Daisychain Summer

  ‘Not for a couple more years at least, Julia. Please leave it? If the Fates want Alice to come home to Rowangarth, they’ll find a way of doing it. What we must concentrate on now is trying to keep Clemmy’s spirits up. When Amelia and Albert go back to America, she is going to miss them. I’m worried about Clemmy and about Edward, too. Goodness only knows what he has to contend with, now.’

  ‘You are right, mother. You usually are. As a matter of fact, I did hear – from Jinny Dobb, actually – that Aunt Clemmy has taken to shutting herself in her room; that little hideaway, she’s got, in the tower. Sometimes, I believe, she locks the door and won’t answer – even to Uncle Edward.’

  ‘I know. When I called this morning she was in there. She didn’t seem so bad, though. We talked about old times; about Albert breaking his arm climbing the tree for conkers and Elliot’s first long trousers. She seems quite reasonable talking about the past. It’s when the present catches up with her that the tears come. I think a holiday away from it all would do her good. I know how she is suffering.’

  ‘Suffering? Aunt Clemmy has had everything her own way for as long as I can remember. She even fixed it so Elliot didn’t go anywhere near the trenches – had you thought of that?’

  ‘Julia – try to let the war rest? And be a dear and ask Cook for a fresh pot of tea? All this talking has made me thirsty. And remember, not a word about Williams – and especially to Alice.’

  She watched her daughter cross the lawn and enter the house by the conservatory door. Perhaps, she frowned, she had been wrong to tell her so soon about Williams? Now, she would be full of schemes to bring Alice back home and it wouldn’t do. It really wouldn’t.

  ‘Do we have to come back and spend Christmas at Pendenys, Mom?’ Bas frowned.

  He had stood on deck, watching Liverpool disappear in a shimmering haze, glad to be returning to Kentucky. Grandmother Sutton was bossy and sometimes quite awful to be with – at the best of times, that was. But since that had happened, he’d done his best to keep out of her way, counting the days to their return.

  ‘Yes, dear, we do. I have as good as promised that we will. You mustn’t be selfish, Bas. Poor grandmother has been through a terrible experience and it is our duty to help her.’

  ‘But what about grandfather? No one seems to mind that he’s lost a son, too. Kitty’s right about grandmother. She is a drama queen. And I don’t mind going back to Pendenys for Christmas if you’ll remember to help grandfather, too,’ he added hastily, knowing he had gone too far, expecting to be sent to his cabin in disgrace.

  ‘Why is Pendenys Place so awful, Bas?’ Albert, sensing a reprimand from Amelia and not altogether disagreeing with his son’s remarks, intervened quietly. ‘Your sister likes it, don’t you, girlie?’

  ‘Sure do! It’s a great house. Wish I could have it, one day. It isn’t fair Bas should get it, just because he’s a boy!’

  ‘But who says Bas will have Pendenys? Who told you that?’

  ‘Oh – guess I heard it, somewhere or other …’

  That was another good thing about Pendenys. So many passages and little ups and downs in the staircases; so many unexpected doors; dark corners to hide in. She had been hiding in one of those dark corners and heard everything they’d said – the butler, that was, and one of the footmen.

  If Mr Nathan doesn’t shape himself and get wed, that young Sebastian is going to get this place one day …

  ‘Then you are quite, quite wrong, Kitty! Your Uncle Nathan stands to inherit, not your father. And who’s to know your uncle hasn’t got a young lady, some place? He’ll probably think deep and hard, now, about getting married and having sons of his own; so don’t you get any ideas about our branch of the family ever being saddled with that place, young lady!’

  ‘Okay – don’t get mad at me, Mom. And I guess I can always marry Drew. Rowangarth isn’t as big as Pendenys, but it creaks a lot more. Wouldn’t mind living at Rowangarth. Great-aunt Helen is heaps nicer than Grandmother Sutton,’ she shrugged, totally unperturbed.

  ‘Now just see here, Kathryn Sutton – don’t get sassy with me!’ Amelia flung. ‘And don’t get ideas about marrying your cousin Drew. Such talk, and you not yet seven!’ Then she smiled, because no one could be angry with Kitty for long. She was such a charmer, so direct and honest. ‘Now tell you what – it’s first night on board and no one dresses for dinner, first night out. So how if you and Bas eat with your Pa and me, tonight?’

  ‘In the grown-ups’ dining-room?’ Kitty breathed, eyes shining.

  ‘If you try to act a little more grown-up and think, sometimes, of the feelings of others.’

  ‘Sorry, Mom. Guess Grandmother Sutton isn’t half bad,’ she conceded, dropping her eyes, twisting her fingers as she had quickly learned to do when either of her parents called her Kathryn.

  ‘What are we to do with your daughter, Bertie?’ Amelia smiled when they were alone. ‘She’s so very English. And the sauce of her! Marry Drew, indeed!’

  ‘She does have an English father.’ Albert offered his arm. ‘And as for marrying young Drew – well, she could do a whole lot worse. I suppose, though, that she’ll break a lot of hearts before she marries some thoroughly acceptable all-American boy. Now how about a turn around the deck before dinner?’

  Albert Sutton was well content. He was going home to Kentucky, for that, now, was where he belonged. Like his son, he had no liking for Pendenys Place and heaven forbid that either he or Bas should ever inherit it!

  But Kitty – now there was a strange one! Amelia was right. Kitty was so very English it was uncanny – and frightening, at times. Kitty, he sighed inside him, carried the Pendennis streak. Mary Anne would have been proud of her American-born great-great-granddaughter.

  ‘Did you know,’ he asked, eager to rid his head of such thoughts, ‘that this ship – the Berengaria – was once a German liner and we – the English, that is – took it as part of war reparations?’

  ‘Now is that so? War reparations, uh? So forget that war, Bertie. It’s over and done with and the only good thing ever to come out of it is that it made certain sure there’ll never be another one! Neither Bas nor Drew will ever have to go to war – thank the good Lord.

  ‘Now will you just look at that sunset, over the water, Bertie? If there’s one thing I shall miss about England, it’s the beautiful sunsets …

  22

  Alice sighed, laid down her pen, then read what she had written. Another link with her past gone. Poor Morgan.

  My dear Julia,

  This is to thank you for your birthday card and to say how sorry I am to have to send you sad news in return.

  Morgan died, two days ago. Tom found him when he went to feed and water the dogs. He’d just slipped away in his sleep which is the kindest way to go, I suppose.

  Even though it was a gentle passing, Daisy would not be consoled and in the end it was only Keth could comfort her.

  ‘Dry your eyes, Daisy,’ Keth had whispered. ‘It’s best you come with me to school. We can talk about him on the way. I liked Morgan, too. We’ll give him a proper funeral – just like for real people.’

  ‘Can we have a funeral, Dada?’ Daisy had fixed Tom with red, tear-filled eyes.

  ‘Of course we can, little lass. We’ll find a nice place for him.’

  ‘And we’ll say a prayer for him, so he’ll go to heaven? Dogs do go to heaven, Dada?’

  ‘Heaven? Now that’s one thing I can speak about with certain authority. Some humans won’t ever get there, they’re so wicked, but dogs are lovely, faithful creatures. I’ve never met up with a bad dog yet; only a bad owner. So you can take it from me that God never turned a dog away – no, nor ever will,’ Tom said gently. ‘Now off you go to school with Keth. Morgan didn’t suffer like some poor creatures do. We’ll give him a good send-off; do the old lad proud.’

  Alice smiled, remembering. ‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said when Daisy had turned to wave from the gate.

  ‘Thank me? What for?�
�

  ‘For being so nice about getting Morgan into heaven.’ She had reached up to kiss his cheek. ‘You old softie …’

  We found Morgan a nice spot at the side of the lane between Willow End and Keeper’s Cottage – beneath a young beech. We said ‘Our Father’ for him and sang ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. Keth was there and Tom and Daisy and me. And I cried a little because Morgan was once Giles’s dog and it was as if part of my life had gone with him.

  Dear Giles. There would be three men in her life, Jinny Dobb said so very long ago. A wicked one, a weakly one and a straight and sound one. Elliot Sutton, Giles Sutton, and Tom.

  Tom made a little wooden cross and put it over the grave and Daisy seemed happier. Keth said Morgan would be there, always, between the two cottages and not be lonely, ever. Keth is a good lad.

  I’m glad that Mark Townsend took you out whilst you were in London, though why you make excuses every time you see him, I really don’t know.

  She did, Alice brooded; always went into great detail to explain how friendly and correct it had been. Yet why shouldn’t they go out together? They were both free; Mark Townsend was a widower. But best be careful what she wrote. Julia was very touchy, still.

  She took up her pen again, dipping it carefully into the ink bottle.

  Give Drew a kiss and a hug from Lady and take good care of yourself.

  She frowned as she blotted and folded the sheets of paper, wondering why she always felt a vague uneasiness whenever Mark Townsend took Julia out. Mind, nothing would come of it. It took two to make a couple and Julia simply wasn’t available.

  She propped the envelope on the mantelpiece. This afternoon she would go to the village to post it, then walk home with Daisy and Keth. This afternoon she would buy toffees to eat on the way home. Just this once, for a treat – because of Morgan.

  There had never been any treats in Alice Hawthorn’s young life; no toffees, no orange in her Christmas stocking. No Christmas stocking. Aunt Bella disliked Christmas, but Aunt Bella was a long time ago and two days past, Alice Dwerryhouse had reached her thirtieth birthday.

  Now she could make her mark. Now she was considered old enough and wise enough to vote.

  Women had died for that vote. It made her think of Emily Davison selling penny news-sheets in Hyde Park, and the fat policeman. And Julia and Andrew meeting.

  She sighed deeply as she crossed the yard to fill a water bucket at the pump. Alice Dwerryhouse was a lucky woman. She had Tom and Daisy and a happy home. And at the next General Election, she could vote! What more, then, could she want, she demanded silently, vehemently.

  What indeed? mocked the small voice of her conscience, and so annoyed was she that she could even think of wanting more that she set the potatoes to boil with such annoyance that water slopped out of the pan and made the hot coals hiss and spit.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so selfish wanting to go home to Rowangarth, but I’ll count my blessings. I will!’

  Julia had replied to Alice’s letter at once, sent sympathies about Morgan, and so angry was she this afternoon, that her pen flew across the paper furiously.

  Mother is in London, staying at Montpelier Mews and oh, how bitterly I regret promising her I would call in on Aunt Clemmy whilst she is away. But did I tell you that a verdict of accidental death was recorded at the inquest on Elliot?

  She had thought at the time, Julia was forced to admit, that in all probability Elliot had been drinking. Stableyard talk had it he’d been seen earlier in the evening with a woman in the Coach and Horses, in Creesby, but there was always talk, trailing in Elliot’s wake. Even during the war, talk of his womanizing with the wife of a serving officer had almost landed him in the trenches. Almost – because Aunt Clemmy’s money had saved him.

  But about Aunt Clemmy – I found her in her little boudoir in the tower; the room Pendenys staff used to call her sulking room, though now I believe they are calling it the madhouse. And mad she will be if she doesn’t make some effort to pull herself together. She looked dreadful and not a bit like she used to. Her hair needs waving and she smokes constantly. She is using Elliot’s gold cigarette case and lighter, now, and has filled the room with his photographs. She is turning into a recluse …

  ‘Come in – if you must,’ Aunt Clemmy had snapped. ‘I suppose your mother ordered you to visit, now that she’s gone galavanting off to London!’

  This morning, Julia had supposed, Aunt was in one of her vindictive moods. She alternated between sheer bitchiness and tearful self-pity. But bitchiness ran more true to form, and was better by far to deal with than tears and near hysteria, she acknowledged gratefully.

  ‘How are you today, Aunt?’

  ‘I am angry.’ She had crushed her spent cigarette, then lighted another. ‘It’s that ungrateful Anna. Couldn’t get away from Denniston House quickly enough; didn’t know, poor thing, when she would be well enough to return to her husband, yet now – and Elliot not cold in his grave, yet – she’s back, and acting as if she owns the place!’

  ‘I think, Aunt, that maybe she does – or will. You did give it to them both as a wedding present.’

  ‘So I did, and more fool me! And how, would you believe, she’s setting the child against me. Teaching Tatiana Russian, so they can talk together behind my back and me not understanding a word of it!

  ‘She’s up to something, that Anna! They never spoke Russian in St Petersburg. Used English or French so their servants wouldn’t understand what they were on about, I shouldn’t wonder! So now, she and Tatiana and that great ugly Karl will be speaking in Russian so Denniston servants can’t tell me what’s going on, there!’

  ‘Aunt Clemmy – be fair? It’s right and proper that Tatiana should learn her mother tongue. Who knows but that one day they will be able to go back to Russia and claim what is theirs?’

  ‘And would that you were right, Julia! I’d like nothing better than to see the back of Anna Petrovska and that mother of hers – that child, an’ all!’ She would never forgive Tatiana for being a girl! ‘But they’ll never go back to St Petersburg. Those Bolsheviks have got the upper hand. Those Petrovskys will never see their town house nor their Peterhof estate again. Anna and that child will be a liability, now. They came to visit yesterday, but I wouldn’t see them! Tell me, why should Anna be alive, and my Elliot dead? And as for that old Countess Petrovska …!’

  ‘Aunt – do please remember that the countess lost not only her homes but her husband and elder son, too. Surely you can understand, show some small pity?’

  ‘Pity? You are getting like your mother, Julia! So saintly and reasonable and always ready to see the other’s point of view, no matter how wrong they are! And what are you doing?’ she demanded petulantly as Julia crossed the room.

  ‘I’m opening a window, if you don’t mind. This room is so hot, and full of cigarette smoke. It can’t be good for you, Aunt Clemmy. It’ll get on your chest and make you cough.’

  ‘I’ll cough if I want to! Leave the window shut. I like the smell of cigarette smoke. It reminds me of Elliot. He always smoked Turkish.’ Her eyes filled with tears, her tight, angry mouth relaxed, then drooped pathetically. ‘I want Elliot back, Julia. I miss him so. I can’t go into any room that was his; can’t bear to visit Denniston House. What is to become of me? How am I to live out each day?’

  ‘You might try counting your blessings!’ Julia’s self-control snapped. ‘You could have lost all your sons in that war. Jin Dobb’s sister did.’

  ‘But I don’t care about Jinny Dobb’s nephews. Why should I?’

  ‘You should care because they died horribly in the trenches in a foreign country they’d scarce heard of. And my own husband died there too, helping the wounded, not sitting at a desk in Paris!’

  She stopped, all at once red-cheeked. She had not meant to go that far but the words flung at her aunt had smouldered too long inside her and could no longer be checked.

  ‘How dare you!’ Clementina’s mo
od reverted to one of anger. ‘My, but while you live, Julia MacMalcolm, your Aunt Sutton will never be dead! You are just like she was – too direct for her own good. You are even getting to look like her, stupid old maid that she was!’

  Old maid. The taunt hit Julia like a slap for she was an old maid. She was without a man, without love, without the intimate closeness she had come to glory in. She and Andrew made love with such joy, such abandon. Just to think of his closeness had sent delirious want slicing through her.

  Yet now she was untouched, unloved, unwanted. She didn’t mind being compared to Aunt Sutton, but she did mind the cold celibacy that wrapped her round. She had tasted love – real love – and she missed it with an ache that never ceased to taunt her. Just as Aunt Clemmy was taunting her; cruelly, vindictively.

  ‘I shall go now, Aunt, and perhaps come back when you are in a kinder mood.’ Julia jumped to her feet, then turned abruptly. ‘Is Uncle Edward in? Perhaps he might appreciate my company more.’

  Her words were cold with anger, each one clipped and crystal clear. She waited in the doorway, but no reply came. Already the older woman was lighting yet another cigarette and doubtless wanting her to leave so she might fill a glass from the decanter standing on a side table.

  And not only is Aunt becoming quite peculiar, but she is becoming ruder, if that is possible. My heart goes out to Uncle Edward. How he puts up with her, I really don’t know. Aunt Clemmy deserves to be slapped. Hard.

  Forgive me for sounding so discontented, but Aunt really got under my skin this morning. I really need to let off steam and there’s no one here to talk to with mother away except Nathan, and he’s always so busy. Be an absolute love and ring me, some time – reverse the charges. I do so need to talk to you, Alice.

  I am coming to realize that where Aunt Clemmy is concerned, mother is a saint. Not a day passed without a visit to Pendenys. Why can’t I be more like her?

  Yet nothing could change how much she missed and wanted Andrew; missed him every bit as much as the day they had said their last goodbye that Paris afternoon in late March, nine years ago. All those long, lonely days without him. It hurt so much that sometimes she lay awake and wondered how it would be if she said yes, to Mark. He wanted her, she knew it. How would it be if she could close her eyes – and pretend …