‘Christ Almighty!’ Henry exclaimed, appalled, as he picked up the newspapers Parsons had arranged on the hall table.
There were pictures on the front page of Juliet looking stunning in an evening dress, her eyes cat-like and seductive, her mouth luscious. There were ones of Alastair, too, glass in hand, looking handsome and jovial.
According to the style of the newspaper, the headlines ran from MARQUESS COMMITS SUICIDE to DEB’S JILTED SUICIDE SUITOR!
Henry’s eyes skimmed the text with growing horror. ‘The tragic suicide of the Marquess of Slaidburn, aged twenty-eight, who fell from the roof of his ancestral home …’ and further on, ‘It is believed he was depressed at having been turned down by Miss Juliet Granville, the most beautiful débutante of the year, whose letter of rejection was found in his hand when his body was discovered in the early hours of Friday morning …’
Henry sank into his chair at the end of the dining-room table, too shocked to do anything but sit and stare into space.
Breakfast was the one meal when the family helped themselves to what they wanted from the range of silver dishes kept warm on the side. But today, Parsons, who had already scanned the newspapers and passed on the juicier bits to Mrs Fowler, took it upon himself to stay in the dining room, hovering helpfully, with offers to serve Henry.
‘Just coffee, please,’ Henry said, in a dazed voice. This was awful. Worse than awful. Nothing Juliet had said had prepared him for the exposure of his family in such a common, vulgar way, and in the national press, too.
Despairingly, he glanced at the papers again. Ghastly sentences seemed to jump out of the print to assault him with their mortifying purple prose: ‘… rich society débutante who has already left a trail of broken hearts’, who was ‘… a great party-goer.’
‘He was in love with her and wanted to marry her,’ a member of Alastair’s staff had apparently vouchsafed. Asked if Lord Slaidburn’s suicide could have been caused by recent financial problems arising out of death duties, the servant was dismissive. ‘It was the young lady’s rejection what killed him,’ he stated.
Even Rosie hadn’t been left out of the scandal. One newspaper observed that the marquess had previously been seen in the company of Juliet’s sister, Rosie, and that ‘Society nobs had thought she would get engaged to him.’ Which made it clear to even the most dumb-witted, that Juliet had stolen Alastair from her sister, only to discard him cruelly when she’d grown bored of him.
Henry sat brooding over his coffee, trying to take in the enormity of what had happened and the effect it would have on the whole family. The Granvilles, in their four hundred years of being part of the landed gentry, had never appeared in the press, except when announcing a birth, a death, an engagement or a marriage, and that only in the court circular.
Juliet was done for, that was certain. But what of his own position as chairman of Hammerton’s Merchant Bank? His memberships of White’s, Brooks’s, the MCC?
The fact was, he, Liza and the five girls were all going to be stigmatized by this tragedy. It was a situation that, even if he’d had foreknowledge of it, could not have been hushed up, in spite of his money. They’d all be sitting targets for the gossips of London and the gutter press, whether he liked it or not.
They’d been shouting at each other for the past hour in the privacy, but not the sound-proofing, of Liza’s sitting room.
While Nanny was out and the younger ones at school, Ruby was practically hanging by her toes from the top floor bannister to hear what was being said. Even Miss Ashley’s workroom door was ajar as she went through the motions of ironing Liza’s lingerie.
‘How could you have handled it all so badly, Juliet?’ Liza wailed with distraction.
Juliet’s voice was harsh. ‘You told me to refuse his proposal …’
‘But discreetly, for God’s sake! You should have let him down gently, even perhaps given him a tiny bit of hope so he wouldn’t feel so humiliated …’
Rosie broke in, ashen with self-righteousness. ‘You turned him down in public, Juliet. In front of everyone. Oh, God, he must have felt terrible.’
‘Why are you all blaming me?’ Juliet shouted. ‘I never asked him to fall in love with me.’
‘He was in love with me until you stole him from me,’ Rosie exploded, bursting into tears.
‘He was unbalanced,’ Juliet retorted. ‘No normal man behaves the way he did.’
Henry intervened. ‘That’s probably true.’ He felt deeply sorry for Juliet at that moment, with both her mother and sister berating her, their criticism charged with a lot of what might have beens. She may well have handled the situation rather badly, but she was only seventeen, far too young to have been put in this position in the first place. Juliet was right. Alastair must have already been unbalanced, and, tragically, she had been the catalyst that had driven his already disturbed mind over the edge.
Rosie was crying hysterically now. ‘It’s all your fault he killed himself.’
Juliet was enraged. ‘It’s not my fault.’
‘Mummy, she’s lying.’
‘I’m not lying.’ The sheer injustice of it all was driving Juliet crazy. She turned appealingly to her father. ‘Alastair did all the chasing, not me.’
‘You encouraged him,’ interjected Rosie.
‘And you didn’t?’ Juliet shot back.
‘Girls, for God’s sake, stop it,’ Henry said heavily. ‘This is getting us nowhere.’
‘But I’ll never forgive Juliet. She never wanted him for herself; she just didn’t want me to have him.’
‘Well, it’s a great pity you became so friendly with him, Juliet,’ Liza sighed.
She stared at her mother, open-mouthed. ‘But you wanted one of us to marry him, because he was supposedly eligible.’
Rosie cut in, aggressively, ‘But you never loved him like I did. You were just after the title and the position.’
Henry rose abruptly. ‘I’m going out,’ he announced in clipped tones. ‘I will think of a modus vivendi and tell you what I’ve decided this evening. In the meantime, none of you is to leave the house or take any telephone calls. Let’s try to keep what little dignity we’ve got left.’
At six o’clock that evening Henry called Rosie and Juliet into the morning room.
‘Mummy and I have been talking,’ he began, which they both knew meant he’d been doing the talking and making the decisions, while Liza had been forced to be acquiescent.
‘As a family, we must lie low for several months, until the dust settles,’ he continued.
‘What does that mean?’ Juliet asked sharply.
‘Mummy is taking the girls down to Hartley, where we will live until next spring, and I will stay in London and go home at weekends.’
‘I don’t have to go to the country, do I?’ Rosie asked anxiously. ‘The Little Season has just begun, I’ve got parties every night …’
‘You will go with Mummy. No … Don’t argue, Rosie. I will be closing up the house as a mark of respect to the rest of Alastair’s family, and I will stay at my club.’
Juliet raised her chin. Her eyes looked strong and defiant, but her beautiful mouth was vulnerable. ‘And me, Daddy?’ she asked in a small voice.
Henry cleared his throat and studied the carpet at his feet for a few seconds. His blue eyes were overbright when he spoke.
‘We’re sending you to Italy for six months, Juliet. Sadly, your reputation is in shreds. I’m afraid you’re being blamed for what’s happened, which is unfair, but the sooner you get away from here the better, for your own sake.’
‘Daddy …!’ She looked stricken, like a little girl about to receive a terrible punishment.
‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said more softly. ‘But it is for the best. I have an old friend, the Principessa Silviane Borghini, who told me over the telephone today that you can stay with her. She takes in students since her husband died, and I’ve arranged for you to study Italian while you’re there.’
‘That
’s so unfair, Daddy,’ Juliet said in a small unprotesting voice.
Henry’s nod of agreement was almost imperceptible.
‘It’s me you’re being unfair to,’ Rosie burst out childishly. ‘Why should I be made to suffer for something that is all Juliet’s fault?’
He looked at her severely, his expressiom suddenly stern.
‘I expect you to conduct yourself with dignity, Rosie, and stop behaving like a hysterical housemaid. Remember you’re a Granville, for goodness’ sake.’
PART TWO
Far-Reaching Consequences
1936–1939
Four
The engagement has been announced between … Rosie read The Times with a sense of disbelief. Was it really true? Charles, son of the late Lord Padmore and Elsbeth, Lady Padmore, of Coldberry Castle, Cumbria, and …
Here her heart lurched every time she read it … and Rosemary Helen, eldest daughter of Mr and Mrs Henry Granville …
She was actually engaged and she wasn’t sure which of her feelings was uppermost, happiness, sheer relief or mild terror.
Mummy was thrilled to bits, of course, promising her the most marvellous wedding dress from Norman Hartnell and the loan of her best diamond tiara. Charles was going to buy a house just off Berkeley Square; so fashionable! And she’d get some visiting cards and at home cards printed by Frank Smythson’s. Lady Padmore At Home … How good it would look!
Then another delightful thought struck Rosie. Juliet, who was still stuck in Rome, was going to be maddened with jealousy. What an utterly gratifying thought that was! Not that it had been plain sailing. Daddy had been fearfully against her marrying Charles. All that rubbish about him being poor and not good enough for her. In the end Mummy had lost her temper.
‘Henry, you don’t seem to realize I’ve got to find five husbands in all before I’m finished. We’ve got to be sensible about this. What’s wrong with Charles Padmore? He’s a baron, good-looking, works in Lloyd’s of London, adores Rosie, and has a family seat in a beautiful part of Cumbria.’
‘You don’t know that. You’ve never been there,’ Henry retorted.
‘What?’ Liza looked flustered, patting her permed curls nervously. Why didn’t he understand that she wanted the girls to do as well as she had, or even better?
‘Nonsense, Henry. You’re just trying to put difficulties in the way. You should be happy for Rosie. Charles is a catch in his own way, and I, for one, would be delighted if they got married.’
But in the end it wasn’t really up to Henry. Liza had brushed his fears aside, and assured Charles, when he proposed to Rosie, that he was welcomed by the family, but suggested they wait until the following week before actually announcing their engagement.
‘To let Henry get used to the idea of losing his first daughter, which is always a wrench for a father,’ she said gushingly.
To Henry, Liza had said gently that ‘Rosie is considering Charles’s proposal.’
‘Is she merely considering it? Or is she using her brains for once?’ he replied acerbicly.
‘Henry! What is the matter with you?’ Liza exploded angrily.
‘I hate the idea of Rosie being pushed into marriage when she’s only just nineteen. What the hell’s the rush? Why can’t she have a few years just finding her feet?’
‘I met you and married you when I was still eighteen,’ she shot back.
Kindness, good manners and good nature forbade him remarking that she’d actually been lucky to have met him in the first place. If he was honest, she wasn’t from the same background, but his great-aunt had told him she had a lovely nature, and would make an excellent wife, because she was prepared to learn the ways of the upper classes. If he was completely honest, would he have married her if the Great War hadn’t just started? If the fear of being killed in the trenches in France hadn’t overshadowed his every thought?
Her blonde prettiness and willingness to please had swayed him, and he’d promised, when she said anxiously that she’d never be able to keep up with his family, that he’d never let the difference in their backgrounds come between them.
‘That’s true, darling,’ he said gently now, ‘but fate brought us together, and I believe we were meant for each other.’
Mollified, Liza gave him a quick smile, but her eyes were still troubled. ‘You don’t understand, Henry. There are always more girls than there are young men. If a girl doesn’t make a good match when she first comes out, she’s lost her best chance. The following year there’ll be a whole batch of new girls, all after the same available young men. We don’t want our daughters ending up as spinsters.’ The very word sent a cold shudder of horror through her.
‘But do you really want Rosie to end up with a young man who will never make anything of himself?’
‘She won’t. For one thing she’ll have a title, which is always useful.’
For the life of him, Henry couldn’t think how. Having a title had never made any difference to his mother.
‘I’ll see you at lunch, darling,’ he said, leaving her in the book-lined library.
Liza returned to writing letters to her London friends, fearful their absence from Green Street would make her lose contact with everyone who mattered. Meanwhile, Henry went for a walk with the dogs in the countryside he so loved.
The constant chatter of voices and the endless stir of activity created by Liza drove him mad when he was at home, and he felt guilty when he realized how his mother’s normally tranquil existence had been upset by their extended stay.
When he returned, he went straight to Lady Anne’s sitting room, to which she seemed to have withdrawn since they’d all descended on Hartley.
‘Are you all right, Mama?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I’m worried that our all being here for so long is too much for you.’
‘Of course I’m all right, Henry, and this is your home, anyway, darling,’ she replied sturdily. ‘I love seeing so much of the little ones, and it’s so good for them being in the countryside. Gives them true values,’ she added rather pointedly.
‘I think we will be returning to London in a few days now,’ Henry continued. ‘Liza and Rosie seem determined to go ahead with her engagement to Charles Padmore, and anyway, I want to get Juliet back from Italy.’
‘Very well, my dear.’ Her expression was non-committal. Privately she wished Henry wouldn’t let Liza bully him so. He looked so tired at times and she worried about him.
As it turned out, the family returned to London the following week, Nanny declaring she’d missed Lyons Corner House something dreadful, while Louise, Amanda and Charlotte protested that they hated London and why couldn’t they stay with Granny in the country? Liza and Rosie, of course, were elated. Things, at last, were about to happen.
The announcement of the engagement appeared in The Times and the Telegraph two days later, and Charles presented Rosie with a family ring of diamonds and sapphires.
‘Need’s cleaning,’ Liza said out of the side of her mouth when she saw it. ‘Take it to Asprey, Rosie. There’s nothing worse than dirty diamonds. It looks as if his mother wore it to peel potatoes.’
Rosie was delighted, however, and took to leaving off her left glove whenever she went out, so everyone could see she was engaged. There was only one disappointment; she seemed to be more heavily chaperoned than ever.
When Charles came to dinner, they were only allowed fifteen minutes alone in the drawing room, before he returned to his bachelor flat, with Parsons patrolling up and down the hall, like a prison warder, while Liza and Henry retired to their own room.
‘Never mind, my sweet,’ Charles whispered, kissing her rather sloppily. ‘Once we’re married …’ Then he pressed himself up against her, and Rosie suddenly felt like a really grown-up woman.
In the face of Henry’s disapproval, Liza’s loyalty to Charles was fierce.
When people sounded surprised by Rosie’s choice of husband, Liza backed their relationship totally. Charles might not be a marquess, like Al
astair, or even an earl, but she approved of his gentleness and mild manners. He was not the straying type, either. Rosie would be able to trust him.
And if Rosie seemed less ecstatic than expected, Liza knew she would come in time to appreciate the solid support of a kind man.
It would have been nice, of course, Liza reflected, if Rosie had been able to marry Alastair Slaidburn, but it had been revealed at the inquest after his death that he’d had a history of manic depression, which could be triggered by any deep emotional upset, so really she’d had a lucky escape.
‘I think Juliet should return to London now,’ Henry announced that evening.
‘But we did tell her Easter, at the earliest,’ Liza pointed out. She feared Juliet’s arrival might upset the applecart.
Henry was determined. ‘I know we did, but January is a quiet time of year. She can slip back into town without any fuss.’
‘But she’ll try and steal the limelight again. I do think this is Rosie’s big moment, and I don’t want her to be overshadowed,’ Liza fretted.
As it turned out, Juliet’s return coincided with an event which shocked the country and drove everything else from people’s minds, including Rosie’s engagement.
The announcement on the wireless was simple and moving.
‘The King’s life is moving peacefully towards its close.’ It was 9.35 p.m. on January 20th. Liza wept silently at the announcer’s words and Henry looked wretchedly sad. The King, a shy and retiring man, had nevertheless been a popular king, and his devoted wife, Mary, had captured the admiration of the nation with her elegance, dignity, and strong sense of duty.
Early the next morning, Henry turned on the wireless to hear it confirmed that George V, King, and Emperor of the British Empire, had died at five minutes past midnight, surrounded by his family.
A great era, part Victorian but overlaid with the elegance and stylishness of the Edwardians, had come to an end.
The Granville household instantly went into mourning, the adults in black from top to toe, with a minimum of discreet jewellery, and the children and servants with wide black armbands, in lieu of black clothes. Parsons wore a stern and sad expression.
The Granville Sisters Page 8
