“So little sister’s going to be the sage adviser?” he sneered, angry at himself more than her. A gentle breeze disturbing his fair hair was the only softness about him.
“It’s all right Patchy, you can tell me,” she encouraged affectionately, her eyes roaming his drawn face for clues, as the shadow of a stray cloud concealed his expression.
He did not respond, but did sit back his body relaxing slightly, then: “Jellie, have you ever wished you were not as you are?” His wild gaze continued to traverse the pastoral scene, then turned upward where he enviously watched the Raptors in their aerial circling, apparently so lazy yet all the while their keen eyes on the look-out for prey.
“What, a boy not a girl?” she laughed, but there was no jollying him.
He glared at her now unsmiling, brows deeply furrowed. She stopped abruptly, feeling a charge about them, like electricity on an airless day. “Sorry!”
As though there had been no interruption he continued: “I will have to take on the responsibility for all of this one day.” His hand, finely sculpted and delicate, swept out in a large arc coming to rest heavily on his thigh.”
“You’ve always known that, Patchy.”
His voice cracked as he asked: “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps I don’t want … all this?” Once more the arm swung out, jerkily this time.
“No. Don’t you want it?”
“If I didn’t have to do my duty, carry the line etcetera, I could please myself what I did.” Although his blue eyes gleamed brightly, they were blank of emotion, as if deliberately concealed. “It would be my decision where I lived and with whom.” The jaundiced smile contorted the corners of his full mouth into an ugly line, reflecting a darkness gripping his heart. He took a convulsive, frustrated breath.
She had never seen her brother so bitter. “You and Mona are the same.”
“Mona?”
“Yes. We had a long talk this afternoon. That’s why I felt like a ride. She’s so miserable, feeling alienated and dejected.”
Ambrose did not have to ask why. He sat silent, this time looking at the ground, but his cold eyes, bottomless pits of anger and bitterness, saw only Sedgewick’s saturnine face. The fine aquiline features: the flared nostrils, the sensitive mouth with the cynical twist to the lips as he had told him of developments. A life of privilege had its price and he and Ramona were now to pay up. He felt a stark sadness for her. Poor girl! Like him, she would have to let go her dreams and learn to live with compromise. The difference between them – he had always known. His life would always have its dark side; furtively lead, hidden in the night from prying, judgemental eyes. His mind raced ahead.
Can I lead a double life? Sedge thinks it’s possible. But betray Mona? No! I can’t do that. We might have carried it off if Sedge were marrying anyone else. But Ramona! Their continued association was impossible. He felt a tightening inside him, in the grip of a hard, profound emotion. The time had come to renounce his heart’s love. It was a brutal truth, but any continued denial would be pointless. Life was too unfair. Any other chap – like that new chauffeur – a blasted no-body he didn’t even know his infernal name, he could live where he liked; marry whom he damned well pleased. But for him, with wealth and position, his was a prison, circumscribed by obdurate society. A sense of oppression was closing in on him. He had no freedom of choice; his duty was to toe the line and look bloody pleased about it. His head was ready to burst.
“We should go.” The air had increased its chill, with more clouds rolling in. A dampness in the breeze brought up to them woody smells of matted leaves and decaying bark, from the grove of trees below. A heavy autumn shower might not be far away. He felt drained, supporting a lethargy too much to bear under this upsurge of dejection. He would return to Pembroke College next week; a chance to see Sedge in his rooms one last time.
His rooms! His mind went back to that day they had been alone together, just talking and listening to the latest dance craze on his new phonograph. Without thinking much about it, he had told Sedge how he liked dancing, but could never do it. Like a shot, Sedge had been on his feet and was saying: “Of course you can old thing, just follow my lead.” There and then, he had hoisted him up and there he was, in his arms, lurching about all over the place in a tango. Sedge had not minded his two left feet. He had wanted it never to stop. Such a revelation, such rapture! With a sigh, heavy with regret, he knew this would have to be the end.
Nigella accepted the abrupt change without demur, but found it odd nonetheless. No more to say? No questions about Ramona? Did he not care about her? No – that was not true. They collected their mounts, riding at a more leisurely pace back to Guilfoyle Park, each lost in private thought. Blinding rain held off for them; in the end it was only a passing shower.
Enjoying time with Jake talking about horseflesh, Mallory observed the return of the two riders and stepped forward to accept Burrow from Lady Nigella as Jake took Chester, leading him off to summon Ned. Burrow had not been worn down today Mallory noticed, but she still spent time in calming talk. He obviously appreciated the attention and even gave her ear a soft nibble.
Hot walking and grooming completed it was time for feeds. Unlike before, where an easy camaraderie had developed between herself and Ned, Mallory experienced a distinct coldness. She felt she was being given the silent treatment. A casual remark addressed to him in passing, received no corresponding banter. Chores continued like this, the other lads agreeably joking their way through, but not Ned. Oh well, we can’t always be on a good day, she reasoned.
“‘Is Lordship ’as instructions fer ya’,” Jake tapped Mallory on the shoulder: “When ya’ve finished.”
She went to her quarters to wash, but did not change into the liveries. She could remain casual for this she reckoned and then go straight to supper. Could this mean a driving job? It would be good to get out again. The restriction on her movements had been getting to her. Compared with this, her former world had ranged far and wide. The people here did not know what it was to have such freedom: the Gentry and those above perhaps, but not ordinary folk.
When she left Sir Eustace she was in good spirits. This is more like it. The family would be visiting Ettington Manor. They were to celebrate Lady Ramona’s twentieth birthday and the announcement of her forthcoming engagement; it was up to London for shopping and to make the arrangements. The Ladies would be staying over in Belgravia for a few days. She had tomorrow to be sure everything was ‘ship-shape’ then they would leave early Wednesday morning. The best part; she would remain with the Ladies then bring them back after the completion of their affairs. London, now this will be something.
* * *
The drive to Belgrave Square was uneventful. It took most of the day with a stop for lunch at Banbury and again at Saint Albans for light refreshment. The servants would have dinner ready on their arrival. The Cape Cart remained up for the whole of the trip since the weather had threatened stormy clouds on and off. The Ladies had decided to dress comfortably in blouse and skirt: a double breasted golf jersey for Lady Patchford and long-sleeved cardigans for the girls. Their head covering was also casual each wearing a jaunty tam-o’-shanter, the bobble in the centre a matching colour to the cardigan. The journey was subdued, no animated chatter from any one, which surprised Mallory. Where was their girlish excitement?
Banbury still retained its old charm and Mallory took pleasure in the sights as she ate her lunch, seated out front of the ale house keeping a watchful eye on the Rolls. Saint Albans likewise was historic, but being that much closer to the city, more developed and bustling. The Ladies ate ‘al fresco’, in the manicured grounds of a smart restaurant while Mallory remained with the vehicle. She bought a local paper to help pass the time.
Gaining the outskirts of London, progress was fitful as traffic converged onto the clogged streets; too many automobiles and not enough courtesy. She had to be alert not only to the horse drawn omnibuses, but to the many carts and cabs that seemed to be all over the place
, busily delivering not people, but goods and messages.
Where are the traffic lights when you need them?
The rival to the London General Omnibus Company was the newly formed London Road Car Company, each vehicle seemingly bent on passing the other. Mallory knew it would take the advent of the First World War for the combustion engine to come into its own and emerge triumphant. Meanwhile, these different modes of transport were vying for space on roads never designed for such traffic. She felt like she was in a futuristic nightmare as envisioned in Blade Runner, but this was the past.
Fortunately she knew her way around the city, having done all the touristy haunts on her arrival in the UK, especially the ‘big five’ and the city environs. Never had the thought occurred that one day she would be staying at an aristocratic address in Belgrave Square: history come to life – my life.
Driving along Victoria Embankment she recognised Norman Shaw’s design for Scotland Yard; that mixture of Baroque style with Scottish Baronial was unmistakable. Here traffic was heavier, a constant bottle-neck of congestion. There was little she could do but wait, and look about. Although completed in 1890, she could see the appearance of the police headquarters would not change in the intervening century, despite the ravages of two world wars. It was bizarre, as though time had stood still and for a moment she was neither here nor there, a ‘being’ caught in a warp. For that instant she was completely lost – without reference, of no consequence, but still trapped in space. The traffic moved and she shook her head. Concentrate!
The Old Bailey Criminal Courts and the Admiralty Offices looked new and imposing, having been completed only three years before. They attested to England’s affluence and might. This year the City was redesigning the Mall. From 1906 the Baroque, so beloved of the City Fathers, had fallen from favour and was being replaced by designs more in the classical style; chaste and restrained. It was easy to see the French influence in the layout of the Mall. It would finish up as the only truly grand processional avenue leading from Trafalgar Square to Buckingham Palace. However, she knew London would never be able to emulate Paris, although it was trying very hard at the moment. That nineteenth century splendour would single out Paris as one of the most majestic of the world’s cities.
She had read in the paper that Aston Webb’s submissions were the ones selected as the winning designs for Admiralty Arch. She continued past more impressive imperial buildings: the King Edward VII Galleries at the British Museum, the Royal Automobile Club in Pall Mall, which they were still working on since construction had only begun last year and would not be finished for a while yet.
Concentration was a challenge being so distracted by the sights, but at last they arrived at number seventeen. It was a noisy and boisterous affair with much to-ing and fro-ing from the legion of servants who maintained this establishment. A tall, somewhat narrow three storey house with the typical pillared double frontage of all the dwellings in the square, it looked onto the gardens of the park in its centre.
Mallory, having deposited her charges was shown through the wrought iron archway that led round the back to the Mews, where the Rolls would be parked and above which she would reside. She had her leather case with personal things, but no change of uniform then discovered, when she looked in the wardrobe, a complete set of neatly pressed liveries. Double breasted again, this time in black serge. As befits the big Smoke, I expect. The jacket was slightly tight in the shoulders, but the breeches were no problem.
One of the footmen came to show her to the servants’ quarters which in this house were located below stairs. She followed him outside, down some steep stone steps to a narrow door which he pushed open into a dark scullery. This led to a big kitchen well lit by gaslight. It was just like the one at Guilfoyle Park, but more cluttered. Meeting with the other staff went well. They accepted her warmly and being in uniform, her masquerade was securely intact.
The food however was another matter. Rather less nutritious than the suppers she usually devoured, but the broth and dumplings still disappeared with relish. They were a friendly bunch, their talk lively and stimulating. She enjoyed the cockney accents and in turn, they were intrigued by her and wanted to know all about Australia. She remained evasive. In the end they appreciated she was tired after a long journey. Breakfast would be on from five o’clock.
* * *
Mallory did not need the alarum. Five o’clock, the city was coming to life. The sound disturbing her sleep was the clopping of shod hooves as the Household Cavalry, astride their magnificent steeds, rode to the Palace for the Changing of the Guard. The clatter was exciting, but she could only imagine the resplendence of their uniforms; the black and red in vivid contrast, the flashing of burnished steel in the raking light of early morning. She knew Edward VII was inordinately keen on ‘observances’ and had re-introduced many of the old protocols, previously dropped by his mother as she had advanced into her dotage. Yes, he was the one for ‘pomp and circumstance’.
Once her mind had been thus engaged any prospect of further sleep was impossible. As the morning light edged across the bedroom wall, her day began with a cold sponge bath. She took the soiled clothes down to the basement to find the laundry maids. They were stoking the fires to heat the boilers for the day’s wash. One young woman, perhaps in charge, indicated a spare wicker basket where she could dump them. Her sudden arrival on their doorstep however, sent the others into an animated dither with much elbowing and giggling. How they would enjoy telling the others what they had missed.
After a more substantial breakfast: eggs, kidneys and thick slices of black pudding, she reported to Lady Patchford in the morning room which was located on the second floor. Its two tall, narrow windows gave a good view of the spreading Plane trees and in the distance, the steeple of Saint Paul’s. The colours were once again light and bright, this time reminiscent of the ocean: muted greys, blue/greens and whites. The effect was less formal than at the Park, the walls being panelled in the palest oak and instead of heavy brocades, floral chintzes had been selected. The surface glaze brought out the bright colours of the large flowers lending a light airiness to the room. It was more inviting compared with the Victorian heaviness Lady Patchford usually tolerated.
She removed her fine-rimmed spectacles to set them on the delicate inlaid table. She had been looking through the latest Paris designs for Mona, who was not being the least bit co-operative and she could see it would fall onto her shoulders alone, to get her appropriately attired for this gala event. A long, low sigh escaped from deep within her. Why did everything have to become so complicated? Even Jellie had withdrawn her interest and she was also in need of formal wear. It was too much. I must send for Francine. I cannot deal with this on my own. If she takes the train she could be here tomorrow.
“Ah Mason, we will spend the morning at the dressmaker’s, then take lunch at the Ritz Hotel. You may drop us off at #36, Curzon Street and return at twelve-thirty.”
“Very good my Lady.” She noticed how drawn her face looked today; the fine lines around the eyes, the deeper ones etched either side of the curved mouth. “At what time do you need the Rolls?”
“Nine o’clock will suit.”
“Thank you my Lady.” Mallory made to leave, but was arrested by Lady Patchford’s raised hand.
“Mason!”
“Yes my Lady.”
“You remember our discussion, when you first came into my employ?”
“Yes my Lady.”
“The Lady Nigella will want to do things whilst here in London. She is free to choose how she wishes to spend her time, but I remind you to keep a sharp watch when she is out and about. In the house there will be no problem. The Lady Ramona will not always want her tagging along, so I rely on you to remain heedful.”
“Excuse me my Lady, but what exactly should I be attentive to?”
“I thought you understood from her accident that there were people out there who could do her harm.”
“My Lady,” Mallory�
��s eyebrows shot up. This woman must be paranoid. If not, at least under excessive strain.
“Someone might try to talk to her, for example at the museum; when shopping, in the park.” Her hazel eyes clouded over almost to grey as her mind scanned the possibilities and blood drained from her face. “It could be almost anywhere.”
“There’s no question of … abduction then …” Mallory responded guardedly, but her mind racing ahead, “… my Lady?”
“No…o. I don’t think so.” By now her voice was almost a strangled whisper. “But harm could come in any guise.”
“Would the person approaching be male or female?”
“Either is a possibility.” She looked back at the young man. “A woman could be used as the introductory agent, I suppose.”
“The Lady Ramona … there are no similar problems there?”
With rather more force than was warranted, Lady Patchford retorted unequivocally: “There’s no problem with my other children.” Oh dear, what an ill-judged comment. Have I said too much? “Err…r, they are older … can take care of themselves.”
I don’t think this is the story, Mallory thought privately. Possibly there’s more here than just a mother hen. “I understand my Lady.”
“Take her where she wants to go, but stay within distance and collect her if anything suspicious arises. You can always say it’s time to be leaving.”
“Absolutely, my Lady.”
Lady Patchford retrieved her glasses feeling the need to be alone. “Nine o’clock then, Mason.”
Til Morning Comes Page 19
