Daisychain Summer

  Through the wide-open door came the night scent of bruised grass mingling with honeysuckle, tea roses and sweet-scented stock and she closed her eyes and breathed in not only the scent of it but the mood of it, too.

  It had been such a party. Old friends, new friends, children – so many lovely people. Different people, of course, because her long-ago friends were gone. Once, there had been large, formal dinner parties which took days and days to prepare. Now, on her seventieth birthday, she had asked everyone – tradesmen, relations, tenant farmers, because the war had been a great leveller. Few had escaped it in one way or another. Women had proved themselves, earned the right to vote, to walk unaccompanied wherever they chose.

  She, Helen, had adapted to that change, even welcomed it. Clementina had not and therein lay her inability to adjust to Elliot’s death. Clemmy was unable to acknowledge change or to accept sympathy, and she would never alter.

  Helen shook her head clear of all sad thoughts and looked out to the end of the avenue of linden trees where a moon rose, a half-round of palest gold. It was all so beautiful, so precious. Memories of such a night she must store inside her in small, secret places; hide them in a corner of her consciousness until she had need of them some lonely winter evening.

  Edward, she was glad to recall, had come to her party, bringing Anna with him, and Albert and Amelia and their children. Clemmy had pleaded indisposition. She could not yet face people. Helen would understand, she said.

  Poor Clemmy. All her love and hopes and dreams squandered on Elliot. With his death it was as if there was nothing left for her to strive for, and poor Edward trapped in a loveless marriage with a wife growing more and more strange every day.

  Granted, Edward was born a second son and second sons shifted for themselves and married where they could, but he had not deserved Clementina’s indifference nor a son like Elliot.

  Julia had enjoyed the evening, Helen mused; had danced with Nathan and Albert and waltzed with her Uncle Edward. Julia, so beautiful yet so apart for all that, as though in the middle of the noise and music and laughter she waited for someone to call her name, kiss her lips. Poor Julia, who had loved too well, too passionately.

  Children! Think of the young ones, of Julia’s Clan. They had been allowed to stay up late on so important a birthday. Tatiana, watched from a distance by Anna, had been the liveliest of them all until she was sick, though whether from over eating or over excitement or a mixing of both, Helen had not been sure.

  A small, silvered cloud briefly covered the moon and shapes faded into silhouettes. She closed her eyes and let the peace wash over her. It was sad, she thought, that mankind could not choose the moment on which it should die. On so perfect a night what better, more gentle a time to close her eyes and drift away down the linden walk, on and up towards the moon and out into eternity, where John waited …

  ‘There you are!’ Julia, carrying a tray. ‘You were so still I thought you’d dozed off.’

  “No. Just thinking about how wonderful everything has been. Such a lovely evening. People were so kind.’

  ‘And you really enjoyed telling them you were seventy and no one believing it. Drew is in bed. He’ll sleep late, tomorrow – they all will. Just thought you’d like a cup.’

  ‘I’d love one. Do you know, Julia, when I was sixty I thought I should be grateful to see seventy, but now that I have, I don’t feel a day older. Would you think me selfish if I hoped for eighty?’

  ‘Eighty at least, then you can be around when Drew marries. Have you anyone in mind for him, by the way?’

  ‘Strangely, no. I often think that Drew and Daisy are so lovely together, but it can’t be, of course. So I shall wish that he loves as I did and as you did, my dear. No matter who she is, I hope he marries for love.’

  ‘With just one proviso,’ Julia whispered softly, sadly. ‘That whoever she is, they be allowed to grow old together.’

  ‘Wasn’t it strange, tonight?’

  Kitty Sutton sat cross-legged on her brother’s bed. They still used the nursery wing, each time they visited Pendenys Place. It was one of the better things about it, Bas was forced to admit. It was fun to share the night nursery with his sister; sleeping in white-painted iron beds piled with soft blankets and fat eiderdowns at Christmas and linen sheets and blue-checked bedspreads in summer. And by far the best thing about their small, private domain high beneath the eaves, were the two staircases leading to it; one that ran from the kitchen and was wooden and narrow and bare; the other that started in the vast, echoing hall and went up and up, softly carpeted.

  ‘Strange, Kit? It was a swell party – till Tatty was sick, that was.’

  ‘Tatty’s always sick. You know when she’s going to throw up,’ Kitty said disparagingly. ‘She gets two red blobs, on her cheeks. It’s because she’s half Russian, I suppose. But wasn’t it strange when the lady who was serving at the buffet called Drew Sir Andrew?’

  ‘That was Ellen. Once, she was parlourmaid at Rowangarth – before Mary, I believe. She’s married, now, though she always comes back when there’s a party, to help out. Drew told me about her.

  ‘And she only called him that because he really is Sir Andrew, though I don’t think the aunts at Rowangarth bother with it – not yet, at least. Perhaps, when he’s older …’

  ‘That’s all right, then, because titles are silly – especially when you’re only twelve.’ Kitty waved a dismissive hand.

  ‘You won’t be so off-hand about it if you marry Drew, will you? You’d have to be Lady Sutton, then!’

  ‘Marry Drew?’ She tilted her chin dismissively and her long, dark curls swung like a horse’s mane, Bas thought, suddenly missing his horses.

  ‘Why not, Sis? You like England, don’t you? And you like Rowangarth, as well.’

  ‘Of course I do. But you don’t marry a guy just ’cos you like the house he lives in, now do you?’

  ‘Guess some folks might.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to get married for ages and ages. There’s so much I want to do. I love Kentucky and I love England, too, but there’s a lot of world in between and I want to see all of it! And I don’t know what I want to do or to be, yet, but whatever it is, I want to do it real well. I want that people say, “Hey! That’s Kathryn Sutton, the famous surgeon.” Or maybe I’ll be a crooner or a show-jumper. I don’t know, yet.’

  ‘Dad wouldn’t want you to be a crooner, Kitty, though I think right now that people should call you the famous greedy guts. You sure ate a lot, tonight!’

  ‘Yes, I know. I had two lots of trifle, but I wasn’t sick, like Tatty. Do you think it’s kind of awful, being half Russian?’

  ‘I don’t think so. You and me are half English, but it’s all right.’

  ‘Mm.’ Kitty Sutton liked being half English. It made her kind of different at school and it meant she could come to England twice a year. She liked England very much and Pendenys and Rowangarth especially. She didn’t know why, because she thought like an American child and talked like one, too.

  Perhaps, she frowned, it was her half-English blood that accounted for it. She wasn’t quite sure. All she knew for certain was that if, suddenly, ships ceased to sail or flying boats ceased to fly, she would be very hurt and upset and would miss England dreadfully.

  All at once, she could no longer fight sleep and she stretched her long legs and pulled back her bedcovers.

  ‘’Night, Bas,’ she said, drowsily. ‘And you got it in one. It sure was a swell party …’

  ‘Oh my word, but I’m tired.’ Polly Purvis eased off her shoes.

  ‘Then why did you go, Mum? How do you think I felt? Me enjoying the party with the Clan whilst you slaved in Rowangarth kitchen.’

  ‘I wasn’t slaving, Keth! Miss Clitherow said they’d be grateful for help, so I went. Nothing wrong in that. Ellen from Home Farm was there, an’ all. She always helps out and she enjoyed it, like I did. She was telling me about the way it used to be at Rowangarth, before the war. Oh, those din
ner parties must have been something to see …’

  ‘Well, I think you should go to bed. I’ll bring you up a drink, and leave the fire safe.’ Keth was not convinced. It always bothered him that his mother was employed by Rowangarth, yet he was treated as a friend by Drew, who was really a baronet.

  ‘Goodness, no. The ’prentices aren’t in, yet. Helping clear away, up at the house. Can’t go to bed till I’ve seen to things. And Keth – I really enjoyed being at Rowangarth – and there’ll be ten shillings extra in my wages, next week.’

  ‘But do you have to work so hard, now? Haven’t things got better, since we came to live here?’

  ‘They have.’ No denying that things were easier. Now she had bed, board and food as well as a wage and a weekly widow’s pension. ‘But a few shillings extra never comes amiss, now does it?’

  ‘Sorry, Mam. But I worry about you and I worry because I’ll be fourteen in a week and most lads of fourteen leave school. I could be out working for you.’

  ‘Oh, aye? You’d rather take a five-shillings-a-week job – if you can get one, that is. Precious few jobs for lads without an education these days, and you know it or why were you so set on getting to the Grammar School? And now that you’ve got there, why all this nonsense about wanting to work? I want you to make something of yourself!’

  ‘Are you saying that dad didn’t?’

  ‘That I’m not! He came back from that war lamed, and there was precious little work about, even for the able-bodied. If his foot hadn’t got shot he’d have been a head keeper. Mind, if he hadn’t gone to the war, then him and me wouldn’t have met, and though it was hard going, sometimes, I wouldn’t have had it any different. We were happy enough, at Willow End.’

  ‘Yes.’ Keth supposed they were, but happy enough wasn’t good enough. It was why, somehow, he must get to University and forget all thoughts of leaving school.

  Not that Daisy would ever have to worry, now that she was rich. It had been a shock, when she told him. He had even wondered why Mr Hillier and his father had had to die, so she might have that money.

  But it wasn’t Daisy’s fault. His father had fallen in the river trying to pull Beth out and Mr Hillier had been sucked in, too, trying to help them both.

  Some people got rich because of a flooded river but he, Keth Purvis, would have to do it the hard way or he’d never be able to marry Daisy and he wanted to. Even though he was only fourteen next week he knew he loved her. He always had, even when she’d been a baby, tucked up in that great big pram.

  He wished he could tell his mother about Daisy’s money, but he had promised not to. It was just that things weren’t going to be easy for him for a long time; not until he was twenty-three, at least. Nine more years. Nineteen-forty. It was a lifetime away.

  ‘What are you brooding about, son?’

  ‘Not brooding. Just thinking about Willow End – and Beck Lane and Windrush.’ Which wasn’t a lie, really, because he often thought about Beth and Morgan and the little grave marker. The beech trees would be in full leaf, now, and the bluebells beneath them faded. He wondered if anyone lived in Willow End and Keeper’s Cottage or if they were empty, and lonely. ‘And I don’t want to leave school at term end, Mum. I shall keep on and one day I’ll buy you a fur coat – and that’s a promise.’

  ‘What – me? Polly Purvis in a fur coat!’ She gave a great shout of laughter as if she really thought it funny. Then all at once her face gentled and she cupped her son’s face in her hands and kissed his forehead, though she hadn’t kissed him since he was ten. ‘Thanks for your thought, Keth, but if ever you’ve got that kind of money, then I think you should buy yourself a little motor with it and take me back to West Welby, just once. I’d like to visit Willow End again and go to see your dad – let him know that you and me managed all right, between us.’

  ‘I’ll do that, I promise. We’ll tell dad …’ And in that moment he loved her so much that he gathered her to him, and hugged her tightly. ‘And we’ll take Daisy with us, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes, Keth. We’ll take Daisy.’

  28

  The Summer of ’Thirty-Four

  It was, said Amelia to Edward Sutton, just about the only course left open to him.

  ‘It’s sad,’ she said firmly, ‘but mother-in-law is getting worse.’

  On each of their twice-yearly visits, it became more obvious that Clementina not only spurned help, but was quickly becoming past it.

  ‘There was nothing else I could do,’ Edward said wearily. ‘Sometimes, you see, I worry that she’ll harm herself. Clemmy doesn’t know Miss Hannah is a nurse – I especially asked she did not wear her uniform – but engaging her was all I could do, except –’

  ‘Except getting mother-in-law committed and looked after by professionals,’ Amelia finished, though whether for diminished responsibility or an increasing dependence on alcohol, would be hard to decide.

  ‘I’m grateful that you and Albert still visit so regularly. It must be a great trial to you both and it can’t be good for Kitty and Bas.’ Because no matter how they tried, Clemmy’s state of health could not be hidden from them.

  ‘Kitty and Bas are growing up. Kitty is going on fourteen and Bas will be seventeen next February. They must learn that the world can be hard, sometimes. I can’t stop the wind from blowing on them, you know.’

  ‘You’re a good woman, Amelia. I don’t suppose,’ Edward smiled wanly, ‘you have a sister tucked away, somewhere, for Nathan?’

  ‘I haven’t. When I met Bertie, I was alone in the world, except for two cousins. But if I had ten sisters and all of them charming and beautiful and I paraded them in front of his church porch, Nathan wouldn’t notice them. He’s in love with Julia – didn’t you know?’

  ‘Julia? But –’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure as I can be. I’ve thought so for a long time, though don’t ask me why.’

  It was just the little things, really. The way his mouth formed the smallest smile when Julia came into a room; his eyes following her, waiting for her to come to his side – the way he said, ‘Hullo, Julia,’ so softly it was almost a blessing.

  ‘Then poor Nathan. Julia loved just as Helen loved. Once, and for ever. It’s a sad world, Amelia.’

  ‘It can be, and that is why I can’t for ever shield my children. They must learn, you know.’ Bas, her adored firstborn. Tall, now, and straight; no longer a boy. And Kitty, more and more beautiful with every year. Kathryn Norma Clementina Sutton who fearlessly embraced the world and shook it by the shoulders until it noticed her. ‘But tell me – where is mother-in-law getting her drinks from? Surely you don’t –’

  ‘Make it easy for her? Of course not. The key to the wine cellar is in my possession, now, and though I’ve never given orders that drinks are not to be left about, the servants are very tactful about it. Only the minimal amounts in decanters and small measures of wine poured at meals. It’s as if they understand, but –’ He stopped as the door opened and a footman placed a tray beside Amelia. ‘Here’s tea.’

  ‘Mm. This is one of the things I cross the Atlantic so regularly for!’ Amelia lifted the pot. ‘Let’s have a cup in peace – before my two get back from Rowangarth …’

  ‘“Get back from Rowangarth,” she said!’ Kitty raised her eyes dramatically, waiting until she had the complete attention of her audience. ‘But I hadn’t gone to Rowangarth. I was there, behind the sofa – the big one, you know, in the window – and scared stiff they’d find me!’

  ‘Scared stiff?’ Bas demanded scornfully. ‘Nothing scares you, Kitty Sutton. You were listening – eavesdropping. You’re always doing it and it isn’t funny. One day you’ll get caught and Mom’s going to hit the roof!’

  ‘I shan’t get caught. Whenever I listen I have my handkerchief in my hand in case I want to sneeze. And besides, the big window was wide open. I crept out when the talk got boring. They didn’t even know I’d been there. And if you don’t want to hear what th
ey were talking about – well, see if I care! But it was – oooooh – awful …’

  ‘Was it about Herr Hitler or the Prince of Wales?’ Daisy demanded.

  Mam always threw the paper down when there was anything about Herr Hider in it though she was ever so interested in the Prince of Wales and when he was going to find a princess.

  ‘No. More awful than Hitler. Mom said she wouldn’t trust Mullins – that he’s flat-footed and shifty-eyed.’

  ‘Mullins?’ Keth frowned.

  ‘Pendenys butler,’ Drew supplied. ‘But he can’t help being flat-footed, Kitty. It’s all those stairs he has to walk up.’

  ‘Guess not. But he’s shifty-eyed. Mom said to Grandfather Sutton she reckons it’s him getting booze to grandma and –’

  ‘Mom wouldn’t say booze,’ Bas snapped. ‘You’re making it up. You didn’t hear them talking about anything. You just want to be the centre of attention!’

  ‘I did so hear it and okay – Mom didn’t say booze; she said brandy. She did!’

  ‘Do tell?’ Drew urged. He liked it when Kitty did her impersonations.

  ‘No! Not if you don’t believe me!’

  ‘But we do believe you, don’t we, Daiz? And I think Aunt Amelia probably did say brandy, because I heard Will Stubbs and Young Catchpole talking about Aunt Clemmy being on the brandy. A dipso-something, they said.’

  ‘Dipsomaniac,’ Keth supplied. ‘And it’s sad. Dipsomaniacs drink themselves to death.’

  ‘Good,’ said Tatiana – they had forgotten Tatty. ‘How long does it take?’

  ‘Not long.’ Kitty slid her eyes dramatically from right to left. ‘They’ve got a nurse in, at Pendenys, called Miss Hannah. Grandma thinks she’s a new servant. She’s there, just in case. And grandpa says that if Mullins is bringing booze – brandy into the house, he’ll be out on his ear! We-e-ll, dismissed without a reference, actually.’