Dorothy Eden (28 page)

I
T WAS TOO LATE.
Captain Fielding had discovered that when he had been writing all those letters to Florence he had been thinking of her as a sister. He hadn’t realised that at the time. It had only come to him when he found that although he admired and liked her no end, it was Daisy whom he loved.

More accurately, perhaps, he was bedazzled by Daisy, but as he knew he would have to wait at least two years for her (if she would have him then), that would give him time to sort out his feelings, wouldn’t it?

After all, marriage had never been mentioned between Florence and himself. Her letters had been a great diversion and a comfort in a foreign land, but he had always intended to wait until he came home to determine his feelings about her.

So he wasn’t being a cad. Was he? he asked anxiously. He was excessively sorry if Florence thought he was a cad, and he couldn’t apologise enough. Though she had to admit that she had never made any declaration of love in her letters, either, so she surely couldn’t have imagined herself committed to him. It was just bad luck for her that she had such a captivating sister.

“Oh, stop whitewashing your conscience,” Florence snapped with an asperity quite foreign to her. She had anticipated this scene, and wondered whether she would choose anger or tears. It turned out that tears were quite out of the question. “I suppose you can’t help it if Daisy has seduced you.”

“Not seduced!” exclaimed Captain Fielding.

“Oh, don’t be such a prig!”

Captain Fielding’s mouth fell open.

“I say, Miss Overton, you have changed.”

“Overnight,” said Florence bleakly. She saw in his eyes relief at his escape from marriage to such a shrew.

“Flo, this is
terrible
!” Daisy cried. “I’m not in love with Desmond. To tell the truth I’m beginning to find him a great bore. He follows me about like a
shadow
! He’s got the nerve, if you please, to inform me that he’ll wait two years for me!”

Florence found that Daisy’s flushed lovely face had no appeal for her. She would be sixteen in September, which was quite old enough to know exactly what she had been doing. Seeking Desmond’s company constantly, listening with breathless interest to everything he said, dressing up for him, singing and playing the piano to him, picking early rosebuds for his buttonhole, attending constantly to his comfort… If she thought this was behaving with complete innocence then it was time that she was disillusioned.

Quivering with misery and anger Florence turned a startling flow of recriminations on Daisy.

“Then why did you put your hair up? Why did you sing to him? Why did you seduce him?”

“S-seduce!” The word shocked even Daisy who liked to pretend sophistication. “But I never did! I only talked to him and entertained him as I would anybody.”

“Any man, you mean? Why did you put your hair up?”

“Oh, you keep going on about that. It was just a lark. I detest being in the schoolroom still. I’m far too old for it. And you were dressing up, and you know I can never bear being left out. You and Edwin have always been so much older than me. I
hate
being the youngest.”

“But you weren’t too young to flirt with Des—with Captain Fielding. I’ve watched you. In the music room. In the garden. There used to be a mirror room in this house where people flirted, did you know? It would have been just the place for you two.”

Out of the window Florence saw the Judas tree in flower, the rosy blossoms as warm as a fire against the bare branches. In an inspired voice she hissed,

“You’re a Judas!”

“Flo!” Daisy’s voice faltered. “You look awful! I’ve never seen you look at me like that. I thought—”

“You thought what?”

“You loved me.”

“So I did. Once.”

Daisy pressed her hands to her eyes. She made little choking sobbing sounds.

“I can’t help it if I want everyone to love me.”

“Why do you have to be so greedy? Everyone does love you.”

“No, they don’t. Mamma never has.”

“Of course she does. Don’t be such a little hypocrite.”

“I’m not a hypocrite. That isn’t fair.”

“Well, you’re jolly spoiled. You’ve been spoiled ever since you were stolen when you were a baby. Even that woman wanted you, you see. Mamma says she used to watch the peacocks in that Italian garden before you were born, and she thinks that’s made you vain. I just think you’re plain selfish, and it’s time you realised what harm your thoughtless behaviour causes.”

“Oh, Flo darling!” Daisy cried in anguish. “You’re talking as if I’ve ruined your life.”

“So you have.” Florence’s voice was flat and cold. “Didn’t you even know that?”

Beatrice was remembering the mirror room, too, when she went to the library to find William. Her thoughts were similar to Florence’s. Although you could banish a room, it didn’t seem that you could change the disturbingly repetitive habits of human nature.

And this house was turning into a museum, she thought with sudden uncharacteristic intolerance. There were those ridiculously expensive Meissen porcelain soldiers Edwin had just bought to add to an already over large collection of toys, for that was what they were, the pathetic toys of a soldier
manqué.
Because of this, she would pay for them, but in future Edwin, who now received a salary, must finance his own extravagances.

The charming little Guardi that William had bought the other day was another matter. It looked delightful, as did everything William found. His taste was so good, and it was right that he should add to the Overton House collection. She liked that, and she enjoyed giving William presents herself, watching his pleasure on the occasions when they proved to be an inspired choice.

However, today, William bending absorbedly over his butterfly slides was suddenly irritating and disturbing. He was growing too wrapped up in his treasures. The butterflies were dead, the pictures were dead, Edwin’s soldiers were porcelain and would never raise arms and fire their muskets. It was not right to become so possessed by inanimate things. It seemed to represent an escape from a life not happy enough.

So perhaps there was a trace of merit in Daisy’s thoughtless but extremely lively behaviour. Except that in a way she was a ghost, too. Although William didn’t know what Beatrice was talking about when she burst out impetuously,

“I believe that woman is still in the house.”

“What woman, my dear?”

“Mary Medway. Who else?”

She still hated to say the name. William seemed to equally dislike hearing it, for he became very still, his eyes getting their blank opaque look. This, she recognised, as the familiar defence to conceal the pain he still felt, even after all these years.

“If you’re referring to Daisy, call her Daisy.”

The aroused pain gnawed at Beatrice, too.

“It seems to me that she’s becoming her mother over again. She’s ruined poor Florence’s happiness.”

William was carefully lifting a butterfly on its pin. The radiant spread wings, held up to the light, had gone dusty. He didn’t look at Beatrice again.

“She can’t help it if she’s so much prettier than Florence. It’s not fair to blame her.”

Just as Mary Medway should not be blamed for the havoc she had caused?

“I’m afraid you’re much too lenient with her, William. She wanted to be the centre of attention, at no matter what cost to Florence. Now she has broken two hearts, both Florence’s and Captain Fielding’s.”

“What, Captain Fielding’s, too?”

“You must know she hasn’t any deep feelings for him. She’s far too young, anyway. She’s simply been amusing herself. She has to learn she can’t do that at the expense of other people.”

“I always thought that young man was a dull stick,” William said.

“Florence didn’t. She has wasted five years over him. William, will you listen?” He had seemed to disappear behind his bland façade.

“I am listening, my dear. I’m quite aware of Florence’s tragedy. But she’s young enough to recover, and you might reflect that Captain Fielding has proved to be rather fickle. Perhaps Florence has had a lucky escape.”

“Not if she doesn’t have another chance of marriage.”

“Oh, come, Bea. Sheltering under Bonnington’s roof, as she is.”

“If you’re suggesting I can buy her a husband—”

William came towards her, giving his tilted charming smile.

“Only teasing, Bea. But you must admit buying a husband is one of your capabilities.”

“Only if the man is willing to be bought,” Beatrice flashed, losing her temper.

She was immediately shocked at what she had said, but William had deserved it, with his gibes, which weren’t teasing, by any means. One was not deceived by the soft voice in which he spoke his clever cutting words.

He didn’t mean to quarrel, however. He never did. He hated that sort of destructive emotion. He had admirable self-control. So had she, mostly.

“And what is it you’re about to suggest regarding Daisy? Isn’t that what you’ve come to tell me?”

“Yes, it is, I’ve written to a finishing school in Paris, one that has been recommended to me where the discipline is strict. I think a year or two there is the best thing for Daisy.”

“Isn’t her father important enough to be consulted about such a major step?”

“I’m consulting you now. But you must see that it really is important that Daisy should be sent away. Florence has to have a chance. She’s thrown away all this time on that faithless young man.”

“She’s so intense,” William complained gently.

“And having a sister like Daisy doesn’t help. You know that nobody looks at Florence when Daisy is in the room.”

“If I speak to Daisy—”

“No. It’s no use. She can’t help herself. It’s the way she’s made.”

“She hasn’t any of you in her, Bea, that’s the trouble.”

“If you mean she should have more commonsense,” she answered tartly, “I agree that that is the trouble. However, she can’t help her own nature, beyond making a real effort to correct her faults. She does little enough of that, I’m afraid.”

“She’s always fancied you didn’t love her.”

“Nonsense!” This was becoming a very painful conversation. “She’s been treated exactly the same as Edwin and Florence. I’ve brought her up as I promised to do, and I’ll see her properly launched. She can come out after her year in Paris. But then, if she goes on misbehaving, I’ll wash my hands of her. I mean that, William. Because this has all been far more than I should have been expected to do.”

When I bought myself a husband…

William had turned back to his butterflies.

“I don’t recall anyone asking you to do it, Bea. I had always regarded what we did as an order. From the commanding officer, so to speak.”

His eyes were flickering with that bleak mischief again. His teasing was cruel.

“It was the only solution,” she cried. “And don’t go on putting me in the wrong.”

“Was I, my dear? Then I’m sorry. I thought we’d got over all this long ago. I’m being a cad. It’s just that you’ve upset me with these sudden plans. I’d like to have been invited to talk them over. You know that I’ll miss Daisy infernally.”

“Of course I know,” Beatrice said, anxious now to make amends. If he could apologise, so could she. “But you can go to Paris to see her.”

“So I can.” William’s voice was at once more lively. He was blessed with a charmingly resilient temperament. Already he was dwelling on pleasures ahead. “I can take her to the opera. Show her off.”

“Not show her off, for goodness sake. What that young lady needs is a bit of obscurity.”

“Well, you must admit that unless we put her in a nun’s habit she’s going to be noticed. How has she taken to this idea herself?”

“She hasn’t been told yet.”

“Then allow me to break the news to her. I can soften the blow by preparing her for the excitements of one of my favourite cities.” As an afterthought he added politely, “It’s a pity we never got back here ourselves. You never saw anything but that store, did you? Bon Marché.”

Typical, he might have added. But he didn’t. Which was just as well, because he had said far too much already. It seemed so long since he had cried “I’m so lonely,” and she had thought the victory hers.

“Are you not feeling well, ma’am?” Hawkins asked that evening.

Beatrice answered, sitting at the dressing table and pressing her fingers to her temple,

“I have a little headache. That’s not like me, is it, Hawkins?”

“No, ma’am. You’re the one in this house that’s always strong.”

Too strong. Was that the trouble?

“We’ve decided to send Miss Daisy to school in Paris, Hawkins.”

“Now that will do her a power of good. You’ll be happier with her out of the house.”

Hawkins had never gone so far before. Sometimes she had made obscure comments, but this attitude was blatant. Had she known the truth from the beginning, or was she, like Miss Brown, immune to Daisy’s charms?

“Tell me what you mean, Hawkins.”

“She takes up too much of her father’s time. It isn’t right. And poor Miss Florence is always outshone. That’s not fair since she has all your good qualities.”

“And Daisy hasn’t?”

“You know she don’t resemble you at all, ma’am.”

That was all that was said.

But Hawkins had spoken a certain amount of truth, for it was much better when Daisy’s lively disturbing presence was out of the house. If more dull.

Accompanied by her father, and innumerable trunks, she set off in early September after the summer vacation. Only Florence knew that she had cried herself to sleep every night lately because she thought she was disgraced and that Mamma was discarding her forever. But since she was able to manage her radiant smile when she said goodbye, Florence hardened her heart. People like Daisy didn’t need to be pitied. Besides, Papa intended to stay in Paris until she was happily settled, which didn’t suggest that her disgrace was being taken too seriously.

When Papa returned it would be Edwin’s turn to leave, for he had received a posting to the British Embassy in Berlin. Edwin was hugely pleased. He so admired the German’s efficiency with guns. He was hoping to get a look at the Krupp iron and steel works at Essen, he said. And also to try his skill at one of the famous German sports, hunting wild boar in the forests. He would prefer shooting grouse, but the boar represented a challenge which he did not intend to evade, poor eyesight or not.