When Morgan had left to take the doctor back home, Daisy went back upstairs and into the sick woman’s bedroom. Her great-aunt was moaning, but she seemed to be asleep. Daisy went across and sat beside the bed and felt very helpless. There were some paper packets on the bedside table and she could see traces of powder clung to them. The doctor had given some sort of draught to her aunt and she hoped that it had eased the pain a little. The hot-water bottle was still warm, so there was nothing that she could do for her until the ambulance came.
Nor for Michael Derrington, who sat downstairs in his library with his mind seething with agonies of guilty and anxiety.
A resolution came to her. She could not go away and leave him there, and it would do little good for her to see him and try to talk to him. When Morgan returned, and the ambulance had taken her great-aunt off to hospital, they would take the Earl, with his permission or not, and they would drive him up to London. He could not be left here with just a few elderly and nervous servants to deal with him. His family needed to care for him now.
Chapter Thirty-One
Friday 16 May 1924
Poppy stared at her father with apprehension. She couldn’t get used to his appearance. When he had arrived at the house in Grosvenor Square last week she had been frightened by the sight of him. He seemed to have aged by years during the six weeks that they had been away. Jack’s valet had shaven him neatly and trimmed his hair, but there were heavy, dark pouches under his eyes and his thin hands shook continuously. What was she going to do with him until the others came back?
‘Talk to him,’ Daisy had urged. ‘You’re his favourite. You look like mother and you both share a love of music. Try to get him to open up and speak about his worries. I have to go out. We must see the lawyer and find out if there is any chance of postponing this court case on the twenty-sixth.’
Then Daisy was gone, flying down the steps to where Morgan was already cranking up the engine of the old Humber with its angular starting handle. And then Jack, looking efficient and businesslike, came bustling down the steps and Elaine, looking hesitant and unsure, trailed down after them, and she and Rose were left in charge of their father.
Poppy almost felt panicky. There is something almost terrifying about a person who doesn’t speak, she thought. Especially someone who looks as though frightening thoughts are simmering behind their eyes. She looked across at Rose sitting pensively at the piano, touching the odd note here and there and shooting anxious glances at the Earl. He had said very little since he had arrived, almost nothing to his daughters, though he had made an effort with Jack. Daisy, however, said that he was better than he had been at Beech Grove and that he wasn’t to be left alone.
‘Doorbell,’ said Rose, and then, with a note of relief, ‘Oh, it’s Joan. She’s come to say goodbye. She knows that I am to be incarcerated from tomorrow onwards.’ She rushed out into the hall and Poppy heard her exclaiming over a present – a make-up bag with rouge, mascara and eyeshadow, apparently. Joan and Rose were great friends, which was funny because Rose, it was generally considered, was the cleverest of the Derrington sisters, and Joan, thought Poppy, was pretty empty-headed and very silly.
Still, Poppy was delighted to see her. It was impossible to be quiet or anxious when Joan was in the room. She came in now – danced in, as a matter of fact, her feet beating out a rhythm. She twirled around, shrieked greetings and waved her hands in the air, then tossed her close-fitting cloche hat into a corner and unwound her feather boa from about her neck.
‘Poppy, dear old girl – guess what? Got the music for “I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate” – pity we don’t have the drums, but Rose can have a go at marking the beat on the . . . Oh!’
Poppy almost giggled at the expression on Joan’s face when she realized that the Earl was present. He said nothing but had risen to his feet politely, giving a half-smile and a nod in the direction of his neighbour’s youngest daughter.
Joan called across one of her speciality greetings – ‘Hillo’ – twinkled her fingers in his direction and then promptly forgot about him.
‘See, here it is,’ she said. ‘Look at it, Poppy. Baz got hold of it yesterday – he’ll be coming over himself, but he had to see Ambrose – they’re talking about allowances – something like that – discussing how much you two will need to live on, I suppose – anyway this is a great dance and a great tune. I’ll be the dancer – where’s Daisy? – she could be Kate, or could she? Perhaps I’d better be Kate – I’m a better dancer – oh well, we’ll manage without her. Rose, you do the beat on the piano.’
‘Try playing all four beats on two notes with your left hand,’ said Poppy authoritatively. She had almost forgotten about the silent presence of her father in the excitement of this new piece of music. She rang the bell imperiously.
‘I say, Tellford, could you ask Maud to come up?’ she said once the butler appeared, and then went back to instructing Rose not to lift her fingers too much.
When Maud came in she gave a sidelong, slightly scared glance at the Earl out of the corner of her large green eyes, but Joan hummed the tune to her and sang:
‘Oh, I wish I could I shimmy like my sister Kate;
She shimmies like a jelly on a plate . . .’
– all in a slightly breathless voice as she shimmied across the floor and swung her feather boa around her hips.
‘You’ve a terrible voice, Joan,’ said Poppy impatiently. ‘Maud, you do it. Rose, you just mark the beat, don’t get too fancy.’
That was almost perfect, thought Poppy, listening to Maud’s husky voice critically as the notes slid from her clarinet. But then she stopped. Something was wrong.
‘You’re not doing it right, Rose,’ she said in annoyance. ‘You’re doing all those cascading things with your right hand and you’re getting in the way of the clarinet. Keep those notes quieter or else play the left hand louder.’
‘My left hand is not strong enough,’ complained Rose.
‘Wish we had Morgan on the drums – why did Daisy have to take him off like that?’ wailed Poppy. ‘Or Baz. We need the drum or the bass.’
Her father’s presence had set her on edge and suddenly it seemed essential to her that this playing of ‘I Wish I Could Shimmy Like My Sister Kate’ would be a success. In her mind she heard exactly how it should sound.
‘I’ll do the left hand.’ Suddenly the Earl rose to his feet and went over to the piano. Rose, with a slightly nervous look, slid along the piano stool to make room for him beside her, but Poppy just gave a satisfied nod and put her clarinet back into her mouth. Her father was quite a musician and he had often accompanied her in the past.
And they were all still playing it and Joan was still dancing when the party came back from the visit to the lawyer. Maud sidled out the instant they came into the hall, but the others continued. Poppy looked at her father strumming the piano and then across at Daisy and took her clarinet from her mouth in order to laugh at Jack’s astonished expression. But then she put it back again straight away. Her father needed to lose himself in the music; he needed to play that incessant beat until his mind, his heart, his blood was saturated by it and nothing else in the world mattered. The music had to be kept going. In the beat lay salvation. Poppy knew that from her own experience.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Saturday 17 May 1924
‘Then England’s ground, farewell; sweet soil, adieu;
My mother and my nurse that bears me yet!
Where’er I wander, boast of this I can:
Though banish’d, yet a true-born Englishman . . .’
declaimed Rose to the astonished crowd queuing to present their tickets at the gate to platform ten at Victoria Station.
‘Shakespeare,’ she added, and then she spotted another girl in the brown and gold uniform and waved vigorously.
‘I say, Sheila,’ she yelled, ‘did you have a good time? I had an absolutely splendiferous holiday – balls, parties, cocktails, orgies . . .’
‘Rose!’ remonstrated Daisy, but despite the raised eyebrows of the respectable-looking mothers and fathers handing over their daughters to the harassed teacher inside the barrier, she was glad to hear her little sister back on form again. The silent, brooding presence of the Earl had had a bad effect on Rose. She had been white and worried-looking and had even given up inventing dramatic newspaper headlines. Despite her protests about being sent into exile, it would do her good to be back to normality with other girls for company and teachers to tease.
Rose, was, of course, too young for all the invitations that poured into the house at Grosvenor Square so she was alone with her father for a lot of the time while Daisy and Poppy, happily chaperoned by Elaine, were enjoying themselves at balls in the evenings, as well as luncheon parties and afternoon tea at the Ritz during the day.
‘I’ll put the luggage in the guard’s van,’ said Morgan in her ear as Daisy dug out Rose’s health certificate from her handbag and presented it to the teacher. In a minute he was off, efficiently organizing a harassed-looking porter and making sure that all Rose’s cases and her tuck box were piled neatly on top of her trunk.
‘Bags I the window seat,’ shouted Rose, swinging her overnight bag dangerously near the bowler hat of a gentleman who was bending down to give his daughter a farewell kiss.
‘C’mon, Charlotte, Ellen, Wilhelmina, Ann! C’mon, everybody! Bye, Daisy, Bye Morgan. Do make sure when I die of sorrow that my bones are carried home and buried in English soil, won’t you?’
And then she was gone, filling the carriage that she had chosen with a group of her best friends. Daisy could see how the girls were all laughing and leaning forward and could imagine the tale of some invented wild orgy with which Rose was entertaining them.
‘She’ll be better off back in school,’ said Morgan as the guard blew his whistle and the train snorted and then slowly puffed out of the station.
‘I know,’ said Daisy. She realized that he had seen the tears gathering in her eyes and she wiped them with a laugh. ‘I’ll miss her though. It’s funny how she was talking about English soil,’ she continued. ‘I was just thinking last night about Beech Manor Grove. I miss it, you know. I know it’s damp and cold, but I miss the woods around the house, I miss my pony and the dogs.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I even miss collecting the eggs from the hens.’ And of course the breathtaking beauty of the house set among the woods and the lake, she thought.
‘How did the visit to the lawyer go?’ asked Morgan as together they strolled back through the barrier.
‘Not good.’ Daisy shook her head. She said no more until they reached the Humber. She felt that she could not trust her voice.
‘I suppose I’ve been thinking of Beech Grove Manor since the visit to the lawyer,’ she said once he got in beside her. She looked across at him. He had cranked up the car, but he left the engine running and made no move to set off. His eyes were on her and he had an understanding expression on his face.
‘Bad as that, is it?’ he asked.
‘The lawyer says that he has breached a court order and laid himself liable to a prison sentence for contempt of court. The best that can happen to him will be that he will get a heavy fine, and of course, according to the lawyer, he has to pay Denis Derrington back the money that he got from the sale of Binton Wood.’
Morgan gave a long, low whistle. ‘Has he still got the money?’ he enquired.
Daisy shook her head. She felt tears well up in her eyes.
‘He gave it to Elaine to pay for our coming-out dresses and party,’ she said. ‘He won’t consider taking it back. He yelled when she tried to offer it. He told her that she was trying to rob him of a last remaining shred of pride, so Jack . . .’ Jack, she thought as she choked back her sobs, had not really understood, but he was sensitive enough to comprehend that Michael Derrington was a man balanced on the edge of sanity. He had made a decisive signal to Elaine and she had immediately changed the subject.
‘You see, he was told quite clearly by the judge that he could sell nothing without the consent of his heir, but he went ahead and did it – all for the sake of this season.’ Her voice was now choked and tears poured down her cheeks, but she had ceased to care. It was comforting to be able to let go, to be able to stop pretending that everything was well.
Morgan touched her hand with his and then withdrew it. She wound down the window and put her head out, gulping in some fumes as she did so. For a moment she remembered with a feeling of nostalgia the fresh smell of the beech woods of her home, and then she closed the window again and said as steadily as she could, ‘There really is only one option, and that is to accept the offer that Denis Derrington has made that Beech Grove Manor House is handed over to him. He will repair the damage and renovate the house while my father continues to receive the rents from the farms. And of course, when he dies, Denis will inherit all so it makes good sense for him to prevent any further damage to the house – the roof is in a very bad state,’ she added, though she knew that Morgan knew all about that. He had often climbed up on the roof to replace lost slates, but he had once told her that the whole thing needed to be stripped and the timbers renewed.
‘Of course, he will make things even worse if he doesn’t turn up at the hearing on the twenty-sixth,’ she added.
‘Well, that’s still a while away,’ said Morgan encouragingly. ‘A lot can change in a week. I’ll tell you what I’ll do; I’ll try to get him to come out for a spin in the car – down to Greenwich or something like that. Take his mind off things. I’ll just turn up and pretend that I thought he ordered the car. A bit of air will do him good.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Daisy, trying to sound cheerful. ‘We’d better go now, Morgan. I want to spend this afternoon with him as we are going to Joan’s coming-out dance tonight. You know, Morgan, I feel very guilty that we have pushed him into this,’ she added impulsively as the car slid out into the traffic of Victoria Street. ‘Every time I look at my presentation dress, hanging up there in my dressing room, I just wonder whether this dress has cost him his reason.’
‘Don’t think like that.’ Morgan’s voice was almost rough. ‘You had a right to have what others of your kind have. You had a right to look for your own happiness. If you want to blame anything, blame the war. That’s what wrecked the Earl – not the cost of a dress and a few parties. Now stop thinking like that and concentrate on the party tonight. Going to be very splendid, I hear.’
‘Yes, it’s all top-secret, but Joan assures me that it is going to be the most stunning event of the season.’ Daisy tried to smile, but she couldn’t help thinking that she might not enjoy the evening. Of course, when the invitations went out she and Charles had been a couple, but now . . . She just hoped that, given the circumstances, he would send an excuse.
‘I should get plenty of material for my new film, Bright Young People, at least; it’s coming on really well. Joan suggested that I bring my camera tonight – and made me promise faithfully that I would never, ever film her right profile or her left knee.’ She laughed at the memory of Joan’s detailed instructions.
‘And of course you will be there, won’t you?’ She turned to Morgan with a sudden feeling of pleasure.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Saturday 17 May 1924
Joan’s coming-out party had been more than a year in the planning. Everything, she had told her mother firmly, had to be different. It would be the sort of party that people were going to go on talking about for years. Dowagers shrieked in horror, fathers threatened, mothers agonized, but the Bright Young People screamed with laughter when the gold-edged cards arrived, inviting everyone to an underwater party by Westminster Bridge.
Elaine had been very enthusiastic and excited about this party and had insisted on buying the girls new outfits for it. Daisy had a dress in deep, rich ocean blue, adorned with a matching fluffy boa, fringed like exotic artificial seaweed. Poppy chose a very short scarlet dress sewn all over with tiny, cup-like coral s
hapes. They dressed and admired each other and showed off their outfits to Maud while Elaine got ready, but they both felt heavy-hearted that their father had once more sunk back into a dark depression of despair.
Only Morgan was in the hall when they came down the stairs. He looked up, startled, and lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the impact of Poppy’s explosion of colour. She made a face at him before going into the library, where Jack and Elaine were having a conversation with some friend.
‘You look gorgeous,’ whispered Morgan to Daisy, his eyes on the still-open door. ‘Looking forward to it, are you?’
‘Not really,’ said Daisy. ‘They’re more Poppy’s friends than mine.’
‘Well, I’ll be there, and I’m more your friend than anyone else’s.’ His voice was still a hushed whisper and he looked around hurriedly as the sound of voices saying goodbyes showed that the others would be coming out at any moment.
‘I’ll come and sit by the drums,’ she promised, and felt cheered by the light of pleasure in his eyes and the warmth in his voice. Joan was going to have jazz played right through her party, but she had engaged another jazz band as well, so that Poppy and Baz could have their fair share of the dancing. Would Morgan dance too? Daisy wondered.
A long line of taxis was dropping off young people at the quayside when they arrived at Westminster Bridge. Daisy leaned out of the window of the car, pointing her camera at them and wishing suddenly that someone would invent colour photography so that she could do justice to the bright dresses as the girls teetered across the gangplank to the boat in their impossibly high heels.
When they got inside the riverboat she wished it even more. Lady Dorothy had engaged the services of the stage designer from Drury Lane Theatre and the effect was magical. The ceiling of the large saloon downstairs was hung with bunches of coral in blue, red, pink, green and gold. Trails of exotic seaweed draped the windows and light glowed through shades of green and blue glass. The floor itself had been painted dark blue and sprinkled with glitter, and Daisy saw with amusement how Poppy, unselfconscious as always, bent down and rubbed her finger on the sparkling surface to see whether any would come off. But then she forgot the floor, forgot to film, as she gasped in amazement at the sight at the far end of the room. A floor-to-ceiling pale blue translucent voile curtain hung a few feet away from the end wall. Behind it, but clearly to be seen, were dozens of tiny blue balloons flecked with silver. They rose continuously, looking like bubbles beneath the sea.
Debutantes: In Love Page 20