She said, “I do feel sorry for you, Maybell. After all, anyone can back the wrong horse.”
I said, “It all depends whether you think it was a fairly run race, and I don’t. I feel HRH is being treated very badly.”
She said, “But he was the one who started it. This is England, you know. In this country, when a king takes on Parliament, Parliament wins, thank God. Well, now he’s ruined. Wally Simpson’s best plan would be to go to Australia and hope to meet someone with money.”
I was never especially fond of Penelope.
17th February 1937
Violet appeared just as I was about to go up for my bath. She said, “So? Back with your tail between your legs?”
I said, “No. I’m here to see my London friends, but not for long. I’ll be going back to France, to help Wally plan her wedding.”
“Ah,” she said, “the blushing bride. Again. Just as well you’re not staying long. I must ask you not to come to the house. Melhuish has been rocked by recent events. I won’t have him upset.”
I said, “But he always reckoned Bertie York would make a better King. Surely he’s happy the way things have turned out?”
She said, “You misremember, Maybell. He never reckoned any such thing. Melhuish was always loyalty itself to Wales. He’ll never forgive him for what he’s done. Queen Mary is heartbroken. And the poor Yorks. Their lives will never be the same.”
I said, “Well, HRH isn’t having such a wonderful time of it. He’s stuck on a mountainside in Austria and having to count every cent.”
She said, “He gets no sympathy from me. Nothing has happened to him that he didn’t bring on himself. I’ve come only to tell you that Doopie and Flora are at Carlton Gardens. You’ll find no one at South Audley Street. Lightfoot has gone to Paris to volunteer.”
We must have passed each other in transit.
I said, “So, how am I supposed to see my sister and my niece if I’m not allowed across your threshold?”
She said, “You should have thought of that before you threw in your lot with that woman. I rue the day you ever brought her home from school.”
17th February 1937
Intercepted Doopie and Flora at Duck Island. Flora was so excited to see me. She said, “Aunt Bayba! You’ve been even badder than me! Ulick says we’re not obliged to know you anymore, but me and Rory still love you.”
Doopie smiled. She said, “Done worry. Zoon be vagodden.”
I said, “And what does Lightfoot think he’s doing, volunteering for wars? Why did you let him go?”
Flora said, “But it’s exciting. I wish we could go.”
Doopie said, “Baps we will, iv it’s a log war.”
If Violet heard that kind of talk, Flora would be back at St. Audrey’s under lock and key. But she won’t hear it from me.
To the Crosbies for dinner. I said, “Shall I wear a wig and come to the tradesman’s entrance? I don’t want to ruin your standing in London.”
Pips said, “You can come in a grass skirt, for all the difference it’d make to us. We don’t have any standing. Never did have.”
18th February 1937
Pips has started wearing pants. Très chic. Of course, she has no BTM.
Freddie says Fort Belvedere is closed up, and HRH’s things have been taken to Frogmore for storing. All he took with him to Enzesfeld were twenty-six suits and his photographs of Wally. Perry Brownlow continues to be treated disgracefully. He’s been sacked as Lord-in-Waiting to the new King, for no reason except he was loyal and obedient to the last one. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t.
Lunch today with Ida Coote. She, at least, is willing to be seen with me at the Dorch, if there’s a free meal on offer. She says London is changed. She went to Ciro’s the other night and didn’t see anyone she knew. She’s thinking of volunteering for Spain, like Lightfoot. She has no nursing experience but believes there may be a need for concert parties. Everyone seems to have Spain fever.
I’ve decided to pay a visit to Eton College on Sunday. Violet may have banned me from Carlton Gardens, but I don’t believe she said anything about visiting Rory at his school.
19th February 1937
Rory’s House Master was charming when I telephoned. He said Melhuish Minor would be delighted to see me after Chapel on Sunday.
He said, “Unfortunately, Melhuish Major will be in Snowdonia for Cadet Force exercises.”
Good. I didn’t want to see him anyway. To a wonderful little shop behind the Strand for a ghost tube and a selection of magician’s silks.
21st February 1937
The familiar road to Windsor, and yet it seemed like a lifetime ago. I had Kettle drive me up to the Fort before we continued on to Eton. It was as Freddie said. Everything closed up, and the gardens looked so sad and wintery. There’ll be no more gay chicken-fries here I’m sure.
Rory tells me he is now five feet eight and a half inches tall. He said, “It was pretty plucky your coming here. Ulick says we should have nothing more to do with you. Ulick thinks kings who abdicate should be strapped across a gun carriage and flogged, and their friends should be sent to Coventry.”
I said, “And what do you think?”
He said, “I don’t agree. Not if it’s an aunt, because family is family. And not if it’s a lady, because ladies should never be blamed for their errors.”
We went to the Nook Tea Rooms for cream buns, and he tried out the ghost tube. He said it was highly excellent. He asked in a whisper about Wally.
I said, “She’s going to marry the King.”
He said, “You mean the Duke of Windsor. We’ve got a new King now.”
He said he likes school, except for the canings. I said, “But why do they cane you? Have you been a naughty boy?”
He said, “Not naughty exactly. I forgot to light Cooper-Grenfell’s fire. I forgot twice, actually, but he let me off for my first offence which was pretty decent of him.”
I said, “But why should you have to light this person’s fire?”
“Because I’m his fag,” he said. “Don’t worry, Aunt Maybell. You see, Cooper-Grenfell’s a Senior, and when I’m a Senior, I’ll have a fag to light my fire too. So it’s all perfectly fair.”
I said, “Does your mother know you’re being beaten?”
“Of course,” he said. “Melhuishes have always taken their beatings. And I expect in the future I’ll be grateful for it.”
He tried his trick cigarette pack on the people at the next table. People fall for it every time.
22nd February 1937
Such a horrid day. First, Elspeth Laird accosted me as I was leaving Derry and Toms. “People like you,” she said, “are a stain on decent society. That woman has as good as killed Queen Mary, and you, you! You’re shortening my brother’s life with your scandalous associations.”
Completely unfair. If anything is shortening Melhuish’s life it’s all the Stilton cheese he eats.
Then Gladys Trilling was ushered to the chair next to me at Monsieur Jules while I was being curled, and asked very loudly to be seated elsewhere. When I think of the hospitality HRH lavished on them, I hope Whitlow Trilling gets posted to Mumbo Jumbo Land and Gladys’s one and only evening gown grows mildew.
Then, when I got home, Violet was waiting here, pacing the floor. She didn’t even wait for me to take off my hat. How dare I sneak off to see Rory expressly against Melhuish’s wishes, how dare I discuss That Woman with an innocent boy, how dare I taint the Melhuish name with my infamous connection.
I said, “You only forbade me to come to your house. You never mentioned school. And Rory was delighted to see me.”
She said, “Rory isn’t there to be delighted. He’s there to make the right kind of friends, although heaven knows what harm your turning up has done him. And the consequences are even worse for Ulick.”
I said, “I didn’t even see Ulick.”
She said, “That’s not the point. One of the Belchester boys saw you. It’s all over the
school that Mrs. Simpson’s best friend visited Rory Melhuish. Ulick’s hoping for Sandhurst next year, and this is the kind of thing that will follow him around. You’re so selfish, Maybell. You expect to swan around with Wales and his crowd without paying a price. You and Wally thought it great fun to run away and topple a crown and leave others to pick it up and try to repair the damage. And now you walk back into our lives as though nothing happened. Well, no more. I forbid you to have any contact with any of my children anywhere. And don’t get tricky with me. I’m having Duck Island watched.”
So. Penelope Blythe will only meet me incognito in Chelsea, Gladys Trilling refuses to be dried in the chair next to mine, Elspeth Laird believes I’m killing the Queen, and I’m cut off from my kith and kin. Pips says I should think of it as liberation.
She said, “Melhuish and Violet will mellow. In the meanwhile, think of the gains. No more of Gladys’s baby pictures to admire. No more of Violet’s poached salmon.”
But it’s easy for her to say. She has Freddie. They’re very jolly together in their own impecunious way. I’m alone. I think I may return to France. There’s not much reason to stay in London.
28th February 1937
Spoke with Randolph Putnam. He said, “Why don’t you give that place up? Seems to me it’s a waste of good money. I’ve called you every week since Thanksgiving and you’re never there.”
He said someone has bought the house the Warfields had on Biddle Street, planning to open it as a museum and charge people to see Wally’s old bedroom.
He rather wishes he’d thought of it himself.
2nd March 1937
An excited phone call from Wally. The Common Informer has withdrawn his allegations. She has no more idea why he stopped his action than she does why he started it, except that he was obviously put up to it.
She said, “It doesn’t matter. I’m in a forgiving mood. In six weeks, I’ll be a free woman, and then David and I are going to be married. I need you here, Maybell. There are a thousand and one things to do.”
Pips very caustic at lunch. She said, “A thousand and one things to pay for, more likely.”
I said, “Well, call me a softie, but when I hear the sound of wedding bells …”
“Wedding bells!” she said. “I hear the ringing of cash registers. Be careful you don’t end up paying for the whole bang shoot, Maybell. You’re such a softie.”
I don’t care. What am I supposed to do? Go back to Baltimore to be gloated over by Nora Sedley Cordle? Stay in London to be pilloried outside Derry and Toms? I may as well go where my money and I are appreciated. Besides, I’m not rushing back the instant Wally snaps her fingers. First I’m going to Paris to visit with Ena Spain. I leave on tomorrow’s lunchtime sailing from Newhaven.
6th March 1937, Meurice Hotel, Paris
Ena Spain is good company. Unlike Wally, she doesn’t race from shop to shop and skip lunch. Of course, she was raised the old-fashioned way. In the morning, she writes letters, in the afternoon, we go out for a little fresh air, whatever the weather, then take tea. Ena thinks the positions people are taking up in London are so much hypocrisy. She says the old King used to tell anyone who’d listen that he hoped Bertie York would get the throne. She says he never liked David. She says actually he didn’t really like any of his children except the girl, who could do no wrong.
The Yorks’ Coronation is somewhat on her mind at present. She’ll have to be in her seat by nine o’clock, and then have to sit for hours without being able to powder her nose. It’s all right for the men. They can secrete comfort bottles under their robes, but the women just have to suffer. It’s amazing to think that an establishment like Westminster Abbey doesn’t have restrooms. That’s something Wally would have had corrected before any coronation of hers.
9th March 1937
Ena and I have had an adventure. We rode on the Metropolitan underground railway from Rue de Rivoli to the Tuileries Gardens and back again. You purchase a ticket and climb aboard, and you have no way of knowing who you may find sitting next to you. Rattling along beneath the streets in the company of total strangers! Ena has done it several times before. She says once you have lost a child, nothing holds any fears for you.
Tea in the Winter Garden. I sometimes think I could happily give up luncheons and dinners and live on tea and cake.
Friday, to Candé.
13th March 1937, Chateau Candé
The chateau is an absolute spring picture. Miniature jonquils, crocuses, the last of the snowdrops. Wally is looking much more relaxed. I believe she’s gained a few pounds. She’s decided she doesn’t want a May wedding, because May is unlucky and also the attention of the world will be on the Coronation. It looks like June 3rd.
Fern’s worried she’s tempting fate by making plans before the divorce is definite, but Wally says it’s a risk she has to take, otherwise there isn’t a hope of her trousseau being ready in time. She’s already talked to Main Bocher about her gown. On Tuesday, a vendeuse is coming from Schiaparelli, and on Wednesday, a little woman from Reboux to talk about hats.
Wally’s already filled several notebooks with lists. She says she’s going to make a perfect wedding for David.
Dudley Forwood is leaving the diplomatic corps to become a full-time equerry to HRH. Wally says he’ll do nicely once she’s trained him.
We now have one of the doggies here. Slipper. HRH thought he’d be company for Wally, so sent him by train with a footman. I wonder how many of Kitty Rothschild’s rugs he’s ruined.
16th March 1937
A most productive day. Wally is never more decisive than when she’s buying clothes. She’s ordered five of the nip-waisted wool day dresses, one in each color; some good basic knitwear, edge-to-edge cardigans, evening sweaters decorated with fringing and marquises; and then some wittier outfits. A sealskin suit with a matching Tyrolean hat, a Rhodophane evening coat, and a wonderful scarlet cocktail gown with tiny buttons like little holly berries. Main Bocher is bringing his wedding dress drawings on Friday and staying overnight.
There’s a panic on though, because Wally has mislaid her birth certificate. She’s sent a wire to her aunt Bessie Merryman in Baltimore, but I don’t suppose there’s anything she can do about it.
17th March 1937
Pips called. She said, “Lost her birth certificate my eye. I’ll bet she’s lied to HRH about her age.”
21st March 1937
Wally has chosen gray-blue for her wedding outfit, ankle-length bias-cut satin crepe with a little box-shouldered jacket, pin-tucked to show off her tiny waist. Main Bocher is delirious about being chosen to make the wedding gown of the year. He flitted around with fabric samples, lavishing compliments on Wally’s bony line. For me, he’s proposed orchid silk with butterfly wing sleeves. Perfect for a chateau garden in June.
HRH is leaving Enzesfeld at the end of the week. Without the Rothschild staff, the schloss has become very inconvenient to manage, so Forwood has found a secluded guesthouse in St. Wolfgang. I suggested Wally arrange a little gift for Kitty R., to say thank you and good-bye, but she didn’t respond.
Perhaps Fruity will think to do something.
22nd March 1937
Wally now has a very positive attitude toward the future. She said, “I know I’m not beautiful, and David’s not the sharpest item in the knife box, but we make a good team. The world had better watch out. Especially those Yorks. They may have the throne, but once David and I are established, we’ll give them a run for their money. We’ll be the ones people talk about.”
She’s bought some colored pencils and begun sketching designs for their servants’ livery. They’ll have a house in Paris and then a place in the country or maybe something near Cannes, a place to relax away from the pressures of being the Windsors. Fern Bedaux has her people looking out for suitable properties.
Wally says HRH is like a lost puppy without her. Wally always had a strange fondness for little dogs. She’s so fastidious in every other respect, but it
amuses her when they tinkle on the rugs and leave their teeth marks on the chair legs.
A courier just arrived from Enzesfeld with this week’s love token. A corsage of knotted gold chains. The note says, Darling, this is a double half-hitch. A knot that holds fast, however great the storm.
26th March 1937
A miracle. Wally’s aunt Bessie has managed to track down the doctor who attended at Wally’s birth, and he’s agreed to swear an affidavit. It should serve in place of the lost birth certificate. HRH is now installed at St. Wolfgang, and Dickie Mountbatten is traveling there tomorrow to pay him a visit. We’re hoping he’s taking with him better news about money.
28th March 1937
Mountbatten arrived at St. Wolfgang empty-handed. A social call, he said. He wanted to offer himself to be HRH’s best man, but apparently a royal bridegroom doesn’t have a best man. Wally said, “Princes have supporters, as Dickie Mountbatten well knows, and David intends to follow tradition.”
We don’t expect the Yorks to attend. They’d only sour the happy occasion, so let them stand on their dignity and stay away. But we do hope George Kent and Harry Gloucester will come, and perhaps the sister. There’s even room here for them to land their airplane.
Dudley Forwood is still nagging about us using Candé for the wedding. He says Charlie Bedaux has dubious friends and fingers in suspicious pies. He’s only been a proper equerry for five minutes, but he’s already getting above himself. Anyway, the wedding has to be here now. Wally’s chosen the color of her gown to tone with the silk on the walls in the salon. She’s blooming. Like a true bride.
Gone With the Windsors Page 35
