She walked slowly back up through the garden, past the monkey-puzzle tree, and other strangely shaped specimens planted long, long ago. She stopped briefly, staring around her, imagining the moment when the trees had been first planted, perhaps by someone who, like her, had been in the habit of getting up early and going down to the beach for a swim. She imagined the delight that the person who had planted them must have felt at just the idea that they would grow tall and strong, as they had indeed done, and how delighted they would be if they could see how well the trees had endured, how they had somehow managed to protect each other from the violence of the sea winds, from the salt air and the storms that could sweep so suddenly in from across the Channel, bringing with them that sense of helplessness that is at the same time both satisfying and frightening.
Partita sat down on the bench, staring around her at the terrace with its empty furniture waiting for the guests, at the lead urns planted with her mother’s favourite white roses. She thought she would wait for Peregrine, that he would shortly follow her up the garden, but then she realised that he had not followed her at all, but was once more picking his way back down to the sea’s edge, before striding into its initially calm surface, and, as soon as he was able, starting to swim, moving steadily towards the horizon until his head became just a tiny dot.
She stood up. She knew why he must be swimming out to sea – because she had upset him, because she had pretended to him that she knew all about Kitty and Al. She felt panic-struck, but helpless. If she made a fuss and dashed down to the water’s edge and called or waved to him it seemed to her that it would be tantamount to admitting that she had fantasised about her brother and her best friend. She sat down again, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
Could it be possible that Perry loved Kitty, and not her, and that now he was intent on drowning himself in the most gentlemanly manner possible? She felt herself grow dizzy, but quickly put it down to the increasing warmth of the morning. She hated herself, and loved Perry, both too much, and too little.
Still, she could not love Perry so much as to allow him to love Kitty, and she could not hate him enough to want him dead. Nevertheless, she should never have implied to him that she knew all about Al and Kitty’s feelings, when she knew nothing of the sort. It was not true that Kitty loved Al. It might be true soon, but not at that moment. Partita stood up again and as she did so she thought she saw the swimmer turning, and realised after a second or two, that she had actually seen him turning. She sat down again, thanking God, in whom, most unfortunately, she only seemed to believe in moments of crisis.
Perry was turning. He was coming back to her. He was swimming slowly and steadily back to the beach, and then walking up the beach towards the house, with his towel slung over his broad shoulders. The handsomest sight that she was likely to see that day, that week, or that month. She loved him so much, nothing would ever stop her loving him, she was sure of it.
A little while later, changed into casual clothes that set off his tall figure so well, he strode slowly up the garden towards her, but such was her relief that he had not drowned, that he had not swum out to sea never to come back, Partita stood up and ran down the garden and flung her arms around his neck.
‘I was so worried for you! I thought you would never come back.’
Peregrine held Partita away from him, smiling. He had swum off his confusion of emotions. He had swum off the hurt he had felt at the idea that Kitty could love Al. He was now sure that he was quite back to his normal self. He looked down at Partita. He should feel grateful to her. His feelings for Kitty were not something that should be entertained. There would be a war soon, he was sure of it, and what place had love when a young man was about to go to war? No place at all.
‘Hallo, Mischief,’ he said, still holding her away from him, and reverting to her childhood nickname. ‘What are you still doing here, Imp? Should you not be at breakfast?’
Partita wrinkled her perfect nose and shook her head, covering the disappointment she felt as she realised that the look of brotherly affection in Perry’s eyes had not changed, but had, in some strange way, actually increased, and for no reason she could discern.
‘I never have breakfast until it is too late,’ she said, turning away and walking up the lawn. ‘I like cold coffee, and food that is too cooked, or too cold, and toast that is all twisted, and butter that is runny, and no one else around to see me enjoy it.’
‘That is so like the Mischief. You have not changed at all, do you know that?’
‘Oh, but I have, Perry, really I have,’ Partita pleaded with him. ‘I have changed so much. I am a grown-up now, and I will be doing the season next year, if there is not a war. I shall be going to balls and dancing the night away endlessly.’
‘But not pointlessly, I hope, Mischief. You will break hearts, of course,’ he stated, not looking at her, but staring ahead of him at the house, hearing the increasing sound of breakfast noise and laughter drifting towards them through the open French windows. ‘But however many hearts you break, you will still always be an imp.’
‘Oh dear.’ Partita turned away, and she caught her bottom lip with her small, white teeth. ‘You sound just like Jossy.’ She did an imitation of Jossy with a pretend pipe in her mouth. ‘Ooh, Lady Teeta, you’re that much trouble, and always have been, I’ll say that for you!’
Perry laughed, not seeing the hurt in her eyes. He walked up the garden after her. The Mischief would always be the Mischief to him. Then feeling himself being watched, he looked up at the house, and seeing Kitty at her bedroom window, he waved to her, and she waved back to him, kissing her hand quickly and carelessly to him, before finally turning away from the window.
Just a glimpse of Kitty, in her flimsy-looking dress, caught at Peregrine’s heart, and for a second he allowed it to, before walking back into the house and the friendly gaiety of the party.
As for Kitty, she walked back across her bed-room and, pausing for a second in front of the dressing mirror to check her dress, she stared at herself. She must not, must not allow her heart to dominate. Peregrine Catesby belonged to Partita. He probably always had, and that would not be surprising since they had known each other all their lives. If she did but know it, they had probably been childhood sweethearts. Certainly seeing how Partita had flung her arms around Peregrine’s neck, Kitty had no doubt at all that Partita loved Perry with all her heart.
She walked slowly down to the hall, and was reaching out for the dining-room door handle when Almeric opened it.
He smiled at her.
Kitty smiled back at him, and as she did so she knew exactly what Al’s smile was saying, and that there was nothing to stop it. It was a run-away horse of a smile, a speeding motor car of a smile, it was a smile that was saying openly and happily, ‘I love you, Kitty Rolfe, on this beautiful summer morning, with the blue sky, and the blue, blue sea, and the sun shining. I love you, and you must know it.’
Kitty knew she should stop smiling back at him, that she should discourage him, but she felt helpless to do so. He had said, and only that morning, that everyone they knew was sure that there was going to be a war.
If there was a war Almeric might die; they all might die. This might be the last time they could all be young and in love, for better or for worse. Seconds later, Almeric leaned forward and kissed her briefly on the lips, and Kitty let him, because not to seemed somehow really rather selfish, particularly if there was going to be a war. Besides, wars were always rather romantic, weren’t they? Knights going off to battle with a girl’s favour tucked into their battle-dress, and so on. So what was a kiss?
Ever since she was a child Elizabeth had always dreaded mealtimes, but since being invited to Bauders Castle she had come to realise that food and wine, taken in the company of friends, was not just a matter of eating, but a time to be entertaining. The Duchess told her that she must never allow herself to feel shy.
‘The unwritten rules of luncheon and dinner are to make the men feel fl
attered, warmed, and finally, of course, entranced by encouraging them to talk,’ Circe went on. ‘If you are facing a blank, or worse, disinterested face, always start with childhood. It is, without fail, a very safe subject.’
Circe had also insisted that conversation did not come naturally to the opposite sex. They needed to be prompted into talking.
‘If you go into a room and listen to men talking, they never chatter and laugh, confide or advise as women do. They do gossip, of course, but in such an uninteresting way that, quite honestly, it is not until you are left to yourself that you realise that they have brought you something of any kind of interest. It is important, from the outset, to try and find out your dinner companions’ subjects. For instance, the Duke’s subjects are Bauders Castle, his regiment, the Royal Horse Guards, and, er – Bauders Castle. My subjects are music, light opera, the theatre, and, just occasionally, the history of surgery in the modern age.’
But of course at Waterside House, Elizabeth found that none of this now mattered in the least. Down by the seaside everyone was expected to get on hugger-mugger, with the result that she found that she was holding on to every minute of every hour, probably because she had never been on holiday with young people of her own age before. She had never before changed in a beach hut and followed friends down to the waterside wearing only her bathing suit. It was as if by being released from the constrictions of her parents’ moribund relationship she could at last become herself.
Besides, there was always some new excitement. For instance, the new guests from London that the Duchess had invited to join the house party were certainly not from Elizabeth’s, or even Kitty’s, sheltered background. They wafted into Waterside House smelling slyly of sophistication and tango teas. Roses and sweet peas would not be the flowers to which anyone would want to compare them. If anyone should wish to choose flowers to which Lavinia Ponsonby, Emerald Bickford and Mollie Hanley Montague could be compared, it would be orchids and wild flowers, although which would be which was not something either Elizabeth or Kitty would find out, for the three new arrivals soon sequestered themselves with Allegra and Cecilia.
‘They are old now,’ Partita said factually, ‘so they will all be worried about whether or not they are to be engaged by the end of the summer, or whether or not their younger sisters will be engaged before them.’ She looked mischievously from Kitty to them and back again. ‘How about if we all become engaged before any of them? Wouldn’t it be too-too, my dears?’
‘Oh, I don’t think anyone wants to be in a race to be engaged,’ Kitty began, while Elizabeth said nothing.
Partita pinched her lightly on the arm. ‘We all know who is in love with you, my dear.’
‘No one – truly, no one,’ Elizabeth stuttered.
‘No one,’ Partita stood back and laughed gaily.
‘No one, indeed! We all know that dear Pug becomes a pool of devotion the moment you come within three miles of him. As a matter of fact he goes precisely the same colour as you are going now. It is too, too sweet.’
Kitty frowned at Partita.
‘You know how I feel about Pug?’ Partita continued.
Elizabeth stared at her, dreading what she might be going to say next, and yet knowing that nothing, and no one, could stop her.
‘I feel that Pug should have as his bride the sweetest girl in the whole house party, and it just so happens that it is you, Miss Elizabeth Milborne.’
Elizabeth turned away. She had no idea that everyone knew, or even suspected, that she thought the world of Pug, and she could not bear the thought that Pug might, in his turn, be teased about her, that she might be causing him embarrassment.
Seeing how upset she was feeling, Kitty put an arm around Elizabeth while continuing to frown furiously at Partita, who promptly turned away, pulling a little face. Really, Elizabeth had not just one skin too few, but a dozen. Everyone had to be teased. She should try being the youngest sister of three. Partita could not count the times she had had her plaits tied to the bottom of her bed, or Tinks had found her locked in a cupboard. Jossy even found her one day shut in with the pony stallion. Happily Partita had carrots in her pocket and a riding crop to bang on the door, or, as Jossy said, she might have been there all night.
‘You must not take any notice of Partita, she is just ribbing you,’ Kitty begged. ‘Besides, everyone knows Partita is in love with Peregrine.’ Kitty looked defiantly across at Partita.
Partita turned very slowly back to face Kitty, hands clenched, mouth set.
She was just about to order Kitty and Elizabeth from Waterside House, and run and tell her mother she never wanted them to come and stay again ever, when she remembered just how few friends she truly had, and how lonely she had been, how much in want of company of her own age, until she met Kitty at Miss Woffington’s Academy. Not only that, but nowadays Kitty was so much Circe’s favourite that Partita knew that her mother would give her daughter short shrift if she complained about Kitty.
After a short pause, during which the other two stared at Partita’s murderous expression in silent fascination, she finally declared ‘Of course I am in love with Perry, I have always loved Perry ever since I was five years old and he used to take me riding on a leading rein in the park here. He would let me jump logs long before I could even sit to the canter.’
She sat down on the edge of the bed and the other two sat down on the chaise longue, silenced, as girls always are when a confession of love has just been made.
‘Does he love you, do you know?’ Elizabeth asked her in a low voice, her face so serious that Partita started to laugh.
‘No, of course not!’ She shrugged her shoulders, suddenly looking sad. ‘He thinks of me as being just like Livia, except younger. He thinks of me as being his younger sister, and nothing to be done about it.’ Partita tossed her head and gave a great long shuddering sigh. ‘It is awful to love, and not to be loved back. That is why you are so lucky. Pug loves you back.’
‘Oh, I doubt that …’ Elizabeth stammered.
Kitty and Partita looked at her and then each other and laughed.
‘We don’t,’ they said together.
Elizabeth turned away. She knew that poor Pug was considered a bit of a joke, but to her he was quite simply head and shoulders above everyone else. She saw reflected in his dark eyes not just amusement, but sensitivity and kindness. Very well, he did fancy himself as a fashionable knut, but that was just fun. He had told her that he thought it very likely that he would soon be joining the same regiment as Al, and there would be a bit of a dust-up, and then he would come back and go on farming. It seemed such a perfect plan.
‘You are not just a knut, Pug, you are a bit of a dude too, and all the girls think so,’ Harry kept teasing Pug that night before they all sloped off to the bachelors’ wing, but not without making sure to accept the girls’ invitation to join them for a midnight swim.
‘I doubt that any of the girls will stay awake long enough to hear the chimes of midnight,’ Almeric announced as they all started to remove their top clothes, before lying down on their beds and waiting for the appointed hour. ‘It’s the sea air,’ he went on. ‘It makes you so sleepy.’
‘I have banged the old head twelve times on the pillow and will let you know how or if it works,’ Pug announced to no one in particular.
‘Very appropriate for a wooden head,’ Bertie joked.
‘I will stay awake,’ Harry volunteered.
‘You will not be able to stay awake for a second, Harry.’
In the event Harry did not let them down. Instead, he stared into the darkness, thinking of the wonder of being on holiday, of being part of all of the fun, of being with so many beautiful girls. Of course, he had every idea whom he thought was the most beautiful, but no good would come of his paying any special attention to her. Just as no good would come of his falling in love with any of the others. He was different, and always would be, not one of them – himself, Harry, their friend. Eventually he got up off
his bed and went over to the window where he held up his watch to the moonlight. It was midnight.
He went over to Almeric’s bed.
‘Al?’
‘Oh, don’t wake him, I beg of you,’ Gus called from his bed over by the window. ‘There is no one so frosty as Al when he is woken, that I can promise you.’
Almeric opened his eyes and, seeing Harry’s face bending over him, he let out an over-dramatic yell, and they both started to laugh. Pug woke up shortly after, and went to the window.
‘I doubt that they will come,’ he said. ‘Miss Milborne, everyone, they said they were so sleepy they could hardly keep awake during the whist.’
‘If they don’t come out, then I will climb in their window and wake them,’ Almeric stated, pulling on his beach dressing gown with an air of determination. ‘Midnight swims are part of the tradition of Waterside House, and always have been. Besides, I gave – I can’t remember her name – but at any rate I gave one of the maids a few bottles so that they could have a party, and she has put eiderdowns and pillows and flasks in the beach huts, not to mention cakes and all that kind of thing. Everything is ready and waiting for us, nothing to do but sally forth.’
‘That is all very well, old thing,’ Bertie put in, ‘but if any or all of the other girls are like my sister, Elizabeth, mark my words they will be asleep as soon as heads hit pillows, really they will.’
‘And yet,’ Pug announced proudly from his viewpoint at the window, ‘guess who is the first to come outside, and is even now looking round for us?’
He turned back to the rest of the room with a look of triumph. The others promptly joined him at the window, staring out into the moonlit garden, hoping against hope that it would be filled with the lovely sight of a group of the opposite sex waiting to run down to the water’s edge with them.
In Distant Fields Page 15
