Several of the stockmen also bear major legacies of the war. I think that has helped the local people accept what John looks like now; nor is he left alone among people who cannot conceive of the years he lived through.
Thank you once again for the photographs and the stories of your children. Give them their adopted uncle’s love and do enjoy your summer in Europe. I am just one of many, however, who look forward to your family’s visit home this winter.
Midge is already planning the welcome home and ‘meet the earl’ lunches — plural, of course, though it will be some weeks before she is prepared to share you with the neighbourhood, no matter how excited they are over the visit from aristocracy. I have even managed to bathe in some of Nigel’s reflected glory. One small girl asked me if you have golden chamber pots. I told her your golden pots are kept for extremely special occasions. Please do not disillusion her!
I am so very much looking forward to your homecoming.
Yours truly,
Daniel Greenman
Sophie read the letter for the fourth time since it had arrived two days earlier. She was more concerned by what it did not say than the words on the page. Daniel had not mentioned where he lived, nor that he had been making new friends, only visiting the old ones he had known as John. Maybe he thought she wouldn’t be interested. More likely there was little to say. This new life must be almost as difficult for him as for his brother. His brother had Harriet’s help. Daniel had no one closer than Bald Hill.
She put the letter back in the drawer and picked up her pen from the stand again. There was much to sort out before they left, including instructions to Cousin Oswald at Higgs Industries in Australia, and to Mr Slithersole in the London office.
The new line in baby food was proving popular, and she wished to move from simple stewed fruits to ‘Baby’s Chicken Dinner’ and ‘Beef and Vegetables’, both of which could be produced using the same factory equipment as the corned beef that had been the foundation of the Higgs empire.
Which reminded her: she must have all business mail directed to Mr Slithersole while they were away. She also needed a competent secretary — one who could take dictation and type — waiting for her in Sydney. So much to organise . . .
Sophie Higgs had set out for Europe nearly four years earlier with a small satchel, though she had accumulated more luggage on the way. The Countess of Shillings and her family, it appeared, must travel not just with trunks of clothes, her maid and her husband’s secretary, but her own butler, a chauffeur, Nanny, and Amy as a combination nursery and lady’s maid in training.
The library door opened. ‘Are you free to see Mrs Goodenough, your ladyship?’
‘Thank you, Hereward. I am always free for Mrs Goodenough.’ Sophie turned and smiled at the cook–housekeeper.
Mrs Goodenough had kept her supplied with cherry cake and much else during the war years and through 1919, that even harder period before the Armistice finally ended the war with the Treaty of Versailles, her hospitals full of influenza victims, as well as those still recovering from war injuries. But Sophie had already visited the kitchen that morning to meet the new kitchen maid — Green’s second cousin twice removed, and Hereward’s niece — and to approve the day’s menus (family meals as, hopefully, no visitors would suddenly decide to arrive in their wretched motorcars). What could Mrs Goodenough want now?
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, your ladyship,’ Mrs Goodenough gave the short bob that always embarrassed Sophie, though she supposed those born aristocratic hardly noticed it. ‘But it’s about this new electric stove that’s coming while you are away.’
‘Yes, Mrs Goodenough?’
‘It’s just at my age, your ladyship — well, I’m not getting any younger and learning how to cook all over again at my age . . .’
‘Truly, there is nothing to worry about. I’m assured that the electric stoves work exactly the same as the wood- or coal-fired ones. You just set the temperature you wish. So much cleaner and less work. You’ll fall in love with it by the end of the day.’
‘Yes, your ladyship.’ Mrs Goodenough did not sound convinced.
‘And the electric lights will make life so much easier. No more changing the gas lanterns every few days, or trimming wicks . . .’
‘But what if the house blows up, your ladyship?’
‘Why should it?’
Mrs Goodenough shook her head. ‘I’ve seen pictures from that power company, your ladyship. It’s got a bolt of lightning on it. It was lightning that burned down old Trueman’s cottage twenty years ago.’
‘This is . . . harnessed lightning, Mrs Goodenough. Perfectly safe.’
‘At least there will be no danger to the family with you all away, your ladyship.’
Was that a thinly veiled, ‘It’s all right for you — we are the ones who will get burned in our beds’? But, no, Mrs Goodenough seemed truly glad the family would be safely far from Shillings if there were an explosion.
Sophie gave a reassuring smile. ‘You will love the Frigidaire too, and the bathrooms. No more carting water to the bedrooms. I’m sorry that the construction will make a mess.’
A slight bristle at that. ‘Nothing we can’t handle, your ladyship. I promise all will be immaculate when you return.’
‘I know it will be. You are a treasure, Mrs Goodenough, and one for whom his lordship and I are grateful every day.’
Sophie turned back to her correspondence as Mrs Goodenough left, pride, at least temporarily, overcoming trepidation. And surely she would find life far easier after the electrification of the house?
Sophie only felt slightly guilty that she would miss all the noise and dust. While she suspected the bathrooms would take at least twice as long to construct as the builders promised — no builder she had ever met managed to keep to schedule — surely all would be done by the time they returned from Australia.
Nigel had promised her a whole six months in Sydney and at Thuringa. She longed to see Maria again and Midge, to introduce her children to Thuringa. To see Daniel, said a whisper . . .
She picked up her pen once more.
Darling Ethel,
That visit by the police sounds truly terrifying, though luckily for them, not you. The officer has obviously not met anyone like Miss Ethel Carryman before.
Don’t you dare get arrested for peddling contraceptives but, if you do, please get a message to me so I can bail you out. If we have left for the Continent, I am enclosing the card of Mr James Lorrimer, who I am sure can arrange for your release. I will even have a quiet word with him, saying you will contact him in an emergency and explaining all the sterling work you have done, and still do.
I am quite serious, my dear — your work is too valuable to have you wasting away in prison and, if you do wish to stand for parliament again, a criminal conviction may stand in your way.
I must say though, I did smile at the vision of the embarrassed police constable asking you in strictest confidence about —
‘Your ladyship, I’m sorry to interrupt but . . .’
‘Yes, Nanny?’
‘Mr Hereward says there is no need to take the children’s quilts to Germany, your ladyship.’
‘I am sure Mr Hereward is correct, Nanny. The lodge and house where we will be staying are sure to have whatever bedding we require.’
‘Fleas, your ladyship,’ said Nanny darkly. ‘And bed bugs and worse. You should have seen what the men brought back after the war.’
‘That was ten years ago, Nanny. I am sure they have . . . cleaned things up by now. But the children will need travelling rugs in the car. They can be used on beds as well if necessary.’
Nanny looked reassured. ‘An excellent suggestion, my lady. Thank you, my lady. But I will stock up on flea powder, just in case.’
Sophie finished her letter to Ethel, then dipped the pen in the inkwell once more.
Dear Midge,
Congratulations on your record price for a ram! I am glad Harry is so chuffed. Please tell
him how pleased I am about the new fire-tanker too. It was indeed a sterling effort . . .
‘Your ladyship!’ The voice seethed with justified indignation.
‘Yes, Violette?’ Sophie placed the pen in its holder once more.
The girl radiated innocence and anguish. ‘I promised I would tell you if I planned to leave again, your ladyship.’
‘Do you plan to leave?’
‘I must! I do not wish to, but she is impossible! To live like this — I cannot do it!’
‘Your mother is the impossible one, I presume?’
‘Who else? Just because I went to the fair in the village with a boy — a most respectable boy, the son of the grocer who delivers to us here — she tells me it was not a proper thing to do, that I ought to have asked her permission and your permission. I cannot live like this, like I am a child . . .’
‘Your mother might have been worried the young man might . . .’ Sophie hunted for innocuous words.
‘Have tried to kiss me? Molest me? He is a nice boy! And, besides, I have my knife.’
And Violette knifing a young man who tried to put his hand under her skirt would have meant . . . Sophie was glad she didn’t have to pursue exactly how much trouble that would have meant. But there was another matter as well.
‘I think your mother might hope for a more . . . suitable alliance for you than with a grocer’s son.’
‘Ah.’ Violette was arrested by this suggestion. After some thought: ‘I did not think of that. It is difficult, your ladyship. I thought because my mother is a servant I am lowly born, but she is a superior servant?’
‘A most superior one, and your father is a gentleman.’ Or is now, thought Sophie, despite his humble antecedents. Jones had spent enough time as both butler and batman to assume both the accents and demeanour of a gentleman, as Green could those of a lady. But it was difficult to work out exactly where a child of theirs stood in Britain’s decreasingly rigid class system. Anywhere she wished to stand, quite probably.
On the other hand, she could not imagine Violette contentedly married to a village grocer, though she could quite see how the grocer might have hopes of an alliance with the ‘big house’ for his son.
‘You can marry anyone you please I think, Violette. But if you wish to do so you must guard your reputation.’ Yes, that was a tactful way to put it. ‘If you associate with a grocer’s son, people will think you should marry a grocer’s son. But in the next year you will meet businessmen, politicians, aristocrats and after that property owners in Australia. They would not be impressed if they heard you had walked out with a grocer’s son.’
Violette sat, her anger forgotten. She had also apparently forgotten one did not sit unless one’s countess had given permission. ‘I am going to like Australia, I think. May I learn how to use a boomerang?’
‘I . . . I don’t think anyone at Thuringa has any. They are used further north, I believe.’
‘That is a pity. They look a most useful weapon. I have been practising riding, your ladyship, so I can ride with the cowboys.’
‘Excellent. But we call them stockmen.’
‘I have read every book in the library about Australia too. I promise I will take care of Rose and Daniel if we are held up by bushrangers.’
‘I am sure you will. Violette, I suspect if you apologise to your mother she will apologise to you. Then you can tell her that I think that you and she should go to London to fit you for evening dresses.’
‘Ones with no bosom, like you wear?’
‘I think you mean low cut. No, low-cut evening dresses will not be suitable until after your debutante year and after you are presented to the queen —’ Sophie stopped at the expression on Violette’s face.
‘I will be presented to the queen? Like the girls in the illustrated papers?’
Sophie had not really considered the matter. But there was no reason why Violette should not be presented at court. Ironically Sophie herself had been presented informally, as her family was in trade. Violette, as the daughter of a secretary, was — theoretically — more acceptable. And surely David would arrange it for them — anyway it was at least four years away and by then Violette might have decided to lead an expedition up the Amazon . . .
‘Yes,’ she said recklessly.
Violette bounced three times, kissed Sophie’s cheek and ran out. She must really find the time to teach the girl how to walk or, rather, float like a swan. Swans could float extremely quickly if necessary . . .
‘Your ladyship, the vicar wishes to know if you might be free to discuss using the grounds for the summer fête in your absence . . .’
Sophie closed her eyes briefly. All this just to meet a minor German politician, leader of a party that had one seat in the German parliament, who, in ten years, everyone would probably have forgotten.
She forced the perfect, vicar-meeting smile to play on her face. ‘Of course. I am always free for the dear vicar. Thank you, Hereward. Please show him in. Would you mind ringing for tea too? I’m sure Mrs Goodenough will have some of the meringues he likes . . .’
Hereward coughed neatly. ‘There is also the matter of awarding the prizes at the Ladies’ Guild Sale of Work, your ladyship. As you won’t be in residence my aunt wishes me to ask if you could present the prizes earlier.’
‘When would that be, Hereward?’
‘Next Tuesday, your ladyship. I apologise for presuming, your ladyship.’
‘Not at all, Hereward.’ Sophie discovered yet another smile, though if this kept on her supply might dwindle. ‘I’m always delighted to support our wonderful Ladies’ Guild . . .’
Chapter 38
Who am I? My dear, ask me that again when you know who you truly are.
Miss Lily, 1913
Violette stepped into the library as if she had every right to be there, which indeed she did, though not, perhaps, to sit at the desk and open the as yet unsealed envelopes of her ladyship’s correspondence.
Violette liked the library. The smell of leather-bound books and the neatsfoot oil with which their covers were rubbed each spring by an elderly expert gentleman who came from Oxford especially for the task; the lavender furniture polish; and the early roses that now stood in vases around the room. Mostly she enjoyed the scent of leisure. A room like this was maintained because those in this house had time to use it.
Violette liked Shillings. She admired her ladyship; she respected her father; she liked his lordship; and she accepted her mother. She took deep delight in the dresses and accoutrements suitable for a young lady, and even more in those that were not suitable now but that one day she would wear. The meals were superior even to Grandmère’s, which was an accomplishment she had not thought England capable of (neither had Grandmère).
But Grandmère had deserted her, just as her mother had done. True, neither was at fault. But Violette knew that security lay in relying only on oneself. Which was why she had taken to slipping into the library before Hereward collected the mail to learn a little more each day about this new and complex world in which she had found herself.
She opened the first letter.
My dear Emily,
Thank you so much for your invitation to the Elizabethan Ball in aid of the orphans of British Officers. I am sure it will be a credit not just to your organisational genius but to your compassion in aid of such a worthy cause. Sadly Nigel and I will be travelling on the Continent, but please accept this as a token amount towards the cause . . .
Not interesting at all, except for the size of the bank draft enclosed. Violette’s life had been bounded in francs and pennies. Now, it seemed, hundreds of pounds were no more than threepences. She picked up the next envelope. Ah, a fat one and going to Australia too.
Dearest Midge,
Another English spring has been and gone! Every year I forget how extraordinary it is — the thousand shades of green, the bees drunk on blossom, the air like wine, bare fields suddenly sprouting grass and sheep and cows back from their shed
s and enclosures. But of course you would know this as you have experienced several English springs. You seem so much part of the land I love that it seems impossible you grew up in New Zealand and went to school here in England for a while.
Spring is finally summer and, even more finally, we are almost ready to leave for our German summer holiday. I thought for a while we might have to hire a dozen charabancs to fit us all in but that, it seems, would be déclassé for the household of an earl. Our trunks and footmen will be sent ahead, with only the bare essentials in two cars to care for us — like a butler, maid, nanny, nursery maid . . .
It should be exciting but I am not excited, just mildly harassed. I think the time has come to engage a housekeeper. Mrs Goodenough served her dual role while Nigel did not entertain and there was no family here, but I have always had the luxury of others to look to household duties and am extremely bored with those I am having to direct.
I know this is not a tactful complaint to make to a farmer’s wife (will we ever have a time when a woman who farms and has a husband will be known as a farmer too — which you most certainly are!). But truly, your cook, kitchen maid, gardener and Mrs Siggs who comes in to ‘do the rough’ are really all that a good household needs. It is just that our household is so much larger.
It was lovely to hear about your ‘brats’. Please tell Lachlan he has my full permission to pot rabbits on Thuringa. My own brats are thriving, despite Rose’s recent adventure. Nanny said she looked away for only two seconds and Rose was gone. Violette discovered her in one of the dog kennels, sharing the inhabitant’s bone. Or, rather, not sharing it. The poor animal looked quite put out.
I do love having children. It’s strange — I never thought I would. Or, rather, I never thought I wouldn’t, but didn’t see them as a major factor in my future happiness — and yet they are.
The Lily in the Snow Page 21
