by Rhys Bowen
I had to laugh at this. “I’m not a cross-dresser and I’m not a relative,” I said. “I’m a guest of the dowager duchess. She was a friend of my grandmother. I’m Georgiana Rannoch.”
“Oh, my my—then I’ve seen you in the society pages,” he said. “I remember when you came out.”
“Do you go to any of the deb balls?” I asked.
“Oh, no, duckie. I am far, far below the level to be considered suitable, although I would look lovely in a backless white dress and a tiara.” He held out his hand to me. “I’m Adrian, one of Cedric’s protégés. I’m a painter of sorts. Not particularly good but it beats going down a coal mine.” His hand held firmly on to mine. “Come and meet the other boys. They’d love to be cheered up by a new face. Ceddy has been in a foul mood since he found out about this long-lost nephew. I don’t know why. It’s not as if he’s going to claim the family fortune until Ceddy’s pushing up daisies, is it? And I’m sure he’ll be a delightful addition to our happy family—all rugged and tanned and primitive.” And he gave a tiger-like growl.
Adrian led me at a great pace along a hall lined with weapons. “Don’t be afraid,” he said. “The family hardly ever uses them these days.”
“Actually I feel quite at home,” I said. “Our Scottish castle has a pretty formidable collection of weapons too.”
“Oh, of course, I keep forgetting that you’re almost royalty,” he said. “And you seem so nice and normal too. Listen.” He paused and cocked his head like a spaniel out shooting. “I think they’ve moved to the ballroom, cheeky devils. I hope you’re not easily shocked. God knows what they’ll be doing in there. They do tend to get carried away.”
At the end of the hall we turned a corner, and Adrian thrust open the first door on our left. We stepped into a glorious room. French windows, framed with blue-velvet drapes revealed a view of lawns, giving way to parkland and distant hills on which tiny dots of sheep were grazing. The parquet floor glowed with loving care, and a row of impressive chandeliers was suspended along the length of the ceiling. At the far end was a raised dais for an orchestra. It was currently occupied by another slim young man in black operating a gramophone, which he was in the process of rewinding.
“Do it again, Jules,” he said. “And this time try to imagine you’re Fred Astaire.”
“He’ll never manage it, he has too much hair, Simon,” Adrian called.
“Then pretend you’re Ginger Rogers,” the dark young man he’d addressed as Simon said.
The person they were talking about stood in the middle of the room, wearing a leotard and tights. He really did have lovely hair—a honey-blonde color, which curled over his ears. I was quite jealous.
“It’s no good, Simon. I just don’t feel it,” he said. “There’s something not quite right about the music.”
“What are you two doing in here? I’m sure Ceddy wouldn’t like you wandering all over the house without his permission,” Adrian said.
“We’re working on the new play, silly,” Simon said. “If he wants to have an original Simon Wetherington creation for his festival this autumn, I have to get a move on. And Jules is being difficult and can’t seem to get what I want him to do.”
“I just don’t see myself as a dancing Welsh coal miner,” Jules said.
“It’s a dream sequence, Jules. You’re an actor. Put yourself into the role. Work with me.”
They seemed to notice me standing in the doorway for the first time. “I don’t think we’re ready for outside observers yet,” Simon said.
“This is Georgiana Rannoch. You know—Lady Georgiana Rannoch from the society pages. Pally with the royals.”
This was a slight exaggeration. I’d made the society pages a few times during my season but hardly ever since then. But they all came over to me excitedly nonetheless.
“She’s going to be staying for a while,” Adrian said.
“Lovely. Can you dance? You could be Ginger Rogers for poor Jules, who hates dancing alone.”
“I’m afraid I’m a hopeless dancer.”
“Pity,” Simon said. “You’ve got the right color hair for the part.”
“So are you creating a musical comedy?” I asked.
“It’s going to be darker than that, darling—a combination folk opera, Shakespearean drama and musical revue, all rolled into one.”
“Quite an innovation,” Adrian said. “The boy’s brilliant, of course. Ceddy snapped him up when he saw his last play being performed in Edinburgh.”
“And he’s promised to put on the extravaganza at his new festival, if Simon can finish it in time,” Jules said.
“What festival is this?”
“Haven’t you heard?” they twittered at me excitedly, making me think how apt it was of someone to have dubbed them the Starlings.
“Ceddy’s planning to have an outdoor amphitheater built down below the cascades,” Simon said. “He wants to hold a festival here, like Glyndebourne. He wants Kingsdowne to become the mecca for the arts.”
“Goodness,” I said. “How ambitious.”
“Oh yes. Cedric wants his name to go down in history. The Medici of mid-Kent,” Adrian said.
The other two boys glanced around nervously. “You shouldn’t say things like that, Adrian. You’ll get us all slung out on our ear,” Simon said.
“Fiddlesticks,” Adrian said. “Ceddy adores me, and you know it. I can do no wrong in his eyes.”
“This week,” Julian said. “Ceddy is notoriously fickle, as you very well know.”
“Absolutely not. He must adore me for myself because I admit my painting is not up to Picasso standards.”
“If he adores anyone, it’s Marcel,” Julian said coldly.
“Who is Marcel?” I dared to ask.
“His valet. French; terribly dark and brooding and Continental,” Adrian said, rolling his eyes. “What is not to adore about him. Every time he speaks with that French accent I absolutely melt into a puddle.”
“Enough dallying,” Simon said. “Come on, people. Back to work or this play will never finish. And, Lady Georgiana, darling, couldn’t you please be Ginger Rogers—pretty please? How can I choreograph a duet with one person, and Adrian has two left feet.”
“Very well. I’ll try, but I can’t promise dancing prowess.”
“Isn’t she duckie?” Adrian asked, and they all agreed I was.
So for the next hour I was dragged and swung around the ballroom by an enthusiastic Julian. Actually it was a lot of fun until Cedric’s bulky form loomed in the doorway.
“What is going on? What are you doing in my ballroom?” he demanded like a schoolmaster who has discovered pupils misbehaving.
“Working on the play, Cedric,” Simon said. “We’ve almost mastered the dream sequence with the Welsh miner.”
“What’s she doing here?” He glared at me.
“She’s standing in for Ginger Rogers,” Simon said. “And doing a splendid job.”
“Well, stop that now. I need you now to come and look at the site with me,” Cedric said. “I’ve just been down there, and I’m afraid I was right. Those cottages will have to go.”
“But they are so picturesque, Ceddy. You can’t just knock them down,” Simon said.
“I can do what I bally-well like on my land,” Cedric said. “The amphitheater needs a backstage area and they are simply in the way. Come and see.” He opened one of the French doors and they followed him out obediently, leaving me standing alone in the ballroom.
Chapter 8
KINGSDOWNE
I came out into the hallway and was just making my way back to the main staircase when I met the housemaid Elsie coming toward me with a tray on which there was a teapot and cup.
“Countess Streletzki has another of her migraines,” she said. “And she’s a great believer in chamomile tea.”
I started up the stairs with her.
“I wonder if it would be all right if I visited the countess’s daughter Elisabeth,” I said. “It must be awfully lonely for her, stuck in her room all the time.”
“It is, poor thing,” she said. “And such a sweet-natured child she is too. Let me just deliver this to the countess and I’ll take you up to the nursery.”
“I won’t be disturbing her lessons, will I?”
“Oh, no, my lady,” she replied. “Miss Sissy is supposed to rest after luncheon.”
I waited until Elsie returned from delivering her tray to Irene, and then she led me up another flight of stairs and along the full length of a hallway. Now that we were no longer on the important floors, the décor was not as grand. The walls were whitewashed and plain with the occasional vase in a niche. Elsie tapped at the very end door then opened it.
“Miss Sissy?” she asked. “Are you resting?”
“Why should I rest? I’ve done nothing all day to make me tired,” said a clear voice.
“I’ve brought you a visitor.”
“Oh. I don’t know if I’m well enough for visitors,” she said hastily.
“I promise not to stay long and tire you,” I said and stepped past Elsie into the room. “I just wanted to say hello and introduce myself. I’m Georgiana Rannoch, and I’m staying here for a while so I thought you might like some company.”
The girl was sitting in a bath chair at a window, a rug over her knees and a shawl over her shoulders. There was a strong resemblance to the other two children but her face was less sullen and much prettier; she was older than I thought she’d be—around fifteen, maybe. Almost white-blonde hair spilled over her shoulders, and when she saw me her face broke into a charming smile.
“How lovely. Please, do come in,” she said. “I thought the visitor might be Grandmama or one of my aunts, and I do find them so tiresome. But another young person—well, that’s quite different.”
I noticed that this was a corner room with tall windows on two sides, giving a spectacular view over the estate. From the front window, where Sissy now sat, one looked down on the forecourt, the lake, driveway and lawns. Out of the side window, one could see the cascades and the temple peeping out of the trees of the glen before the formal grounds gave way to thick woods, all the way down to the valley. Smoke was rising from unseen chimneys, curling up into the cold air.
“You have a lovely view here,” I said.
“I know. At least I can get a glimpse of what is going on. I just saw Uncle Cedric and his funny young men going down past the cascades. I expect they are going down to the village.”
“The village?”
“My brother says there’s a footpath on the other side of the glen. It’s a shortcut to the village and a perfect way to sneak off unobserved. But do come and sit down.”
I pulled up a chair from the writing desk and sat in the window, facing her.
“So do tell me—what are you doing here?” she asked.
“Everyone seems surprised that there is a guest in the house,” I said. “Do you not get many visitors?”
She shook her head. “I’m told that in the old days, my grandparents used to entertain very grandly all the time, but then my grandfather became ill and died. And now the house belongs to Uncle Cedric, and he only invites his type of people. I think they look quite fun, but I’m never allowed to meet them.”
“Why not?”
She made a face. “Not suitable, that’s what Mummy says. Too common, for one thing, and of a different moral standard from us. I’m not quite sure what she means or how she knows about their moral standards.”
I thought I should probably not elucidate.
“Your grandmother invited me,” I said. “And anyway, you are to have another young person in the house from Saturday onward. Your cousin is arriving from Australia.”
“The heir? He’s actually coming?”
“He is.”
“I wonder what he’ll be like.” Her face was hopeful but guarded. “They say he’s young.”
“He’s twenty, so one gathers.”
“I wonder if he’s good-looking. Uncle Johnnie was very good-looking, from his photographs.”
“So what do you do all day?” I asked.
“When I’m not having lessons, I read a lot.” She held up the book on her lap. “Sherlock Holmes. Mr. Carter lent it to me. It’s very good. Mr. Carter is very kind, and he’s a really good tutor too. He’s awfully brainy, you know. He’s a scientist really; an Oxford man. He was planning to be a professor. But he was badly shell-shocked in the war and he can’t take any kind of noise or upset, so he’s had to settle for teaching boring old us. Nick and Kat are awful to him, and it’s impossible to learn with them around. Nick thinks if he’s bad enough, he’ll be shipped off to school, but Uncle Cedric doesn’t want to pay for him, and we have no money.” She looked up at me. “You’ve heard about our tragic circumstances, of course?”
I nodded.
“It’s terrible for Mummy, because she was brought up to be so proud and she’s so embarrassed that Daddy bolted and left her penniless. She hates being dependent on Uncle Cedric but what choice does she have?”
“I’m also penniless, so I know how she must feel,” I said.
“Are you? Golly.” She looked at me in silence then said, “At least you’re young and pretty and healthy. Someone will marry you. No one will ever want to marry me.”
“Oh, surely—you mustn’t think like that.”
She tossed her head proudly. “Who’d want to marry a penniless cripple?”
“You may walk again.”
“Mummy has heard about a doctor in Switzerland who can work miracles with cripples like me, but it costs an awful lot of money and Uncle Cedric won’t pay for it.” She turned to stare out of the window. “So there’s no hope, really.”
I wanted to say something encouraging but I couldn’t think of any words that would ring true to her. I was in a similarly hopeless situation myself, except that I could still use my legs and I did have Darcy.
Suddenly she leaned forward as a man came running up the hill toward the house. He was dressed like a countryman—old corduroy trousers, a jacket patched at the elbows, a shapeless cloth cap on his head and big boots. When he came close to the house he stopped and looked up at it, frowning. As we watched, the butler came out to him. We couldn’t hear voices but the young man was obviously in a state of great agitation. He waved his arms a lot while the butler tried to put a calming hand on the man’s shoulder. He shrugged it off, turned away and stomped off down the driveway.
“What was that all about, I wonder,” I said.
Sissy shook her head. “I’ve no idea. I couldn’t see him clearly but I think it looked like William, who was one of the footmen here. He was very angry, wasn’t he?”
We went on talking for a while, about how she’d loved to ride and hunt and the ways that she filled her days since the accident. “Mr. Carter tries to teach us science, of course,” she said. “Nick and Kat are quite keen on doing horrid chemistry experiments but I’m useless.”
Her loves were literature, languages and painting. She showed me some of her watercolors, which were good.
“You should show these to your uncle,” I said. “He sees himself as a patron of the arts.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’m afraid my tame little efforts are not what would impress him at all. He likes modern art with great splotches of color. You know, they look like a spilled nursery meal. Or what he really likes is to take strange photographs of people’s nostrils or toes.”
There was a tap on the door as we watched Cedric and his retinue return to the house, and in came a well-padded and pleasant-looking nanny.
“Ready for your tea, Miss Sissy?” she asked, then stopped. “Oh, I see you’ve got company. How lovely for you.”
“What a treat,” Nanny said. She turned to me. “Miss Sissy gets awfully lonely stuck up here.”
“I suppose there is no lift to take you downstairs?”
“There isn’t,” Sissy said. “Someone has to carry me. And Mummy doesn’t like anyone uncouth, like the gardeners or grooms, handling me. So it’s hard. But I have a nice tea in the nursery with the twins and Mr. Carter, don’t I, Nanny?”
“You do, my love,” she said.
Far below, a gong sounded.
“That’s downstairs tea,” Sissy said to me. “I suppose you’ll be going down now.” She looked wistful. “Or you could always join us, if you like. We have a jolly tea up here, you know.”
“Why not,” I said, thinking how much nicer it would be to avoid the formality of tea below, with its added risk of dropping crumbs or squirting cream. I walked behind Nanny as she wheeled the bath chair through to an adjoining room. With a big bookcase, desks, a globe on the front table and currently a science experiment set up with test tubes and Bunsen burners, this was now the schoolroom. But one could see that it had been the nursery. There was still a lovely old dollhouse in a corner; ragged, stuffed animals in an old wagon, and a magnificent rocking horse had pride of place in one of the windows. Nick and Katherine were seated at a low table on which there was a tray of sandwiches, scones and a Victoria sponge.
