you.’
‘I am a man of few words.’
‘So you are, although...’ she bent her head, ‘not always.’
The tea-towel small in his hand and a tide of red creeping over his cheek he polished a plate. ‘Aye well, there is a time for saying things.’
Bit-by-bit the shelves were restocked with china. He took the last dish and wiped it dry. ‘I don’t seem to remember you saying much on such occasions.’
The tide of red was then hers. ‘I needed my breath to survive!’
He glanced back at the door and then quickly leaning across pressed his lips to curve of her throat. ‘I love you.’
‘And I love you.’
‘You have made me the happiest man.’
‘And me the happiest woman.’
‘Thank you for loving me.’
‘No! Thank you for loving me.’
Their moment was snatched away.
‘Madam come quick!’ Maggie was at the door her face flushed. ‘You’ve got to come! Ben is playin’ waltzes and we’re to push back the table and dance.’
Mrs Mac proved to be a wonderful dancer if inclined toward a poetic swaying back and
forth. Snatched up in her embrace Luke tried not to laugh. Out the corner of his eye he could see Julianna. Held as she is between the death of one friend and whispers of Joe Carmody sinking she’s not able to laugh but she smiles. Luke is happy, not least because his parents have accepted the idea of their marriage. It happened yesterday triggered by a rumpus in the public bar, Aggie Simpkin, sticking her nose where it’s not wanted, asked Nan how she felt about having a woman like Anna Dryden for daughter-in-law. Ma said she couldn’t be happier. ‘Such grace and elegance, who would not want her for a daughter.’ Round one to Ma but Aggie wasn’t done. ‘I understand the wedding breakfast is at the Tea-Room. I doubt the Prince of Wales will be coming to that.’ Silence in the bar. Then Ma, never lost for words,‘ His Majesty, King Edward, is a busy man. I know. I’ve taken tea with him and saw how busy he is. I’m sure if he could come he would but with the late Queen’s death his business takes him elsewhere. One thing is certain whomsoever attends you won’t be among them.’
Julianna doesn’t know of this spat. Luke won’t tell her. No doubt she is on the end of other such opinions about him. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Nan. ‘Aggie Simpkin was always a foolish woman.’ Only one other person has questioned Luke’s choice. Freddie Carrington wrote. His letter was mostly about him being in need of sunshine; how they were in Rome, Eve not inclined toward the Bahamas. ‘So here we are in the jolly old Borghese for the beginning of yet another year though why we are I do not know. There’s no one here. Everyone else is with family sharing hugs and kisses. We share vintage champagne and bitter loathing.’ There was a postscript. ‘I heard you and Ju-ju Dryden are to wed. I suppose we all knew it was going that way. I wish you well and hope not too many doors closed to you. People are short-sighted and see what they need to see. The answer, Dear Luke, is build more houses and make more money. You’ll be amazed how many doors and eyes will open up to that. ’
Freddie meant well but Luke didn’t like it. Who cares about opening doors! If Julianna and Matty are happy then everyone else can go to hell. There was another letter that same day, this from Robert Scholtz. Here too was a postscript. ‘My dear fellow the world being small one can’t avoid hearing whispers. In respect of this, and without treading on your toes, I want to say how delighted I am for you both. You were meant to be together. Whatever you are going through now, and I dare say there is some nonsense, my advice is simple, come to Boston the two of you and take America by storm.’
Fragile Blossoms Page 45
