Her own car followed the long line that drove into the inner courtyard at Buckingham Palace. Her main concern, as she walked up the grand staircases, past the palace servants wearing their powdered wigs, was that she might dirty her white dress and kid gloves. Even though she deemed her presentation a relatively unimportant moment in her life, she could not rid herself of the small butterflies in her stomach as she stood in the anteroom waiting to be presented to the King and Queen.
‘This is a hoot, I don’t think!’ said a striking young woman with jet-black hair standing behind her. She was thin as a rake and wearing what her grandmother would call unsuitable lipstick. ‘What number are you?’
‘I’m Number Sixteen.’
‘I’m in after you. Isn’t this is a yawn?’ Seventeen drawled, looking suitably bored. ‘So completely passé.’
Olivia wanted to agree, but as she was due into the Throne Room within the next two minutes she ignored the girl and tried to concentrate on what she needed to do.
Afterwards, everyone was much more relaxed. Olivia’s presentation had gone smoothly. She had not tripped or fallen at the King and Queen’s feet, or stumbled on her walk to and fro. The girls were chattering and tucking in to a feast provided by Lyons. They all seemed to know each other and Olivia stood on the sidelines, feeling awkward and out of place.
‘Buck up, almost over,’ whispered a voice beside her. ‘We met earlier, I’m Venetia Burroughs. And you are?’
It was Number Seventeen. ‘Olivia Drew-Norris,’ she replied.
‘Golly! I’m dying for a ciggie,’ uttered Venetia. ‘When do you suppose we’ll be released?’ Venetia flicked back her long black hair, which was noticeably not styled in a bouffant, unlike Olivia’s and most of the other girls.
‘I’ve really no idea. I’d look at my watch, except it’s such a palaver to take off these kid gloves,’ replied Olivia.
Venetia raised her eyebrows. ‘Oh, heavens, yes.’ She looked around the room and indicated the girls. ‘We all look rather like brides of Dracula, don’t we?’
Olivia giggled. She knew that Venetia must be one of the ‘fast’ girls her grandmother had warned her about. And she was intrigued.
‘Oh, damn it! I’m going to have one anyway.’ Venetia pulled a cigarette from her evening bag and lit it. ‘Gosh, that’s better,’ she said, exhaling ostentatiously.
Olivia stood next to her nervously, noticing the heads of the nearby girls turn in the direction of the smoke.
Venetia shrugged dramatically. ‘What will they do? Arrest me and throw me in the Tower? The King himself smokes like a trooper. Want one?’ She offered the case to Olivia.
‘No, thank you. I don’t.’
‘Don’t approve or don’t smoke? So,’ Venetia drawled, ‘didn’t see you at any of the pre-Season tea dances or the lunches. Where do you hail from?’
‘India,’ said Olivia.
‘Really, how very … exotic.’ She looked Olivia up and down. ‘You’re awfully pretty, you know. Should catch a good fish this Season, if that’s what you want. I’d say you’re in the top five.’
‘I’m not sure that is what I want,’ said Olivia boldly.
Venetia looked at her with new respect. ‘Really? Then what are you doing here?’
‘The same as you, I should think,’ Olivia countered. ‘Doing what our mothers did before us and keeping up the tradition.’
‘Quite so, quite so,’ nodded Venetia approvingly, ‘but I intend to have a lot more fun than my mother was allowed to along the way. And, like you, I’m not frantic to get hitched either. So my motto is, if one has to go through the process, one might as well enjoy it as much as one can. Don’t you agree?’
At that moment, a beautiful dark-haired girl with sparkling eyes and a dress that reeked of Paris couture, rather than the private English dressmakers most of the girls had used, came to join them.
‘Honey.’ The girl wrapped her arms round Venetia. ‘Please, I’m gasping, be a sweetheart and give me a drag.’
‘All yours, Kick, why don’t you finish it for me?’
Olivia watched as the beautiful American girl grinned. ‘Thanks. Listen, you going on to the Ritz? There’s a party of us leaving in twenty minutes. Daddy said he’d come down later, too.’
‘Perhaps, Kick,’ said Venetia casually. ‘I’ll see what else is happening.’
‘Okay, sugar, see you at the next one.’ Kick raised an eyebrow, turned and swept a glance over Olivia. ‘Who’s this?’ she questioned, sounding more royal than the King and Queen they had just been presented to.
‘Olivia Drew-Norris. And I think,’ whispered Venetia conspiratorially, ‘ she might be one of “us”.’
‘Good-oh.’ The very English phrase sounded strange coming out of an American mouth. ‘See you around, Olivia.’ And she swept off.
Venetia’s eyes followed Kick as she crossed the room. All other eyes seemed to follow her too.
‘You know who that is, don’t you?’ Venetia eyed Olivia.
‘Yes, I recognise her from the newspapers,’ said Olivia. ‘It’s Kathleen Kennedy.’
‘And the uncrowned Queen of the Season, darling. Everybody loves her.’
‘I can understand why,’ sighed Olivia. ‘She’s terribly beautiful.’
‘And modern. She’s like a breath of fresh air, and if she likes you,’ Venetia squeezed Olivia’s arm, ‘she’ll make sure the Season’s fun for you. You must come and meet Mup. That’s what I call my mother, by the way, too boring to tell you why, but I think you’ll like her. Are you attending Tip Chandler’s dance tomorrow at the Savoy?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Olivia confirmed.
‘That should be fun, at least. Geraldo’s playing there with his marvellous orchestra. We’ll make plans then.’ Venetia winked as another girl waved to her across the room. ‘Must fly, darling, got to do the rounds. See you tomorrow.’
Olivia arrived home that night and, for the first time, felt a tingle of excitement about the Season to come.
13
Elsie woke up, glad to see the May sun streaming through the thin cotton curtains over her window. It had been such a miserable winter, with the sea frets descending and refusing to budge for most of the day until it was dark again, and the bitterly cold weather. Elsie had been feeling a bit blue recently, what with her being put back to work as a downstairs maid. There had been no house parties at Wharton Park and therefore no ladies to look after. Her ‘upstairs’ wage of £1/1/6 had returned to £1, which was a pound of butter lost for her family every week.
The house was quiet because of his Lordship spending most of his time in London for meetings about the war. And her Ladyship had endured a particularly bad winter, suffering from a series of conditions, including influenza, when the entire household was worried for her life. Her Ladyship had always been a delicate flower and when she wasn’t well, nothing was right in the house.
Elsie sprang out of bed, her ungraceful exit eliciting a moan of displeasure from her younger sister who shared it with her, and flung back the curtains. This provoked a further groan from the bed as her sister rolled over and put a pillow over her head.
Elsie studied the sun and saw it was probably only just past five. She had an hour before she started work, and she wanted to lay out and prepare her best clothes for later. It was her half-day, and this afternoon Bill was taking her to the Regal in Cromer. They were going to see Goodbye Mr Chips with Robert Donat, and she was to meet him at one thirty in the Quad, where Bill had said he would have a surprise for her.
Elsie couldn’t help wondering whether it might be a ring. She had just turned eighteen and they had been courting for over a year now. It was time, she thought. Especially as Bill had recently joined the Territorial Army and was going to the drill hall in Dereham two nights a week to practise, with brooms and spades as his weapons. What if he got called up and sent abroad to fight? Elsie had lost two uncles at the Somme and she knew what war could mean.
If it was down to her, she w
ould marry him as soon as possible, which would mean that they wouldn’t have any more arguments if Bill tried to go too far when they were having a kiss and a cuddle in the woods. She just wasn’t one of those kind of girls. Bill knew he had to wait until they were married.
She had already eyed the comfortable gardener’s cottage which Bill would inherit from his parents in a few years’ time. It was set back from the Quad, in its very own garden, and was twice the size of the one her own family inhabited, with eight of them packed in tight.
She knew her ma would be happy to be rid of her, as long as she still contributed to the family finances, but Bill earned double what she did. And her Ladyship seemed to have a real soft spot for him, because Bill had the gift of making all her beautiful flowers grow. Whenever she visited the hothouse and Bill presented her with a new specimen he had grown, her Ladyship would slip him a shilling or two. Over the years, those shillings had mounted up and she knew that Bill had quite a stash hidden under the floorboards in his bedroom. When they got wed, they could almost certainly afford a proper sit-down ‘do’ in the village hall. She wanted it to be the best wedding the Quad had ever seen.
Realising she was wasting precious time daydreaming, Elsie pulled open the drawer and laid out her hat, skirt and blouse on the chair. She had made the skirt herself, out of the navy tablecloth Mrs Combe, the housekeeper, had thrown out. It was in the new short style – only just skimming her knees, tightly fitted at the waist and falling in folds over her hips. She was very pleased with her handiwork and hoped it would encourage Bill to do the ‘right’ thing.
She flung on her uniform, ran down the stairs and said good morning to her ma, who was stirring some porridge at the range.
‘Want some?’ asked her ma.
Elsie shook her head. ‘I’ll be back at lunchtime, but don’t forget, I’m gone for the rest of the day.’ Before her mother could ask for her help with the little ones or to run an errand whilst she was in Cromer, Elsie opened the door. ‘Bye, Ma!’ She waved gaily and closed it behind her.
As she walked through the orchard, Elsie glanced towards the hothouse to see if Bill had arrived yet – she liked watching him when he didn’t know she was there – and saw him through the window, bent over a plant, his face a picture of concentration. She could hardly believe her luck that she had found someone as handsome and as bright as he was.
Her family sometimes accused Elsie of having ideas above her station, but that wasn’t the case at all. Both she and Bill were young, fit and hard-working and she wanted both of them to make the most of any opportunities that came their way. She also knew they were the lucky ones, with a safe roof over their heads and a job for life, when she had seen on the Pathé newsreel so many others in the cities were starving on the streets. And when they were married and the little ones started to come along, Elsie knew that she would be grateful for the security Wharton Park gave her.
Besides, she worshipped her Ladyship, just as the rest of the household did. Elsie knew her employer was different to many of the grand ladies who ran their estates. Lady Crawford did not rule with fear, as many visiting maids confided … no, she ruled with kindness and understanding. Rarely did a member of her household ever let her down or come below her expectations. She would issue instructions in her low, gentle voice, and make everyone feel as though they were doing her a favour. And if, on the rare occasion something was not absolutely as she had instructed it to be, a raise of an eyebrow or a small moue of displeasure on her Ladyship’s lips was enough to send the perpetrator into a deep funk for days. Her Ladyship genuinely seemed to care for her staff. Elsie remembered one occasion when she was a little girl, sitting at the table in the big kitchen whilst her ma helped bake for the annual Wharton Park garden party. She had been struggling with her letters, and her Ladyship had walked into the kitchen, passed a careful eye over the racks of scones and sponges, then, on spying Elsie sitting at the table, had crossed towards her.
‘It’s Elsie, n’est ce pas?’
Elsie didn’t understand the funny words her Ladyship sometimes used, but she had nodded anyway. ‘Yes, your Ladyship.’
‘What are you doing?’ She had looked down at the clumsily formed words in Elsie’s book.
‘I’m copying, your Ladyship, from this, but I don’t understand some of the words,’ Elsie had said truthfully.
‘Ah, the English language! It is so complicated. Let me see …’ And she had sat down next to Elsie and spent the next twenty minutes helping her.
The talk below stairs was that her Ladyship had wanted more children, but it was not to be. Giving birth to Harry had placed a strain on her health and there had been no more babies. Elsie knew that she would die if she and Bill couldn’t produce a healthy brood of children. Big families were what life was all about, weren’t they?
Wharton Park stood straight ahead of her, its many windows glinting in the morning sun. Elsie loved the house; its solidness, and the security that seemed to emanate from its sturdily built walls. Other things would change, she knew that, but the Big House had stood there for almost three centuries and would almost certainly be there for another three.
Walking around the side of Wharton Park to the servants’ entrance, Elsie took off her boots to change into her house slippers and entered the kitchen.
‘You’re early for once, miss,’ commented Mrs Combe, who was sitting at the table studying the menu lists. ‘The kettle’s boiling. Sit yourself down with a cup of tea and then it’s into the dining room to polish the silver. Her Ladyship wants to see you at ten. Should think it’s about this big dance they’re holding for Miss Penelope, her Ladyship’s niece, next month.’
Elsie felt a tingle of excitement. ‘A dance?’ she questioned. ‘I haven’t heard about it.’
‘And why would you, miss?’ Mrs Combe retorted. ‘Does her Ladyship have to ask permission from you before she makes a plan?’
Elsie knew the housekeeper was teasing her. She was a hard worker and Mrs Combe had few grounds for complaint. Besides, she was almost family, being second cousin to Elsie’s mother.
‘Will it be a big do, Mrs Combe? How many will attend?’ asked Elsie eagerly.
‘It’s Miss Penelope’s Coming Out dance, so I’m sure her Ladyship will pull out all the stops, seeing as she has no daughter of her own to present. I’ll be hearing the details later on this week but, mark my words, young miss, June will be a very busy month at Wharton Park. And I, for one, will be glad of it.’ Mrs Combe sighed in pleasure. ‘The whole place could do with a party and some cheer.’
‘You mean the other debutantes will be coming from London for the dance here?’ asked Elsie.
Mrs Combe nodded. ‘They’ll be staying at houses around the county, but we’ll be full to bursting here too.’
Elsie’s eyes shone as she clasped her hands together in delight. ‘Oh, Mrs Combe, can you imagine? All them beautiful young things, right here in this house! I saw them being presented at the Palace on the Pathé newsreel when Bill took me to Cromer last month.’
‘Now don’t you be getting carried away with yourself, young miss. You’ve got work to do, and as you haven’t made that cup of tea, I can only assume you didn’t want it. So get yourself upstairs to the dining room and them silver spoons, and make sure you’re clean and tidy before you go to see her Ladyship in the library at ten sharp.’
‘Yes, Mrs Combe,’ replied Elsie obediently.
At ten o clock, Elsie duly presented herself outside the library door. She knocked and a voice said, ‘Entrez.’ Elsie did so.
‘Please, Elsie,’ Adrienne indicated the chair opposite her, ‘sit down. So,’ she smiled, ‘I have been hearing from Mrs Combe that you have a talent for styling the hair.’
Elsie blushed. ‘Oh no, your Ladyship, not really. I like the modern styles and I just enjoy copying them.’
‘C’est parfait!’ She clasped her hands together. ‘You have heard, no doubt, about the dance we will host for my niece next month?’
‘There will be many young ladies here, sophisticated girls who will be used to having the best in London, where everything is on their doorstep, including hairdressers. Some will be bringing their own maids, others will not. Would you be willing to offer your services as a hair stylist that night?’
‘Oh, your Ladyship!’ Elsie was overwhelmed. ‘As you said, they’re used to the best, I’m just an amateur. But I’ll try my hardest.’
‘Voilà! Then that is settled. I will say we have a young lady in our employ who is able to help the debutantes with their hair before the dance.’
‘Oh yes, your Ladyship, thank you. I’ll do my best not to let you down.’
‘I know you will, Elsie,’ Adrienne smiled. She stood up slowly and walked to the window. Then let out a large sigh. ‘I want this party to be very special.’ She turned back to Elsie. ‘It may be the last one this house sees for a very long time, if war comes.’ She nodded at her. ‘You may go.’
‘Thank you, your Ladyship.’
Adrienne watched her as she left the room. Elsie was a good girl and she was very fond of her. And she approved of her relationship with Bill, the gardener’s son. She also wondered if either of them, at the start of their young lives, had any idea of the severity of the storm clouds gathering over them. Christopher said it wouldn’t be long now. Hitler’s power and support were growing daily. It was only a matter of time, and then …
Adrienne had lost her brother in the last Great War. She had been lucky to keep her husband. Now, she was looking at the possibility of losing her son. It was a thought she couldn’t bear. She knew to her cost how rank and privilege meant nothing on the battlefield in the lottery of who lived and who died. Both her son and the gardener’s boy, Bill, would sooner or later be sent off to fight. Then God alone would choose.
And there was nothing she could do.
Hothouse Flower Page 11
