Daisychain Summer

  ‘Another baby? That’s twice in – how long is it? How old is that boy of theirs?’

  ‘Sebastian is about two and a half. And you’re missing the point. My youngest son a father twice over in three years yet you, heir to all I’ve got, can’t even get yourself down the aisle. Now do as you’re bid, and read that letter! Out loud!

  ‘Er …

  and you’ll all be glad to know that Albert and I expect a brother or sister for Bas in six weeks. We didn’t announce it before this – things just might have gone wrong – but now I am safely seven months pregnant I feel I can uncross my fingers and give out our news. We are both delighted. We had intended visiting Pendenys Place as soon as it was safe to travel again, but decided against it for obvious reasons. However, when the babe is old enough we shall book passages and let you see your grandchildren at long last. It might be nice, Albert thinks, to have the new babe baptized in Yorkshire England by his Uncle Nathan, but it is early days, yet …

  ‘Congratulations, Mama. You don’t look old enough to be a grandmother twice over,’ he smiled, knowing what was to come. ‘I’d never have thought Amelia and Albert would have had children. Why did Albert imply she was too old?’

  ‘Albert didn’t say she was old, now that I think back on it. A little older, he said, which could be two or three years at the most. You should know. You stayed with them in Kentucky. You’re the only one who has met Albert’s wife. But it was you who put it around he’d wed a woman old enough to be his mother. Well, your trouble-making has come back to make a fool of you, my lad, because I’m not best pleased, I can tell you!’

  ‘But Aunt Helen was delighted when she became a grandmother.’

  ‘Your Aunt Helen –’ She stopped, button-mouthed. Looks years younger than me, she had been going to say. ‘Helen needed a boy for Rowangarth – and so the title shouldn’t pass to us, at Pendenys,’ she added, vinegar-voiced. ‘And she got one, just in the nick of time. I’d bet it was more relief than delight! So relieved, she overlooked the fact that it had taken a servant to get that child for her!’

  ‘Mama, dear – I know how much you want me married and now that the war is over, I agree entirely with you.’ She was getting red spots high on her cheeks – a sure sign that a tirade of abuse was imminent. ‘Find me a suitable wife and I’ll go down on bended knee to her – I promise you.’

  ‘You couldn’t find one for yourself, I suppose? Too much trouble, is it? Albert got himself wed without help from anyone and so did your cousin Giles, so what’s so special about you, my lad? Lose interest in a woman, do you, once you’ve had her in your bed?’

  ‘Mother, I beg you!’ Elliot dropped his knife with a clatter. ‘You can be so – so direct!’ And so common, when she was crossed. He’d been with prostitutes more refined than she. But it was all because of Mary Anne Pendennis. A woman who’d followed the herring boats from port to port, gutting fish, his great-grandmother had been. A fishwife. And when the season was over, she’d taken in washing which made her a washerwoman, too! And beneath his mother’s ladylike exterior lurked a Cornish washerwoman who could curse like a fishwife when angered and not all her riches would ever breed it out of her. It was all a question of pedigree and there was no avoiding the fact that somewhere in his ancestry, a mongrel bitch had got over the wall!

  ‘You’ll get more’n direct if you don’t shape yourself and get me a grandson; and get me one in wedlock, an’ all! I want no more hedge children – do I make myself plain? I’m taking tea with the countess at the Ritz, tomorrow; intend getting to the bottom of it even if I have to ask her outright if her daughter is in the market for a husband. And if I get the answer I hope I’ll get, then you’ll start paying attention to Anna Petrovska – or else!’

  ‘Or else what, Mama?’ It was the nearest to defiance he was capable of.

  ‘Or else you’ll see how nasty I can be, son! On the other hand,’ she lowered her voice to a soft coo, ‘only give me a couple of grandsons and I’ll turn my back on your goings-on, I swear I will. Now do you get the message – because if you aren’t for me then you’re against me – it’s as simple as that. Think on, Elliot …’

  Only two days after her return from London and before she could do the baking she had intended, Alice watched a large, green-painted lorry drive up Beck Lane and come to a stop outside Willow End Cottage. They had come, and Tom not even thinking to tell her!

  Clucking with annoyance, she set the kettle to boil. At least she could make them a pot of tea though it would have been more neighbourly to have been able to offer something more substantial. She was slicing the currant loaf when the knock came at the back door.

  ‘Hullo! Anyone at home?’

  The woman who stood there was young, her thick, dark brown hair pulled into a severe knot in her neck. Her face was pale but her smile was wide and open.

  ‘You’ll pardon the intrusion.’ She stepped into the kitchen, ‘but in case you think we’re tinkers and breaking in – well – I’m Polly Purvis. Come to live at Willow End, only my Dickon don’t know we’re arriving. Only knew myself, late last night when Sidney told me if I wanted a lift to Hampshire I’d better shift myself! Sidney’s my cousin. He had an extra trip on if I was interested, he said, which was better’n waiting a fortnight to get here.’

  ‘Goodness – what a rush …’ So overwhelmed was she it was all Alice could think of to say.

  ‘No rush at all, m’dear. Took no more’n half an hour to get our bits and pieces loaded. Most of what I started out with all sold, see? Had to be. But things’ll be better, now. I shall like this place, I know it. You’ll be Mrs Dwerryhouse?’ She held out her hand, still smiling. ‘And it’s your husband I have to thank for all this – and thank him I will, when I’ve got things seen to! But best be off. Sidney can’t wait. Got to be at the docks in less’n an hour …’

  In a flurry of long black skirts she was gone, striding down the lane at almost a run.

  ‘Well!’ said Alice to the kettle on the hob. ‘And what do you make of that!’

  Friendly, though, and a countrywoman – that was plain enough, for who but a countrywoman knocked on back doors then walked in, unasked?

  Work-roughened hands she’d had. Alice had felt their sharpness against her own. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow; a long, flower-patterned pinafore tied at her waist. And such a smile! Dark, though. A bit of gypsy in her, somewhere. Maybe, like Jinny Dobb, she could read tea leaves, look into the future. But of one thing Alice was certain. Her new neighbour would not be difficult, as she had feared. Rather the opposite, she thought as she stirred the coals to hasten the kettle. Her new neighbour seemed outgoing and uncomplicated and one who wouldn’t be opposed to a gossip over a cup of tea! She wished she had been better prepared; been able to do the bake she had intended offering in welcome. Now, she sighed, a pot of tea and a plate of currant bread would have to suffice.

  The green lorry parped its horn as it passed her house. The new tenant at Willow End had spoken nothing but the truth; there had indeed been little to unload.

  Alice walked carefully up the lane, teapot in one hand, plate in the other. The small boy sitting on the doorstep sucking his thumb got to his feet as she approached.

  ‘Hullo,’ she smiled. ‘It’s Keth, isn’t it?’

  The boy nodded, dark eyes gazing up into her own.

  ‘And I’m Mrs Dwerryhouse. I live at Keeper’s, down the lane.’

  He was too thin, but there were a lot of too-thin children about, these days. Fatherless bairns, most of them, with mothers hard put to it to feed them on the pension the Army allowed.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Mrs Dwerryhouse and carrying a pot of tea! Come you in, and welcome. You’m my first caller. Sit you down, m’dear!’

  ‘I’m sorry. Can’t stay. I’ve left my little one in her pram. I’d intended baking you a pie. As it is …’ She placed the plate on the table, gazing around her.

  The floor was bare. A table stood in the middle of the room with three ch
airs around it. Arranged beside the fire, already burning brightly, stood two rocking chairs and an upturned box with a cushion on it.

  ‘A cup of tea would go down a treat – and is that curranty bread home-baked?’

  ‘It is, though I’ve been away and my cake tins are empty.’

  ‘Away, is it? Well, now that I’ve got here, it’ll take more’n wild horses to drag me from this house. Beautiful, it is – and Dickon and me never setting eyes on each other for nigh on six months. When he finds us here and smells his dinner cooking, he’ll be bowled over!’

  ‘You’ve brought meat with you, Mrs Purvis?’

  ‘No, but first thing I set eyes on was a rabbit hanging in the pantry. I’ll soon get the skin off it and get it into the pot. I’ve brought potatoes and onions with me. It’ll be such a surprise for him!’

  ‘A lovely surprise, but I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to the village. Is there anything I can get you when I’m there?’

  ‘Thank you, but no. I’ve brought adequate with me, though it’s kindly of you to ask. And tomorrow, when I’ve got myself straight, I hope I might return the compliment and entertain you to tea.’

  Brought adequate? Alice frowned as she walked the lane that wound into West Welby, yet both of them thin as rakes, just like Dickon Purvis. But she would find a way to help them; do it without hurting their fierce pride. She, who had so much, whose little one was chubby-cheeked and whose husband walked straight-backed and true, would help the unfortunates who seemed to have so little. Not only was it her duty, but it would be in thanks for her blazing happiness. And she would favour especially the thumb-sucking Keth. A few mugs of milk, a few slices of dripping toast would work wonders for that pinched little face!

  She raised her eyes to the clear September sky.

  I’m so happy and I thank You with all my heart. And may it please You to let me keep it, God?

  ‘Psst! Lady Anna!’ Glancing at the house next door in case the formidable Cossack should appear, Elliot Sutton stood at the back garden wall hidden, he hoped, by a large flowering shrub. ‘Good afternoon to you.’

  ‘Why – Mr Sutton!’ She pretended surprise. She had known he’d been watching her from an upstairs window and it did not disturb her to hear him call her name. ‘Should we be talking like this?’

  ‘I see no reason why not. We are neighbours; we have been introduced and anyway, it is more fun this way – secretly.’

  ‘Yes, it is. And since our mothers are at this very moment discussing our future, then I think it perfectly correct for you and me to talk. After all, there is the thickness of the wall between us!’ she smiled, impishly.

  ‘Our future? I wouldn’t say that, exactly!’

  ‘You wouldn’t, Mr Sutton? Then I have a half-crown in my pocket that says you are wrong.’

  ‘I accept your wager!’ He threw back his head and laughed. Not only was Anna Petrovska disturbingly direct, but free from maternal supervision there was the makings of fun in her. ‘Though I’d rather you made it a kiss!’

  ‘Then a kiss it shall be.’ Her eyelashes dropped coquettishly. ‘And you shall pay it tonight, at this very place at – nine o’clock, say?’

  ‘How about ten? It’ll be darker!’ He said it in all seriousness, his eyes challenging hers. ‘Though if the hairy Cossack sees us –’

  ‘Karl? Don’t worry about him. He wouldn’t tell Mama. He and I are the best of friends.’

  ‘What is he, in your household? A butler – a caretaker?’

  ‘Neither. He is – Karl,’ she shrugged. ‘We are grateful to him. He helped us escape from the Bolsheviks. We owe him a great deal, though who he is we have never quite discovered. Sufficient that he is a Czarist. When we got to England we kept him with us – a debt of honour, you see.’

  Elliot Sutton did not see. In his eyes, the man was a hanger-on, though since Anna Petrovska seemed so attached to him he had the good sense not to say it.

  ‘Debt of honour – yes, of course. And here he comes, now, to protect your honour, my dear!’

  Karl bore down on them, gesturing, calling out in Russian, ignoring Elliot completely.

  ‘My mother is home – yours too. I must go.’ Then she smiled, her eyes teasing. ‘Until ten,’ she whispered.

  ‘So you’ve made a start?’ Clementina remarked as Elliot entered the room. ‘I saw you out there – wouldn’t be surprised if the countess didn’t see you, an’ all!’

  ‘Don’t worry. The faithful Karl came to warn Anna. But might one be informed of one’s fate?’

  ‘One’s fate? Talk straight, lad! If you want to know if the countess is willing for you and Lady Anna to meet, then the answer is yes. And don’t thank me,’ she rushed on. ‘I’m only the mother who’s got your interests at heart which is more than you deserve what with your carrying-on and your wilful ways and –’ She stopped to draw breath. ‘And from now on, you’ll mind yourself with women – and you know what I mean! That girl next door is a virgin. And don’t look so shocked. Virgins still exist, though I reckon it’s all of ten years since you chanced on one!’

  ‘Mother – please?’ She really should take more care. The family – and himself in particular – were well used to her directness, but one day she would forget herself in polite company and he shuddered, just to think of it. ‘And I do thank you for all you have done for me. I appreciate it more than you know. But do you think she should be addressed as Lady Anna?’

  ‘Her mother’s a countess, so surely her daughter has right to a courtesy title.’

  ‘But her father, I believe, was a count. Does that entitle Anna to –’

  ‘It entitles me to call her what I want, and as far as I’m concerned, the daughter of a countess is entitled to the courtesy. And them that don’t like it can lump it! Anna Petrovska is aristocracy!’

  ‘Russian aristocracy. Is it the same as ours?’

  ‘Their Czar was our king’s cousin; that’s good enough for me! Now then – when do you aim to shift yourself and get this thing settled?’

  ‘I intend, dearest mother, to meet Anna at ten o’clock tonight. We made a wager this afternoon, and it would seem I have lost it. I must honour my debt.’

  ‘Sneaking out in the dark? You’ll do no such thing!’

  ‘Try to stop me!’ He planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek, pinching her bottom as he did so.

  ‘Impudent young puppy! Mind your manners!’ She made to cuff his ear, but he sidestepped her.

  Impudent, yes – but hers, she thought fondly as he waltzed nonchalantly out of the room. Elliot had the devil in him but she would always love him best. People misunderstood him because he was handsomer than most men – and richer than most, an’ all. Or would be, one day.

  ‘Now mind what I’ve told you,’ she called to his blithely retreating back. ‘Watch your step, son – or else …’

  Of course he would watch his step, Elliot Sutton promised the mirror image he so often gazed upon. Didn’t he always – or almost always? And hadn’t his mother as good as promised that as soon as he was married and had provided a couple of sons for Pendenys, he could please himself what he did?

  He frowned, wondering what it would be like, getting sons with Anna Petrovska. A virgin, his mother said; an aristocratic virgin. Yet there had been a challenge in her eyes, a promise. She might make him a tolerable wife in spite of her careful upbringing. He must now, he admitted sadly, forget about the servant in black, next door. Too near to home. Best he should concentrate on establishing himself with Anna – with Lady Anna. All things considered, he’d had a good run for his money. He must watch himself for a while; be on his best behaviour until he had done his duty by Pendenys and earned his reward for doing it.

  He sighed, pleasurably. Anna Petrovska, he supposed, would do very nicely; better, indeed, than some of the mare-faced daughters of English aristocrats with their lumpy, childbearing hips. It pleased him to think that the Almighty had created women in man’s image, but had had the good sense to create the
m sufficiently different to make them interesting and pleasurable – and infinitely accommodating. It was his unshakable belief, his gospel.

  He hoped the girl next door would not put on the required show of modesty and refuse him twice before she accepted him. And more to the point he hoped she would be there, tonight. She had very kissable lips. And very exciting breasts. It mightn’t be half bad, married to her.

  He began to think of expensive motors and a bank account credited with an amount equal to his mother’s approval. Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska. Would she – or wouldn’t she? More to the point, when she did, would she prove fertile? His own virility, he knew without doubt had already been established. There was nothing wrong with the breeding prowess of Sutton males. Even his cousin Giles had surprised him, getting the servant pregnant. A sly one, that sewing maid; pretending modesty, fighting for her honour. Like a wildcat she had clawed him, that first try in Brattocks Wood. If it hadn’t been for the damned dog things might have been different, like the second time. At a place called Celverte, hadn’t it been? Very vague, that second time. He’d been well in his cups that night. Pity he couldn’t remember more about it.

  Yet think – could he have had anything to do with that child Julia hawked about with her? Could he, had Giles lived, have challenged him?

  But the child Drew was everything a Sutton should be; was fair, as Giles was. He supposed he should give credit for that begetting to Giles who, after all, was dead whilst he, Elliot Sutton, was gloriously alive – and that was all that mattered.

  But it was a thought, for all that!

  ‘Take her will you, Tom?’ Alice withdrew her nipple from her daughter’s lips. ‘Asleep, already. Put her over your shoulder, just in case there’s any wind to come up. Don’t want her waking, soon as she’s put down.’

  ‘What is it, love?’ Tom gathered his daughter to him. ‘Got a bad head?’

  ‘No.’ She rarely got headaches. ‘Just that – oh, it’s nothing!’

  ‘Then why’ve you hardly said a word since I came in, tonight? Summat’s bothering you.’ He knew her too well to accept denial.