Dorothy Eden (31 page)

When Mr Thorpe, the solicitor, arrived Beatrice found herself studying her children instead of listening attentively to the contents of Mamma’s will.

Her house to Edwin, her jewellery (ugly jet beads and semi-precious stones which Florence would despise) to Florence, except for one dismal mourning brooch to Miss Finch, which could only be regarded in the nature of an insult. Five pounds to her cook, and five pounds to the housemaid. The unlucky Miss Finch also got an ostrich feather stole, a tortoiseshell fan, and ten pounds, and had the hypocrisy to show pleasure. Was it genuine? Were some women as truly humble as this? Whatever her real emotions, her services to Mamma had been faithful and long-suffering, so it looked as if she would have to be found some niche in Overton House. At least she would not be obtrusive.

Daisy was not mentioned in the will. Mamma seemed to have completely overlooked her existence.

Edwin had begun wearing a monocle. Beatrice didn’t care at all for the supercilious look it gave him. But then he had always hated his spectacles, poor boy. No doubt the monocle gave him more confidence. He was certainly a handsome young man. But strange, withdrawn, unknowable.

Even hearing of his grandmother’s handsome legacy had brought no more than a small satisfied smile to his face. What was wrong with him and Florence? Had they no natural warmth or love for poor Grandmamma or their parents?

Daisy was the one who showed generous delight at Edwin’s good fortune, and made a quick humorous moue of distaste when Florence received the ugly Victorian jewellery. She hadn’t shown any distress when her own name failed to be mentioned.

But they taught good manners in that French school. Daisy’s were noticeably improved. She was behaving with quiet decorum. And she looked touchingly wistful and large-eyed and demure in the black dress that had been quickly made for her in Bonnington’s workroom. “Has she really got an eighteen inch waist?” one of the seamstresses had been heard to remark.

She was going to be a raving beauty, there were no two ways about that. And how was one to cope with all the inevitable complications of that situation when they were not leavened by maternal love?

Get her married young, Beatrice said to herself. That should present little difficulty. There would be plenty of successors to the spurned Captain Fielding.

“I think some wine, my love,” Beatrice said before dinner that night. “It’s the first time we’ve been together as a family for a long time. Don’t let’s grieve for Mamma. She wouldn’t want it.”

“She wasn’t fair to Daisy,” William said.

“No. I suppose she wasn’t. But Daisy wouldn’t have wanted that hideous jewellery any more than Florence does. All I can say is, I hope Edwin doesn’t squander the whole of his legacy too quickly. I think you should speak to him about the set he’s getting in with in Berlin.”

“What set? He hasn’t talked to me about it.”

“Only because you’re prejudiced against Germans, and he seems to admire them a great deal.”

“Then he has questionable taste.”

“Perhaps. I think some of the Moselle, don’t you? It is not too heavy for the girls. And really, William, Daisy does very well without Mamma remembering her. It won’t damage her pride. She isn’t sensitive like Florence.”

But she was. Only she would never never let anyone be aware of it. Smile! she said to herself in her bedroom. Laugh! Be gay! Even in this horrible black dress. I wonder if the roof would fall if I went down in a pretty dress. If anyone besides Papa noticed, of course. Florence still hates me, Edwin has always been too full of himself to notice my existence, and Mamma doesn’t approve of me. She simply never has. I think she secretly hoped that that day when I was stolen out of my pram I would never be found again. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been. The woman who took me must really have wanted me very much.

Muttering to herself Daisy pinned up her rich brown curls. There was the usual problem of their escaping from hairpins and tumbling on to her neck or over her brow. She wished she was back in Paris. No, she didn’t. Unless Papa was there to bribe Madame with a box of her favourite bon bons, and consequently to be permitted to take Mam’selle Daisy out. It was appallingly dull and stupid at Madame’s school, and some of the Swiss and German girls were pure bitches. There had, of course, been the brief excitement of her love affair with Antoine, the good-looking gardener. She had left notes for him in the greenhouse, and the strawberry bed, and he had responded with passionate expressions of adoration. But that had ended when she discovered that he had a wife and two small children. The false wretch. But he still admired her from a distance, his black eyes flashing, and she had by no means broken her heart over him.

One day she would break her heart. She longed to. It was part of living. She would grow romantic and pensive and speak in a low voice of lost love. She certainly wouldn’t grow the hard flippant shell that Florence had.

But neither would she be unhappy forever, of course. There was no shortage of fascinating men in the world and she intended to meet her share of them. One of them would truly love her, and the secret gnawing loneliness in her heart would at last vanish forever.

And no one would ever remind her that once a fat selfish insensitive old woman had forgotten that she had a granddaughter called Daisy.

It was really terrible to be forgotten. It was like not existing.

At ten minutes to seven she tapped at Florence’s door.

“May I come in? Are you dressed?”

A mumbled assent came from within. Then Florence gasped,

“What are you doing in that dress?”

Daisy looked from Florence’s narrow-waisted black—she was like a burnt stick—to her own primrose yellow voile.

“Grandmamma didn’t remember me, so why should I remember her?”

“It’s only good manners. What Mamma will say—or the servants. It will be all over the Heath—”

“That Miss Daisy Overton danced on her grandmother’s grave? Well, she deserved it. Anyway, I can’t bear to be all black and dreary. You know that. Besides, by wearing a yellow dress I’m not impeding Grandmamma’s progress to heaven. Why is it always assumed that people do go to heaven?”

“Don’t change the subject. If you’re going down in that dress you’re going down alone.”

“All right. I don’t mind. Though I do think—” Daisy suddenly advanced impulsively with her arms held out. “Flo, are you
never
going to forgive me?”

“I’m always going to know what you are, if that’s what you mean.”

“But I’m the same person you used to love. I was only being civil to Captain Fielding. I couldn’t help it if he liked me better than you.”

“You didn’t have to throw yourself at him. And just to amuse yourself. That’s what I can’t forgive.”

“I was so bored in the schoolroom! Anyway, I only played and sang to him.”

“And held his hand and looked into his eyes and whispered and giggled.”

“Not giggled!” Daisy cried, outraged. “I don’t giggle. I didn’t do the other things either. I mean, not seriously. I was only experimenting. Didn’t you experiment with your female powers when you were sixteen?”

“Who with?” said Florence bleakly. “Captain Fielding is the only man who ever looked at me. But you, who didn’t love him, didn’t even like him, I imagine, couldn’t resist experimenting, as you call it. And now,” Florence finished dramatically, “I’m a shopgirl!”

“Oh, Flo, you’re always so intense. I can’t help it if I’m prettier than you.”

“But you could have been a bit invisible. Couldn’t you? Are you going to see Captain Fielding again?”

“Oh, heavens, I hope not!” Daisy exclaimed spontaneously. “But I suppose it’s possible I’ll run into him at balls.”

Florence’s pale blue eyes rested on Daisy with detachment.

“Heartless, thoughtless, shallow, cruel. And you expect me to forgive you. Life can’t be made that easy for Miss Daisy Overton just because she’s pretty and charming. What you need, my girl, is a taste of your own medicine.”

With that unkind remark, Florence swept out of the room, her black taffeta skirts rustling. With her hair piled high, she looked like one of those terrifying sexless vendeuses in the Paris couturier establishments. What sort of a wife would she have made for Captain Fielding? Perhaps Bonnington’s and shopkeeping was her true niche after all, Daisy thought, and was comforted. She hadn’t liked her year-long burden of guilt.

Papa could always be counted on to be on her side. This evening he said approvingly that she brought a ray of sunshine to the table, which statement took Mamma’s reproving words right out of her mouth.

So she sat happily in her yellow dress and attempted a little gay dinner table conversation. Edwin responded. He actually went to smart dinner parties in Berlin and had grown quite expert at dinner table conversation. He began to talk with increasing enthusiasm about German customs and the people he knew. Baron and Baroness von Hesselman’s name kept cropping up.

“Who is this Baron von Hesselman?” Papa asked.

“He’s a member of the aristocracy, Father.”

“I’d assumed that.”

“He’s a close friend of the Krupps. He’s also a Uhlan officer.”

“Cavalry?”

“Yes, Father, of course.”

“Your father isn’t to know a great deal about German regiments,” Mamma put in.

“But the Uhlans are famous, Mother. They are crack horsemen and swordsmen. Most of them have duelling scars.”

“And I never saw how that added to a man’s good looks,” Florence said.

“It does, I assure you. It has a sort of mystique of bravery and daring. Women love it.” Edwin fingered his own smooth cheek tentatively. His monocle made him look foreign.

“Anyway, what I was saying about the Krupps, Father. Baron von Hesselman says he’ll provide the courage and fighting skill if Krupps provide the guns.”

“What for?” Papa asked, as if he were stupid.

“When they go to war, of course. They’re bound to go to war sooner or later. The Kaiser’s supposed to be obsessed with the Grand Plan that Schliefen drew up. And he loves martial music. When the troops parade down the Unter den Linden it’s quite a thing to see.”

“I would prefer to watch our own Guards parading down the Mall,” Papa said stiffly. “I can’t think why you think these Germans better than them, Edwin. Give me a Coldstreamer to a Uhlan any day.”

“I didn’t say I thought them better, Father.”

“It’s those duelling scars,” Daisy murmured. “Has the Baron some, Edwin? Is that what made the Baroness fall in love with him?”

“How do you know she’s in love with him?”

“I don’t. I don’t even know them. I’m asking you. Is she beautiful, too? I mean, of course, without duelling scars.”

Edwin’s monocle had fallen out of his eye. As it was anchored by a black cord round his neck it had not fallen far, but he blushed violently as he retrieved it. He could scarcely see across the table without it, and it made him squint. But it seemed he needed the confidence these affectations gave him.

“Thalia von Hesselman is quite attractive,” he said offhandedly.

“For a German, I imagine,” said Papa.

“Father, you’re a little unfair.”

“I hope I am, my boy.”

“She’s very loyal, too. She still wears that iron jewellery the German women were given in exchange for theirs during the Franco Prussian war. It looks marvellous on her, I must say.”

“The Iron Maiden,” Papa murmured. “Daisy, a little more of the sherry trifle? I believe Cook made it especially for you. Bea, don’t you think we can keep Daisy home for Christmas. She looks remarkably well-finished to me.”

“Except for failing to show respect to her grandmother,” Mamma said, making sure of that reproof at last. “Well, we’ll see. We must get Aunt Sophie up from the country, William, to discuss Daisy’s season. If she thinks she can undertake it. One must remember she’s quite an old lady now.”

“Oh, there’s nothing like a season to rejuvenate Aunt Sophie. She’ll sail up with all colours flying. They tell me Queen Alexandra’s a bit starchy.”

“It’s only because she’s deaf, poor thing. Florence, you’ll have to take over Daisy’s wardrobe now that Miss Brown is unavailable.”

“Oh no!” cried Daisy apprehensively. “I mean, being dressed by one’s sister—”

“Florence’s taste is impeccable. She already has a great many recommendations, including two from duchesses.”

“She’ll make me look ugly,” Daisy muttered.

“Perhaps I will,” said Florence.

Papa looked from one to the other. But all he said was, “That would be an impossibility. Perhaps we might have one or two things from Worth, Bea? Just for variety.”

“I’ll sell the house.” Edwin, as always, was totally absorbed in his own thoughts.

“The house? Oh, you mean Grandmamma’s?” Mamma was uncertain. “I think you ought to take advice on that, Edwin. Don’t you agree, William? It’s a nice property investment as it is.”

“I’ll invest the proceeds. When I’ve paid off my tailor and one or two other small things.”

“Edwin is of age, Bea. We can’t dictate to him, whatever we may think.”

Mamma’s eyes had their thoughtful but steely look.

“Just so long as he understands that we don’t finance him any more. In future if you have debts, Edwin, they’re your own affair. That’s reasonable. Your father and I have done a great deal for you.”

“Understood, Mother. Understood.”

“Excellent. And now—” Mamma was as busy a bee tonight, “let’s decide what’s to be done about Miss Finch.”

“Oh, she’ll fit into a crack in the wall,” Papa said easily.

“It’s what she’s always done, I’m afraid. It would be nice if we could make her a little happier.

“All those employees in Bonnington’s, Bea. Do you think about their happiness as well as their wages?”

“As much as I can. And Miss Finch deserves something better than Mamma’s bullying. Florence and Daisy might share her as a personal maid.”

“I don’t want a maid. I pick up my own clothes,” Florence said flatly. “If I’m to succeed Miss Brown at the shop I don’t want any advantages she didn’t have.”

“Poor old Brownie,” said Mamma. “It seems she has a little heart trouble now. We must all look after her, too.”