Miss Lily’s Lovely Ladies

by Jackie French

  ‘I … I should perhaps tell you this,’ she added. ‘I heard a few months ago that Germany had five million men in uniform. Today Hannelore spoke of seven million. I don’t know if this is accurate …’

  ‘I suspect it is, Miss Higgs. An interesting increase, is it not? I am grateful that you trusted me with it.’

  A footman took their plates. It was time to turn to her other side for conversation during the next course. ‘I admire you, Miss Higgs,’ he said quietly. ‘There are few people who decide their own futures. Fewer still are women.’

  She did not think the compliment was to manipulate her. ‘Thank you, Mr Lorrimer.’

  He smiled. ‘Until after the fish, Miss Higgs.’ Then turned to the lady on his left.

  It was nearly eleven when Mrs Carlyle rose, signalling that the women were to leave the men to port, cigars and discussion. Sophie followed the herd with their trains and plumes of feathers into the drawing room, then glanced at the miniatures on one wall till Emily had served most of the women their tea while her mother poured the coffee. She made her way past the gossiping groups slowly.

  ‘Tea?’ Emily asked Sophie.

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You and Mr Lorrimer had a lot to talk about.’

  ‘War, mostly,’ said Sophie, although it wasn’t true.

  Emily concentrated on the teapot. ‘It is inevitable.’

  ‘You’ve changed your views?’

  ‘No. I simply did not mention them to our hostess.’

  So you took what Miss Lily could teach you, thought Sophie, including acquiring Mr Porton of the Admiralty, with no intention of working for her cause. She felt chilly, despite the fire’s heat. How much had Miss Lily said in Emily’s hearing that might brand her a traitor?

  Miss Lily must be told of this too.

  Emily looked at Sophie directly for the first time. ‘This country needs war. Striking miners, all the unrest among the unemployed — war will stop all this Bolshie nonsense.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Sophie quietly.

  ‘War would end unemployment, end the ridiculous pretensions of the Labour Party too. The important thing is that we win. We have to make these months count, build up our army, equip our navy properly.’

  I don’t know you, thought Sophie. Did I ever know you? Did Miss Lily ever know you?

  ‘Ask your father what he believes,’ said Emily. ‘As a businessman, and a successful one, he’ll know how Germany is limiting our expansion into Africa, the Pacific, the Middle East.’

  ‘You think my father wants war so he can make more money?’

  Emily shrugged. ‘That is what men like your father do, isn’t it? Make money?’ She met Sophie’s eyes. What she is really saying, thought Sophie, is, ‘Leave James Lorrimer to me.’

  ‘It is the most delightful house party,’ said Sophie. ‘You and your mother are so kind to have invited me. I do hope your father is resting comfortably.’ She meant it as a slap; saw Emily flush in momentary shame. At least some of these visitors might have been taken to visit their invalid host, to give him the illusion he still mattered in the world. But that would temper the carefully planned gaiety of these days with illness.

  Sophie picked up her teacup and went to the piano, to listen to another of the season’s debutantes play, and wait for the men to join them.

  Chapter 35

  Dear Dad,

  Excuse this short note — I’ll write properly to you and Miss Thwaites tomorrow. But tonight I need to ask a question. TWO questions. DO you think war is coming soon, and

  She looked at the paper, then tore it up. There was no need to ask a man who had lost his leg on the North West Frontier if he wanted war to come. She knew her father too well. Stubborn, sentimental, ruthless at times, he loved the challenge of making money and the sense of superiority it gave him, as well as the money itself. But he would not want war.

  And Miss Lily? Did she realise that Emily had been in the pro-war camp all along? And what would she say about Mr Lorrimer’s request?

  Sophie rang the bell. ‘Doris, I need to call Shillings. Could you ask the butler to call for the exchange for me? I’ll tell them the number myself.’ A small breach of etiquette, but she did not want Emily to know about this call.

  Half an hour later the voice on the other end of the telephone line said, ‘The Earl of Shillings’s residence.’

  ‘Samuel? This is Sophie Higgs. I am so sorry to call so late, but may I speak to Miss Lily?’

  ‘Miss Lily is not in residence, Miss Higgs.’

  Why was Samuel answering the telephone? Where was Jones? ‘Would you know how I could contact Miss Lily?’

  ‘I believe she is travelling, Miss Higgs. But if you care to send a letter, I will forward it.’

  A letter could be read by others. Implicate her, as well as Miss Lily. And surely Miss Lily’s contacts had already told her about Emily’s true opinions. The inevitable march to war might even be why she was discreetly unavailable.

  ‘Thank you, Samuel,’ she said slowly. ‘I … I will do that.’ Though the letter would contain only the most veiled reference to Emily. ‘Please give my regards to all at Shillings.’

  ‘Of course, Miss Higgs. Thank you, Miss Higgs.’

  She put the receiver down.

  It was late when she knocked at Hannelore’s door, but there were faint sounds from within. Hannelore’s maid opened it, a froth of tissue paper on the bed behind her. She curtseyed as Sophie stepped past her. ‘So you are really leaving?’

  ‘I must.’ Hannelore looked like she had been crying. For the past, wondered Sophie, or for what might come?

  Sophie put out her hand. Hannelore grasped it in both of hers, then said something to the maid in German. The woman bobbed another curtsey, swept the tissue paper and a pile of silk underwear from the bed, and left with them cradled in her arms.

  ‘No one downstairs said the war was likely to happen so soon.’

  ‘I think they do not know what this will lead to in Austria, in Germany. But my aunt does, and Dolphie.’ She tried to smile at Sophie. ‘And your Mr Lorrimer as well.’

  ‘He isn’t my Mr Lorrimer,’ said Sophie.

  ‘He could be. I think he could be good for you, Sophie, darling.’ Hannelore still pronounced it ‘gut’. ‘You feel so too. Better than Dolphie would be.’

  Dolphie had been serious? Perhaps, if the hours that rushed about them now had not been war-shadowed, he would have asked her to walk through the time-hushed forests; would have asked her to be his wife. But he and Hannelore were correct. If war came, Dolphie would be an enemy.

  Suddenly she knew exactly what she should do. ‘I … I have been thinking about what Dolphie said, using terror as a weapon against Belgian civilians. Is there no way to stop it?’

  Hannelore sat back on the bed. ‘Liebe Sophie. You are so very new at this.’

  ‘I … I don’t understand.’

  ‘But I do,’ said Hannelore softly. ‘I have been living with court intrigues all my life. Quite long enough to know when someone is trying to find out information. Dolphie did not mention Belgium, or any country that borders Germany.’

  ‘I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.’

  ‘Do not be. I would have done the same. Some things should not be secret, and those I share with Miss Lily, and with you. But others …’ She shrugged.

  ‘Hannelore, will I see you again?’

  Hannelore hesitated. ‘I do not know,’ she said at last. ‘You have lived far away from all these intrigues. I live on the edge of the volcano. One day’s march and Russian soldiers will be on our estate. The Black Hand will find more targets, I am thinking too.’

  ‘Then don’t go back,’ said Sophie urgently. ‘Come to Australia. Say you are “most interesting” in kangaroos and need to see them in person.’

  ‘Liebe Sophie, do you think a German would be welcome in Australia when there is war? No,’ said Hannelore lightly, ‘it is my duty to go home. Emily and Alison were at Miss Lily’s
to learn to find a husband. You were there for amusement, mostly, perhaps. But I was there for duty, no matter what I might pretend. If in any small way I can help stop this war by going back to Germany, then I must go. If I must marry to help my country win a war, then I must obey in that too.’

  Hannelore looked at Sophie seriously. ‘But at Miss Lily’s I learned that friendship goes beyond borders or duty. Whatever happens, I hope we will be friends.’

  ‘Always,’ said Sophie fiercely. ‘No matter what.’

  Chapter 36

  When you are young, life is like a dance. It is fun to change partners, to see what the music will bring. But slowly one longs for the familiar.

  Miss Lily, 1914

  It was hard to see Hannelore leave in Dolphie’s long Rolls-Royce the next morning; it was strangely difficult to say goodbye to Dolphie too, as the chauffeur, Dolphie’s valet and Hannelore’s maid tried not to too obviously watch the personal lives of their employers. Neither Emily nor Mrs Carlyle joined her on the stairs to wave them goodbye. Friendship could be discarded — or disregarded — as easily as a man lying lonely and helpless above could be ignored.

  James Lorrimer sat next to Sophie at breakfast with his neat bowl of porridge, topped with sugar and milk. ‘You look beautiful, Miss Higgs. Your friends left safely?’

  At least a dozen pairs of ears were listening; nor as a debutante could she talk to him privately without scandal.

  ‘It was hard to say goodbye to the prinzessin. I asked about her travel plans on the continent, but I think everything is too uncertain for her to plan ahead.’

  He understood. ‘Will you write to her?’

  ‘Of course. But if I do, I don’t think she will be able to tell me more.’

  He nodded, as if it were of little consequence. ‘Our hostess suggested a walk to the old abbey this morning …’

  It could have been any country party conversation.

  She met James Lorrimer six times over the next ten days. Once at a party; he danced well, though in a businesslike manner that suggested that he was dancing for a purpose, not for enjoyment. He did not mention Hannelore. In his quiet way he made it quite clear that his interest was in Sophie, not information. Twice he called at the duke’s town house — both times towards the end of teatime — Sophie assumed with Her Grace’s permission.

  The first time he found her pensive: she had just refused her first offer of marriage, if you didn’t count Dolphie’s. It had hurt to do so. She liked the young man, and if he must be intent on gaining her fortune, she suspected that was not her only attraction for him.

  But as he had sat beside her — Her Grace tactfully out of the way (the young man had certainly explained the situation to the dowager first) — she had found herself remembering how the sunlight kissed Malcolm’s hair, the way the light shone red through the dusty afternoon. Her longing hadn’t been for Malcolm, but for home. An English husband might agree to live in Australia. But if he didn’t like it, he could return and his wife would be legally bound to follow him. It would need a different man — or a different life — to tempt her into staying in England.

  Should she do what Dolphie had suggested? Book a passage for Australia now, in case war broke out? But ships still sailed in wartime. Navies might fire on each other’s ships, but passenger liners would be safe. In six weeks she could be under the gumtree shadows, hearing the sharp bark of ducks calling their young on the river at night.

  ‘I’m interrupting your thoughts, Miss Higgs.’

  She looked up as James Lorrimer came in, secure, amused, intent. He was good at paying attention; she wondered what it would be like to have such close attention paid to a kiss. She let her lips linger in a smile. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Yes, I was far away.’

  ‘May I ask where?’

  ‘Australia. My family property. Thuringa.’

  ‘A lovely name. Where does it come from?’

  ‘You know, I’ve never thought to ask. Can you imagine the beauty of a gold world, Mr Lorrimer, not a green one? Grass like kangaroo fur in the afternoon light? I’m so sorry — please do sit down. It is very good to see you. I’ll ring for fresh tea.’

  ‘Thank you. It would be welcome. Yes, I saw golden plains in Africa. I can see how the love of wide horizons might seep into your soul. But I’m a man of quiet hedges and the slightly less quiet chatterings of parliament, though I must admit at times I suspect they sound like your colonial cockatoos. My aunt has a cockatoo. He sounds alarmingly like Lloyd George. The same insistent way of saying a phrase over and over, as though everyone else must feel it as important as he does.’ He sat down on the chair opposite Sophie. ‘I met young Graveshead on the stairs.’

  ‘He was here a moment ago,’ said Sophie.

  James Lorrimer raised an eyebrow. ‘He looked like a young man who just had his proposal of marriage turned down.’ He laughed. ‘You are too young to have learned to disguise your feelings. And you are too intelligent,’ he added with even more amusement, ‘to stay ignorant of that skill for very much longer. Poor Graveshead,’ he continued. ‘He looked shattered.’

  ‘I suspect he would be more shattered at the loss of my fortune than of my person. If he asked me, which of course is only your supposition.’

  James Lorrimer looked at her speculatively. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘Of course. Why else would a young man with no fortune make an offer to an Australian with no background?’

  ‘Love?’

  ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that love takes time to grow. Or maybe it comes in a shower of petals and you know you are bound forever. But either way, neither of those was the case for Mr Graveshead and me.’

  ‘You underestimate him, you know,’ James Lorrimer said gently. ‘He has no money now except an allowance from his great-uncle. But the great-uncle is bedridden, and likely to last another season at the most. And the estate is entailed. It will all come to Mr Graveshead.’

  ‘Then he will be rich?’

  ‘Quite rich. Would that have made a difference to your answer?’

  So that was why the dowager had agreed to allow him to propose. ‘No. But I … I might have thought of him more charitably.’

  ‘Thank you for that, my dear Miss Higgs.’ For once his smile lost its slightly mocking edge.

  Somehow she had forgotten to deliberately charm James Lorrimer. ‘I think … though I’m not sure … that this is a subject that men don’t ask about, and women don’t speak of.’

  ‘I suspect you are correct. Shall we change the subject? Her Grace’s tea is always excellent.’

  ‘I think she buys it directly from Ceylon. Alison has a cousin on a plantation there.’

  ‘So you did refuse Mr Graveshead?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  She wasn’t. The season was a game, with a game’s rules, and it had only just occurred to her that young men could be hurt by it too. ‘And I shouldn’t have told you. Not about his offer, nor my refusal.’

  ‘That depends,’ said Mr Lorrimer, ‘on how you see me. A serene old codger, available to chat and advise young girls? You could tell a man like that anything.’

  She smiled properly for the first time since the disappointed young man had left. ‘Not that.’

  ‘Or a man you think that one day you might care about. Someone you enjoy speaking to freely. I mean a friend,’ he added. ‘Though it might well become something else. So are we friends?’

  This moment was important. Moisten your lips, whispered Miss Lily. The tongue is the most intimate part of you that can be exposed if you still want to appear to be discreet and proper. ‘I do hope so, Mr Lorrimer.’

  ‘That will do. For now.’

  The door opened. The maid had intuited that Sophie would require more tea and was wheeling in a fresh trolley with a silver teapot (How many does the house have? wondered Sophie), fresh scones to go with the cherry cake, and fresh muffins with a pot of honey.

  Mr Lorrimer looked at the
muffins with pleasure. ‘Muffins and honey. Her Grace remembered how much I love them. The Wooten Abbey honey is always superb.’

  The maid bobbed a curtsey. ‘Her Grace said to give you her apologies. She will be here shortly, sir, Miss Higgs.’

  ‘I expected she would be,’ said Mr Lorrimer. ‘Leaving her charge with one eligible man per afternoon is acceptable. Leaving her with two hints at negligence.’

  The maid bobbed another curtsey and retreated. Mr Lorrimer took a plate and spread a muffin, already buttered, thickly with honey. ‘Muffins, honey and Miss Higgs,’ he said. ‘I can think of no better way to end a working day.’

  James Lorrimer was at each ball after that, although Sophie was sure he hadn’t been to the ones earlier in the season. He must have found a way to know in advance which ones she would attend, for he didn’t seem like a man who enjoyed parties.

  He would arrive in time to dance with her twice before escorting her to supper: an efficient way to make a claim without wasting time on unnecessary social pleasantries. By the end of a fortnight she knew that they were being spoken of as a couple.

  ‘Rosie in the kitchen said that Lady Charles’s maid told her they are offering short odds on his offering for you by the end of the season,’ said Alison.

  ‘What are the odds on my accepting?’

  ‘You’ve let him take you in to supper five times in a row.’

  ‘Because he’s interesting. And balls aren’t. Not many of them, anyway.’

  Alison laughed. ‘It’s not for much longer. Neither of us has to do it again until we have daughters of our own. But you do like him, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sophie liked being held by him when they danced; liked the way he didn’t smile when someone at the table said something foolish. She liked the fact that he was interested in corned beef, or at least its ability to feed many people far from where the cattle that produced it had lived. She even liked the way he had asked her to do something that crossed the bounds of both friendship and etiquette. There would be nothing she’d need to hide from James Lorrimer, possibly little that she could even try to hide.