Daisychain Summer

‘And you agree we should go?’

  ‘I do, Julia. Best you both get safely home, though I’d like you to stay. Why don’t you go to the Post Office – ring up Mark Townsend? He’ll know better what’s going on. He seems a decent man. You’ve always listened to him, in the past.’

  ‘Ring him? But I know what he’ll say. He’ll tell me to go to London – then he’ll ask me out for a meal, or something. He seems to take it for granted that I’ll go out with him, when I’m in London. Yet I can’t say I don’t enjoy his company. I get so lonely, Alice. I need, sometimes, to be flattered, treated like a woman. Then I feel guilty because I know there can’t be anyone for me but Andrew – not ever.’

  ‘I can’t see why you should feel guilty.’ Alice sensed her friend’s need to talk. ‘And I don’t see why you can’t go out with a man without feeling you’ve committed mortal sin. I know how you feel, though. When I married Giles I felt I was betraying Tom.’

  ‘But you had to marry Giles; it’s different for me.’

  ‘I know that,’ Alice sighed. ‘But there has to be something more to life than shutting yourself off from all feeling, living only for Drew. You might as well do what Cecilia did, and go into a convent!’

  ‘You’re right, I suppose. It’s just the awful feeling of guilt if ever I go near another man. I worry, Alice. I know how marvellous it is to be loved, you see. Really loved. I ache all over for Andrew, sometimes. It’s more than seven years, but I still rage inside me that I can’t have him. There – I’ve said it! I need to be made love to.’

  ‘But only by Andrew.’ Alice reached out for Julia, hugging her warmly. ‘Yet there’s got to be more to life than caring for Drew and Rowangarth. And think on, will you? One day Drew is going to fall in love and then where will you be?’

  ‘A bitter, interfering mother-in-law,’ Julia laughed derisively. ‘Oh, Alice! Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Drew and Daisy could have married?’

  ‘Heaven help us, they’re bairns, still! Goodness only knows, though, who they’ll choose when the time comes. But yes – it would have been nice if they’d been able to fall in love. We’d have had the best of both worlds, you and me.

  ‘But they can’t fall in love, and Julia – neither could Drew ever marry Tatiana, and what’s worse, if ever he wanted to you couldn’t tell him why – not without breaking his heart.’

  ‘So you’ve thought about that, too?’ Julia’s face was all at once grave.

  ‘The minute Anna Sutton had her I realized it, though I kept it to myself. No use looking for trouble – and anyway, it’ll likely never happen.’

  ‘But if it did, I suppose I could always tell him they were first cousins and it wasn’t advisable, couldn’t I?’

  ‘Julia – cousins can marry. And much notice he’d take, if he grows up like you, that is! You’d have fought the world to marry Andrew!’

  ‘I would. But I needn’t have worried.’ Julia’s eyes took on a yearning, remembering look. ‘Mother liked Andrew right away. Mainly, I think, because he was so direct and honest, but partly because he had eyes like Pa’s – grey eyes that sometimes seemed green. She told me, afterwards; said he’d looked at her with Pa’s eyes. “It was as if your Pa was telling me he liked him, too,” she said.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Alice grinned. Andrew had been in Harrogate and Julia had sneaked out to meet him. ‘You burst into the sewing-room in a state of panic. “Andrew has asked me to marry him and he’s calling here tomorrow morning!” you said. “Without an appointment!”

  ‘But whilst we’re talking about – well, things – there’s no reason at all why you shouldn’t sometimes go out with Mark Townsend, so stop your worrying.’

  ‘Even though I have a feeling he’s attracted to me?’

  ‘Even though! And anyway, that’s his problem, not yours!’

  ‘Oh, Alice love – how I needed to talk to you. And how I wish,’ Julia said earnestly, ‘you weren’t so far away. I miss you so much and I know it’s selfish of me, but I’d give almost anything to have you back at Rowangarth.’

  ‘Happen so. But it would take a small miracle for that to happen and Tom and me have already had our fair share of those.’

  ‘I know – but I can hope. And meantime, I think we can take it that Drew and I will be leaving tomorrow. Think we’ll walk to the village and check on train times to London – order the taxi, too.’

  ‘Fine. And if Mark Townsend is reading things into a situation that doesn’t exist, that’s his lookout. So get yourself off to the village. I’m short of an ounce of wool, so you can get it for me whilst you’re there. And be back sharp at half-past twelve for your dinner!’

  ‘Alice! You sounded just like Hawthorn when she told Andrew and me to be back by half-past three for tea – or else!’

  ‘Well – I was supposed to be in London to chaperon you and there was I, letting you out in public with that young doctor!’ Funny, really, when you thought about the way it had once been.

  ‘And I shall never cease to be grateful that you did. Dearest Alice – don’t ever leave me? Never stop being my sister?’

  ‘I won’t, love. I know I’m a long way from Rowangarth now, but if ever you need me, I’ll be there, I promise.’

  Poor, lonely Julia, with the ghost of Andrew’s love for ever by her side. No other man could measure up to him and no matter how attracted he was nor how patient, Mark Townsend would never have her, of that Alice was sure.

  Olga, Countess Petrovska, had not been best pleased with what greeted her on her arrival at Holdenby and by evening her mood had changed from one of suspicion to downright displeasure.

  On stepping from the train she had been met not by her daughter’s conveyance but by Mrs Sutton’s motor and taken not to her daughter’s bedside as she wished, but to Pendenys Place. And as if that were not enough, she was then told she might not visit her daughter.

  ‘Countess, you must realize that no one, not even myself,’ Clementina soothed, ‘has been allowed into the sickroom. The doctor is most insistent. Only Elliot, of course, though now Anna is insisting that she sees Tatiana.’

  ‘And she will see her mother, too,’ the countess bristled, ‘or I shall want to know why! I am told she went into early labour and that the baby did not live, yet now I may not see her? The doctor must respect my rights as a mother. In Russia, he dare not have forbade me!’

  ‘But this is not Russia and in England we take the advice of our physicians. And if you were to go to Denniston House, you would not get past the monthly nurse there. She’s a dragon. I know. I have tried myself to see Anna, only to be turned away. “Doctor’s orders,” is all she says!’

  ‘Then I shall see that doctor at once and he shall give another order – that Countess Petrovska is allowed to see her Anna at all times. I have not journeyed from London only to have doors slammed in my face! You will please to order your driver to take me to the doctor without delay!’

  ‘But that may not be convenient. The doctor is a busy man. He might be taking surgery or even sick-visiting. Stay here for a while, and rest. Let me ring for tea and then we will telephone for an appointment.’

  Clementina was becoming agitated. The countess had an autocratic manner and if she offended Richard James there was no knowing what blunt answer she might receive.

  ‘I do not care for your English tea,’ Olga Petrovska sniffed, allowing herself to be guided to a chair. ‘I will take coffee. And why are my bags being taken upstairs? Surely there is a bed for me in my daughter’s house?’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ Clementina pressed the bell-push. ‘I thought it better, though, if you were to stay here. There is more room at Pendenys and more servants to look after you. You will be comfortable here.’ And less able, she had long ago decided, to interfere in a clearly explosive situation, with Elliot at odds with the world in general and the monthly nurse in particular and Anna demanding that Tatiana be returned to Denniston House without delay. One would think the child had been
kidnapped, the fuss that was being made! And no one, save Helen, giving one jot of sympathy to Clementina Sutton who had been deprived, again, of the grandson she so desperately needed! ‘You and I, countess, must support each other in our loss. That our grandson did not live has devastated me.’

  ‘I would rather support my daughter,’ the countess snapped. ‘It is she who carried and delivered the child. It is her loss and I intend to comfort her as only a mother can. So I will take my coffee, then you personally will telephone for an appointment for me – today! And if one is not given, I shall go to my daughter’s house and not two dragon nurses shall deny me access to Anna!’

  ‘I’ll do it now,’ Clementina murmured, all at once at a loss for words. And besides, she had not the stomach for a fight. The countess in full high dudgeon was not to be gainsaid. The countess imagined she was still in Russia, giving orders to peasants! Small wonder they’d had a revolution there! And when she did see Richard James, the whole wriggling can of maggots would be upended and heaven only knew what sordid facts would come to light.

  Because trouble was brewing at Denniston House. All was not right, there. She, Clementina, could sense it and the countess seemed hell bent on blundering in and making things worse! Where it would end was any fool’s guess, and for two pins she would walk out of this house where she was no longer appreciated, throw herself on Helen’s understanding and let them all get on with it, Elliot included, she thought vindictively as she picked up the telephone. Elliot especially!

  ‘I shall not cancel our passages,’ Amelia Sutton said sadly, laying aside the cable from England. She had reserved a stateroom on the liner Mauretania for the end of May: in nice time, she had calculated, for the family christening of Albert’s expected nephew or niece, and the fact that the poor babe had not lived was no reason for putting off the trip. For one thing, she liked England and her Sutton relations – well, most of them – and for another – and far more important – Anna would need all the comfort and understanding she could get.

  She, Amelia, was thoroughly contented with her life. She had a devoted husband and two healthy children, something she had never hoped to achieve at one dismal period of her life. It behoved her, therefore, to support and sustain the poor, pretty Anna in any way she could.

  ‘I said I fully intend to go to Pendenys as planned,’ she repeated. ‘It’s our duty to stick together as a family in times of distress. To lose a child must be the most awful thing – don’t you agree, Bertie dear?’

  ‘Oh, I do, Amelia. I agree entirely.’ And amazingly, he did. He was very fond of his children and for once felt sympathy for his brother. ‘Poor Elliot. He’d set his heart on a son.’

  ‘Poor Elliot my great-aunt Fanny!’ Amelia snapped. ‘It’s that little Russian girl I’m sorry for.’ She had never taken to Bertie’s brother. Elliot had visited with them here in Kentucky before the war and his arrogance and boredom and condescending manner to all things American earned him her dislike. She’d have bet her last dollar he was a womanizer into the bargain, and had been relieved, she recalled, to see the back end of him. ‘It’s Anna I feel for. She’ll be grieving for that baby. Thank heaven for little Tatiana; at least it proves she’s able to bear a healthy child.’ But three pregnancies and three disappointments just made you wonder what was going on, over there. ‘Something’s very wrong with that marriage, Bertie. Mark my words if it isn’t!’

  ‘You could well be right, but Amelia – don’t interfere?’

  ‘Y’know darn well I wouldn’t – not in husband and wife business. But if ever it came to taking sides, I’d be right behind Anna, so be warned!’

  ‘I know my dear; I know.’ Affectionately, he kissed her cheek, fighting a smile. Amelia would take sides with the devil himself against Elliot. She didn’t like him; she never had. And come to think of it, he thought soberly, he wasn’t all that fond of his eldest brother, either. Elliot had been spoiled, even in the nursery, and Elliot would get what he wanted no matter who suffered. And Elliot would never change.

  ‘So! At last I am seeing my daughter!’ Countess Petrovska sat straight-backed at the bedside, her mouth ever traplike, though kindness showed in her eyes. ‘What a place is this Yorkshire, when a mother must ask permission to sick-visit her child!

  ‘Well, now that I am here, I shall stay until you are well enough to travel. When you are, you will come with me to London. You will return to your mother’s house. I have decided.’

  ‘No, Mama! I can’t! Elliot would say I was deserting him! It’s all such a muddle – you don’t understand …’

  ‘Oh, but I do! I have visited your doctor and he told me everything – everything, Anna. For one thing, you are not to have another pregnancy for a year!’

  ‘Yes, and I agree with him. I’m so tired. I seem always to be carrying, or miscarrying. I’d like a little time to get really well, only Elliot doesn’t agree.’

  ‘Then for once, Elliot will listen to medical advice. And if that fails, then he will listen to me! You and Tatiana will come to London. There is to be no argument!’

  ‘But there is, Mama, much as I would like it. Elliot says if I refuse him his – his rights, then it is grounds for divorce. He will divorce me, and find a wife who will give him a son. He says so!’

  ‘And you believe him? Oh, Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska, what an idiot you are! Of course he won’t – can’t – divorce you.’

  ‘No. Maybe not – not now, that is. But there is so much you don’t know, Mama.’

  ‘It does not surprise me. When I walked into this room and saw you I knew you were not only grieving for your baby. You look ill, my Anna, and afraid. I am your mother; I sense these things and you must share your worries with me.’

  ‘I have already spoken to Nathan.’

  ‘Your brother-in-law? The priest who married you? Ah, yes, he seems a good man. And what did you speak to him about?’

  ‘It was a confession …’

  ‘Even so, you must tell me.’

  ‘Very well. I told him it was on my conscience that I had been to blame for the little one’s death.’ The words rushed out in a whisper.

  ‘And were you, Anna Petrovska?’

  ‘Partly so …’

  ‘Then I think you had better tell it, Anna. Everything.’

  ‘You won’t like it, Mama.’ She leaned back against her pillows, eyes closed.

  ‘If it concerns your husband – and I have the feeling that it does – then I am quite sure I won’t like it! Nevertheless, I am waiting for you to tell me, then we shall decide what is to be done.’

  ‘But promise you won’t rant and rage? And promise, when you know, to stay here with Tatiana and me for a little while, at least?’ Any moment now, she would weep and Mama did not like tears. She took a slow, calming breath.

  ‘I shall stay. For one thing, it seems I am needed here and for another, I think I will be stranded in this place for some time if this great striking happens. It will close everything down, I am told. This country gets more like Russia with every day that passes! There will be a revolution here, too, if the King is not careful!’

  ‘The King doesn’t rule as our Czar did, Mama. Don’t worry. We shall be safe enough here – if it happens. That at least I’m sure about.’

  ‘Then I must know what it is you are not sure about. I am your mother; I will listen. It is what mothers are for.’

  And so wearily, tearfully, Anna told her …

  ‘A penny for them?’ Mark Townsend reached out across the candlelit table, laying his hand on Julia’s.

  ‘They aren’t for sale.’ She did not draw her hand away. ‘They concern you, partly.’

  She felt relaxed. Tomorrow it was likely that she and Drew would return to Rowangarth. There would be time to get home, Mark said, before it happened. If it happened. On the surface, all seemed normal, and though news broadcasts over the wireless were understated, the newspapers were less guarded in their opinions. Some sided with the miners, some did not; bu
t whatever their views, some show of protest seemed inevitable. Miners had fought for their country, Mark had said; others worked impossible hours in the pits to feed the wartime factories with coal. Either way, he considered, the mine owners had no right to increase a collier’s working day and at the same time cut his pay. Julia had warmed to him for that. It was exactly what Andrew would have said.

  Andrew. Always, no matter what, her thoughts returned to Andrew, yet now there was Mark who could always get tickets for whichever theatre took her fancy and who took her to supper, afterwards, and made her feel a woman, again.

  ‘So tell me, Julia?’ He broke into her broodings with such suddenness that she said,

  ‘I was thinking about you, Mark. You were Aunt’s solicitor, now you are mine. You are always there with good advice when I need it – and with comfort, often. Yet I know nothing about you; nothing at all.’

  ‘You know all there is to know; that I shall always look after your interests with great care – and that I am very fond of you.’

  ‘I’d realized that,’ Julia said with her usual directness, ‘and I realize you know how desperately I resent Andrew’s death, still. But I know little about you, save that you live near Montpelier Mews and that –’

  ‘That Sparrow glowers at me whenever I arrive to take you out,’ he laughed.

  ‘Sparrow was devoted to Andrew, but I was trying to ask, I suppose, why it seems there is no woman in your life. Forgive me, but you did insist that I tell you.’

  ‘I did – and there was a woman in my life, once. In the war, it was, and I’ll admit she still colours my thinking. When I think I’m out of the woods, something happens to –’

  ‘I’m sorry, truly I am! I shouldn’t have asked. It was wrong of me!’ Julia gasped, all at once angry with herself.

  ‘No – ‘it’s all right. It really is.’

  ‘But it isn’t all right! Oh, Mark – will I ever learn? Here am I, touching thirty-three, and still I jump in without thinking. Utterly tactless.’

  ‘Straightforward, I’d say,’ he smiled, ‘and truthful and honest. And a very lovely lady whose company I find delightful. There now – does that satisfy you?’