In Distant Fields

by Charlotte Bingham

  Violet watched him go through to the dining room and then she turned and put out a hand for the newel post of the narrow Regency staircase. Baccarat, that rakehell gambling game that destroyed so many, had Evelyn in its embrace, and it was a fiercer tie than any woman could ever be. She hurried through the green baize door to order Bridie to bring the coffee through.

  As she slowly climbed the stairs to her bedroom she thought she could once again hear her father’s voice warning her not to marry Evelyn Rolfe.

  ‘They’re a bad lot, the Rolfes, Vi. They’ve bad blood, and nothing to be done about it. They might be an old family, they might be aristocratic, but they’re rotten on any level – gamblers and wastrels, all of them …’

  But of course Violet had known better. She had been swept off her feet by the dashing, handsome Evelyn, and no one could talk her out of him. She had paid the penalty for her obstinacy, and doubtless would spend the rest of her life doing so.

  ‘Mamma?’ Kitty’s voice called from what seemed a great distance, but was actually only from the hall.

  Violet hurried back down.

  ‘Ssh, Kitty. Your father is home.’ Violet nodded towards the dining room, where breakfast and the Morning Post were always laid ready for Evelyn, no matter what.

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘You might well say “oh”, Kitty,’ Violet replied in a low voice. ‘And he has Aunt Agatha’s letter.’

  Kitty stared at Violet, who looked suddenly quite faint.

  ‘Then I shall go and ask him for the letter back.’ Kitty looked momentarily indignant. ‘That letter is addressed to you and me, or at any rate to you, not to him.’

  But her mother drew her into her small study, and half closed the door behind them.

  ‘Don’t go near your father, Kitty. Please. He is not – well, he is not himself. He will be leaving soon for Biddlethorpe Hall, so it is of no matter if we leave him to his own devices.’

  Kitty stared at her mother, who had begun to remove her diamond engagement ring.

  ‘What are you doing, Mamma?’

  ‘Take this to the shop on the corner, Kitty. He will give you a good price.’

  ‘But, Mamma—’

  ‘Quickly. There simply is no time for argument. I will go in to him, as you go out.’

  ‘You can’t pawn this, Mamma. This is your engagement ring. Papa will most certainly notice.’

  ‘You can leave your father to me, Kitty,’ Violet insisted, steering her daughter out of the study. ‘I can handle your father – or at least I can try. Now do as I say. Go on with you, Kitty – go on.’

  Kitty put the ring in her skirt pocket and started to hurry across the hall, only to find herself confronting her father.

  ‘Good morning, Papa,’ she said, curtsying, all filial submission, at the same time plucking at her coat, which she quickly pulled on while maintaining her dutiful expression.

  ‘Where the hell is the coffee?’

  ‘Bridie is just making it, Papa. Oh, look,’ Kitty quickly pointed out of the window. ‘Look, Papa, there’s the Earl of Caulfield’s Rolls-Royce. How smart it looks, wouldn’t you say?’

  Her father turned quickly and without a word went back into the dining room, shutting the door behind him, and Kitty slipped quickly out of the front door. What a boon for her to know that her father still owed the Earl of Caulfield a great deal of money.

  She shot out of the front door and started to walk at breakneck speed towards the pawnbroker’s shop, always and ever known discreetly in their house as the ‘shop on the corner’. Pawnbrokers always gave a better price than jewellers. She would always loathe going there, but this morning she cared less, for if Mr Trinder would give her enough money to go to stay at Bauders Castle, she would be only too grateful.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rolfe. How nice to see you again.’

  Mr Trinder was tall, with an ample figure that Kitty always thought must be a direct result of all the money he had made from everyone else’s misfortunes.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Trinder.’

  Kitty seated herself on the gold chair by the counter, placing her mother’s diamond ring on the cushion in front of them both. As soon as he saw it Trinder took out his enlarging glass and studied it, before wordlessly disappearing into the back of his premises.

  Kitty waited. She knew the ring was worth a great deal of money. It had the blue glow that valuable old diamonds always had. Mr Trinder returned shortly, looking poker-faced, if slightly pinker.

  ‘Just remember I am not a bank,’ he said with a sigh, stroking his double chin slowly and pretending once more to smile. ‘Everyone hereabouts thinks I am but I simply trade on interest. I hardly make a thing on the gewgaws people bring to me. I hardly make a farthing, let alone a penny, let alone a shilling.’

  He laughed rather too loudly at the thought of making a shilling, shaking his head slowly while all the time carefully watching Kitty.

  ‘Hmmm,’ he said as he replaced the ring on the cushion. ‘This is a delightful piece. Quite delightful. It will be an honour to have this in my case.’

  He smiled again, and Kitty wished for perhaps the twentieth time that he would not. Mr Trinder’s smile was not a pretty sight.

  ‘I am quite sure it will be an honour,’ Kitty told him primly. ‘It is a beautiful diamond.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘As I am saying, this is a delightful piece, most delightful. And I dare say you are expecting a sizeable loan on this, are you not? I most certainly would be, on such a delightful piece of jewellery, most certainly. So today I might have to be even more generous than is my custom. Particularly since it is soon to be Christmas, and the time when we should be thinking of others – and doing our best to put our good feet forward. Do you not think so? Most certainly I do, most certainly. So shall we perhaps say this? Would that be satisfactory, young miss?’

  Having written a sum on a pad on the counter, Trinder turned it round so that Kitty could see. Fortunately Kitty had been brought up by her mother to cope with the Mr Trinders of this world, tradesmen who presented their accounts twice, and all manner of other tricks.

  ‘That will not be enough, Mr Trinder, and you and I both know it.’ Kitty did her best to look stern and unyielding.

  ‘You are, of course, right, Miss Rolfe. Perhaps we may settle on my second figure? I do hope we may.’

  Kitty stared at the second hastily written figure, and then at Mr Trinder.

  ‘Very well, Mr Trinder, plus, I think, a little more, don’t you?’

  Some minutes later Kitty left Mr Trinder’s premises, an envelope full of more money than she would have ever hoped to possess stuffed in her coat pocket.

  Afraid of going home and bumping into her father before he left for Biddlethorpe Hall, she headed for the park, for the sight of the ducks and the swans, the other people, their dogs and their children, all the time grasping the envelope in her pocket so tightly that it might almost have been a helping hand held out to her, which in so many ways she knew it was.

  By the time she allowed herself to return home, her father had left for Biddlethorpe Hall, and her mother had hastily written to accept Lady Partita’s invitation to catch the Thursday afternoon train to Bauders Castle.

  ‘Have you ever seen so much money, Kitty? Have you ever, ever seen so much money?’

  Kitty shook her head.

  ‘And now all we have to do is spend it!’

  Half an hour later the two women, dressed for the winter weather, umbrellas over their arms, expressions as bright as the sky above them was grey, left for the shops, where they spent the rest of the day, not to mention the following morning too, buying everything that Kitty would need for her visit.

  At last Thursday dawned, and the little household was up at dawn, packing and preparing for the journey ahead.

  ‘I have told Bridie to attend to your every need,’ Violet informed Kitty. ‘But don’t be surprised if she appears a little over-excited. She says she has never seen a castle, let alone
visited one.’

  ‘I keep feeling so guilty, Mamma. How will you manage on your own here, without Bridie?’ Kitty paused. ‘I keep wondering what you will do if Papa comes home.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘Stop wondering, Kitty. It is not your place to worry about me. Even should I need Bridie, which I will make sure that I don’t, I have told you, you cannot possibly visit a place such as Bauders without a maid. It would not be understood.’

  ‘Yes, but, Mamma, what will Bridie do when we are there?’

  Violet paused in her folding of one of Kitty’s new blouses.

  ‘She will do as the other maids do for their young mistresses, Kitty. She will help dress you, and generally tend to your needs.’

  ‘But then how will you cope, without anyone but young Mary coming in to clean?’

  ‘I will cope, dearest, really I will.’ Violet smiled suddenly at Kitty. ‘Now don’t forget to remind Bridie to hand the keys for your luggage to the butler on your arrival – that is de rigueur. She will not want to look like a hayseed to the other servants, for they will make quite open fun of her if she does, believe me.’

  Kitty smiled. ‘We will both try to be a credit to you, I promise.’

  Mother and daughter stared into each other’s eyes for a second, each knowing as she did that this invitation to Bauders could well change Kitty’s life, and for so much the better.

  ‘Take heart, Kitty, really. You will be everything that I could wish. I know that.’

  Later Violet watched Kitty, followed by Bridie, climbing into the waiting hackney carriage in her new travelling outfit. She looked a picture in her feathered hat and fur muffler, her new blue coat as elegant as anything either of them could wish. Bridie, of course, was dressed in her customary black since she always seemed to be in perpetual mourning. Her mind and spirit appeared to reside permanently in or around the churchyard.

  ‘Pray to the Lord our God to keep us safe on this journey,’ the maid muttered as the cab took them across the park to the railway station. ‘And may He keep us and preserve us from the attentions of strangers and free from all pestilences on our journey – because you would do well to remember, Miss Kitty,’ she said more loudly as she focused on her mistress, ‘that one soul’s careless sneeze may be another’s early demise. Wasn’t my poor Uncle Fergus just such a victim, God rest his soul indeed, for didn’t he take a train journey to Cork for a Nationalist meeting on the one day, and wasn’t he dying in hospital on the next, and wasn’t it all due to travelling in a train and being proximous to the afflictions of others? May God preserve us on this journey, Miss Kitty, for He will surely need to.’

  They had barely settled themselves and their luggage into the railway carriage when Bridie took out her rosary beads and started to murmur her prayers and to toll the beads.

  Kitty felt embarrassed, until after a short time she came to realise that as soon as the other passengers clapped eyes on Bridie tolling her beads they climbed back out of the carriage as quickly as they had climbed in. It seemed that Bridie’s devotions meant that not only did her prayers put her in good stead with the Almighty, but they afforded the two travellers the most splendid privacy all the way to their station in Northamptonshire.

  It was disappointing, but waiting at the station for Kitty’s arrival was not as amusing as Partita had hoped it might be. Normally when visiting guests arrived at the Halt, they would be met by one or two of the servants, and transported back to the castle in one of the Duke’s many ponytraps or another small horse-drawn carriage, but on this occasion Partita had insisted on going to the station to meet Kitty herself. She had been too excited to stay at home and wait. Now, however, she had cause to regret her eagerness, because besides half freezing to death in the back of Jossy’s trap, she was discovering what everyone else knew, namely that there was very little to do at stations.

  Of course, a small part of her had hoped that if she managed to get herself to the station on her own, without her maid, the ever-possessive Tinker, there might be some sort of adventure to be had. Perhaps a chance encounter with some dashing young cavalry officer in the waiting room, or even a minor accident in a siding that would require the services of the estate fire engine, instead of which there was only the platform populated by a particularly idle-looking station-master who, despite the bitter nature of the wind, was leaning on one of the posts reading a stout almanac of some kind.

  Partita sighed and finally took refuge in the Ladies Only waiting room, which was currently occupied by a harassed-looking woman and her three small sons, who immediately stopped trying to annoy each other to stare at the young woman beautifully dressed in velvet and furs, now standing in front of the waiting-room fire warming her gloved hands. A moment later one of the boys, prompted by a whisper and a nudge from his mother, offered Partita a seat, for which she thanked him, but demurred. Finally, having read every poster and notice hanging on the walls at least twice, she decided once more to brave the elements rather than endure the increasingly toxic fug of the overheated room.

  Happily, and only five minutes late, the London train finally steamed in to the Halt and Kitty, closely followed by Bridie, disembarked.

  An aged porter appeared from nowhere to fetch their luggage from the guard’s van while Partita hurried down the platform to greet her friend, noting the thin whey-faced girl she assumed to be her maid walking behind Kitty, carefully carrying, as was the custom, a small black leather jewellery case.

  ‘I cannot tell you how happy I am that you could come, Kitty,’ Partita smiled, absurdly relieved that Kitty had finally arrived. ‘I so hoped you could. Really I did.’

  ‘Mamma was not going to let me stay at home once I received your invitation, Partita,’ Kitty replied, as they exchanged light kisses on the cheek. ‘It was so dear of you to ask me.’

  ‘I cannot think of anyone I would rather see at this moment, Kitty,’ Partita said, smiling. ‘Christmas will be so wonderful now.’

  She took Kitty’s arm to steer her towards the exit and the patch of grass where Jossy was already standing holding open a little door in the side of the pony carriage.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind the wind in your hair, Kitty,’ Partita said, having climbed the steps into the trap after Kitty. ‘Papa refuses to enter the age of the motor car, alas. He declares he will always be a horse-drawn man until his dying day.’

  ‘Not a bit,’ Kitty smiled, settling herself in under a warm wool travelling rug. ‘I can think of nothing more exciting than arriving at Bauders in a ponytrap.’

  ‘I would have driven myself, but Jossy here would not countenance it, would you, Jossy?’

  ‘Not after you turned my best rig over in the summer, young lady,’ Jossy returned over his shoulder as he picked up the reins. ‘You was lucky to get away with that, and only a few scratches to show for it, I can tell ’ee.’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault a wheel came off, and you know it, Jossy.’

  ‘If ’ee goes round t’corners on one instead of two, that’ll be thy fault,’ Jossy returned. ‘If I were ’ee, young lady,’ he continued, now addressing Kitty, ‘I would think more ’an twice about letting young Lady Tita ’ere pick up the ribbons.’

  Jossy handed Bridie up on to the seat beside him, and then with a gentle slap of the ribbons on the pony’s flanks they were away, heading down the lanes towards the great estate. Kitty sat back smiling, but glad of her fur muffler.

  ‘I actually thought you might not be able to come, Kitty,’ Partita said, pulling the travelling rug right up under her small chin. ‘That your papa might not like you to come.’

  Partita already knew all about Kitty’s father, and was quite openly envious. It seemed to her to be really rather thrilling to have a father who was such a notorious gambler and womaniser, compared to which her own father seemed dull and conservative to a degree. He might be a duke and come from a distinguished line, but Kitty’s father was notorious, which was so much more exciting.

  Despite the fact that it w
as a bitterly cold winter’s day so there would be little to admire in most people’s gardens, as Jossy’s little equipage turned into Bauders’ parkland, Kitty marvelled at how much there was to admire in the Duke’s domain. Against the winter sky white deer seemed to be constantly moving in and out of centuries-old oak trees, lakes and follies seemed to have been flung, almost carelessly, over acres and acres of carefully landscaped ground, and birds of every description flew between reddened shrubs and white-barked birches, while all the while, miles up the drive, the house remained barely discernible, tantalisingly distant.

  As they drew nearer, the castle at last began to be defined as a long three-floored palace with ornamental battlements and vast windows at which Kitty imagined people might be standing gazing out across the park, watching the deer and the wildlife, perhaps feeling as awestruck as she was herself at being, however temporarily, a part of this great holding built so long ago. As they drew nearer to the house, Kitty was able to observe the arches of the forecourt, under one of which Trotty eventually clattered into a cobbled area, where the trap at last drew to a halt.

  ‘Nanny’s door.’ Partita nodded towards a side door before taking off her gloves, putting two fingers into her mouth, and emitting a piercing whistle.

  ‘You’ve no business whistling that way, Lady Tita,’ Jossy grumbled, frowning at her. ‘You bin told about that time and again, and you know who’ll be carryin’ the can for that if her ladynobs gets to hear you.’

  ‘And rightly so too, Jossy,’ Partita teased him. ‘Since it was you who taught me.’

  ‘Maybe it was, Lady Tita,’ Jossy nodded, having helped them all out of the trap. ‘But you’re a young lady now, not a child no more, and her ladynobs, Nanny Knowle, will be putting me in the corner if she ever catches you at that again,’ he added with a nod towards Nanny’s door.

  ‘Nanny has retired to Seaford, Jossy, and you know it.’