The Lily in the Snow

by Jackie French

  Violette glanced at her wristwatch, a gift from her parents for all the birthdays she had not celebrated with them — a birthday was something she had not celebrated before, but sounded most pleasant, certainly. She would give the men an hour to talk . . .

  She drifted back towards the house, cornflowers in her arms, matching the blue of her eyes exactly.

  The day was warm and, yes, the library’s French doors were open. Most perfect. Violette halted at the sound of voices unmistakeably ‘discussing’. She would wait for the discussion to be over, for the lull when a prince would welcome the sight of a beautiful maiden emerging like a summer day in winter . . .

  ‘I say, old chap, you are taking this awfully well.’ The prince’s voice, high and light.

  ‘I must confess to being mildly curious about this Hitler fellow myself, and a summer journey through Europe, with a few days staying with one of Sophie’s oldest friends, sounds delightful. I haven’t seen Berlin since before the war.’ That was the earl’s voice. ‘But Sophie simply doesn’t understand how close our ties with Germany have always been. Her only experience was during the war and just after it. Besides, she misses home.’

  ‘Australia!’ The prince laughed. ‘Terrible place. I was black and blue at the end of it. Everywhere I went people swamped me, touching me — or rather swallowing me in a football scrum. Whenever I entered a crowd, it closed around me like an octopus. I can still hear them: “I touched him!” And if I were out of reach, then a blow to my head with a folded newspaper appeared to satisfy the impulse.’

  ‘Hopefully an earl will not elicit the same impulse. But we won’t stay in Sydney long in any case. Sophie wants to see her estate again, Thuringa. She calls it the “true Australia”.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I am familiar with the true Australia too. Mayor’s wives in flowered hats and a million flies . . . and the native stockmen! They are the most revolting living creatures I’ve ever seen, and I have been to Africa and America, and you do see some specimens there, old man. But the Australian darkies are the lowest known form of human beings, quite the nearest thing to monkeys.’ The prince seemed to think he had made a joke.

  A pause. Violette thought the earl’s voice was not quite as relaxed as he wished it to seem as he replied, ‘I think Sophie is very attached to some of the native stockmen. Her farm manager is Aboriginal.’

  ‘Not really? Well, Sophie is Australian after all, old chap. No offence meant. You know I adore her.’

  ‘Of course. None taken.’

  ‘At least Australians are good British stock. Some races are simply superior to others, and of course some people too. Even if my own family . . . You know about my brother, the one with epilepsy.’

  ‘I was sorry to hear about his death.’

  ‘My dear chap, no need. That is exactly what I meant. The poor boy was close to being an animal towards the end. Degenerates and the unfit should not be allowed to breed, or even live if they are a burden to themselves and society. That is part of the creed of the Hitler chap that interests me. Have you read that book of his?’

  ‘Mein Kampf? Yes. The prinzessin sent a copy to Sophie. Sophie doesn’t read German but I suppose the prinzessin thought she could have it translated. Or that I’d read it to her.’

  ‘One of my cousins gave it to me. It’s the most fascinating work ever written, don’t you think?’

  ‘Interesting, certainly.’ Violette wondered if the prince could hear the less obvious emotions in the earl’s voice. She thought perhaps he did not. Even a prince, it seemed, might not be very bright. ‘My German probably isn’t as fluent as yours, sir,’ added the earl. ‘I may have missed the full force of his arguments.’

  ‘Herr Hitler says that if we’d had the courage to kill twenty-three thousand Jews at the start of the war it would have been over in a year. It was the Jewish bankers and war profiteers who kept it going. It’s a jolly good point.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t agree, sir.’

  ‘Even poor bally old Wilhelm suggested that the Jews be gassed. He was right on that point, at least.’

  ‘If I might say, sir —’ began his lordship.

  It was as if the prince did not even hear him, or had heard agreement, not dissent. ‘Degenerates are taking over the world, according to this man Hitler. Sexual depravity of the worst kind. He’s correct about that too. Makes one wonder what else he has a nose for, what?’

  It was surely time to enter the library. The discussion was over. The earl was increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation, although he hid it well. Violette was sure now that the prince was not the kind to pick up on the feelings behind the polite words. Possibly, as a prince, he had always assumed that everyone about him agreed with him, and so had never thought that true feelings might be unexpressed.

  And suddenly she had no wish to waft in. Life had given her little respect for men who could be manipulated. And it was obvious that this man so easily could be, even if he were a prince, or perhaps because he was.

  And he was not kind. It would be interesting to be a princess, certainly. But Violette believed she had at last met two men who were truly kind: her father and his lordship. Even to be a princess she did not want to be bound to a man who was not kind, who could make light of the death of a brother who had epilepsy, like poor Mademoiselle Lamonte in the village. Mademoiselle Lamonte was often dazed and shaky, but Violette had liked her, and Grandmère explained the condition that she suffered from.

  Mademoiselle Lamonte had not been an animal. Violette had a sudden image of the prince behind bars in a zoo, an animal himself, and all the people he so unthinkingly classed as animals gazing at him, and throwing him bananas.

  She turned and walked quietly back towards the kitchen. She would use the servants’ stairs again and present these flowers to her mother, who would be pleased, even though she would also look at her sharply and wonder why she had been given them, for her mother was not someone as easily manipulated as that imbecile prince. But she would, perhaps, accept they had been gathered on impulse.

  She might even guess what Violette had intended. But Violette was sure of one thing. The family — including her parents — was about to travel across Europe, to stay in the palace of a princess in Germany. And there was no way Violette was going to permit them to leave her behind.

  Chapter 36

  It is necessary to tell a child ‘no’ so they understand what is acceptable and what is not. A man in power, unfortunately, is rarely told, ‘No, that is wrong.’ He may be chastised when he is a child, but as an adult believes himself wise simply because there is no one to teach him that he is not.

  Miss Lily, 1913

  SOPHIE

  ‘Well?’ asked Sophie, as they waved at the royal car proceeding up the driveway, followed by the two other cars carrying the prince’s long-suffering guards. At least she had made sure they’d had a good lunch. David too often simply forgot his attendants, leaving them hungry and thirsty in the car or anteroom.

  ‘We are going to tour Europe towards the end of summer,’ Nigel informed her. ‘Not the south of France or Paris . . .’

  ‘That’s rather good — France would be far too hot. Even the fashion houses would be closed.’

  ‘We are to stay at His Highness’s request at a hunting lodge by a lake in Germany. It seems Hannelore has arranged it with the owner, for our pleasure.’

  ‘What! Not Dolphie’s lodge in Bavaria?’ Sophie had a too vivid memory of her ‘rescue’ of Hannelore after the war, the night she danced with Dolphie, almost agreed to marry Dolphie, before she realised where his loyalties truly were.

  ‘Not Bavaria.’ Sophie had never told Nigel about that episode, but she was fairly sure Jones and Green had. His sympathetic tone now confirmed it.

  ‘Why can’t we just go to Berlin or wherever this politician is, and get it over with?’

  ‘David says that would be too conspicuous. We need to look as if we are having a simple family holiday. The children will be with us to
o.’ Don’t worry. The lodge will be vacated for our use.

  ‘I don’t want Rose and Danny in Germany.’ Sophie considered. ‘Nor do I want to leave them here. Not if we will be away for weeks.’

  ‘It will be more like months. Darling, Nanny is extremely competent.’

  ‘Of course she is competent. But I am not leaving my children.’

  Nigel looked at her, amused, as they entered the hallway. ‘What about when Danny goes to boarding school?’

  ‘Why should he? I never went to school. And you hated yours. You said it was sheer torture.’

  ‘Darling, that is simply what is done —’

  ‘It is what your family has always done. Mine hasn’t. We will argue about it in six years’ time,’ said Sophie, with the calmness of someone who intended to have her own way. ‘And continue to argue about it every time you suggest boarding school. Very well, Danny and Rose will come with us. Herr Hitler will meet us at the lodge?’

  ‘No. Once again that would be too obvious. We will continue on to Berlin then stay with Hannelore for a few days, in her aunt’s house. We will meet her politician then.’

  ‘Which aunt? Hannelore has about five hundred aunts scattered through the royal houses of Europe. Doesn’t royalty do anything other than breed and marry?’

  ‘Quite a lot, but breeding and marrying are their main occupations. I don’t know which aunt yet. David said Hannelore would arrange it all.’

  ‘She has managed him well, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Sophie glanced at him as they climbed the stairs to change before dinner. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘If you’d asked me this morning I’d have said David was a friend,’ said Nigel slowly. ‘A good chap, chafing at not being able to do more for the people he will rule one day. But now . . .’

  ‘What did he say that upset you?’

  ‘Nothing much more than things I have heard him say before, though even “not much more” was fairly bad. But it was also the way he said them, as if he didn’t even hear when I disagreed. He is too easily influenced, and by the wrong people. And I am not the kind of person he listens to.’ Nigel gave her a wry look. ‘He is also not desperately bright.’

  ‘You’ve only just noticed that? I have a feeling you may be exactly the right person to assess Hitler for him. You will at least tell him the truth, and perhaps even get him to accept it.’

  ‘Am I? I don’t know. I think David has already made his mind up, after reading that wretched book — or at least believing what Hannelore and others have told him is in it. He won’t think differently, no matter what I say.’ Nigel attempted a smile. ‘He might, however, listen to you.’

  ‘Nigel.’ Sophie paused on the step. ‘David said something that really did worry you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes. He spoke of . . . degenerates. People like his brother, like your native stockmen . . .’

  ‘What! How dare he?’ Aboriginal stockmen who refused to work — usually under slave conditions — were no longer chained at any of the properties near Bald Hill. Children with dark skin were even permitted to go to school — if they could live with the prejudice shown there. But it had taken Sophie years of persuasion, and finally, tactful financial bribery, to achieve it.

  ‘Degenerates such as me, if David knew the truth.’

  ‘You are not degenerate,’ said Sophie fiercely.

  He smiled gently. ‘No, my dear, I know I’m not. I have spent my life doing whatever good I can. I am not a saint, far from it, but I’ve done my duty, no matter what it has cost me.’ Nigel met Sophie’s gaze. ‘I don’t think David will.’

  Sophie thought of all the engagements David had failed to attend, the cavalier manner in which he left the ceremonies bereft of their centrepiece. So easy to sympathise with him, of course. But duty was duty and it was inseparable from privilege. How could his family trust him with important matters when he conspicuously failed to meet simpler responsibilities?

  ‘When do we leave for Germany?’

  ‘In a couple of months. There should seem to be no connection with our summer in Germany and David’s visit.’

  ‘Are we taking Violette?’

  Nigel smiled. ‘I think so. Best to keep her under our eyes.’

  Sophie considered. ‘That is probably the safest approach.’

  Nigel grinned. ‘I noticed her lurking outside the library with an armful of cornflowers. I think she intended to accidentally wander into the library and enchant David.’

  ‘She saw you’d seen her and didn’t risk it?’

  ‘No, I am quite sure she had no idea that I’d seen her — there’s that small window in the corner that most people miss, but it gives an excellent view of the gardens. It was Violette’s own decision not to join us.’

  ‘Why? She’s not exactly a shrinking violet. Oh dear, a terrible play on words . . .’

  ‘She isn’t, is she? But I think Violette might be a good judge of character, despite being taken in by the Maillot woman. After all, she has not killed her mother. She even seems to be growing fond of Jones.’

  ‘I’m glad. But you think she didn’t like what she heard of David this afternoon?’

  ‘I didn’t either,’ said Nigel.

  Chapter 37

  Marriage of course is inevitable — I of all people know how few opportunities an unmarried woman has. But we spinsters do have one advantage. It is much easier to travel with just one’s maid and groom, instead of transporting a household.

  Miss Lily, 1913

  There was much to get done if they were to be away from Shillings for a part of summer as well as winter.

  One of the tenant farmers had died, leaving no sons to take on the tenancy. Luckily, despite the war, there were enough younger sons of other Shillings tenants wishing to run a property of their own, but the choice of which was a delicate business for Nigel to negotiate.

  Sophie had also decided that their extended time away was a perfect opportunity to electrify the house, with a new battery shed off the back courtyard, as well as to install bathrooms. No more exhausted maids lugging water up one or two flights of stairs.

  Each two bedrooms would share a bathroom, except for her own and Nigel’s, using space taken from the present dressing rooms, far too large these days now there was no need for crinolines or even the bulk of several court dresses. Her own bathroom would contain that glorious luxury, a shower. Showers were common in Australia, even in quite poor homes, but Sophie had yet to find one in England.

  There’d also be a bathroom for the nursery, two small bathrooms made from a disused stillroom for Mrs Goodenough and Hereward, as well as an extra lavatory that all staff might use, and two large bathrooms on the floor that held the staff’s bedrooms, one for men and one for women, though with three bath stalls and ‘conveniences’ in each one.

  The staff would no longer have to tread out to the ‘bath house’ in the courtyard on their designated day once a week, returning shivering with wet hair in mid-winter, nor use the pungent privy behind the courtyard walls. They might not be pleased, however, when Sophie made it clear that they were to bathe each day, not just ‘top and tail’ in the mornings.

  They can fill in the old privy and plant honeysuckle over it, thought Sophie, to remove the memory of its stench.

  All this meant long discussions with an architect, carpenters and plumbers — none of whom seemed to agree — as well as an extremely young man who assured her that he and his brother were experienced electricians and showed her recommendations from various great houses to prove it.

  She relished the hard work. It would transform Shillings, and lighten the staff’s workload enormously — she had ordered electric vacuum cleaners and irons too, and electric heaters throughout the house. Even better, the planning kept her from brooding about the journey to come, and its implications for Nigel and Lily.

  In the meantime there were the everyday house and village duties, as well as letters. Wonderful, blessed letters.

/>   Sydney, Australia

  Dear Sophie,

  Thank you for the photographs of Danny and Rose. Please thank Miss Green for me and congratulate her on her skill with the camera. The photographs of my adopted niece and nephew now sit on my desk.

  Yes, I do have a desk now, of reassuringly professional mahogany, and chairs and sofa in brown leather, in very satisfactory rooms in Macquarie Street, with a view of the harbour if one leans out the window. I even have patients, thanks to the good offices of Mrs Midge Harrison, who has testified to her contacts within the Country Women’s Association that I am ‘just the ticket’ for men suffering what the British government forbade us to call ‘shell shock’.

  It is not the practice I planned to have here, but Midge is correct. It is the one I am perhaps best suited for. It requires no Freudian nor Jungian analysis, but an understanding and even experience of causes and effects. It also helps when I confess that I too suffered from the malady, and still do at times, and how I learned that living in the present is the best antidote to the anguish of the past.

  Anecdotes like the tale of Rose and the toy elephant you sent me in your last letter help greatly in making one feel it is 1929, not 1917 — thank you, I treasure both the story and the letter. Please tell my niece I have every sympathy — if someone had promised me an elephant and then given me nothing but a knitted toy I might well have tried to drown it in my custard too. Like Rose, I also detest custard.

  I have promised Midge to spend a Friday to Monday with them. She seems to have coped with my transition from John to Daniel Greenman surprisingly well, as have all my other friends there. It is extremely moving how easily they have accepted me.

  My brother is progressing excellently, though I am sure Harriet has already told you all the news. The setback on the voyage here seems to have settled now that he is back in familiar surroundings. He has forged a friendship with one of the cattle dogs. It sleeps at his feet during the day and is even allowed inside! But I think Harriet is glad of anything that gives him happiness, even a cattle dog in the parlour.