Daisychain Summer

  ‘Matter? Nothing that rest and quiet and a little kindness won’t take care of.’

  ‘I could forbid it, you know.’ Elliot poured cream into his coffee. ‘I’d wager that even now if I snapped my fingers she would stay with me. What you all seem to forget, Petrovsky, is that Anna is my wife, my responsibility and is answerable only to me.’

  ‘But you will not snap your fingers,’ Igor said softly, ‘because, with or without your permission, I intend to take my sister back to London. You are a very stupid man, but not so stupid, surely, that you would ignore the advice of a physician.’

  ‘Richard James is an old fool. He’s retiring soon, and not before time. He wasn’t all that brilliant, was he, when it came to saving my son? That baby shouldn’t have died. It was your sister’s fault. She threw a fit, and killed it!’

  ‘And what provoked that fit of anger? Was it you, perhaps, getting found out? Hell, man, if you had to go off the rails, did it have to be on your own doorstep?’

  ‘Don’t presume to tell me what I may or may not do in my own home!’ Elliot Sutton’s fork clattered to the table. ‘You are a guest in my house. Watch your tongue or you and your mother will be returning to London alone! A man has his rights, remember?’

  ‘Anna will not remain here. And she will not come back to you until medical opinion deems it right that she should.’

  ‘Even though I could divorce her? I could use desertion and refusal of my rights as a husband. Had you thought of that, Petrovsky?’

  ‘I had but only briefly. You will not consider divorce, though if you do, Anna will counter-petition on the grounds of your adultery.’

  ‘She’d have to prove it first. The servant won’t tell, even supposing I did bed her – and I’m not admitting I did. It would be my word against that of a menial who can hardly speak a word of English. Anna doesn’t have a leg to stand on and if you persist in your arrogance, I shall send for my wife this instant and forbid her to leave this house! What have you to say to that!’

  ‘Not a word,’ Igor shrugged derisively. ‘You will not send for Anna because I say you shall not. Instead, you will listen to what I have to say.

  ‘Anna will come to London. That is final. And Natasha Yurovska will go with us. From now on the servant, as you call her, is my responsibility and I shall decide what is to become of her. And when Anna does return to this house, Karl will come with her. He will report to me anything untoward that may go on here and if I order him to do so, he will flog you within an inch of your life – and laugh as he does it. Now is that quite clear?’

  ‘You’re mad!’ Elliot jumped to his feet, slamming his fist on the table top. ‘I will not have that monster in my house! How dare you tell me who I employ? You go too far!’

  ‘But I have not gone far enough! I had thought to spare Anna the embarrassment of your being told, but I can see you are too stupid to let well alone.

  ‘Natasha Yurovska is pregnant. It is your child and I have decided she will go away to have it. You will never find her and when it is born it will be given up for adoption, because she does not want to keep it – indeed, she has no financial means of supporting it, even if she did.

  ‘I hope she has a boy to grow up into a son any man could be proud to have fathered, but you will never know where he is or who has him. That will be your punishment – especially if you never have a son by Anna.

  ‘So if there is one iota of sense left in your head, I’d be very careful about what you do and how you behave in the future, Sutton, or I will ruin you – is that understood?’

  ‘Natasha pregnant?’ The words came out in a whispered gasp. ‘I don’t believe it! It can’t be mine!’

  ‘It’s yours, that much is certain. And Anna knows about it – has known for some time – so if I were you I’d take care. Never forget that I am waiting to throw your reputation into the nearest midden and I, too, shall laugh as I do it.

  ‘By the way, your mother doesn’t know that Natasha is pregnant, though I am only looking for an excuse to tell her – so be warned!’

  ‘I don’t believe you; not one word of it!’ His face had paled; nervously, he paced the floor. ‘But you are all the same, you refugees. You come to this country with hardly a penny to your name and start laying down the law as though you’ve every right to – and in my own home, too!’

  ‘The fact that it is also my sister’s home gives me that right, especially when I think she has been badly treated. Well, it’s your turn now to suffer and suffer you will unless you mend your ways, Mister Elliot Sutton. You are not dealing with a frail woman; now you have me to reckon with and I do not like you. Always remember that I do not like you and remember it especially when you think of taking out your anger on my sister.’ He walked to the door, opening it slowly, turning to face the man he disliked to the point of hatred. ‘We are taking the noon train to London and shall be leaving in about an hour. It will give you time to say goodbye to Anna and Tatiana – do not upset either of them. And stay away from Natasha Yurovska – is that understood?’

  Alice walked slowly through Brattocks Wood, indulging her memories, making for the tall trees where the rooks nested.

  She had not made friends with the Windrush rooks, had never stood, hands on the tree trunk, to send her secrets whispering upwards. But the Rowangarth rooks understood. She had told them her fears and joys since she had come here, a young girl of scarce fourteen years and there was so much to tell them.

  She stopped to let the indescribably happy feeling flow through her. This was the spot – the very spot – where she and Tom had met. She had been walking Morgan – Giles’s badly-behaved spaniel – heard the roar of anger.

  ‘Drat you, dog, you great daft animal! There’ll not be a game bird left in this wood!’ Tom, walking towards her with Morgan in tow. ‘Does this creature belong to you?’

  ‘No, but he’s with me.’ The new under-keeper had been very angry. ‘He belongs to Mr Giles and he isn’t a creature. He’s called Morgan …’

  That had been the start of their loving and she had run to tell the rooks about it; told them about going to London to chaperon Miss Julia and later about the pearl ring Tom had given her, before he went to war.

  Those old rooks knew all her secrets, all her heartaches. Now, she must tell them how happy she was and how bonny a lass Daisy was growing into, but oh, if they could just think on about it, could they remember that, happy as she was, deep inside her heart Rowangarth was still her home.

  She reined in her thoughts. Alice Dwerryhouse was just about as happy as any woman could be. She and Tom and Daisy and Reuben, and Julia, too, for a sister, so did it matter where she lived?

  It doesn’t matter, not really. She sent her thoughts winging to the topmost branches of the elm trees. I have so much and Windrush is a happy place to be – but think on, will you?

  Think on, you old, black, secret-keeping birds, that I love Rowangarth till it hurts yet I know, too, that Tom and me have had our miracle. And any road, it was Julia’s turn, now, for a bit of happiness.

  Elliot Sutton tossed yet another brandy down his throat, neither tasting nor feeling it. His mood was ugly. He had been bettered by Igor Petrovsky; brought to account, humbled, and no one did that to the heir to Pendenys!

  He had said goodbye to Anna; kissed her reluctantly-offered cheek. Tatiana was already in the car, happy to be away. She sat beside the countess, eager to board the train that would take them to London.

  ‘Goodbye, my dear.’ The words had been hard to say, the smile on his face false. ‘Get well soon. I shall miss you.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Anna had whispered. That had been all. She had lowered her eyes and he hadn’t known whether they were tinged with sorrow or relief.

  With the luggage in the second, smaller car, sat Natasha Yurovska, eyes on the tightly-clasped fingers on her lap. She still wore her black; it was how he would remember her. Because he would think of her, often; wonder when her time came if she would have a boy. And he wou
ld be angry, as even now he was angry, to think of Elliot Sutton’s child being given to anyone who might have the charity to offer it a home.

  His son might end up a labourer. It was too much to bear because he’d had a son; a stillborn son who had been perfect in every way, they had told him. Anna couldn’t give him a living heir. Maybe, she never would.

  He held up his hand as the first car drew away. Go, and take your bitch of a mother with you! He didn’t care if he never saw Anna Petrovska again. God! he hoped he never would! Long before the cars were out of sight he turned, running up the steps, slamming the door behind him.

  ‘I will not be in for lunch nor dinner,’ he told a passing housemaid. ‘If anyone wants to know, tell them I’m in Scotland.’

  Creesby, that’s where! He would lunch at the Coach and Horses, then drive to Leeds. There was amusement to be found there and anyway, he couldn’t go to London; couldn’t stay at his mother’s Cheyne Walk house – not when she would be next door.

  The longing for a woman – any woman – stabbed through his loins. He’d had enough of behaving himself. He would do the rounds of the music halls – there were still a couple left, in Leeds – eye up what was on offer. He didn’t need Anna. She could stay in London for as long as she pleased; for ever, if that was what she wanted.

  He slammed shut his bedroom door. If only that child had lived!

  The Coach and Horses at Creesby had known better days. Once, before the coming of the railways, it had been a staging-post, a hostelry where coach horses were changed, where passengers stretched their cramped legs and took refreshment; where often they stayed the night before taking to the road again to London or to Edinburgh.

  Now, the inn maintained a shabby dignity; its bedrooms still boasted good beds though their quilts were faded and worn and its dining room served meals on better than average plates, served vegetables in bruised silver dishes. But mostly, now, it was noted for its discreetness; where not too many questions were asked if the same young gentleman booked a room with a different wife each week.

  Elliot Sutton had once been a regular visitor, though since his marriage the landlord had seen neither hide nor hair of him. It came as a pleasing surprise, therefore, when that same young gentleman strolled into the best parlour, smiled all round and ordered a large brandy as though he’d never been away.

  ‘Afternoon, Mr Sutton. This is a rare pleasure!’

  ‘Nice to see you again, Jed.’ He didn’t particularly like Jed Bates, though best keep on the right side of the man. Anna was in London until only God knew when and the bedrooms at the Coach and Horses, if he remembered rightly, had thick walls and stout bolts on the doors. ‘I’ll take a plate of your beef, and a little Stilton to follow. Anything decent in your cellar?’

  ‘Got a lovely drop of burgundy, Mr Sutton. Right up your street.’

  Elliot was mollified. Here, he was appreciated, treated with due respect. He would empty his plate, empty the bottle, then drive to Leeds there to find a woman – one who, with luck, would sell him her favours for the night. He might, come to think of it, drive her back to the Coach and Horses.

  He smiled, swirled the brandy round the glass, then took a slow, appreciative sip. And he damned to Anna Petrovska!

  Julia sat at the open window of the sewing-room, smoking a cigarette, smiling as she watched the children who played below and at Jin Dobb who shook her duster at them, telling them to be off, the noisy young beggars.

  ‘They’re so lovely, Alice. I wish they were all mine. Andrew and I would have had at least four of our own, by now.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got Drew,’ Alice snipped off the cotton, ‘and Bas and Kitty and Daisy visit as often as they can, so you’ll have to be content with that. Can’t expect any more of your own unless you get wed and we all know you won’t.’

  Alice held up the dress she was sewing for Julia. Dresses were so simple, these days; she could cut out and sew one up, almost, in an afternoon. Almost sleeveless, most certainly shapeless, with a waistline dropped to where no natural waistline should be and a skirt so short and skimpy that unless fashions changed, shops that sold yardage would be going out of business.

  ‘This rose colour suits you.’ She shook out the dress, then held it critically for inspection. ‘But there’s nothing to it. Needs something to lift it, sort of.’

  ‘Mm.’ Julia stubbed out her cigarette, then lit another.

  ‘If I remember, rightly, there’s a piece of gold lace in the drawer. A narrow panel of that from the neckline to the waist would look a treat. You could wear it with your gold kid slippers – and Julia! You smoke too much!’

  ‘Anything you say, love.’ She had no interest in clothes and but for the fact that her mother was giving a dinner party for Richard James’s retirement, she wouldn’t be bothering with a new dinner dress at all.

  ‘I do say. And can you put Daisy to bed, tonight, at the same time as Drew? I’ve promised to go to Reuben’s, this evening; bake him a few loaves and make him a decent supper. All right?’

  ‘You know it is, though I’ll be bored to tears. I’ll bet you anything you like that Aunt Clemmy’ll be over, weeping and wailing about Anna going off to London and worrying about her Elliot being deserted by his wife. Don’t know how Anna puts up with her; not with her and Elliot.’

  ‘Well, Anna won’t have to put up with anything for a while.’ Alice smoothed out the piece of lace. ‘When do you think she’ll come back to Denniston House?’

  ‘Never, if she has any sense. She took her maid Natasha with her, so she plans on a fairly long stay. It’s Tatiana I’m sorry for, poor lonely little soul. By rights, there should have been four in Denniston nursery.’

  By rights. If every woman had her rights, Julia MacMalcolm would have a husband and the delight of filling her own nursery to capacity. Two Sutton-fair sons she had planned for and two girls with their father’s red hair.

  ‘Do you suppose,’ Alice interrupted her daydreaming, ‘you could give me five minutes of your time to see how this looks on you? You were miles away.’

  ‘I know. Thinking about children – four of them – if you must know.’

  ‘Well, they’re all right and having the time of their lives, so stop your worrying.’

  ‘Yes.’ Julia closed her eyes tightly against sudden pricking tears. ‘All right. Of course they are …’

  Elliot Sutton left his hat and gloves at the cloakroom, then strolled into the bar area to the rear of the back stalls. The old Palace had hardly changed since he’d picked up his first woman here. Seventeen he’d been and she’d cost him all of five shillings, on account, she said, that he was new to it and something of a bother. Becky, if he remembered rightly; cheeks red with rouge and hair black as his own. They said you always remembered the first one. He wondered where Becky was now, twenty years on.

  He ordered a large whisky, then sat at one of the tables. The women were not so free with their favours these days; not so willing to please. Many of them had found protectors and taken to the streets, though a few still frequented the Palace. He could wait.

  ‘’Scuse me, sir – mind if I wipe your table?’ A barmaid took a cloth across the cracked marble top, then set down a clean ashtray.

  She moved on, then, but not before she had struck a chord in his mind; the voice, was it? He hadn’t bothered looking at her face. He waited for her to turn, and then he knew. Just before the war, hadn’t it been; before the Brattocks Wood affair with the sewing-maid? All that time ago – more than ten years – and still he remembered her.

  She had been beautiful – she still was – and eager for him. He recalled her round, high breasts, the nipples that showed beneath the bodice of her dress; remembered her smile and eyes that invited.

  There had been trouble, of course. It had cost his mother plenty, she had screamed at him. The last time, she spat, she would pay for his indiscretions. And why, his mother had demanded, couldn’t he take himself off to London or Leeds, even? Did it have to be in
Creesby, so near to home? And did it have to be the daughter of a pork butcher?

  He picked up his glass then walked to the bar counter. She was busy arranging bottles and he coughed so that she turned to face him.

  ‘Can I help you, sir?’ she smiled. ‘Another of the same?’

  For a moment he did not speak, but smiled teasingly, intimately into her eyes. And then he said, ‘Hullo, Maudie. Remember me?’

  20

  ‘There now.’ Alice snapped off the cotton. ‘There’s all your shirt buttons seen to and your socks darned. Before we leave, I’ll do you another baking of bread and pop a cake in the oven for you.’

  ‘You’ll have a sup of tea afore you go back to Rowangarth?’ Reuben had already set the kettle to boil. ‘Tell me, lass – how does it feel eating your meals with her ladyship? You’m not gentry any longer, yet you stay as Miss Julia’s guest. How do they take it, below stairs?’

  ‘It’s all right, now. When I was Lady Sutton they didn’t like it – told me I wasn’t one of them, any more. But now I’m married to Tom it’s as if I’m back in my rightful place and they treat me like I’m Alice again – ’cept when they serve my meals. Mind, Miss Clitherow doesn’t quite know what to make of me.’

  ‘That’s because you’m young Drew’s mother; you’re still entitled to respect. You get the best of both worlds, Alice Hawthorn, when you come home to Rowangarth.’

  He still sometimes used her maiden name. Was it because he was getting forgetful or was it because he wanted the old days to come back again? She worried about him she admitted as she took cups from the dresser. He was the father she had never known; he held her secrets – all of them.

  ‘You’ll come again tomorrow?’ he asked.

  ‘You know I will. You’re my reason for being here.’

  ‘Ah. Then I’ll show you tomorrow where my tin box is hidden. There’s one or two valuables in it, and my bank book. You’ll have to know, Alice, so that when anything happens to me it’ll be all straightforward.