To this comfortable and welcoming home, the Granville sisters had come every weekend since they’d been born, with or without their parents.
Hartley was special in their minds. Hartley was home. And the most special thing about it was their grandmother.
‘Darling mother,’ Liza said to Lady Anne when they arrived on Friday afternoon, ‘will you forgive me if I have a cup of tea in my room? I still have a mass of thank-you letters to write and it’s been the most exhausting week.’
‘Of course, my dear, anything you like,’ her mother-in-law replied mildly.
Although it was now Henry’s house, he’d insisted his mother should stay on when he got married, telling her he needed her to run the place for him. Lady Anne knew he was being kind, because he could easily have run it himself, even if he did have to work in town, but she appreciated the gesture enormously.
Luckily Liza was more than happy to have her live there too. Liza loved the metropolis and had no feel for the country. She didn’t know the difference between a camellia and a hollyhock, or an oak from a silver birch, and she cared even less.
‘Come along in, my darlings,’ Lady Anne greeted the rest of the family. Tinker, her red setter, and Brandy and Whisky, Henry’s terriers, bounded excitedly around her, overjoyed to see the children again.
‘Down! Down!’ Liza shrieked, worried they would jump up on her pale blue skirt.
‘Mother, dear,’ Henry said warmly, kissing Lady Anne on both cheeks. Then he looked up as he always did at the large mellow pink-brick Georgian house, and wished he could stay here all the time. Hartley had the ability to wrap itself around him like a warm, comforting cloak, and although he never mentioned it to Liza, he intended to retire here one day.
‘How’s everything, Mother?’ he asked, following her into the conservatory, where Warwick, the ancient butler, had laid out tea.
‘Wonderful, darling. You must have a look at the kitchen garden. Not only do we have enough vegetables to feed the whole village, but the figs are ready to eat. So are the damsons and Victoria plums; anyway, you’ll be eating the produce over the weekend.’
‘Can we play in the garden, Granny?’ Amanda asked.
Lady Anne smiled. She thought the way Nanny dressed the children was faintly ridiculous, especially for the country. ‘You might like to change out of your smart clothes and shoes first,’ she suggested, careful not to catch Nanny’s eye.
Up in the nursery the three younger children couldn’t wait to change. Off came the white silk socks, the white buckskin strap shoes, the pastel linen coats, the smocked shantung dresses, and the neat satin hair ribbons, to be replaced by shorts and jumpers, and gym shoes or sandals.
Nanny Granville looked sadly at the rosy-cheeked dishevelled children, as they tore into the garden to go on the swing suspended from a tree, the see-saw and the climbing frame, and felt nostalgic for the days when a spotless appearance and decorum at all times were the order of the day.
After tea, Henry ambled off to his study, and Juliet offered Louise a game of tennis. Lady Anne, finding herself alone with Rosie, eyed her granddaughter with concern. Rosie seemed to have slumped into a wordless depression and she looked pale and wretched.
‘Are you all right, darling?’ she asked gently.
Rosie promptly burst into tears, too distraught to even speak.
Her grandmother took her hand. ‘Let’s go to my sitting room, where we won’t be disturbed.’
Lady Anne’s private retreat, a small, cosy, chintzy room off the hall, with comfortable armchairs, overflowing bookshelves and a work bag of embroidery on a footstool, overlooked the rose garden, which on this late afternoon was banded by golden beams of light from the setting sun. Tinker, like a shadow, never left her side, and as she settled herself in a chair, he draped himself around her feet with a contented sigh.
‘Tell me what’s happened, Rosie,’ she said gently.
Slowly and brokenly, she told her grandmother everything.
‘I loved him so much,’ she said poignantly. ‘I really believed we were made for each other.’
‘Oh, my dear girl,’ her grandmother kept saying sympathetically, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She blamed Liza of course. There’d been far too much pressure on Rosie to be the débutante of the year, to get engaged to an eligible man, to be the toast of the town and the first one to get married.
Juliet had obviously been very naughty, if what Rosie said was true, but had Alastair Slaidburn really been on the point of proposing to Rosie? Mightn’t he just have been an admirer? A dancing partner? A flirt? No doubt Liza had made much of him being a marquess, with a large estate, and this would have nourished Rosie’s fantasies and a desire to please her mother.
‘I can only say, darling,’ Lady Anne said diplomatically, ‘that I don’t think he sounds worthy of you. If he’d given you the impression that he was going to marry you, then, of course, he’s behaved appallingly.’
Rosie was instantly defensive. ‘It’s not his fault, Granny. Juliet stole him away from me. I don’t suppose she cares for him at all, she just doesn’t want me to have him.’
A pained expression flitted across Lady Anne’s finely boned face. Rosie is just like her mother, she reflected; nothing is ever the man’s fault. ‘You talk of him as if he’s so weak-willed he doesn’t know his own mind,’ she said carefully. ‘A man who is really in love with a woman can’t be “stolen”, as if he were a pound of butter. It seems to me he’s not worthy of you.’
Rosie’s mouth dropped. ‘But he returned my feelings. And I’d set my heart on marrying him.’
‘I’m sure you had. Are you sure you didn’t just fall in love with the whole idea of being a titled lady living in a fine house?’
Rosie looked taken aback. ‘But that’s how I’ve always seen myself,’ she confessed.
‘I wonder where you ever got that idea from?’ her grandmother enquired drily.
Only the ticking of the little brass carriage clock on the mantelshelf broke the uneasy silence.
‘What on earth shall I do if he marries Juliet?’ Rose finally blurted out in panic.
‘Now brace up, Rosie. He’s probably just a flirt, but if he were to marry Juliet, you must conduct yourself with dignity and wish them both well.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t …!’
‘Why cross bridges before you come to them, my dear? Juliet is a flirt, too. There’s probably nothing in it. In any case, the season ends next week, and then you’ll all be down here for August and September, and he’ll go back to wherever he comes from, and that will be the end of that.’ Lady Anne smiled and then rose, bringing their little chat to an end. ‘Why don’t you have a nice hot bath before dinner, while I get a grated raw potato from the kitchen and bring it up to you.’
‘A potato?’ Rosie asked blankly.
Her grandmother spoke briskly but kindly. ‘If you place raw potato on your eyes and lie down for fifteen minutes, the puffiness and redness will go, and no one will know you’ve been crying. You must never be seen in tears in front of the servants, you know, because it embarrasses them.’
During that following week, Alastair pursued Juliet with zeal, sending her notes, telephoning her every day, and ordering extravagant bouquets of flowers to be delivered.
Liza, watching Juliet’s elation and Rosie’s unhappiness, found herself deeply torn between being thrilled by Juliet’s conquest, but at the same time wishing fervently that Rosie was still the object of his desire. One part of her wanted to tell Juliet not to respond to this amorous onslaught, but another part of her was filled with fierce pride that at least one of her daughters looked like making a brilliant match.
‘Keep out of it,’ Henry warned. ‘You must not interfere, and let’s hope to God that once the season ends, and everyone leaves London, this young man will cool off, and leave both girls alone.’
That wasn’t what Liza had in mind at all, but she said nothing. If only the season could have lasted another month, she was sure Juliet wou
ld have been engaged, but going to the country was inevitable. Nobody stayed in town during August, or appeared to stay in town, that is. The impoverished gentry were known to put up the shutters and draw the curtains if they couldn’t afford to go away, and, like troglodytes, only crept out at night.
On the Thursday evening, Juliet told her mother she’d been invited to join a party hosted by Alastair at the Café de Paris.
This wasn’t true, of course, but she knew her mother would never agree to her going out alone with a man, not even a marquess. Whether Liza believed her or not, and Juliet had a feeling they were both bluffing, she nevertheless lent her daughter a beautiful diamond necklace and matching earrings, telling her not to flaunt herself in front of poor Rosie, because it wouldn’t be kind.
Liza and Juliet had entered into a secret unspoken pact, and when Alastair collected her in his old Daimler, she was in high spirits.
Three
‘Nanny, is it true Juliet’s getting engaged?’ Charlotte asked, as she got ready for bed. It was mid-September and the Granville family had returned to London earlier that day.
‘Who’s been listening to tittle-tattle?’ Nanny snapped, smoothing the front of her starched apron.
Amanda, sitting in the bath, turned the cake of soap round and round in her hands. ‘Mummy thinks she will,’ she said stoutly. ‘Look at all the letters she’s been getting from Alastair. He’s been writing to her every day.’
‘People write to each other about the weather and that sort of thing,’ Louise said knowledgeably. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’
‘But Mummy thinks Alastair’s letters mean a lot,’ said Charlotte darkly.
Amanda made a face. ‘Who wants to know about the weather? Nanny, if Juliet gets married, she can have babies, can’t she?’
‘There’s no question of her getting married,’ Nanny said severely. ‘For one thing, she’s much too young.’
‘How will she get babies?’ Charlotte asked, tugging her white cotton nightdress over her head.
‘It’s simple,’ Louise retorted, sponging her face. ‘While she’s in the church, getting married, God plants a seed inside her and when she comes out of the church she can have a baby.’
Charlotte’s eyes widened in wonder. ‘Is that what is called a miracle?’
‘It’s more like a lot of nonsense to me,’ countered Nanny, whose broad shoulders, Charlotte observed, were shaking for some reason. ‘Now come along. Out of the bath.’ You’ve still got to clean your teeth.’
Juliet was seeing Alastair tonight for the first time in six weeks, and she had a strong feeling he was going to propose.
Throughout her stay at Hartley, she’d been bombarded by letters, little presents, poems and flowers, which she found flattering but exhausting. At least tonight she’d know where she stood; by tomorrow … who knows? She might actually be engaged to be married.
Meanwhile she needed a new dress for the occasion. Both she and Rosie had been invited to this big ball at Claridge’s, and she wanted something pale blue to wear, because Alastair had said it was his favourite colour. Bond Street was the place to go, so she slipped out of the house, not wanting Rosie to know what she was doing or she’d want a new dress too.
These days, Rosie felt like a wilting flower, fading into the background, while Juliet blossomed and grew more prominent. She was going through her wardrobe, wondering what to wear tonight, with her self-confidence at a low ebb, and her weight loss causing all her dresses to hang off her unbecomingly.
There was only one man on the horizon these days, who thought she was the most perfect creature on earth, but did she really want a man who resembled a devoted bloodhound trailing around after her? Charles Padmore, or to give him his title, Lord Padmore, but ‘only a baron, not an earl’, according to Liza.
He was quite sweet, if weak, Rosie reflected, but when his mother had invited her to stay with them at Coldberry, in Cumbria, it had been rather a shock. Coldberry turned out to be not just a crumbling castle, but a derelict ruin with a dungeon, the main building having collapsed around 1919.
Nevertheless … Rosie selected a silvery-green dress that she knew Charles liked, and decided to ask Mummy if she could borrow some jewellery.
To have someone who cared, Rosie decided, was better than having no one at all; especially as Juliet had someone.
Juliet, having bought herself an exquisite chiffon dress that matched her eyes and clung to her body like a second skin, was walking briskly home, when a familiar figure of a young man waved at her and, risking life and limb, sprinted across the road, to say hello. It was Edward Courtney.
‘Juliet!’ he exclaimed, grinning engagingly at her. ‘How are you?’ He raised his Homburg hat. ‘It’s yonks since I’ve seen you; I’ve been in America. How was your summer?’
Her eyes danced mischievously. ‘Over, thank God. We returned to London yesterday.’
‘You certainly look well, but then you always do, sweetie.’
He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. ‘When am I going to see you again?’
‘Are you going to the Buckinghams’ tonight?’
‘Sure thing! Let’s have a dance. So what’s happening in your life? Proposals by the dozen, no doubt?’
She laughed. Edward was such fun to be with, and she wished he were more eligible. ‘Well …’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Between you and me, Alastair Slaidburn is hot on the trail.’
‘Alastair Slaidburn?’ Edward raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then his brow furrowed. ‘I introduced you, didn’t I?’ He hesitated for a moment before continuing, ‘Lovely chap, but do be careful. He’s got no money, you know. His reputation as a fortune-hunter has overshadowed every deb season for as long as I can remember.’ Then he laughed. ‘But you’re far too shrewd to be taken in by someone like that, aren’t you, sweetie? Listen, I must dash; got to meet my mother at Gunter’s, but I’ll see you tonight? Don’t forget to save a dance for me, will you?’
Juliet walked slowly back to Green Street, feeling sick.
How could Alastair have no money? He owned Ashbourne Court for a start, and thousands of acres of surrounding land.
Edward must have got it wrong.
Once home, she rushed up to her mother’s sitting room, where Liza was writing letters.
‘Oh, no! That can’t be right,’ Liza exclaimed, when Juliet told her what she’d heard.
‘Edward wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.’
‘But maybe he’s sweet on you himself, and is trying to put you off Alastair?’
Juliet removed her hat and shook out her hair. ‘No. Edward and I are just great friends. What am I going to do now?’
Liz reached for her phone. ‘I’m going to ring Daddy. He has contacts everywhere who will know if it’s true. The Slaidburns certainly used to be rich. I can’t understand it.’
Juliet made a late entrance at the Buckinghams’ dance, where the ballroom was banked by pyramids of white flowers, the band was blasting out ‘Let’s do It (Let’s Fall in Love)’ and the party was already in full swing.
She spotted Alastair at once, sitting with a group of friends. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him jump up as soon as he saw her, so, pretending she hadn’t noticed him, she walked casually in the opposite direction, thankful she knew nearly everyone at the party.
As usual, she was immediately surrounded, her willowy figure enveloped by dinner-jacketed swains.
‘Darling!’ exclaimed Colin Armstrong.
‘Darling,’ she replied, clinging coquettishly to his arm. ‘God, it’s been a long summer without seeing you.’
‘It’s been forever without seeing you,’ he retorted, giving her a swift kiss on the side of her neck.
‘Where shall we go tonight?’ she whispered provocatively. ‘Are there any good parties we can crash?’
‘What a girl you are!’ he laughed, slipping his arm around her waist.
She cuddled into his side, whilst reaching out to greet a sandy
-haired young man she knew, called Andrew Stevens. He grasped her hand with its long scarlet nails, and stroked her arm, as her wrist glittered with diamonds.
‘It’s been an age,’ he burbled, happily.
‘An absolute age, sweetie,’ she replied, gazing into his eyes. She had succeeded in gathering a circle of her best men friends around her, as if she was a magnet in a box of pins.
And all the time she was aware of Alastair, circling the group like a prowling shark, his expression angry as she continued to ignore him.
‘Juliet!’ he called out loudly.
She looked up at Colin from under her blackened eyelashes. ‘Oh, listen! They’re playing my favourite tune. I simply have to dance … Come along …’ She grasped his hand, and then he whisked her away across the polished floor. A moment later she was snuggled in his arms, her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her face.
‘What’s going on with Juliet?’ Charles Padmore asked Rosie, as they sat together, having a drink and watching the dancing.
She was beginning to find his constant presence strangely comforting and reassuring. As Alastair had so obviously switched his affections from her to Juliet, it was a salve to her hurt pride to have someone interested in her.
‘You know Juliet,’ she said, trying to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘I expect she’s just trying to make Alastair Slaidburn jealous; bring him to the boil, that sort of thing.’
Charles frowned disapprovingly. ‘I can’t believe you’re sisters. I’ve never met two people who are so unalike.’
Rosie beamed, taking this as a great compliment. She squeezed his hand and gave him a look of gratitude, thinking him quite dashing.
‘I think perhaps I’m more like Mummy.’
‘So, does Juliet take after your father, then?’
‘I don’t know who she takes after,’ she said drily. The way her sister was cavorting around the dance floor with such supreme confidence made her wince. Juliet was behaving in a fast fashion, and if she went on like this, she’d get a bad name. Rosie bit her bottom lip, feeling jealous because she knew she’d never get a bad name or anything else, because she wasn’t exciting enough.
The Granville Sisters Page 6
