There was hardly a person present who was not thrilled by the performance, so much so that Roderick St Clare, while flattered by all the praise that was being heaped on him at the buffet party thrown for the audience and cast afterwards, found himself insisting that the evening belonged to the cast not him, which he later remarked to a friend must have been really quite a first.
‘Don’t know what Wavell’s going to make of it all,’ the Duke muttered to Circe as he, as the host, enjoyed a measure of reflected glory. ‘That boy of his has talent. Can’t see young Harry sitting stuck away in the estate office with a pile of ledgers in front of him now, really I can’t, but I ain’t his father, thank the Lord.’
It was proving too difficult for the guests to let the cast go. Such was their enthusiasm they kept calling for reprises of their favourite songs. So with Elizabeth once more seated at the piano, the cast duly obliged. To everyone’s delight Almeric reprised the number the Pirate King sings when he takes leave of Frederic, thinking his apprenticeship is over.
Away to the cheating world go you – where pirates all are well-to-do
But I’ll be true to the song I sing, and live and die a Pirate King!
Partita danced upstairs to her bedroom.
‘How did you think I was, Tinks, how did you think Miss Kitty was, Tinks? Weren’t we all brilliant?’
‘I am sorry to tell you I fell asleep, Lady Partita,’ Tinker announced, with some relish. ‘Mind, I did wake up for the Major General’s song. That was excellent; we all thought that he had his words off excellently well.’
‘Did you not see me dance, Tinks? Did you not admire my wearing all the costumes you helped to make?’
‘No, Lady Partita, the moment you came on I fell fast asleep and started snoring,’ Tinker told her with a straight face. ‘I was fair tired out from all that sitting up and sewing until the clock struck midnight, and that is the truth. We all were. Did you not hear all us ladies’ maids snoring, and snoring, why we made such a din I thought we must have drowned the orchestra, truly I did.’
‘Sure take no notice of Tinker, Lady Tita, of course she saw you. She saw all of you, we all did,’ Bridie murmured to Partita as she bustled past her to reclaim the curling tongs from the girls’ dressing room. ‘She is just teasing you, Lady Partita. You know Tinker, she thinks if she says too much you will get a big head, which of course you will not because you and I know full well Tinker would take her darning needle to it, wouldn’t she now?’
Partita turned back and, taking hold of Tinker’s hands, she shook them up and down.
‘I promise I will not get a big head if you tell me how wonderful I was, Tinks!’
Tinker freed herself, grinning, and then turning by the door, her arms full of the costumes she had just removed, she said, ‘The star of the evening was Miss Kitty Rolfe, of that there was no doubt, Lady Partita, and nothing you will say will change my mind.’
Partita looked after the closed door, momentarily sulky.
‘I suppose I must not mind?’ she asked, turning to Kitty. ‘I suppose I must give best, I suppose I must acknowledge that you are the star of the evening?’
‘You were beautiful, Partita. As far as the audience were concerned, you could do no wrong. Even the pirates were at your feet.’
‘The pirates? What would they know? They were all so busy getting their cues wrong, they would hardly have noticed if Dame Nellie Melba herself was singing.’
‘They were all truly inspired by the end, though, weren’t they? Most especially Harry Wavell.’
‘Oh, Harry will end up going to America and making millions on the stage,’ Partita agreed. ‘He is a natural show-off, and nothing to be done.’
Kitty gravitated towards the open fire and Partita followed her, putting out her hands to warm herself as Tinker returned with a tray of hot drinks.
‘This is the best bit of any evening, either after the ball is over, or after the play has been cheered to the echo; or after we have made everyone fall in love with us, over and over and over again. We can sit here and hold up our memories to the light and see everything in an even more beautiful way.’ Partita sipped at her hot milk, and looked at Kitty over the top of her gold decorated cup. ‘You never realised I was a poet before, did you, Kitty?’ she finished, pulling a face.
Kitty stared into the fire. Partita was a kaleidoscope, her character made up of a cornucopia of colours. Kitty always had the feeling that she only had to turn Partita, or shake her, and she would turn into something so different Kitty would be left wondering if she had ever really known her; so much did the pattern of her personality change within seconds.
‘You are so many things, Partita,’ Kitty murmured.
‘She is a scamp and a mischief,’ Tinker said, giving her charge an affectionate and proud glance.
Partita stared into the fire, perfectly happy now that everyone was talking about her, but restless because she knew not everyone was thinking about her.
If only she could make Peregrine see her as she knew she could be – as clever and brilliant as Perry himself – then everything would be different. Perhaps when they all went to Waterside for Mamma’s annual seaside holiday? Perhaps then Peregrine would see that she was not just a child, not just someone to whom he could give a reading list, not just Almeric’s little sister? He must not love anyone else, she would not let him, however much she caught him staring at Kitty with a look that he never seemed to have for ‘titty bitty Partita …’
Downstairs in what was known by the servants as ‘the bachelors’ wing’ Almeric swayed into bed, finally falling asleep, dreaming only of Kitty, while James lay awake thinking only of his beloved Allegra and wondering, over and over, as he always did, when he would have enough money to ask the Duke for her hand in marriage. Meanwhile, across the corridor, Bertie and Teddy started to talk about the change in Bertie’s sister, Elizabeth. How she had changed so much since the start of rehearsals, blossoming into a young beauty before their very eyes.
‘I had rather you didn’t talk about her,’ Pug blurted out suddenly. ‘I know you’re saying nice things, but I would still rather you did not discuss her.’
‘She is my sister, old thing,’ Bertie said sleepily.
‘I know, Bertie, I know very well that she is your sister, but you see – it is very difficult for me, because I am in love with her, I’m in love with your sister, Bertie, and nothing to be done.’
Even to his own ears Pug’s voice sounded strangely clear and sincere in the darkness of their shared room.
There was a small silence.
‘Surely you can’t be in love with Elizabeth so soon, Pug old thing?’
‘I am in love with her. I will never love anyone else,’ Pug assured them, after which, the other two, feeling a little awkward at this announcement, made sure to fall asleep as soon as they could, while Pug himself lay awake, knowing that his life would never be the same again.
Chapter Six
Waterside House
Now that the warm weather had arrived, bringing with it thoughts of picnics and croquet on the lawn, Circe’s thoughts were on her gardens, in particular one of the old and now half-forgotten walled gardens in which stood a fine medieval dovecote. Standing some way from the house itself, too far from the kitchens for the planting of vegetables, the old rose garden had slowly become overgrown and neglected, but not forgotten. For some time Circe had nursed plans for its improvement, and now, on Opal Gaskell’s recommendation, before leaving for her annual family holiday by the sea, she was on her way to visit the famous gardener Miss Gertrude Jekyll and the architect Mr Edwin Lutyens at Miss Jekyll’s house at Munstead Wood. She had heard of Gertrude Jekyll’s work so often and learned so much about it that her advice on replanting the old garden would surely be seen to be the right one. The only difficulty, if it was a difficulty, was that Miss Jekyll did not come and visit her clients. However rich or grand they might be, they went to see her.
‘Don’t be looking for any fa
vours, Circe,’ Opal warned her. ‘And don’t expect her to be interested in, let alone listen to, any opinions or ideas. Miss Jekyll lives in her own world, no one else’s.’
‘I’m perfectly happy to pay her a visit, Opal.’
‘And do not forget, dearest, do not forget that, sadly, Miss Jekyll is ail but blind, but it does not affect her gardening.’
Circe’s visit took place on a fine sunny morning. She was shown straight into the gardens, where she found Miss Jekyll in a straw hat decorated with fresh flowers, and Mr Lutyens sucking on an unlit pipe, both of them already at work, the plans spread out on a table before them.
‘Loveridge, our head gardener, has drawn a map of the area in question,’ Circe explained to Ned Lutyens, tactfully showing him the prepared diagrams, glancing at Miss Jekyll, who was busy staring out across the gardens, and thinking how sad it must be for such a wonderful gardener not to be able to enjoy the fruits of her endeavours.
‘He’s included the soil type, I see,’ Lutyens remarked, ‘as well as the ambient temperatures, prevailing wind direction and a compass too. Doesn’t leave anything to chance, your Mr Loveridge, Duchess.’
‘He is a very good gardener,’ Circe explained. ‘But he doesn’t feel he can trust himself entirely when it comes to working from scratch. And I have to admit it made me more than a little nervous.’
‘Nothing to be frightened of, Duchess,’ Gertrude Jekyll said out of the blue, without turning in their direction. ‘Plants are a lot more forgiving than one supposes. Plenty of light and not too much overcrowding is all they want. Like us all, really. More precisely, what are your feelings about this garden?’
Circe hesitated, remembering Opal’s caveat about giving opinions.
‘If I tell you what I don’t want, perhaps that might be better guidance,’ she replied finally. ‘Much of the gardens I feel have become a little over-formal down the years, so I thought here perhaps was a chance to introduce an altogether lighter and brighter element. Something I know that you are both so famous for as a partnership.’
A good long silence followed Circe’s statement, so long a silence that Circe was convinced that she had said the wrong thing. Happily, such was not the case for finally the great gardener walked slowly over to the table where Loveridge’s plans were spread out, and peered at them. Another silence followed as Miss Jekyll simply stood staring.
‘I dare say we can help you, Duchess,’ Miss Jekyll finally stated, now staring back at her own garden through her thick-lensed spectacles. ‘We shall not expect miracles, however. I’m sure you know the other secret of gardening Patience.’
‘That is something I find I learn the more I garden, Miss Jekyll.’
‘Obviously there is much work to be done. But you sound as if you have a sensible person in your head man. If he is willing to follow a few simple instructions there is no doubt we shall be able to fill your space to your delight and pleasure.’
‘I should be so pleased, Miss Jekyll, if that were the case.’
Once again Lutyens smiled to himself at the Duchess’s tact, wondering whether it took a duchess to understand such a grand dame as Miss Jekyll.
‘Perhaps you’d like a tour of the grounds, Duchess?’ he enquired. ‘Although obviously you’re familiar with Miss Jekyll’s style – otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you?’
Sticking his still unlit pipe back into his mouth, Lutyens led Circe round the wonderful gardens while at the same time guiding Miss Jekyll. The borders, at the height of summer, were full of the most carefully graded colours, the heights of every plant graduated, the hedges beautifully cut and shaped, and the entire planting a landscape in miniature. Here was the work of great vision and talent, born not just from a singular, but from a shared imagination.
‘It would be wonderful if we can achieve even a little of this at Bauders,’ Circe enthused diplomatically.
‘Kind of you,’ Miss Jekyll said, stopping as if to check her handiwork, her stick raised as she pointed out something to her companion. ‘But it’s Mother Nature’s doing really. We certainly didn’t invent flowers. We might make them stronger, we might give them a different colour, or change their size, but they were all here before us. All we can do is try and show Nature’s work in the setting it deserves.’
‘I am greatly looking forward to this adventure,’ Circe told the two partners, as she was taking her leave.
‘You rightly judge it to be an adventure, Duchess. All gardening is an adventure. Goodbye.’
Ned Lutyens saw Circe off, thanking her for coming to visit them. In return Circe told him what a pleasure it had been for her, before dreaming all the way back to Bauders of flowers, and flowers, and more flowers.
Hard on the heels of the Duchess’s visit to Miss Jekyll and Ned Lutyens, the family prepared to decamp to Waterside House on the south coast of England.
Waterside House had been a present to the Duchess from the Duke many years before. He had presented it to her in deference to her love of the sea, although the seaside was not a place that he himself cared to visit, being reluctant as always to leave Bauders.
As her family had grown up, so the size of the house had gradually increased, although never to the sort of dimensions as those enjoyed at Bauders. Friends from London would always be asked to stay, carefully chosen guests, famous for their joie de vivre. Certainly after so many years of owning the house Circe found that the list of guests could be drawn up with such confidence that they were proud to be known as ‘Watersiders’.
Sometimes Circe thought she was never really more relaxed or at ease than when she was on holiday at Waterside. Here she could abandon the formality of life at both Bauders and Knowle House, the family’s London residence. At Waterside, she could do nothing all day long except listen to the suck and tug of the waves on the beach, hear the call of the gulls overhead, and the sound of children laughing on the beach; here she could forget her position in society and be herself.
Perhaps this affected the young too, for whenever they were at Waterside they found themselves behaving as they had when they were children; getting up early to throw back the curtains in the hope of finding another fine and sunny day, checking the tides and the height of the waves, ambling down before breakfast to the beach to spend time looking in the rock pools for crabs and tiny silvered fish, planning the day’s sandcastle build, or playing hopscotch on a grid marked out in the glistening sand.
It seemed that at Waterside time did indeed stand still, and in order to keep that feeling, Circe had long ago ordered that no newspapers were allowed in the house and all talk of anything topical or political was strictly banned – anyone found breaking the rules being liable to a forfeit. In order to further this special feeling of intimacy and timelessness, the smallest staff was employed, chosen from the neighbouring village, to include only a cook, a couple of housemaids and a general handyman to see to anything that needed doing and to supervise the running of the house. Bridie and Browne, Tinker and the rest all being left behind at Bauders.
‘The servants need a holiday from us too,’ Circe always maintained, with which the servants were only too glad to concur.
This year the main body of guests was drawn, not unsurprisingly, from the main corps of the Pirates cast.
‘I say we should ask Harry as well. Harry is as much a part of the Pirates Club as any of us,’ said Partita.
‘The Pirates Club? Is that like White’s?’ the Duchess wondered.
‘No, more exclusive actually, Mamma.’
‘I don’t know that Harry would want to be asked,’ Allegra said looking round at the others. ‘It might be embarrassing for him, Tita. There won’t be anyone else, well – like him.’
‘Like him?’ Partita mocked. ‘Harry is like all of us; we are like Harry.’
‘Does he get on with you in a new way, after playing in The Pirates of Penzance, Partita?’ Cecilia enquired, all seeming innocence. ‘Is that maybe why you would like to ask him?’
‘H
arry?’ Partita widened her bright blue eyes at her sisters, to stare at them as if they had both lost their senses. ‘Harry?’ she repeated, and then walked off, simply leaving it at that.
‘I don’t see any good reason why Harry shouldn’t be invited,’ Circe said, ignoring everything that had been said because she knew she had the casting vote. ‘I know Almeric would like him to be here. The two of them get along splendidly, and I very much doubt if Harry will be getting much of a holiday this summer anyway. His father wants him to start work under Mr Hawkesworth as soon as is convenient.’
So Harry was included in the list of guests.
Wavell slowly and carefully packed the last of the cases in the hired cars the Duke had decided were suitable and reliable enough for the conveyance of his family and friends, while Tully and Taylor helped passengers, lifting dogs onto knees, and handing in rugs for a journey that would take them the best part of six hours.
‘Still rather see Jossy with a pair of ribbons in his hand,’ the Duke observed, watching one of his former coachmen take his place behind the steering wheel. ‘Confounded contraptions, motor cars. They’ll be the death of us all, mark my words.’
With a salute from the first of the newly trained chauffeurs in their equally newly acquired caps, and with waves from all his family, the Duke and Wavell watched the cars making their way down the long driveway, waving all the way.
The Duke looked on long after they had disappeared from sight, until, sighing to himself, he went round to the stables to find Jossy, while Wavell and the rest wandered back into the house.
‘Couple of us were thinking of joining the army, Mr Wavell,’ Taylor remarked cheerfully as they went down to the servants’ hall. ‘The other day when we was off, there was a lot of talk around the place about what was going on, and quite a few of the lads when they was asked said they wouldn’t mind joining the army.’
‘Not me, Mr Wavell,’ Tully said quickly. ‘Our Ben’s in the army, and I know enough not to want to leave here.’
In Distant Fields Page 13
