Debutantes

by Charlotte Bingham

  She did not have to wait long, for only minutes after she had arrived in the hallway and posed for the admiration of her staff than all eyes were suddenly off her and turned in admiration to the sight which was now making its way downstairs. Daisy too glanced round, unable to resist the impulse, and when she saw how Emily looked she did not know whether to be delighted with her appearance or furious.

  The truth was that Daisy had hoped, somewhat illogically given the circumstances, that the very austerity of the dress she had chosen for Emily for her debut would ensure her total eclipse by her patron. Naturally she wanted her protégée to look at the very least presentable, but knowing that Captain Pilkington was already taken with the girl Daisy considered it would be both dangerous and unnecessary for her to appear as anything more than another good-looking young debutante, dangerous inasmuch as she might attract too much attention from other quarters besides possibly stealing a little of her patron’s thunder. Unfortunately in so doing she had forgotten that simplicity is the most deceitful of mistresses, with the consequence that the almost statuesque beauty of Emily was made even more apparent by the plainness of her unadorned gown, and that in contrast Daisy looked as though she needed her every embellishment to draw the attention of others. In fact the more she looked at the transparent purity of her protégée the more Daisy Evesham felt her age and inpending decline.

  ‘Straighten your back, Emily,’ she told her frostily, rather than pay her any compliment. ‘And I have told you to watch carefully ve angle you carry your head. We want you to appear as a debutante, not a goose.’

  After which correction the Countess of Evesham ordered Emily out to the waiting carriage and thence on to dinner with some highly notable but tragically boring friends of the Old Fool.

  * * *

  Portia’s ballgown was also white and very correct, setting off her beautifully dressed dark hair and abetting her look of genuine innocence. But not only was it an infinitely more expensive gown than Emily Persse’s, because Lady Medlar was a much more experienced hand at preparing and presenting girls making their social debut than was the vainglorious Daisy Evesham, Portia’s coming-out dress was also shot through with the very lightest of fine silver threads, so that every time Portia moved the gown caught the light and glittered, just as did the tiny diamond stars Aunt Tattie had lent her to wear in the back of her dark hair atop the graceful and perfectly tied knot Evie had wrought for her. Consequently for the second time in her life a young woman who knew that she could in no way be considered beautiful thanks to the munificence of her Aunt Augustine and the imagination of her Aunt Tatiana felt beautiful, which was all Portia needed to see her through the ordeal, fuelled as she was by Evie’s now famous gumption.

  The dinner which her Aunt Augustine had made sure she was invited to attend before the ball itself was to be held at Lord Dymchurch’s fine house in Berkeley Square. Aunt Tattie had schooled her as to what to expect, with particular regard to the odd mixture of ages which she would come up against since the Season was done, as it were, not only by the young bloods and most particularly those in search of a wife, but also by certain older men besides those being made to endure it for the sake of their socially ambitious wives, older single men, often widowers, who were always most anxious to assess the new crop of debutantes. This would, Aunt Tattie informed her, test her powers of conversation to the full since with Portia being only the daughter of the younger son of a hereditary knight, she would usually be going in to dinner towards the end of the line and consequently find herself sitting regularly between gentlemen who might not only prove undoubtedly to be a little on the ancient side but were more than likely also to be exceedingly dull.

  ‘Morever, dearest girl, this English obsession with precedence often means you can all too easily spend the main part of your Season sitting next to more or less the same people every night at dinner,’ Aunt Tattie added with a sigh born of her own recollected Season. ‘It is simply too awful and after no time at all you will find yourself longing for some of the dead wood to be gathered as ’twere, peacefully of course, just to pass quietly away in their beds, but none the less one finds oneself longing for it in desperation, simply so one can have just a little change in the wretched placement.’

  With these and other warnings ringing in her ears Portia set off in the very grand carriage despatched by her Aunt Augustine especially to transport her niece to dinner. Evie her maid sat opposite her, reminiscing about the bad old days when her old mother had been in service and apparently lady’s maids had been required to sit up outside on the carriage either with the driver or on a seat at the back regardless of the prevailing weather conditions. Portia let her talk but added little to the conversation because she was too busy trying to recapitulate on what Aunt Tattie had advised about conversation at dinner.

  ‘If one finds oneself beached, dearest girl, which alas I am afraid even you with your gift of good conversation will often find yourself, when you find yourself sitting there without either of your male companions finding anything further to say, one must always have one subject which is safe to introduce at the table and which can be guaranteed to draw out even the dullest of men.’

  ‘Hunting, I should imagine, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia had guessed. ‘Hunting foxes or stags or shooting birds usually does it, so they say.’

  ‘Not always, dearest girl. Besides, that is usually the very first thing most gentlemen choose to discuss, and in infinitely boring detail, although one gathers golf is growing in popularity as a way of sending womenfolk to sleep over their dinner.’ Aunt Tattie laughed at the thought of it before returning to the subject uppermost in her mind. ‘No, the subject I was going to recommend you to broach if and when you find yourself high and dry on the conversational beaches is childhood. Invariably I have found when myself at a loss for words that when the awful silence descends around you further longeurs can be immediately avoided by enquiring about your companions’ childhoods. With the exception of royalty, naturally, because as you well know by now one never asks royalty anything. One may remark most certainly on somesuch or the other, but such a remark must never have a question mark after it. I have often thought – that is perfectly acceptable. But never to be followed by a haven’t you, ma’am or sire? Oh and by the by, while we are on the subject, if a royal person ever admires something of one’s, one must make a gift of it at once. Whatever the treasure. Otherwise, to return to the matter in hand, when in doubt enquire about their childhood. Even the most reclusive of men can become surprisingly emotional and indeed expansive on the subject, and it keeps them waxing on until thankfully it is time to turn to one’s other companion.’

  By now the carriage had arrived outside Lord Dymchurch’s house and had taken its place in the queue to allow those in front to disembark. Having helped her mistress with her fan and her reticule when their turn had at last come Evie reminded Portia that should she require her during the course of the evening she would be in attendance in the cloakroom.

  Immediately inside in the grand hall Aunt Augustine in the company of her famously silent husband was awaiting the arrival of her niece. They had only been four carriages in front, so the delay had been small and perfectly tolerable. When Portia joined them Lord Medlar bowed and paid her some small compliment which she only half heard before he turned away to study the rest of the arrivals, totally ignoring his wife. He was a handsome man of good height and military bearing, with moustaches and a head of snow-white hair, a result perhaps, Portia thought, of the enforced discovery of his wife’s famous love letters. Portia smiled at her aunt, wondering whether now she was in the company of her glacial husband she might not be somewhat less intimidating, but on the contrary Aunt Augustine looked even more assured than ever, and Portia remembered her other aunt telling her that her social life was meat and drink to Aunt Augustine. She looked stunning as well, particularly now she was adorned by the famous Medlar tiara which was well known for being one of the largest ever made, including anything t
he Queen herself owned, and while it might not have some single irreplaceable and priceless diamond as its centrepiece nevertheless it sported so many old diamonds of the very topmost quality that when it caught the lights the effect was quite literally dazzling.

  ‘My dear Portia, you look completely as you should,’ Lady Medlar told her niece once she had inspected her quite openly. ‘Tatiana might be more than a trifle eccentric, but I am glad to say that for once she was quite right, you do have quality. Undoubted quality. Quality is always brought out by the way one wears a ballgown and jewels, and no amount of a dressmaker’s genius can give it to one if it simply is not there in the first place. That is the fact of the matter.’

  All three of them then joined the reception in the first-floor drawing room where champagne was served by it seemed as many liveried flunkeys as there were guests. After the compliment made to her by her aunt Portia felt oddly confident and managed better than she could ever have imagined with all the small talk with which the guests occupied themselves before moving in to dinner, when sure enough and just as Aunt Tattie had predicted Portia found herself on one arm of an extremely ancient general, his scarlet jacket embellished with an excess of campaign and gallantry medals, next to whom she understood she had been placed for dinner. On the general’s other arm was an exceedingly tall dim-witted-looking girl in a somewhat faded-looking white ballgown. The three of them fell into place behind a line of gentlemen most of whom were escorting two ladies and began to make a slow progress towards the dining room beyond. Long before she took her place Portia had plenty of time to admire its magnificence, the table superbly laid with silver and gold and the finest cut glass, the walls hung with priceless paintings and the whole room exquisitely decorated and embellished with the most beautiful arrangements of flowers Portia had ever seen, while in a chamber beyond whose double doors were fixed open a small orchestra was already playing.

  As they sat Portia wondered whether she would need to call on her aunt’s advice concerning conversation when cornered since the old general had barely uttered a word from the moment of their mutual introduction. But then he had hardly been given the chance so gushing had the tall girl on his other side proved during their slow progress into the dining room. She continued to gush loudly at the general once they were seated so in hope that the gentleman on her right might be free and ready to converse Portia turned to him instead, only to find him already engaged in conversation with the woman on his right with his head turned away from Portia so that she was not even able to see what manner of man he might be nor what age. For the whole of the first course she sat in silence, toying with her soup and wondering what she should do if no-one spoke to her throughout the entire meal.

  As they were halfway through the next course at last the general turned and addressed himself to Portia.

  ‘And you, my dear young lady,’ he said. ‘I would be delighted to learn all about you, I am sure. So please do tell me, where do your particular interests lie?’

  ‘My main interest, General, lies in sailing as it happens,’ Portia replied, unsure how this piece of information would be received by such a distinguished military personage.

  ‘How very fortuitous,’ the general replied. ‘I had the selfsame hobby when I was a young man, and indeed for a long time it was touch and go as to whether I should go into the navy or the army. So tell me all about your skills. How you learned, and where indeed you sail.’

  So engaging was the old gentleman and so apparently interested in Portia’s love of sailing that the rest of the dinner seemed to fly past, until with some dismay Portia realized she had neither addressed nor been addressed by the man on her right-hand side. The general, sensing her slight consternation and seeing that the gentleman on Portia’s right was indeed poised to talk to her and had been now for some moments, freed her from her conversational obligations with himself so skilfully that Portia felt it was she who had concluded their dialogue and not the wise old soldier.

  ‘Forgive me,’ she said, turning to the man on her right. ‘I am afraid I got somewhat carried away in my conversation with General Masterson.’

  ‘That is easily understandable, seeing that the General is one of the most interesting and articulate men in present Society,’ her fellow guest replied. ‘And now if you will allow me to introduce myself?’

  ‘There is no need, sir,’ Portia replied. ‘For we have already met, albeit not formally. We became acquainted as my aunt and I were leaving the reception at Medlar House last week and you were just arriving, sir.’

  ‘But of course.’ Lord Childhays smiled, a smile which Portia was surprised to see was not without an element of shyness, which made the smiler even more attractive. ‘Your aunt was the woman with the absurd hat for absurd occasions. May I say how delighted I am to remake your acquaintance? I was wondering if and when we should, Miss . . .?’

  ‘Tradescant, Lord Childhays,’ Portia replied, and then found herself totally at a loss for words due to the fact that she was on the receiving end of the most mesmerizing look to which she had ever been subjected.

  ‘Good,’ Lord Childhays said after what seemed to Portia to have been an endless moment. ‘So what would you like to discuss, Miss Tradescant? The state of the spring weather? The introduction of these wretched death duties? George du Maurier’s excellent new novel Trilby? Or perhaps Baron de Coubertin’s notion to found a modern Olympiad? There is no doubt as I am sure you will agree, Miss Tradescant, that we live in exciting times, do we not?’

  ‘We most certainly do, Lord Childhays,’ Portia replied, still fixed by her neighbour’s look. ‘And none more so, I feel, than the present.’

  * * *

  The crowds that awaited the guests outside the Duke of Salisbury’s house in Grosvenor Square stood three to four deep in places as they patiently waited for the rich, the beautiful and the illustrious to step out of their gleaming carriages and make their way in to the first ball of the Season. Nor were they disappointed when the first of the carriages rolled up to set down its affluent passengers on the red carpet which had been specially laid from door to kerb for their convenience. Depending on their apparent opulence or beauty each arrival elicited some response, whether it was just a low but heartfelt moan of envious admiration as some magnificently bejewelled woman emerged from the darkness of her equipage or a full-throated cheer at the arrival of a notable beauty and her escort.

  Daisy Evesham’s arrival was awarded the most enthusiastic reception of the evening to date, her appearance being greeted with a huge and eminently good-natured cheer which she stopped to acknowledge with a dazzling smile. She was well accustomed to adulation since she had been well known for her beauty even before becoming the Prince of Wales’s mistress, copies of her likeness having been widely on sale in postcard form in all the popular shops. This evening she dallied a little longer than usual to wave at the crowd and receive their wishes of good luck, almost as if she knew her star might soon be on the wane, before with one last wave and one single kiss blown to the people in general one of the most famous mistresses in English history swept up to the front doors and into a house which was simply ablaze with light.

  Because the crowd was so busy watching the notorious Daisy Lanford’s arrival and entry few people paid any attention to the tall girl hurrying into the house after her followed by her scurrying maid who was carrying the train of her mistress’s dress as well as a large handbag of her own containing what such servants called the necessaries. Nor did Emily pay much attention to the crowds, other than to hurry past them as fast as she could forgetting all about her patron’s instructions always to walk slowly and gracefully with her head up and her eyes cast modestly down. When she had first been given that particular direction by Lady Devenish Emily had queried it, wondering how it was possible to do two such contradictory things at the same time. In fact she had made a pantomime of it for her tutor, walking across the drawing-room floor at Sunning Lodge with her head held high and her eyes fixed firmly on
the floor. When she had finally recovered her composure Lady Devenish admitted that particular deportmental guideline seemed to be somewhat carelessly thought out.

  Not that Emily would have given it much heed as she followed her patron into the Duke of Salisbury’s fine house because as soon as she had seen the size of the crowds she had been overcome with such a fit of nerves she had been forced to call on all her courage and all of her maid’s prompting to get out of the carriage at all. Even once she was out on the pavement all she could think of was getting inside the house, the front doors of which appeared as if in a nightmare to be not a matter of yards away but the best part of a mile distant.

  Once inside she instructed Minnie to accompany her to the cloakroom at once where finding an empty chair in an otherwise crowded room she sat down and grabbing Minnie to her whispered to her maid to fetch the bottle of sal volatile from her large bag.

  ‘Heaven knows, Minnie, dinner was difficult enough to manage, but this—’ Emily sat back and closed her eyes while Minnie waved the smelling salts beneath her nose. ‘I had completely forgotten how much I dislike crowds. How they induce me to panic.’

  ‘Dear me!’ someone nearby laughed unsympathetically. ‘Fainting already? I would go home at once if I were her. In case I swooned on the dance floor and made a complete ass of myself.’

  ‘I do not think I shall make the dance floor, Minnie,’ Emily confessed privately to her maid as she put a hand to her palpitating heart. ‘Which is quite ridiculous when you choose to think of it. When you remember some of the days out I’ve enjoyed back home.’