Debutantes (26 page)

A very much younger Great-Aunt Lizzie, with a small blonde child in her arms and a tall girl standing beside her, stared out of the old brown photograph at her – Mary and Elaine with their aunt, guessed Daisy.

And then she came across something that made her catch her breath in astonishment. First of all she thought it was a photograph of herself. The blonde-haired girl in the picture looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. But that was not the surprising thing. Beside her was a boy of about the same age and this boy was the image of Justin – a square, determined chin, dark eyes, crisply curling black hair and a well-shaped mouth curving into a broad smile. If it were not for the old-fashioned clothes, then it could be a picture of Daisy herself with Justin by her side.

‘Rose,’ called Great-Aunt Lizzie from the stairs, her voice still rather hoarse and followed by a fit of coughing.

Hastily Daisy stuffed the photographs back and managed to click the drawer closed. Then she picked up Lady Pennington’s book and went out. ‘Were you looking for Rose, Great-Aunt?’ she asked. ‘I’ll fetch her for you. I think that she has taken her dogs for a walk.’

‘Never mind, I suppose the fresh air will do her good; I’m worried about her education though. She’ll slip behind if I don’t keep pressing her to work.’ The old lady’s voice sounded fretful, but it was also feeble and Daisy felt sorry for her.

‘Shall I ask Maud to light the fire in the drawing room?’ she asked, but her great-aunt shook her head. ‘No, thank you, dear. It’s not worth it. I just have a few letters to write and then I think I’ll go back to my bedroom,’ she said. ‘I’m not feeling quite the thing today.’ She tried to smile and then added, ‘I’ll be better when the weather improves.’

This is the best spring we’ve had that I can remember, thought Daisy, watching with concern as the old lady dragged herself down the remaining stairs, leaning heavily on the banisters. ‘I’ll find Rose and see if I can set her some work to do,’ she promised as her great-aunt went into the drawing room. There was no doubt that Rose’s education was being neglected.

If I had forty pounds, should I spend it on Violet’s coming-out or send Rose to school for a few years? she wondered. There was a girls’ grammar school in the large town of Maidstone, but Great-Aunt Lizzie might disdain that – and Daisy had no idea of the fees. Thinking hard, she went through the hall and out of the front door.

And then she stopped, her eyes widening. There was a car coming towards the house. Not the ancient battered old black Humber driven by Morgan, but something quite, quite different.

The red Rolls-Royce moved in a stately way up the avenue, passing under the overhanging branches of beech trees, skirting the untidy bushes of rhododendron and dodging the odd pothole. It looked like a very expensive car. Daisy’s eyes widened at the sight. Who did they know who owned a car like that? For a moment she wondered whether it could be the Duchess’s car, but then remembered that had been blue.

But who was this sitting in the back of the sumptuous, brand-new Rolls-Royce? It was a woman. Through the back window Daisy could just make out an elegant close-fitting hat. She took two steps backwards. Her father was in a bad mood – hands shaking, nerves in pieces – and Great-Aunt Lizzie was tired and ill. It was up to her to deal with this stranger.

The car had stopped now in front of the door. The chauffeur had got out and had opened the door. A small figure climbed out. A small, slim figure dressed in the latest fashion with a short dustcoat over an even shorter dress. Daisy quickened her step and the woman turned to face her.

And it was like staring into a looking glass. This woman had blonde curly hair, creamy skin, cornflower-blue eyes, a curvaceous figure, and she was no taller than Daisy herself.

‘Good morning,’ said Daisy politely, well trained in good manners by Great-Aunt Lizzie. ‘Have you had a good trip?’

‘I’ve come from London.’ The woman’s voice was husky and to Daisy’s alarm she saw tears well up in the blue eyes that had moved from looking up at the ivy-encrusted house to studying her intently. Daisy waited, feeling uneasy. The woman had a maid sitting in the front of the car, but the girl had obviously been given instructions not to move so she sat there, looking straight ahead.

‘Are you . . . ? Are you . . . ? Which of the girls are you?’ There was no doubt – Daisy had not imagined those tears; the woman’s voice was choked.

‘I’m Daisy.’ The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she saw, with relief, that Bateman, alerted by one of the maids, had appeared on the steps leading up to the hall door. He hesitated for a moment and then came down the steps more quickly than Daisy had ever seen him move.

‘My lady,’ he said, and his voice was full of emotion.

‘Dear Bateman.’ To Daisy’s astonishment, the visitor flung her arms around the butler and hugged him. And what was even more astonishing, Bateman forgot all his manners and put his arms around the shoulders of the woman and hugged her back. A tremor seemed to move the two figures as if a sob had passed between them and then Bateman stood back, fighting to return his old face into its usual lofty expression.

‘My lady, it’s wonderful to see you again,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Lady Elizabeth and his lordship will have a marvellous surprise.’

‘Didn’t you get my wire then?’ The woman was half laughing and half crying. ‘The same old post office!’ she said. ‘Always late with everything! I suppose that’s the telegraph boy coming up the avenue now. I just arrived back in England a couple of weeks ago. Popped over to Paris to buy a few clothes from Chanel and then back to dear old London again.’ She turned and saw Daisy’s worried expression and smiled reassuringly at her.

‘This is Lady Daisy; your aunt, Lady Elaine, my lady,’ said Bateman. He nodded to the lady’s maid who now got out of the car, carrying an elaborate dressing case. The chauffeur went around to the back of the car and took out a large stylish leather suitcase.

‘Take my purse, Bateman dear, and pay off the chauffeur. I just hired this car in London.’

While Bateman was doing this, Elaine smiled again at Daisy. ‘You look like me, don’t you think? Much prettier, of course. Who does Poppy look like?’

‘She looks like my mother,’ said Daisy promptly. She hardly remembered her mother’s appearance now, but the house was full of photographs of her and there was a magnificent oil painting on the stairs which showed the full glory of her flame-coloured hair.

At that moment Morgan came driving up the avenue from the village. Lady Elaine laughed with a slightly hysterical note in her voice. ‘That can’t be the same old Humber still here!’

‘Yes, my lady. That’s the same car. Not many things have changed since you were here last. The chauffeur is new, of course,’ he added loftily and Daisy suppressed a giggle. Morgan had been chauffeur at Beech Grove Manor for the last four years, but to Bateman and Mrs Pearson he was still ‘the new chauffeur’.

Daisy gazed at the bobbed hair. That was just the way that her hair should be! Bobbed in a pageboy cut, with the ends turned under so that it swung when its owner moved her head from side to side as she looked at the house, the stables, the beech woods and the old Humber car with the air of one who could hardly drink in the familiar sights quickly enough.

Daisy waited at the bottom of the steps as they went through the porch door. She would allow Bateman to show Elaine into the drawing room. She hoped that Great-Aunt Lizzie was alone and that her father had not joined her. Aunt and niece should have a little time together in private. They had not met for about seventeen years, she thought; let the first five minutes be for them alone before the rest of the family arrived on the scene.

Then when all was going well – when Elaine had been introduced to the family, had been amazed by Violet’s beauty, was rested, fed and in a receptive mood – then possibly Daisy could broach the subject of a possible sponsorship of her eldest niece through a Court Presentation and hopefully a London Season.

There was one relief, anyway. One glance at Elaine’s clothes, at the handsome luggage, at the stylish lady’s maid, at the hired Rolls-Royce had been enough. There was no doubt in Daisy’s mind that Elaine was wealthy enough to make Violet’s dream come true.

Justin was having fun with the ‘Positions Vacant’ section of
The Times
as Daisy reached the door of the schoolroom.

‘
Young person wanted to do general work around the house and to dress the young ladies’ hair
,’ he was saying. ‘What do you think, Violet? Could I hold down a position like that? Would you let me practise on you?’

‘I wish you’d stop talking nonsense. Look what you made me do. Now I’ll have to take out those stitches. Great-Aunt Lizzie would have rapped me over the knuckles for sewing like that when I was ten years old.’ Violet was surprisingly happy these days, despite her chances of a debut looking bleak. Daisy had come to suspect that Justin’s constant presence in the house was the reason for this. Ever since the night of Violet’s birthday party, when Justin had chopped wood, peeled potatoes and shifted furniture, he had behaved not like a visitor but like a member of the family, strolling in through the back door unceremoniously, swinging an axe in the wood yard, inspecting the home farm with her father, contentedly swallowing bread and cheese for his lunch and staying until darkness fell. Daisy found it difficult to know whether Violet was in love with him though, or whether she was just treating him as an older brother. She and Poppy confided in each other, but Violet kept her own counsel.

‘Guess who’s arrived,’ said Daisy dramatically as she came into the schoolroom. ‘In a Rolls-Royce,’ she added, feeling surprised at her ability to sound casual when her heart was thumping irregularly within her chest.

Violet’s face went completely white and her eyes were enormous as she stared at her sister. ‘The Du—’ she began, but Daisy shook her head quickly.

‘No, not the Duchess,’ she said. ‘She watched with sympathy the light die out of her sister’s face. She hadn’t realized that Violet still hoped that the events of that fatal evening of the Duchess’s ball could be undone. ‘More exciting than that!’ she said quickly. ‘It’s Elaine back from India. You know, Vi! Elaine of the Dresses!’ She decided to say no more until she had a chance to talk to Elaine. It would be too cruel to raise Violet’s hopes only to have them thwarted once more.

However, the look of disappointment was quickly replaced by one of horror as Violet turned to look at all the short, jaunty dresses that had been ruthlessly cut from Elaine’s flowing gowns.

‘What’s she going to say?’ she breathed.

‘She’ll probably sue; I wonder whether she would like me to act for her,’ said Justin with relish. ‘Now let me see,’ he said a crisp, authoritative tone. ‘
M’lud, we ask for exemplary damages of one hundred guineas per gown to cover material damage to property and injury to the very natural feelings of sentimental attachment on the part of my client
.’ He counted the line of dresses and said: ‘
My client is willing to settle out of court, m’lud, for the sum of twelve hundred guineas – and costs, of course
,’ he added hastily.

Daisy couldn’t help giggling and even Violet started to laugh.

‘What does she look like?’ she asked.

‘Like me,’ said Daisy. ‘But she’s very well dressed and her hair is bobbed.’

‘Well then, she won’t want her dowdy old clothes back,’ said Violet decisively, ‘and don’t you say a word about suing, Justin,’ she warned, ‘or I won’t mend that tear in your jacket for you. Now you can help to carry all of these down to my bedroom. I’ll hide them in my dressing room. She probably won’t stay more than a night or so. This place will seem freezing to her after London – never mind India.’

‘I’ll just pop down the back stairs and fetch Poppy,’ said Daisy. She had heard the sounds of jazz from Morgan’s cottage earlier in the morning and she guessed that was where Poppy and Rose had hidden themselves.

By the time she had turned the handle of the door, however, it was too late. There was a click of heels coming quickly up the stairs.

‘Ah, there you are, Daisy,’ said Elaine nervously. ‘Aunt Lizzie thought you must be in the schoolroom.’

She entered the room, her face full of curiosity, her gaze already going to the faded, much-mended curtains, when Justin, putting back the dress that he had unhooked from the picture rail, turned towards her.

Elaine stopped suddenly. Her face, thought Daisy, wore the expression of someone who had seen a ghost. Her lips parted and she stared at him in horror.