Poppy made her way back along the well-trodden path between the cottage and the house, pushed open the door into the hallway and was struck, as usual, by the icy chill of the place. Without bothering to change she strode into the dining room, where Great-Aunt Lizzie had already taken her place.
Great-Aunt Lizzie had brought up the orphan sisters Mary and Elaine Carruthers, had looked after the considerable fortune that the sisters had shared and had come to live at Beech Grove Manor House when Mary Carruthers had married Michael Derrington, eldest son and heir to the old Earl. She had remained there with the younger sister, Elaine, when Mary and Michael had gone out to India, and apart from a brief visit there herself to see Elaine safely married to a wealthy Anglo-Indian gentleman, she had stayed at Beech Grove Manor ever since. She was there when the news came that Michael’s younger brother, Robert, had been killed in the Boer War, and had been there when the old Earl, Poppy’s grandfather, had died and Michael had come back to his inheritance in England. And then when Mary Derrington in turn died, leaving four daughters ranging from twelve-year-old Violet, through the two ten-year-olds, Poppy and Daisy, down to five-year-old Rose, Great-Aunt Lizzie took over the care and education of the four motherless girls.
And yet . . . thought Poppy. None of them loved her very much – all wanted to escape her rule. She eyed the stately old lady with apprehension. She knew what was coming as soon as she saw the look of incredulous fury on the lined face.
‘Poppy! How dare you come into lunch looking like that! Go straight to your bedroom!’
‘Very well.’ Poppy turned on her heel and went out through the door, almost knocking down the elderly butler.
‘Sorry, Bateman,’ she said remorsefully as she saw his worried old face. She waited until he had gone into the dining room. Once the door closed behind him, she moved fast. Not up to her bedroom to change into some shabby and darned frock, deemed suitable for lunch by Great-Aunt Lizzie; where she would be expected to comb and brush her unruly hair and bind it into two braids, and then to reappear meek and full of apologies and sit through a long lecture on her untidiness and bad manners.
No, Poppy slipped out through the front door, ran down the steps and across the weed-filled gravel to the stables. Quickly she saddled her pony and within a few minutes was galloping through the beech woods along the pathway that led to the boundary between Beech Grove Manor and the Pattenden estates.
She knew a place where she would be welcome to lunch.
Chapter Two
Friday 1 February 1924
Baz had only just arrived and was still in his riding breeches and tweed jacket when Poppy galloped down the avenue that led to the Pattenden house. He had just joined his mother and an elderly gentleman in formal black clothes on the lawn in front of the stately building. Poppy checked her pony, slid from its back and handed the reins to a groom who had appeared at her side.
‘Darling Poppy, how lovely to see you. Have you come to lunch? Come and advise me, dear child.’ Lady Dorothy was a vague, well-meaning woman who did not have very strong views on anything, but floated through life in a happy dream, allowing her numerous offspring to do whatsoever they wanted. She made an elegant figure, a tall, fashionably dressed lady who did not look like the mother of eight children. In fact, thought Poppy affectionately, she always seemed to act, speak and dress as though she were the same age as her two youngest children: Baz and his sister Joan, just a year his elder. Today Lady Dorothy was wearing a short skirt with an elegant cashmere twinset and a string of the finest pearls that hung down to waist level. Her hair was shingled close to her head and dyed an improbable shade of gold.
‘You know this dear man, don’t you, darling?’ she said, addressing the air between Poppy and the black-suited man, who bowed and muttered something about being his lordship’s solicitor.
‘Mother is thinking about building a wing on to the old house.’ Baz grinned at Poppy.
The solicitor cleared his throat. ‘No doubt his lordship will be interested to listen to any suggestions that your ladyship might like to make to him regarding any improvements,’ he said diplomatically.
‘His lordship,’ said Lady Dorothy with a puzzled frown. ‘Oh, you mean Ambrose. It’s too, too amusing, darling girl –’ she addressed herself to Poppy – ‘but my Ambrose has got himself engaged to be married. It seems only the other day when the dear boy was in his pram. And now he has been snapped up. I don’t know what possessed him – one of the Berkeleys, my dear! I’m very easy-going, as you know, but I can’t live with a Berkeley and he is planning on moving down here to Kent, so I am going to have to build my own wing.’
The solicitor cleared his throat again. He had a harassed look, Poppy noted with amusement. Ambrose had inherited the estate from his father who had died the previous year, but it was apparent that Lady Dorothy reckoned she was still in charge and could direct any alterations to the estate or the house.
‘I have come for lunch,’ said Poppy with one of her most charming smiles. ‘Will I be in the way? Shall I go away again?’
Lady Dorothy shrieked with dismay. ‘No, no, I’m relying on you to help me; you’re such a sensible little thing. I really need your advice about this building.’
Only Lady Dorothy, thought Poppy, unable to suppress a giggle, would refer to her as ‘sensible’ – or, given that she was the tallest of the family, as ‘little’. However, she did her best and surveyed the handsome house with interest.
‘You could build your wing on the front and then Ambrose and the Berkeley girl would have to use the servants’ entrance at the back,’ she suggested.
‘Oh, you naughty little puss,’ trilled Lady Dorothy, giving her an impulsive kiss. ‘You know I wouldn’t do that. I am determined to be the most wonderful mother-in-law in the world.’
‘Just so, just so,’ said the solicitor, looking uncomfortable. He turned with an air of relief to Baz and told him that his grandfather’s will had been proved and the house in Belgravia was ready whenever he wanted to look over it and decide what he wanted to do with it – ‘No doubt, his lordship your brother will advise you,’ he concluded.
‘So sweet of Papa to have left the little house to Baz, wasn’t it?’ said Lady Dorothy to Poppy. ‘You know, I used to worry about this boy; his father wanted him to be a lawyer or something. All the other boys have had estates, but there was nothing left by the time that Baz turned up. You should have been another girl, darling,’ she said to Baz.
‘Good profession, the law,’ said the solicitor slightly stiffly.
‘Yes, that’s what I used to say to him, didn’t I, Basil darling? Poor dear boy, you will have nothing – you know that you really should go to university and get some sort of profession; what a pity you are not clever. That’s what I used to say.’
‘Yes, Mama. You used to say that every time his school reports arrived!’ Joan, the youngest of the Pattenden girls, had come out of the house and joined the others on the lawn.
‘Well, at least I was never expelled from school like you were,’ said Baz.
‘Not for dancing in the nude or anything,’ explained Joan in a confidential whisper from behind her hand to the solicitor. ‘It was just for smoking.’
‘And setting the dormitory on fire,’ put in Baz as the man tittered uncomfortably.
‘That was completely unintentional,’ said Joan airily. ‘Just a mistake that anyone could have made! Anyway, will you stay for lunch, Mr Duckett? Or do you want to get the two o’clock train back to London? I’ll get one of the stable lads to drive you to the station if you do.’
‘Oh, I must get the two o’clock,’ Mr Duckett insisted, and then, with the air of man nerving himself to dive into an icy sea, said very rapidly, ‘And you do understand, your ladyship, that his lordship the Earl wants the house completely vacated of all of the family for four months after Easter so that it can be thoroughly decorated according to his instructions and a new boiler and central-heating system installed.’
‘He’s turning me out of my house, my own son,’ said Lady Dorothy sadly.
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Mama,’ said Joan. ‘You’ve already said that you plan to spend a few months from April in the London house – there’s my presentation and my season coming up, you know. And Baz will have to come with us, won’t you, Baz? You’ll have Poppy there at the same time, because she’ll be being presented with me. You can dance with her at parties – as long as you make sure first that I have a partner, of course. We’ll all have such fun, won’t we, Poppy? We’ll set London on fire.’
Poppy looked helplessly back. If that letter did not come from Elaine in India, if her father did not give permission, then she would not have a London season at all. Up to now she had felt comforted by the thought that if she didn’t go to London, then Baz would not go either. Now she knew that he would have no choice.
She said goodbye mechanically to the solicitor and followed Joan into the house and up the stairs to wash her hands.
I must get to London for the season, she thought. I can’t bear to be without Baz for three whole months.
Chapter Three
Friday 1 February 1924
Daisy was nowhere to be seen when Poppy returned, but the car was in the stable yard so Poppy guessed that she was in the bedroom they shared. She sneaked up the back stairs in order not to have to meet Great-Aunt Lizzie, opened the door very quietly and found Daisy lying on her bed, sobbing quietly.
‘What’s wrong?’ They had had such fun, herself, Baz and Joan, during the afternoon that, to her shame, she found that she had once again forgotten about the court case. She had been timing her arrival in order to give herself just enough time to get ready for dinner and to encounter Great-Aunt Lizzie in the safe presence of the servants waiting at the table.
‘Tell me what happened,’ she said nervously. ‘Was it very awful?’
Daisy sat up and wiped her eyes. ‘Terrible,’ she said. ‘From start to finish! When we got there the street was full of reporters. I expect that Denis Derrington must have tipped them off. They were awful, shouting questions and pushing notebooks in front of Father. And then all those cameras going off in Father’s face – it was an agony for him. It was a good job that we had Morgan with us,’ she said. ‘He managed to park fairly nearby and you know what he’s like; he stands up to people and he managed to clear a way through the crowd for Father and myself. He took no notice of the reporters and cameramen, just shouldered them out of the way.’
Poppy nodded. Morgan was a powerfully built young man and he would not hesitate to tackle the bravest reporter.
‘The Kent Messenger already had banner headlines: Local Peer Sued by Heir,’ Daisy went on. ‘I hurried Father past, but you can guess what it was like.’
‘And what happened in the court?’ asked Poppy. She started to tidy her hair, running the comb ruthlessly through the tangles. Somehow it hurt her more than she had anticipated to hear of her father’s humiliation.
‘Well, Denis Derrington was there, of course – even the lawyer remarked on how happy he was looking. He kept roaring with laughter. I’d never seen him in person before today. He’s got very unusual green eyes, and strange eyebrows, sort of winged, going up at the sides . . . Reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t think who.’
‘How was Father?’ asked Poppy anxiously.
‘Not good,’ said Daisy flatly. ‘You see the thing is,’ she explained, ‘that in theory Father needs to get Denis Derrington’s permission before he sells even a single tree. It’s just stupid, really. The Pattendens and the Melroses and the Frimleys are selling off farms and using the money to ride out this time of poor prices for the food grown on the farm, but Denis keeps refusing.’ She shrugged. ‘And then, of course, Father took no notice and went ahead with the sale of some mature woodland – well, you know what he’s like, he . . .’
‘What happened in the end?’ interrupted Poppy. She could guess, but she had to know for sure.
Daisy hesitated. ‘Father was very odd in court,’ she said eventually. ‘He seemed to take no interest in the evidence or the swearing of documents. In the end, when the judge asked him whether he denied receiving the letter from Denis refusing permission to sell any land, Father just stared straight ahead of him and made no answer for a long time. And, you know, Poppy, up to that minute, I thought the judge might be sympathetic to him, going on about Father’s large family and he being a widower and everything, but suddenly Father just shouted out, “That’s my business.” And he was glaring at the judge. And then he said, “I came here for justice, not to be interrogated.” And of course the judge didn’t like that and told him that he could sit down.’
‘And then?’ Poppy wished that she didn’t have to hear of all of this.
Daisy dabbed at her eyes again with her handkerchief, took a deep breath and said, ‘Well, he was fined and told that if he sold any woodland or other property without the written permission of Denis Derrington, then he could be sent to prison.’
Poppy gazed at her with horror.
Daisy started to cry again. ‘I hate myself,’ she wailed, ‘but all the way home the one thing that I kept thinking was: we’ll never get to London now for our season, and I’ll never have a chance to make a film with Sir Guy. I did so want to become a film director and make some money and now I don’t think it will ever happen. We’ll be stuck here until we are as old as Great-Aunt Lizzie and nothing good will ever happen to us.’
Resolutely she went across to the washstand, dabbed cold water on to her eyelids and stood for a moment with the towel pressed to her face. Then she walked to the door. ‘I’d better go down,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Bateman has sounded the gong. Hurry up and change. We don’t want any more trouble tonight.’
Chapter Four
Friday 1 February 1924
By the time Poppy came into the dining room the others were seated around the table in the cold, gloomy dining room. They had finished their soup and the battered silver spoons had been replaced into worn china bowls. Poppy slid into her place beside Daisy and stiffened as Great-Aunt Lizzie turned angry eyes towards her. But Bateman, the butler, immediately came forward and ladled soup into her bowl, and Daisy, after one rapid glance at her, continued reading from a letter in her hand.
‘“I must now tell you all the sad and tragic story of a girl who went wrong,” – it’s Rose, Poppy,’ said Daisy hastily, as if to stop Poppy from saying anything, and Poppy gave a reluctant smile. Ever since Rose had gone to boarding school in Switzerland in January, the family had been bombarded with letters, each of them filled with the terrible deeds of the girls at the school. It had started with a certain Angela, who had daringly greased the floor outside the staffroom with a pot of Vaseline – causing the teachers to go skidding in all directions down the corridor; then it had moved on to Barbara, who had stood up at the end of dinner, rung the headmistress’s own hand bell and then publicly decried the food in terms so like Rose’s language that Barbara was either briefed by Rose, or else invented by her. Next came Caroline, who daringly sold photographs of ten of the prettiest girls in the school to a white slave trader – even the Earl expressed doubt over that story, though Great-Aunt Lizzie could believe any wickedness of this modern world of 1924. There had also been tales of Dorothy who had stolen the silver cups from the library, pawned them and run away to Paris on the proceeds, and now there was Edwina . . . Michael Derrington was chuckling loudly over her exploits while Great-Aunt Lizzie sat rigid with shock.
Poppy swallowed her soup, and thought of Baz. Odd sentences from Rose’s letter wandered into her mind:
‘. . . a young lady of weak will and mislaid morals . . . seduced by the thought of a party in a hot-air balloon . . . an experience as yet totally unknown in her dull and eventless life . . . to the horror of the headmistress and the terror of the teachers!’
A snort of laughter from the Earl recalled Poppy to herself. Even Bateman was smiling at the vivid picture of the hot-air balloon la
nding on the hockey pitch at six o’clock in the morning, delivering an inebriated Edwina back to school in time for early morning prayers after she had deposited ten empty champagne bottles on the windowsill of the headmistress’s study.
‘That girl should be expelled,’ declared Great-Aunt Lizzie.
She probably will be, thought Poppy, rapidly finishing her soup, if she’s not simply a figment of Rose’s fertile imagination. She half heard Daisy tell Great-Aunt Lizzie that Rose had received a prize for having submitted the most book reviews in the first half-term. Poppy peered over Daisy’s shoulder and read:
‘I gave that boring book five out of five stars as it is so immensely fat that it was useful as a second pillow underneath the thin old thing they give us. I made up the review and the librarian had obviously never read it either as she wrote: EXCELLENT WORK.’
Poppy chewed thoughtfully on the crust of her roll, admiring the way that Daisy skipped bits of Rose’s letter and just read out the sections that would amuse or interest the Earl or Great-Aunt Lizzie. Her mind went back to her own concerns. Would the girls be able to have a season? Certainly her father could not afford it since the bank had told him that he could borrow no more money. He probably had not enough money to pay the fine and the court costs. She and Daisy had almost given up hope that their mother’s sister Elaine, Daisy’s real mother, would, as she had promised, come back from India in order to present the two girls at court, as she had done for their elder sister, Violet. Perhaps Violet would have me to stay, thought Poppy, but that was unlikely. Violet was too busy to be bothered with her younger sisters, not to mention the fact that she also did not have the money to launch the girls into society. Violet and Justin had barely enough for their own needs, although Violet had been hoping that Justin might get an increase in his salary soon.
Debutantes: In Love Page 2