Debutantes (9 page)

Normally the room was stone cold, but tonight the four sisters were determined to be warm and a huge fire of beech logs burned brightly. The luxury was so great that Daisy had earlier decided to spend part of each day picking up twigs and fallen branches from the woods around the house and saving them for a fire – at least for an hour or so in the evenings.

But now she could think of little other than the four dresses.

‘If ever this mysterious Elaine turns up there are plenty of bits of material from her dresses left over. Look – I’ve filled the sewing basket with them just in case we need any last-minute touches.’ Violet was in an excited, giggly mood. The relief of having the four dresses ready on time overwhelmed her. ‘I’ve just done the hems on the sewing machine,’ she added, holding up Rose’s dress. ‘Great-Aunt Lizzie will have a fit when she sees them – she thinks a hem should be invisibly slip-stitched, but I saw a dress in one of the fashion magazines where the hems were tiny and you could see the stitching on them.’

Poppy was already getting into her dress. She was the one who had shown the least interest during the making of them, but now her face was flushed with excitement.

‘Thank you, dear Elaine, for the stockings!’ She addressed the eastern windows and then pulled on the white silk stockings. None of the sisters had ever possessed a pair of silk stockings before. Rose had dabbed their sensible tan-coloured shoes with a tennis shoe whitening liquid so at least they would not look too bad early on in the evening.

Poppy’s dress was the simplest of all. It was very straight and short, with a high neckline in front and cut low at the back, right down to her shoulder blades, But the sheen and gloss of the white satin, coupled with Poppy’s extraordinarily beautiful flame-coloured hair, made her look like a society beauty. She stared at herself in the mirror and nodded her head firmly.

‘Daisy, you will just have to bob my hair. The dress is good, but with that hair streaming around my shoulders I look like one of the Victorian paintings by that fellow Burne-Jones.’ She removed the dress with a determined air and handed Daisy a comb and scissors.

‘Excuse me, your ladyships, I’ve brought more wood for the fire.’ Maud must have knocked while they were all exclaiming loudly over Poppy’s dress and now she stood there with the wood basket in her hands, looking intently at Poppy, surveying her with her head to one side.

‘I wouldn’t bob your hair, my lady, if I were you.’ Maud addressed Poppy in the rather forthright style she used to Rose when none of the adults were around. She dumped the basket of wood on the floor and then went over to Poppy. ‘There’s some good styles in those magazines . . . Excuse me, my lady,’ she said to Violet. ‘I can’t help noticing your magazines sometimes and I’ve seen a style that would suit you, Lady Poppy.’

‘Maud used to do hairstyles for all the girls in the orphanage when they were in their dormitory at night,’ Rose informed them.

‘What would you do with all of this, Maud?’ asked Poppy, clutching handfuls of her hair. Violet looked shocked at her sister talking to a scullery maid in such a friendly fashion, but Poppy never cared about things like that.

‘You need something for a headband, my lady.’ Maud picked a long strip of beaded sash out of Violet’s sewing basket. It was cut from the dress that had formed Poppy’s short jacket. Daisy guessed that the scullery maid had been looking through the pieces of material earlier on when the basket had been up in the schoolroom as she had selected the sash without hesitation. She watched with interest as Maud quickly swept back the heavy mass of red hair, brushed it carefully, tucked it behind Poppy’s ears, and then wound the beaded sash around her head, letting it sit like a crown over her sister’s eyebrows. Daisy held her breath.

‘Jazzy,’ said Poppy after a long moment.

And it was perfect. The effect was completely up-to-date and very flattering without spoiling the impact of Poppy’s beautiful hair. Daisy knew that it would break her father’s heart if she cut the hair that was so like his wife’s.

‘Could you do my hair like that?’ asked Rose.

‘There are plenty of sashes in the sewing basket,’ said Violet. She gazed at Poppy’s hair, a slight struggle showing in her face. Then she made up her mind. Violet rarely spent long trying to decide about anything – she just went with her first instinct. Immediately she began to get dressed.

Violet had made her own dress short, with a hemline that fell to above her knee on one side and dipped heavily on the other. Apart from this, the dress was simply made, cut fairly low in the front and back, sleeveless, but the gorgeous shade of shimmering green-blue silk sewn with thousands of tiny electric-blue beads needed no extra embellishments. She looked wonderful in it, the dress glittering and her violet-coloured eyes glowing. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass and then turned to Maud.

‘What do you think, Maud?’ she asked, sitting down in front of the dressing table. ‘Would the same style as Poppy suit me?’

Maud didn’t answer, just picked up the silky hair and cupped it in her hand, looking at the glass over Violet’s shoulder. Then she dropped it and reached for a jar of enormous old-fashioned hairpins, presented to Poppy by Great-Aunt Lizzie with advice about keeping her hair tidy. Maud wove Violet’s long hair into one very loose plait, then tucked it under and pinned it at the nape of her neck, loosening the strands near her face. The effect was a sleek, bell-like bob that curved around Violet’s ears and below her chin. When Maud was satisfied she went across to the sewing box and took out the other half of the beaded sash and tired it round Violet’s head like an Alice band, knotting the ends at the nape of the neck to secure the plait in place, and then cutting off the spare material with a decisive snip of the scissors.

‘Perfect,’ breathed Violet, smiling at her reflection.

‘What about Daisy?’ asked Rose.

‘I think I’d like the same as Violet,’ said Daisy. ‘We won’t look like twins or anything because I have blonde curly hair and she has dark straight hair. Wait a minute, Maud; wait till you see my dress.’

She began to dress hurriedly. Violet had surpassed herself with this costume, she thought gratefully. The pale pink silk, though a colour that suited her very well, might have looked a little insipid, but Violet had an inspiration and decided to make it with a stunning hemline, dipping down below the knees on both sides and swooping up above them in the centre. The curved line was enhanced with deep flounces of ruffled lace machine-sewn to the dress so that the stitching line did not show. To go with it was a pink stole, wound once around Daisy’s neck and then hanging down in front, looking very modern and the height of fashion.

‘Quite short hair for you, my lady,’ said Maud as decisively as if she were an experienced lady’s maid. She gazed intently at Daisy’s face, feeling the spring of the tight curls between finger and thumb. ‘No hairband, I think,’ she added, almost to herself.

Working rapidly, Maud pinned up Daisy’s curly hair, halving the length as she went, and by the time she had finished, even Daisy herself felt that she looked as though she had had it bobbed. Her hair was even shorter than Violet’s and somehow made her look years older – rather like a young lady about town. She gazed at herself for a moment with immense satisfaction. Yes, the effect was quite different from Violet’s and she was glad of that. She wanted to be herself, not a poor relation in loveliness to her two sisters. ‘Bang up-to-date,’ she murmured and then turned to her youngest sister.

‘Come on, Rosie, let’s get you dressed, and don’t ask to have your hair put up or Great-Aunt Lizzie will send you back to your bedroom. Hold up your arms. Now then, look at that! Isn’t she gorgeous, Maud?’

Rose’s soft crimson velvet dress was cleverly done – short enough to show off her long legs, cut on the bias and yet with quite a youthful swing to it. Short puffed sleeves covered the top of her childishly thin arms and there was a neat ruff around her neck. Yes, thought Daisy, Great-Aunt Lizzie will have to approve of this frock. Maud ignored the others and got Rose to sit at the dressing table. She spent a long time brushing the soft brown hair until it shone like silk and then picked out a strip of rose-coloured velvet from the sewing box, folded it expertly and bound it around Rose’s forehead, passing it behind the ears and lastly tying it at the nape of the neck under the curtain of hair. Suddenly Rose looked years older.

Quickly Daisy fetched her camera. She would have to trust Maud to press the button but she was determined to have a photograph of herself and her sisters together just before their very first grown-up party.

‘Line up,’ she said. ‘Poppy next to Violet, then leave a space for me and then you, Rose.’

She peered at them for a moment and then handed the camera to Maud and took her place between her sisters.

‘
Derrington Sisters Take the Fashionable World by Storm
,’ said Rose.

The stage is set, thought Daisy an hour later. It was one minute to six and everyone was gathered in the transformed dining room.

The telephone had been busy. Bateman’s friend the stationmaster had rung the house when the Duchess’s train was within ten minutes of the station and again when Morgan had left with Her Grace, so they knew almost to the minute what time she would arrive at the house. Daisy had arranged everybody in the dining room – young men in a group where candlelight fell on their starched snowy shirts, Great-Aunt Lizzie in an upright chair looking splendidly Victorian and sparkling with diamonds, Rose in her short velvet dress on a rug by her feet, Poppy on a chair by the window, her magnificent sheaf of bronze hair spread over the white silk and distracting attention from the frayed curtains, the table with colourful food spread on Lazarus’s winding sheet and Violet, all by herself, standing beside the branched chandelier whose light gleamed on her black hair while the firelight made her blue-green dress sparkle as if the beads were precious stones.

Encouraged by Sir Guy’s words, Daisy moved around the room, photographing the groups, keeping everyone in position until the big moment arrived.

‘Her Grace, the Duchess of Denton,’ announced Bateman and Great-Aunt Lizzie turned and smiled with such pure pleasure and slight surprise that Daisy thought she might be the best actor in the family.

‘Your Grace.’ Great-Aunt Lizzie got to her feet gracefully and Michael Derrington moved forward, just one step behind her.

‘So kind of you to allow to me to break my journey here.’ The Duchess was a small fat woman with an enormous bosom. She pecked the air somewhere in the vicinity of her hostess’s left cheek and announced, ‘I must say that I loathe staying in those hotels at Dover. Full of all sorts of riff-raff.’

Great-Aunt Lizzie did not blanch. Daisy’s eyes met the butler’s and he gave a tiny nod. He and Mrs Pearson could be relied on to have a fire lit in the purple room and clean sheets and bedding would be produced from the linen cupboard. In a moment, thought Daisy, I’ll slip out and help, but in the meantime she wanted to see the impression made by Violet who was just being introduced playfully as ‘the birthday girl’.

‘But my dear, you are so lovely.’ The Duchess craned up to kiss Violet’s cheeks, murmuring about how the years had passed and presenting her with a tiny box which Violet opened to reveal a small oval-shaped brooch . It was a pallid affair with a row of seed pearls interspersed with a few tiny chips of diamonds.

‘I must get to know you, my dear,’ she said graciously. ‘Goodness, I can’t believe that you are eighteen years old already. Tell me, what are the plans for your debut?’

‘What do you think?’ Rose whispered to Daisy with her eyes fixed discreetly on the floor and her hands clasped demurely in front of her. Daisy did not need to ask her sister what she meant. There was only one question in the minds of all of the Derrington females: would the Duchess sponsor Violet through the debutante season and the presentation at Buckingham Palace?

The whole of the staff at Beech Grove Manor waited at table when the party sat down to the birthday supper. ‘A small, informal affair for the children,’ Great-Aunt Lizzie informed the Duchess. Even Maud the scullery maid had been fitted out with a snowy white apron and cap and drilled by Mrs Pearson in the correct way to hand and remove dishes. Morgan had removed his chauffeur’s uniform and, wearing a ten-year-old suit of the Earl’s – too tight for its owner – proved to be very useful as a footman, pouring wine and serving the Duchess with an elaborate flourish which made the butler look at him with alarm.

Daisy leaned over and rescued her camera from under the chair.

‘Daisy, dear, do put away your camera,’ said Great-Aunt Lizzie, but not before the flashbulb had gone off three times.

‘Just a few birthday photographs, Great-Aunt,’ said Daisy. ‘Excuse me, Your Grace; I should have asked first, I know, but I didn’t want anyone posing.’

The Duchess smiled forgivingly at Daisy. ‘What a very pretty dress, my dear – that pink so suits you. And what lovely pearls. I must say that you have four very beautiful daughters, my lord – all so unalike, aren’t they? My two girls are like peas in a pod except that Catherine is eighteen and Paula is sixteen. No, no more, thank you.’ She put down her knife and fork and ranged them side by side in a determined gesture, turning to Baz with a sweet smile. ‘I hear you young people are going to have a little dance afterwards,’ she said. ‘Your chauffeur told me on the way from the station.’ Her glance ranged over the servants standing stiffly to attention at the side of the room and passed over Morgan without recognition.