Daisy (7 page)

“Playing fast and loose with the servants…” the Countess was screaming.

“And what about that Russian excrescence,” boomed the Earl, “shedding pearls and lice, wolfing my food, and seducing my wife?”

“This time you have gone too far…”

“
I
have gone too far…”

“Lecher!”

“Slut!”

The Countess threw herself at the Earl, raking at his face with her nails. He pushed her savagely away from him and she fell backward onto the terrace.

“Oh, my precious darling, are you hurt?”

“Darling, darling. I’m so sorry. You know I love only you.”

“Oh, darling…”

“Just a minute!” At the sound of Amy’s harsh voice the Earl and Countess stopped their embrace to stare at her. Both seemed immensely surprised that she was still there.

“What about all your promises, my lord?” Amy went on in a hard voice. “You led me to believe you would marry me.”

“
Marry
. You?” The Earl’s surprise was so absolute it was almost laughable.

“Yes. Marry,” said Amy firmly. “I should have known you lot never keep your promises. You promised poor Miss Chatterton a ball and a Season and then you changed your mind as if it didn’t matter. You…”

But the Earl and Countess seized on the subject of Daisy’s ball as being the least painful matter at hand.

“Of
course
Miss Chatterton shall have her ball…”

“Absolutely…”

“No question of…”

“We shall send out the invitations this very day…”

“See that you do,” said Amy with pathetic dignity. “One broken heart is enough…” She began to cry, staring at the now very embarrassed couple, with the tears welling from her eyes.

Daisy forgot all about her own troubles as her heart ached for her friend. Who knew better than she how the poor girl was suffering?

The voices dropped to a murmur. The three characters in the play moved from view, and then she heard Amy’s light step as she ran up the stairs.

Daisy threw open the door, prepared to submerge her own hurt in consoling her friend. But Amy gave her a dazzling smile and began to pirouette about the room.

She finally sank into an armchair and winked at the astonished Daisy. “Don’t look at me like that, Dais’. I did it all deliberate-like.”

Daisy could only stare and Amy laughed. “You should just see your face.

“It’s like this. His lordship has been making up to me ever since his missus started to play around with the Count. I got a bit worried and told Mr. Curzon. He had warned me about the master. He just said for me to keep out of me lord’s way, which I did.

“Then last night I got so upset—what with you crying and saying you couldn’t have your ball no more—that I went back to Mr. Curzon. Well, he tells me that my lord and lady always ends up in each other’s arms again and they gets very sorry for the persons they’ve mucked about. So, Mr. Curzon, he tells me to lead his lordship on enough to get my lady mad. Which I did. Which means you’ve got your ball!”

“But—but—didn’t you feel a little bit in love with the Earl?” stammered Daisy. “He is so handsome.”

“Naw!” said Amy. “He’s just like Jimmy Simpson, the butcher’s boy. Jimmy’s ever so handsome and he walks out with that plain Margaret Johnson. Well, he keeps letting it be known in little ways to the other girls that he’s not quite suited, but after they’ve made right fools of themselves over him, there he is. Back out walking with Margaret Johnson!”

Daisy felt very young and foolish. How could she have been so bedazzled when her friend seemed not to care in the slightest?

Amy supplied the answer unasked. “I didn’t tell you Dais’, but I’m promised to Peter, the second footman. Nothing definite, mind. But when you’ve got a real fellow, I dunno, it sort of protects you from the fakes.”

Daisy suddenly remembered her bet. She was more determined than ever to find someone to love and someone who would love her back.

It was some minutes after Amy had left the room before Daisy realized that she had not even thanked her for saving the ball.

In the first few days in London, Daisy felt as if she had just recovered from a long illness. Amy had broken the spell, and every time Daisy looked at the handsome Earl, she was only reminded of Jimmy Simpson. The young men she met began to take on names and faces and recognizable identities, whereas before they had formed a faceless background to the Earl’s charm.

She learned from Amy, with some surprise, that the Duke of Oxenden was considered the biggest catch of the Season. She hoped that he would be at her first ball to witness her triumph. Daisy had a new white silk ball gown with a frivolous little bustle and the name tag of a famous Paris house. She had learned that she was attractive. Now all she had to do was fall in love.

On the night of the ball she stood nervously at the top of the long flight of red-carpeted steps. Never had she seen so many jewels. Many of the women wore them in such profusion, it bordered on vulgarity. Who could appreciate the beauty of a fine rope of real pearls when they were worn on top of a diamond necklace? Feathers were considered the last word in chic, and the ladies fluttered into the ballroom like so many birds of paradise. Daisy herself wore a diamond circlet on her brown hair, ornamented with one white ostrich plume, and in her hand she carried a magnificent ostrich feather fan that was so large, she had had to practice for hours beforehand as to how to wield it without knocking over everything in the room.

A heavy undertone of sexuality permeated the ballroom like musk. Daisy had learned from Amy’s gossip that the Duke of Oxenden’s remarks on the current aristocracy were true. The more raffish elements who had been kept firmly in their places by Queen Victoria, now blossomed as they had never done since the eighteenth century, under the jolly and rumbustious rule of King Edward.

Daisy had long since learned that the whisperings and rustlings in the corridors of a country house during the night were made by the happy guests prowling from bedroom to bedroom. But on the surface, appearances were kept up. Lovers treated each other during the day with all the chilly formality of a Victorian “at home.” Public physical contact was forbidden and even the Earl, in this rarified London atmosphere, had ceased to ruffle Daisy’s curls or pat her waist.

The Countess indicated to Daisy that it was time to move into the ballroom. Most of the guests had arrived. The Duke of Oxenden had not been among them. Daisy felt a little pang of disappointment.

She moved slowly down the carpeted stairs into the heavy, scented air of the ballroom. The new electricity had been dispensed with for the evening and thousands of candles flickered and blazed from the crystal chandeliers and from tall, ornate, iron stands. Daisy’s fragile beauty soon drew a host of admirers and her little dance card was soon full. She studied each face, looking for the man of her dreams. But to her nervous eyes they all looked remarkably alike with their formal black and white evening dress, polished English faces, and high, clipped voices.

Daisy whirled around and around until she began to notice the most determined of her admirers. He was a young man called Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone, who had an endearing boyish face, a mop of fair curls, and large gray eyes. He claimed her hand for the supper dance and was punctilious about finding the right table and seeing that she was immediately served.

After some light social chitchat about various personalities and wasn’t it a
crush
and wasn’t it
hot
, Freddie leaned forward. “’Fraid I’m a bit of an old-fashioned chap, Miss Chatterton. You know, believe in respecting one’s parents and all that. How d’you feel?”

“Oh, the same!” cried Daisy, thinking of her newfound, generous father.

“Thought that the minute I set eyes on you. Pretty gel but
good.
Not like some of these rackety types. Pater’s dead but I’m very fond of Mater. Lot of the chaps chaff me about it.”

“I think it’s a commendable feeling,” said Daisy stoutly. He looked so young and earnest.

“You know, I really like you awfully. Really, awfully terribly. You don’t mind my saying so?”

“Of course not. I think it’s very flattering.” Daisy felt her heart go out to this decent, amiable young man. Her mind raced on. It would be a comfortable marriage. Their love would grow in a sort of Darby and Joan way. No tremblings of passion, no tears, no hurt.

“Pater was in
tea
,” he said. “But tea’s not zactly
trade
, is it.”

Daisy shook her head. She had been long enough in her new world to hear people being damned as “being in trade” or “smelling of the shop.” But tea and beer were considered respectable.

“Mater, of course, says I shouldn’t mention tea because we’ve got simply pots of money and it’s not as if I need to
work
, or anything like that.”

Daisy experienced a slight qualm which she resolutely put down. All these young men seemed to drift from club to country house like the butterflies in summer. There always seemed to be a “mater” or aunt or uncle in the background to ensure that these lilies of the field should not have to earn an honest penny.

“We’ve got an awfully pretty place down at Henley. Love you to see it one day. I say, you don’t think I’m being
bold
or anything like that?”

Daisy smiled and shook her head. What a very correct and lovable young man!

He drew his chair closer to hers until their knees were almost touching. “Well… you see… gosh, this is difficult. Y’see, Miss Chatterton, I’m sort of bowled over in a sort of way. And… and… I’ve got this spanking new motor and thought perhaps we might take a toddle down to Henley on Saturday. The Mater would be frightfully bucked. Lonely, you know. Yes, yes. Lonely, that’s it Very solitary. Lonely, yes. Very lonely. All by herself. On her own, you know. Just herself… lonely…”

Whether from a desire to put an end to the “lonelys” or because she suddenly became aware that the Duke of Oxenden had just walked into the supper room, she was never to know, but Daisy gave an enthusiastic “yes.”

“I say,” gabbled the delighted Freddie. “Thanks most awfully.”

Daisy became aware of the Duke at her elbow and affected the introductions with pretty grace.

The Duke’s long fingers reached for her little dance card. “Dear me, Daisy, every single dance taken.”

“I’ve booked the next dance, the one right after supper, Duke. You can have mine if you like,” said Freddie generously. “Going to be seeing lots of Miss Chatterton, in any case.”

“You are indeed fortunate,” said the Duke, looking down at the young pair with an enigmatic stare. “Come, Daisy, the music is starting.”

Well aware of many jealous and speculative glances, Daisy moved onto the ballroom floor and into the Duke’s arms. He held her very closely and something seemed to happen to her breath, but Daisy decided it was because Amy had been overly zealous in tightening her stays.

“You are not
already
engaged to be married?” Daisy heard him ask.

She shook her head and stared at his waistcoat.

“Then what about that young man who is going to be seeing lots of you?”

Daisy raised her head. “Mr. Bryce-Cuddestone has asked me to go to Henley with him this Saturday to meet his mother,” she said proudly.

“What a fast mover for such a shy specimen of English manhood. Don’t tell me I am to lose my bet over Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone?”

“And why not?” flashed Daisy. “He is so—so comfortable and
safe
and—and—he doesn’t make any remarks to make me feel awkward.”

“Is that your recipe for true love?”

“I don’t know!” said Daisy, exasperated. “So I’m going to find out. So there!”

But the infuriating man only held her closer. His Grace, the Duke of Oxenden, was not what Daisy would call a comfortable man.

The dance seemed to finish very quickly, however, and Daisy was put into the arms of her next partner, who whirled her around and around with such energy that she felt positively dizzy. When she finally came to a breathless halt and looked around the crowded ballroom, she could see no sign of the Duke’s tall figure.

Freddie dutifully called on the Nottenstones the next morning to ask the Countess’s permission to take Daisy to Henley on Saturday. He then left, slightly dazzled with the warmth of his reception from the Countess, but, as she confided to the Earl later, the Countess was pleased to see that Daisy had netted an eligible suitor so quickly.

“Old Neddie is not exactly the most respectable of parents,” she said. “And then, of course, the girl appears to have no dowry. I must say I am surprised Neddie Chatterton even has enough to give her an allowance. The French casinos must be luckier for him than the English ones.”

“Probably still cheating,” said her husband dryly.

To Daisy’s disappointment Saturday turned out to be a damp, misty day. Beads of moisture gleamed on the shining paint work of the motorcar as she gingerly climbed in and waited for the chauffeur to crank up the engine. She was wearing a new light tweed motoring dress with a motoring hat which the Countess had assured her was the latest thing. It was like a magnified version of a man’s tweed cap and swathed in suffocating layers of veiling. After they had putt-putted decorously down the road for a few minutes, Daisy pushed back her veil. The damp air was making it stick uncomfortably to her face.

Henley itself was shrouded in heavy mist as if the town had taken to wearing the latest in motoring veils as well.

It had been a singularly quiet journey and all Daisy’s attempts at light conversation had been met with monosyllables. She decided he was nervous.

“Well… here we are,” burst out her companion finally. “You’ll soon meet the mater.” He turned and gave Daisy a singularly sweet smile and her spirits rose.

She felt mature and confident. Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestone was sure to like her. Her wedding dress would be of white satin with seed pearls. The bells of London Town would proclaim her married happiness. And the Duke of Oxenden would lose his bet.

The motorcar swung into the driveway of an imposing Victorian mansion, hidden in a thick grove of trees to screen it from the vulgar gaze. It looked gray, cheerless, and forbidding. Daisy put it down to a trick of the weather.