No matter how much Edwina teased about my privileged upbringing, the truth was that Ashwick Park became the real cotton-candy experience in both of our lives. Ashwick Park provided tranquility, consistency, laughter, and security. We followed a daily routine of classes and study, and also paid attention to the rules, in order to avoid the wrath of the headmistress, a middle-aged Dickensian woman named Miss Kiskadden. The school promoted the philosophy that women could accomplish anything they set their minds to, a concept unheard of at that time. Although I never totally subscribed to such a belief, I did grow to have more faith in myself. Alternately, Edwina believed nothing could prevent the achievement of her goals, and she had not needed Ashwick Park to tell her that. She embraced the school code with all of her being. Her heart was set upon becoming a world famous clothing designer. On occasion, I, too, fantasized about some sort of career. However, I never seriously considered such a future. A husband and children were the time worn choices for Somerville females.
Toward the end of our initial year at Ashwick Park, I began to spend an occasional holiday with Edwina’s family. It was the first I had ever seen of the inner workings in a very different sort of home. I first noticed the overwhelming amount of effusive compliments that Mrs. Phillips heaped upon her daughter. Edwina was encouraged, inspired, fortified, supported, and given confidence. I never once saw my friend criticized or spoken to in a disparaging tone. There were no harsh words; compliments flowed like water from a fountain; no shouting, and always time to sit down and have a long chat with Edwina’s mother, who insisted that I call her ‘Thelma’, and not ‘Mrs. Phillips’. I felt awkward doing so, and finally settled upon ‘Mum Phillips.’ Edwina considered her a fount of wisdom, always patient and kind, even when circumstances called for firmness, and she possessed the same joie de vivre as Edwina.
Edwina’s assortment of brothers and sisters were gone from the home. One brother, Eugene, had married his primary school sweetheart, and managed a bookstore in London; Another, Orville, had immigrated to Canada. Fiona, the eldest girl, was a nurse. Another sister, Violet, taught school. Edwina’s closest sister, Grace, married a well-to-do banker, and lived in the States. She had a magnificent home in Greenwich, Connecticut and was the one they all seemed to envy, albeit with pride. While I met most of them, I never knew them well. Although initially I thought the Phillips family were a bit of a strange lot, slowly I began to make comparisons between Edwina’s family and my own. It soon became apparent that the Somervilles were the ones who were odd. It was a rather rude awakening.
Edwina and I swooned over the Prince of Wales as our ideal man. We hung his framed photograph, attired in regimental dress uniform, in our room. We danced the Jitterbug, smoked cigarettes, sneaked an occasional nip of pink gin, and laid awake into the wee hours listening to tunes on the Victrola. It was a magical time, when life consisted of dreams that always seemed possible, and happiness that might truly be forever. We formed a pact early on, whereby we would always tell one another the truth. I learnt to trust Edwina implicitly; a rare thing for a girl like me, who did not trust easily. It was trust that created our strong bond of friendship, and betrayal that tore it apart. However, that came much later. Our biggest concerns at that time surrounded clothes, parties and boyfriends, rather than whether the Nazis might invade one of their neighbors. Or that one of us might fall in love with the wrong man. That also came later.
After four carefree years, our time at Ashwick Park ended in 1935. We prepared to leave with a combination of excitement and trepidation. By then we were closer than most sisters, and I’d shared nearly every confidence with Edwina, and she with me. My dear friend knew of my mother’s horrific rages, my feelings toward my brothers, and Papa’s numerous weaknesses. She also knew that I was timid but resilient; solemn but witty; quiet but outgoing, and quite the most naive person on Earth. On that last day in our dormitory room, I threw my arms about Edwina. “I truly can’t think what I’ll do without you. You’ve been the sister I never had.”
“Oh Sophia, we’ll still be close as sisters A bit of distance won’t matter. I expect you’ll visit me in Paris regularly,” she replied, hugging me back. Edwina’s acceptance at the renowned Esmod International School in Paris, to study fashion design, was about to bring enormous change to both of our lives. Her childhood dream was becoming reality. Someday she hoped to work for one of the great fashion houses: Worth, Chanel or Mainbacher. I envied her a bit, but clearly understood that it was my lot in life to find the proper mate.
“Yes, I intend to visit Paris until I find the ‘suitable husband’” I laughed. “Then I’ll be tied to hearth and home.” The ‘suitable husband’ was a cliché we had coined at the beginning of our friendship. It referred to my mother’s desire for me to find the proper man, secure a proposal of marriage during my eighteenth year, and marry soon after. I had just turned eighteen, and my long-awaited debutante season was upon me.
“Just postpone that as long as possible, Luv. I don’t think you’re at all ready to settle down in the country, raise a passel of children, entertain at fancy Balls, and put up with the same man every day of your life.”
“I have a problem with that picture too, although in my heart of hearts, I can’t imagine going off to Paris to seek a career, as you’re about to do.”
Edwina vowed to have scads of love affairs before she settled for one man. She said that she would fall in love with a destitute Parisian artist, share his garret, and pose for her portrait in the nude. The concept was surely risqué, but I didn’t think less of my dear friend because of her willingness to live without regard to rules. While we did not always agree, our promise was to be honest with one another. Neither took offense if there was a difference of opinion. We were school girls then, and young, so the differences of opinion were not profound.
CHAPTER ONE
Saturday, 25 May, 1935
A Ball
I made my debut at a Buckingham Palace garden party, where all of the Season’s debutantes bowed. I spent months and months practicing my deep curtsy, which culminated in a graceful walk backwards, away from His Majesty. It was not as easy as it appeared. Edwina laughed uproariously as she assisted during the rehearsals. My gown was a truly delectable creation. I‘d never had one remotely like it, and honestly felt like Cinderella when I slipped it over my head. The world-renowned designer, Worth, had fashioned it. An extraordinary confection of white, silk organza, quite simple in line, it was sleeveless, with a full skirt, seed pearl bodice, and jewel neckline. I carried a white fan and wore a gem-encrusted headband with an enormous white plume. At my neck were the Somerville Pearls, which my parents had given to me upon commencement from Ashwick Park.
I felt dreadful that Edwina couldn’t participate in that grand occasion. There was so little that we didn’t share. However, we both knew, and accepted, that the Presentation was one of the few times that my position in the nobility would separate us. The rigid class system in Great Britain seemed so terribly antiquated to me. Nevertheless, it was mandatory that I adhere to the rules. If I had made any attempt to circumvent them, there would have been a ghastly rage on the part of Mummy. There were several happenings during the upcoming Season in which Edwina would be sharing; punting on the Thames, Ascot, archery contests at Strawberry Hill, point-to-point at Cowdray Park, and numerous weekend house parties. Those were just a few. Nevertheless, Presentation at Court was the highlight and the beginning of the Season.
It was a perfectly splendid spring day, made even more memorable because the Prince of Wales held Court. Although he seemed a bit distracted and weary, he was terribly dashing and charming. All of the girls that Season were madly in love with him, and I was no exception. He was every bit as handsome as his photos. My rehearsals in preparation for the presentation ensured that my every move was perfection, and I was terribly relieved when that portion of the day ended. My usual shyness melted away, as I sipped champagne and accepted compliments. There were other girls present with whom I
was acquainted. Most were also graduates of Ashwick Park. I had never become exceedingly close to anyone except Edwina, which was a clear indication of my preference for solitary pursuits and one-on-one friendships, as opposed to ‘running with the pack. I looked forward to the forthcoming Ball which my parents would be hosting at Willow Grove Abbey the following evening. Edwina would be present on that occasion.
When the evening of the Ball arrived, I was even more excited than I had been about the Presentation. My second gown for the Debut Ball even surpassed my Presentation dress in beauty. It was created by Madeline Vionnet, a renowned French designer. It was crafted from white organza and the sheerest, fine tulle, and its delicacy was underlined by appliqued velvet swallows scattered across the skirt. It was absolutely ethereal. I felt like an angel. There were two hundred invitations sent out, and nearly all responded that they would be attending. The guest list consisted of my parent’s wide number of social acquaintances, as well as their more intimate friends. And, of course it included my own friends. I received many, many baskets and bouquets of flowers which were banked near and around the place designated for me to receive my guests, next to Mummy. I carried the small nosegay made up of white rosebuds and white violets, which my father had presented to me. The guests began arriving at about half after ten, and I stood by Mummy and received until midnight. We were at the end of the Ballroom, furthest from the entrance, and as each guest arrived he or she was ‘announced’.
The enormous Ballroom at the Abbey was festively adorned with splendid floral displays, spilling out of large Grecian urns. The color theme was pink and white, and the predominant flowers were roses, lilies, peonies, and white violets. The air was fragrant with their mixed scent. A string quartet had been engaged and was stationed in one corner of the lavish gold and white room. They were an addition to the exquisite white Grande Piano, which was a permanent fixture in the Abbey’s ballroom. My parents had spared no expense. This was, after all, the first social introduction of their only daughter, and it announced to the world that I was available for marriage. Mummy had dreamed of such an evening all of her life, and undoubtedly had begun its planning while I was still in my pram. A sumptuous supper preceded the Ball, and individual, round tables were set about the grand dining room covered with snow white linens and the finest silver, china, and sparkling crystal. Each displayed an elaborate silver fountain of flowing champagne. The supper followed the reception of my guests, and I felt thankful to have that chore behind me. I’d grown rather weary of elderly gentlemen making remarks such as “You don’t mind, my dear, if I tell you how sweet I think you look?” or “May I say what a lovely frock you are wearing?” I was looking ahead to the elegant feast that awaited, and the lessening of formality, since I would be surrounded by just close friends. My own table was somewhat larger than the others and was made up of my most intimate friends and their dinner partners. It was proper form for me to go to supper with a partner who had spoken for the privilege many weeks beforehand. My partner was Owen, Marquis of Winnsborough. His family owned one of the largest estates in England, Winnsborough Hall, which he would one day inherit, along with his father’s title and holdings. The Somervilles and the Winnsboroughs had been acquainted with one another since Owen and I were children. Mummy never made any secret that Owen was her choice as a suitable husband for me. He was kind enough, but certainly not my idea of a prospective spouse. He was considerably older than I was and something about him reminded me of a spaniel, or perhaps a bloodhound. He had sandy, thinning hair, and a long upper lip. His face was topped by brown, droopy eyes. In addition, he was not overly tall and of slight frame. Nevertheless, I was polite to him, and felt at ease, since we had known one another for so long. The others at my table were Edwina and her partner, Anne Johnson and her beau, and another Ashwick Park friend, Margaret Radcliffe, and her partner.
Edwina looked radiant. Her taste had developed over the years, and she was much slimmer than when we had first met. While not truly thin, she was curvy. She designed her own clothing and it always had a distinctive flair. Her ball gown, which was ecru taffeta, had a sweeping skirt of cascading ruffles and large, balloon sleeves. It set off her figure, and worked well with her eyes. She had let her hair grow to pageboy length, and it was platinum in color. I thought she was dazzling, and I did overhear some of the other girls making envious comments to the effect that Edwina’s gown was sensational and very chic.
I have to admit that I felt truly beautiful for the first time in my life. Many alluring girls attended, and I perceived most to be as attractive, or more so than I was. But, the attention I received was astonishing. My dance programme filled immediately, and I found myself swirling about the floor with first one, and then another, of the eligible bachelors present. Owen was, of course, the most frequent gentleman requesting my attention. I allowed him to pay compliments, bring champagne and pencil his name on my dance card. However, I was not thrilled each time I saw that he would be my partner. Edwina absolutely could not bear him and did little to hide her antipathy. She said out-and-out that he was a pompous Ass. Poor Owen possessed little sense of humor, and for all of his upbringing, didn’t seem to know how to romance a lady. He gave the impression that he was somewhat tongue-tied in my presence. I found his mannerisms effete. Even so, my parents were present, and I had no intention of starting a row due to some imagined or real slight, with respect to Lord Winnsborough.
I danced so much that my feet ached. Finally, the crowd began to thin as the clock approached the 3:00 a.m. mark. I was completely enervated, and praying for a breath of fresh air and peace. Thus, I silently slipped through the French doors leading from the drawing room to the terrace. I knew that it was not the ‘done’ thing, and hoped that no one would notice my absence. Especially my parents. I was finally alone for the first time since that morning. It was heavenly to enjoy a moment of silence. While the string quartet played softly in the background, I stood by the stone balustrade, trying to commit to memory the beauty and perfection of the night.
Suddenly, a man, whom I didn’t remember ever having seen before, appeared at my side. “At last, I have the opportunity to meet the lovely Lady Sophia,” he commented. I was startled, and turned to see who had spoken. He was tall, slender, broad-shouldered and exceptionally good-looking. The light was dim, and I could only hazard a guess as to his features, but it was clear that he was very handsome.
“How did you learn my name?” I stammered.
He leaned against the balustrade, placing his right hand on the stone railing. “This occasion is in your honor, after all, and even if it weren’t, you are certainly the ‘Belle of the Ball’. I’ve been hoping that I’d have the chance to meet you personally. It was certainly impossible to get near you to request a dance.”
“What a nice thing to say, even if it is a bit of an exaggeration. Have we met?” I asked, while searching my memory. Surely he must have queued up in the receiving line. How in the world could I have missed him?
“I know your brother, Blake. We were at the same schools. I’m also acquainted with your brother Drew. But, no, I would certainly remember if I’d met you before. I didn’t get an opportunity to go through the receiving line, as my arrival was a tad late. I’m the guest of one of your invitees, Charles Dyer. My name is Spence. Actually, it’s Doctor Spencer Stanton, if I’m to be perfectly correct.”
Ah, yes. I knew Charles Dyer, or rather knew who he was. He was much better acquainted with my brother Blake. They had been at Oxford together. I’m not certain that I even knew that he had been invited to the Ball, but I was suddenly very glad that he had been.
“Doctor? Are you a professor then?” I asked. I was very, very intrigued. He seemed different than the rest of the young men present that evening... more mature... more sure of himself.
“No. A medical doctor,” he answered. I studied at Oxford, followed by medical school at The University of Edinburgh. I also did Cadet training at RAF Cramwell, Lincolnshire. I rose to Group Ca
ptain, but then resigned my commission to continue my studies. So, I’ve not had much time to spend at debutante Balls, he smiled.”
“What an interesting life you’ve led, for such a young man.”
He laughed. “I don’t feel young. In fact, I’ll turn twenty-five in a few weeks.”
“That isn’t old. It’s a perfect age,” I responded. “Are you practicing medicine in London, then?”
“No, nothing so grand. I’m filling in at a small medical practice in Twigbury, Gloustershire. I have always thought I might like to be a country doctor. This was a good way to give it a go. The man whom I’m replacing has taken a sabbatical, and he needed someone for a year’s time.” He removed his hand from the balustrade, and leaned back against the wall.
“And do you like being a doctor in Twigbury?”
“Quite. I’m new at it, but it seems a fit for me. So, then, how do you spend your time, Lady Sophia, when you aren’t sweeping young men off their feet at fancy Balls? Are you a part of the gay young set who make up London’s café society?”
“I’ve only just finished at The Ashwick Park School. I guess I’m rather old-fashioned, in that I haven’t any experience with the gaiety of London nightlife and café society, as so many of the other girls here tonight have. I’ve led quite a sheltered existence. Even with having been away at school. They kept a keen eye on us at Ashwick Park.”
“Ah, an Ashwick Park girl. I should have guessed. And, what of your plans now that you’ve left school?”
“I’ll have to wait and see what life holds for me,” I smiled. “I haven’t any definite plans. Of course, the Season is here, and that is supposed to be my immediate concern.”
Willow Grove Abbey: A Historical World War II Romance Novel (The Somerville Trilogy) Page 2
