Daisychain Summer

  ‘N-no …’

  ‘You do!’ His cheeks had gone red, so she knew he remembered. ‘I still have it, in the matchbox. I shall keep it for always because it was the first thing you ever gave me.’

  She had been reminded of it only yesterday. Mam had brought out her box of precious things because she wanted to wear her pearl eardrops on her birthday.

  ‘Mam! The butterfly!’ It was then that she saw the matchbox, and remembered.

  ‘Aye. Keth brought it to you, ever so gentle,’ Mum had smiled, ‘when he was a little lad of three – maybe four.’

  ‘I really am sorry, Keth.’ Things like butterflies were more important than money.

  ‘Me, too. I suppose I’ll have to work a bit harder if I’m to be as rich as you.’

  ‘Keth, it doesn’t matter!’ She reached for his hand.

  ‘No. It doesn’t. Not when you think about it. So are we going to Drew’s?’

  ‘I suppose so. But I’m not helping clean out those rabbits. And Keth – I’ve decided I’m not going to tell Drew about the money. Not just yet. I want just you and me to know.’

  ‘All right,’ he smiled.

  ‘And I didn’t mean it about Maisie Smith – honest.’

  ‘Daft ha’porth,’ he said softly, squeezing her hand so tightly she felt happy inside and forgot about the ten thousand pounds, because like Dada said, ten years was a long time.

  Hands still clasped, they walked slowly to the stableyard where Drew’s rabbit hutch stood against the coach-house wall. And she knew that something strange and nice and comforting had happened and that she would always love Keth, no matter what.

  Not like Mam loved Dada – she couldn’t imagine how that would be. But when she was a woman, when she was twenty-one, she would know. And it would be wonderful.

  27

  ‘Y’know, whenever I think of England it’s your Rowangarth that comes first to my mind.’

  ‘But it’s a very ordinary old house.’ Helen blushed with pleasure. ‘The Sutton who built it was a yeoman, newly knighted by Elizabeth Tudor; it isn’t grand, like Pendenys.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Amelia Sutton laughed. ‘that’s why I like it so much. It’s so protective, so enduring. Guess that’s why the youngsters always gather here. Hope they’re not bothersome?’

  ‘Not a bit. We both like having them. Julia calls them the Clan and says they’re an unruly lot, but she adores them. I suppose they’re the children she and Andrew never had. They planned to have several, you know.’ Sadness briefly dulled her eyes, then she smiled. ‘Instead, she has Drew, and the Clan.’

  ‘I never knew Andrew. I wish I had,’ Amelia said softly. ‘He was a self-made man, I believe; the son of a miner who made good. Now that I admire. We Americans don’t hold with people who have titles and inherit their wealth. And that, if you please, is a bit of a contradiction, because I like you, Helen, and I sure as heck will take good care that Bas and Kitty inherit all that my parents left to me! But you know what I mean – I’m talking about the super-aristocrats and your royalty. Don’t hold with them.’

  ‘Why not, pray?’ Helen was genuinely surprised.

  ‘I do believe you really don’t know what I mean, Helen. I’m talking about those who think they are the Lord’s anointed. They wouldn’t do at all, in Kentucky. And as for your royals – if they don’t get their skates on they’ll be extinct before so very much longer. Tell me now, who is there to take over?’

  ‘The crown will pass to the Prince of Wales. And the Duke of York has two little girls,’ Helen reminded.

  ‘I know. And delightful creatures they are, too. That little Elizabeth is real cute. But it’s sons your royalty needs, Helen; sons to carry on, I mean. Your Prince of Wales should be finding himself a wife – now wouldn’t that be romantic?’

  ‘He will, I suppose, in time. The heir to the throne usually marries the daughter of foreign royalty.’

  ‘Then why is he setting his cap at a married woman – an American married woman. Well, that’s what I hear.’

  All at once a cloud covered the sun and a long, dark shadow fell across where they sat. It made Helen shiver and she said,

  ‘I think Catchpole was right; it is going to be dull, today. Let’s go into the conservatory? You take the tray, dear, and I’ll fold the chairs.’ And although she had intended to ignore Amelia’s amazing statement, Helen found herself asking, ‘What did you hear – about the American lady, I mean.’ Asked it as soon as they were settled.

  ‘We-e-ll.’ Amelia held out her cup to be refilled. ‘I had this from my cousin Aimee who is not given to idle gossip. She only thought it worth a mention because it’s well known that in England, divorce is a nasty word. Indeed, I would not myself include a divorced person on my dinner-party lists. And she is divorced!’

  ‘But who? And how do you know about this?’

  ‘From my cousin, like I said. She lives in Baltimore and got it from a Mrs Merryman – the lady’s aunt. ‘Wallis and Ernest,’ she said, ‘are regular visitors to Fort Belvedere.’ You know the place, Helen?’

  ‘I’ve heard of it – a grace and favour residence. The Prince of Wales sometimes stays there. But who is Ernest and who is Wallis?’

  ‘She is Bessie Wallis Simpson – wife of Ernest.’

  ‘A married lady? Then surely the Prince can have a man and wife on his guest list?’

  ‘Not if the wife has been married before – and divorced. Ernest is her second husband, so if a divorced person can’t go in the royal enclosure at Ascot, how come one of them can be buddy-buddies with the heir to your throne?’

  ‘But isn’t divorce thought of in more liberal terms, in America?’

  ‘I assure you, Helen, it is not! Indeed, middle-Americans will not so much as say the word. And if by liberal you mean film stars and actresses and high flyers who seem to make a habit of it – well, I assure you they are not exactly approved of in my country, either!’

  ‘But there has been no mention in England – not so much as a whisper – about the Simpsons. Nothing in the society columns. The King and Queen would be aghast,’ Helen frowned. Divorce was a word to be avoided if at all possible. A divorcee – and there were some, even here – could never be accepted in polite society. Not ever. ‘Do you think it is one small incident that has been blown up out of all proportion? I’m sure that the Prince of Wales will marry soon – and what a day that will be!’

  ‘Oh my word, yes! And when he does, Helen, you must cable me at once. I must come over and see the wedding – get a hotel booked in London – make a holiday of it.’

  ‘But you don’t approve of our royalty,’ Helen teased.

  ‘No more do I – but they sure know how to put on a parade. All those gilded coaches, I mean, and bands and uniforms. And oh, the horses! I’d swim here, just to see the horses. If they’ve got a saving grace in my eyes, then it’s the fact that your royalty does know good horseflesh when they see it. Anyway, be sure to let me know at once – either way.’ A scandal or a wedding and Amelia would be on the next liner over. ‘And meantime, I shall tell Aimee that there just isn’t any truth in it; that no one in England has even so much as heard of the lady, and they surely would’ve, now wouldn’t they?’

  ‘One would imagine so, Amelia – but what is far more important is poor Clemmy. Edward is very concerned about her. Sometimes, she seems to be doing so well, then something happens and she’s upset again.’

  ‘What you’re really saying is that she’s up and down like an elevator and making no effort at all to come to terms with Elliot’s death. It’s five years, since it happened. I’d say you’d be better to be concerned about father-in-law. If he weren’t such a gentleman, he’d have given her the slap she needs long before this. And I’m sorry for Anna. It’s my belief that if her family weren’t so short of money, she’d pack her bags and take herself back to her mother. But she has Tatiana’s future to think of, you see.

  ‘And Tatiana’s afraid of mother-in-law,’ Amelia rushed on
. ‘Can’t say I blame the child. Bas is always uneasy about being at Pendenys, too. He’s real bothered, you know, that one day it might just pass to him. If it did, I guess he’d give it away!’

  ‘To his sister?’ Helen quirked an eyebrow. ‘Kitty loves the place.’

  ‘Only because she thinks it’s spooky – and you know what a little drama-puss my daughter is?’ Amelia smiled indulgently.

  ‘So what are we to do about Clemmy?’ Helen frowned. ‘I really am concerned for her. She took Elliot’s death so badly. If only for Edward’s sake, we must help her.’

  ‘Helen! You lost both your sons so tragically and a much-loved husband, yet you don’t act up like Bertie’s mother. He’s fast losing patience with her. Says we come over here far too often and I don’t want him to forbid our visits. I like being here, especially at Rowangarth. Give me your house and my horses, and I’d be content. But Bertie is different. He’s getting very American in his outlook. Says there’s nothing for him at Pendenys, though one day we might be saddled with it.’

  ‘If Nathan doesn’t marry, you mean? I wish he would.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more. But maybe there was someone in his life, and he lost her? Bertie says he used often to think that Julia and Nathan would tie the knot, but there you are. It wasn’t to be …’

  ‘No, Amelia. Julia is devoted to Nathan, but not in that way. I think she, too, would be glad to see him married. It must be very lonely in that vicarage, though he seems contented there. Oh, dear. We’re a couple of matchmakers, aren’t we? First the Prince, then Nathan!’

  ‘And add Julia to the list. Poor, poor girl. Cut out for marriage and motherhood, yet look what happened. Why has no one come along for her, Helen?’

  ‘Because there can’t ever be another. I wish they’d had a child. At least there’d have been something of Andrew to hold on to. But she’s clinging to memories, now. I love her so much. If only it were possible to put back the clock.

  ‘But talking about clocks – I suppose you know that very soon I shall be seventy? And because I have lived out my three score years and ten, I intend to throw a party. Catchpole says there is a long spell of good weather ahead, so we could have it outdoors. Will you help me with my party, Amelia? It’ll be such fun – a buffet supper, and dancing …’

  ‘Throw in some fireworks, and you can count me in!’

  Helen laughed with sheer delight. They would have such a fine time. A party would cheer people up, so everyone must be asked. Not just Rowangarth and Pendenys, but the new young doctor and the butcher, the grocer, the fishmonger! And children. There must be children! Clemmy must come, too.

  ‘You’ll tell Clemmy and Edward? A party might be just the thing to take her out of herself; meet people, instead of shutting herself away from them. If only she could bring herself to do it, it might well start her back on the road if not to recovery, then perhaps to acceptance. You’ll try to persuade her to come, Amelia?’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’ But she wouldn’t come. Her mother-in-law was determined to be miserable, Amelia thought; would put a damper on any party. But she would try to persuade her – though not too hard! The road to recovery, indeed. My, but if there was ever a cock-eyed optimist, it was Helen Sutton, bless her. ‘Let’s start right now, making lists? About fifty invitations, would you say?’

  ‘Oh, at least fifty!’ Helen laughed.

  Bas tapped timidly on the door in the tower. ‘She’s not in,’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes she is. She’s always in.’ Kitty knocked more loudly, opened the door with a flourish, then said, ‘Good morning, grandma. Might we come in?’

  ‘I suppose so. What do you want? You know I’m busy!’

  ‘Doing what, grandma?’ Kitty seated herself opposite; Bas moved to stand behind her chair. He felt safer with his sister between him and Grandma Sutton.

  ‘I didn’t say you could sit, girl.’

  ‘No. But it’s more comfortable.’

  Bas shuddered. His sister was too much. They’d been told not to upset grandma, but Kitty didn’t care one bit what she said.

  He didn’t like this room in the tower. It was small and hot and smelled of cigarette smoke. And grandma never opened the window, so it smelled of people, too. And it sure wasn’t fair that just because they were children they had to be polite to grown-ups and considerate of their feelings – especially when they were grown-ups like Grandma Sutton.

  ‘Well – what is it?’ Clementina snapped. She disliked the way the boy cringed. Elliot had never cringed. And she disliked intensely the girl’s aplomb. Dark-haired she was, like Elliot. Mary Anne’s hair, though those eyes were her mother’s. Could stare anyone out, with that dark blue gaze. She’d be a madam, when she grew up. Had the makings of one already. ‘Hurry up! Say what you came to say, then go!’

  ‘We came to wish you good morning, grandma, and to ask how you are,’ Kitty replied with disturbing candour. ‘And we hope you’ll be going to Aunt Helen’s party. Has Mom told you about it?’

  ‘She has, and neither myself nor your grandfather will be there! And why your great-aunt Helen wants the world and his wife to know that she’s seventy, I really don’t know!’

  ‘I suppose that’s because she doesn’t look seventy,’ Kitty beamed. ‘She doesn’t, you know. I think she’s really beautiful. I wish I were fair, like she is.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got black hair – Pendennis hair – so there’s nothing you can do about it! Pass me my cigarette case, boy – and the lighter!’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’ In his eagerness to oblige, Bas tripped and almost fell. He didn’t know why he was so uneasy when he came into this room. He wasn’t afraid when he took his pony at a jump, nor anything like that. Why, then, should he feel such fear in grandma’s company? It was as if there was evil, here. He could almost smell it. He’d said so to Kitty, but she said she didn’t feel or smell anything and she would’ve, if there’d been anything spooky about it.

  Clementina took an oval-shaped cigarette from the gold case that once had been Elliot’s and flicked the matching gold lighter. She inhaled deeply, then blew out smoke that drifted, pale blue, to the ceiling; Bas offered an ashtray.

  ‘You’re sure you won’t come to Rowangarth party, grandma? There’ll be fireworks and Aunt Helen is to hire a marquee and a floor, for dancing,’ Kitty urged. ‘Absolutely everybody is going to be there. It would be awful if you were to miss it. I heard Mom say this morning that the fish man and his wife had accepted, and –’

  ‘And you think a Pendenys Sutton would mix socially with a fishmonger, child?’

  ‘I sure don’t see why not. Aunt Helen doesn’t mind, and it’s her party. And the Clan will be there.’

  ‘Who on earth …?’

  ‘Oh, you know the Clan, grandma – we four Suttons and Daisy and Keth.’

  ‘Keth? What sort of a name is that?’

  ‘It’s an old Scottish name, his Mom said. Keth’s in the Clan because he’s a Pendennis. His Mom runs the bothy, at Rowangarth.’

  ‘His mother a servant and he’s a Pendennis? Stuff and nonsense, child!’

  ‘He is so, grandma.’ Bas felt obliged to support his sister, because if Keth said it was true, then it was true. ‘His great-great-grandfather was brother to our Mary Anne. Keth’s Mom’s maiden name was Pendennis and she’s dark, like Kitty is and Keth. Unnatural dark …’

  ‘Pah!’ Clementina had heard enough. Impudent, those Kentucky children. Mind, she had seen that boy. The first time, the six of them were running across the grass below the window. She had looked down and felt quite faint. So dark, the strange boy was; could have been Elliot in his early teens. There was no mistaking the hair, the warm apricot of his skin. It had been as if time had turned round on itself and Robert and Giles and Elliot and Albert and Nathan were boys again, with Julia striving to keep up with them.

  It had been uncanny, yet when she summoned up enough courage to look again, they had passed out of sight.

  ‘We-e-ll, if you’re a
ll right, grandma, and you don’t want us to do anything for you, I guess we’ll be going.’ Kitty got to her feet. ‘Shall I pass you the brandy, before we go?’

  Bas sucked in his breath and closed his eyes, waiting for the explosion. But it did not come. Instead, his grandmother said quietly – much, much too quietly –

  ‘No, thank you. I am not an invalid. I am well able to pick up a decanter, should I wish to drink from it.’

  She waved a dismissive hand and Bas opened the door with all haste, waiting impatiently as a smiling Kitty placed a pretty kiss on her grandmother’s cheek, then bobbed the smallest curtsey.

  She was play-acting again, he fretted. His stupid little sister just couldn’t help it. It was like Pa said. There was mischief inside her which was all very well most times. Kitty was fun, but she sure didn’t have to mock Grandmother Sutton because that’s what she was doing. And getting away with it, too.

  ‘Thank goodness that’s over,’ Bas sighed, when the door was closed behind them and they had negotiated the winding stone staircase. ‘You sure do look for trouble, Kitty Sutton,’ he grinned, able to smile again with the ordeal behind him. ‘Now let’s get out of here quick, before Mom decides there’s something else she wants us to do. Shall we call at Denniston House and ask if Tatty can come with us to Rowangarth?’

  Tatty was improving with every visit, Bas conceded. Since her nanny left, she had been allowed to grow up.

  ‘Mam’selle mightn’t let her come, Bas.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with Mam’selle – not when it’s school holidays. Let’s ask Aunt Anna.’ The aunt who had claims to being a countess, though only a Russian one, Mom said, was the prettiest lady Bas had ever seen. He wondered if Tatty would grow up to look like her. If she did, he considered, there’d be a whole lot of guys falling for her – himself included. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘Race you to Denniston!’

  Kitty would win, of course. She always did.

  Helen sat comfortably, contentedly watching from the conservatory as young Catchpole, the apprentices and Will Stubbs carried off trestle tables, took down lanterns lit for the dancing, carted away benches and chairs.