For a moment the duke seemed to stop by Emily’s chair and Daisy felt that familiar frisson she always felt at moments such as this, remembering her own debut and how she was chosen by their host for that particular evening, the Marquess of Stowe, to be his partner for the first dance and how from that very moment Daisy knew her fortunes were made. Should the duke choose Emily then her future too in Society would be assured and thus indirectly would that of her beleaguered parents also, but after the briefest of hesitations, as if the duke was not entirely certain as to his final choice, finally he moved on another half a dozen or so places until he stood in front of a small dark-haired girl with diamond stars in her chignon and a dress threaded through with silver strands.
Around her Daisy heard people whispering to enquire who the charming young woman was and heard the name Tradescant mentioned.
‘A Miss Portia Tradescant, Daisy darling,’ one of her party confirmed for her. ‘Your dear friend Augustine Medlar’s protégée apparently. Or were you not aware?’
Now with her fury barely contained Daisy turned round only to catch a full view of one of her least favourite sights, that of Augustine Medlar smiling in triumph as her niece was led onto the empty dance floor. A nudge from her companion reminded Daisy that the most important choice had still to be made and just in time she turned back to the dance floor to see the Marquess of Huntingford bowing before the chair of Miss May Danby and offering her his arm to lead her out after his father and Portia.
‘Yes, you see? I was right!’ she muttered to herself as everyone watching broke into polite but warm applause as the two couples began to dance. ‘She has been sent to try me.’
Then, as if by way of mollification for the slights she had experienced, Daisy saw her handsome and brave Captain Pilkington advancing with the other young bloods towards the rest of the waiting debutantes. He was in fact at the very head of affairs, where Daisy most loved to see him, as if leading his soldiers into battle. And not only that, brave and good soldier that he was, he was obeying his orders to the letter and stopping before the seat of Lady Emily Persse to whom he offered an invitation to dance.
What the delighted Daisy could not see from where she was, however, since the captain had his back to her as he led his auburn-haired partner out onto the floor, was that now he and Emily were remet there was a very different expression on his face as he gathered the statuesque beauty into his arms.
Oddly, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, no-one requested the pleasure of that particular dance with the Countess of Evesham, leaving Daisy to sit the mazurka out at her table where she began to gain the increasing and most disconcerting impression that at long last perhaps the considerable social influence she had wielded might just be beginning to wane.
While on the other hand, particularly since rumour was rife around the whole gathering that the Marquess of Huntingford was making it quite plain he had already fallen in love with Miss May Danby, the star that had begun to shoot that Sunday in the studio of John Singer Sargent was now heading up to the top of the firmament for all to see. As it did her proud new mother Mrs Charles Danby turned her thoughts to Herbert and Jane Forrester and considered it to be a great pity they could not be present that night to witness May’s unqualified success. But then she knew that such a thing was not possible because of the rules that Herbert Forrester himself had laid down, namely that he would not ever again set foot in any house where the woman he had known as Daisy Lanford might be, nor in any of the houses belonging to those who counted themselves her friends. So while May was danced endlessly around the floor of the beautiful ballroom in the basement of the Duke of Salisbury’s famous house in Grosvenor Square Alice Danby resolved the moment she was returned home that very night to sit down and write to her benefactor the fact that her adopted daughter May was already the talk of the town.
AFTER THE BALL
Herbert Forrester learned of May’s success long before Alice Danby’s letter reached him.
‘There,’ he said at breakfast, tapping an item in the London Gazette before folding the newspaper and handing it to the butler to carry down the table to Jane. ‘Read that.’
Jane put down her tea cup and carefully studied the report of the Duke of Salisbury’s ball held at his house in Grosvenor Square. ‘I see her name!’ she exclaimed, looking down the table at her husband. ‘Look, it says her name quite clearly, Miss May Danby.’
‘That’s not all it says,’ Herbert replied, carefully wiping his moustaches on his napkin. ‘Read on about the ball proper.’
While Jane ran her finger down the column to try to find further reference to May’s presence at the ball, no longer able to contain his impatience Herbert threw his napkin down and interrupted. ‘She were only chosen for the first dance, Jane love!’ he said, smacking one clenched fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘And even I know what a thing like that means! The Duke of Salisbury’s son – what’s the lad’s name?’
‘The Marquess of Huntingford, Herbert.’
‘The Marquess of Huntingford only chose May to open the ball, Jane love! Never in my wildest dreams—’ Herbert sat back with a broad smile on his face, silenced for once.
‘Well,’ Jane said slowly, having finished her reading and putting the paper to one side. ‘It cannot be entirely unexpected, seeing how very striking May is.’
‘Even so,’ Herbert said. ‘Even so.’
‘I like to imagine what she must have looked like,’ Jane sighed. ‘I’ll warrant she was as pretty as springtime.’
‘Prettier,’ Herbert said, getting up from the table. ‘By far. And now if you ladies will excuse me, there’s work to be done.’
After her father had left the room Louisa took the paper from her mother and carefully read the item on the ball. She read it slowly and carefully, so slowly in fact that she was still reading it when her mother also excused herself from the table, leaving Louisa alone in the room.
When she was quite alone, Louisa read right through the whole report from top to toe again before taking the newspaper next door to the morning room where she cut the offending item first out of the newspaper itself, then into long thin strips, and finally crosswise into tiny squares before consigning the handful of confetti to the flames of the fire.
* * *
In contrast to May’s stunning debut, as it was widely acknowledged to be, Emily’s was proving to be an ever increasing flop, at least such was the opinion of the Countess of Evesham. Since the opening ball they had attended several more notable functions together at which far from attracting the precise amount of attention Daisy had hoped Emily might attract she had proved herself to be becoming a veritable social liability.
‘People are running from you in droves, Emily,’ Daisy scolded one morning when she had summoned her protégée into the morning room in her London house. ‘Whatever has got into you? Lady Devenish sent you to me saying you were quite ve fing, assuring me vat I should be able to introduce you wiff pride into Society and indeed present you at court, which is proving to be far from ve case. You are so very ill at ease, Emily, most particularly in ve company of gentlemen. Poor Captain Pilkington whose eye it was common knowledge you had caught has been heard to avow vat not only do you have no conversation but you dance like one of vose wretched creatures of which you are so fond, namely a horse. You do realize, do you not, vat once ve word gets about vat you are – shall we say a trifle gauche? – ve men you wish to attract, by vat one means ve catches, simply will not be interested. After all you come wiff no fortune behind you, so you are going to have to win ve hand of a rich man, and while you have undoubted good looks no high-born gentleman is going to want a lummox for a wife. Comprenez-vous?’
‘All too well, Lady Evesham,’ Emily replied as politely as she could, her patience worn already paper thin and her confidence all but totally eroded by the daily lectures to which her patron subjected her. ‘But if I may just say in my defence—’
‘No you most certai
nly may not, young lady,’ Daisy interrupted. ‘You can talk ve hind legs off a pony here at home, but take you out to a ball or a soirée and all I ever hear you discuss is ve weather. No no, I will brook no excuses, none whatsoever. It simply occurs to me vat you are not trying hard enough, and so in order to improve your general demeanour I have instructed Lady Devenish to come up from Berkshire and to stay here, specifically to give you furver tuition. All is not quite lost yet, I fink. Even Captain Pilkington while most certainly bemused can still be won back, if you put your mind to it. Do you understand? Good, for vat will be all, fank you.’
Emily was desperate to see how her patron might react were she to tell her that she did not particularly care for Captain Pilkington, at least no more than for any of the other as she would put it privately drippy Englishmen whom she had so far met, but throughout all the misery which she was undoubtedly suffering she had never forgotten her obligations to her family, and knowing full well (she could hardly not do so since her patron reminded her of her duty at least a half a dozen times a day) how very rich Captain Peter Pilkington was and how very much richer still he stood to become once he inherited the Pilkington estate then she knew that the best chance of redeeming her own family’s misfortunes was to try once more to captivate the captain. The problem was that she was not allowed to be herself, and because she was not she had no conversation which was what she wanted to explain to her patron, but by now Daisy had pointedly picked up a book which she was pretending to read in order to get rid of her, so bobbing a little curtsey she retired from the morning room and returned to her own, ordering Minnie to help her get ready for her morning ride in the park.
‘You see, Miss Tradescant, if I was allowed to be the person I really am, then the good and wealthy Captain Pilkington might remember me from our times in Ireland and I might win back his favour,’ Emily explained to her friend later as they cantered together down Rotten Row. ‘But because this is not à la mode, or in fashion or even good etiquette or what nonsense have you, then one must behave in this genteel and perfectly proper fashion and as a consequence bore the drawers off everyone.’
Portia had to rein back she was laughing so much. ‘Lady Emily,’ she said, ‘you are simply too much sometimes! But I find I must agree with you. It seems the height of absurdity to make you pretend to be something you are so obviously not. Can you not persuade your patron otherwise?’
‘Ha!’ Emily laughed back in deliberate mock-scorn. ‘She said from the very outset that if she hears or gets to hear of one hint of Oirishism, as she so disdainfully calls it, then I shall be packed off on the very next mail boat back to Ireland. She’s the most terrible harpy as you know, Miss Tradescant. To her the Irish belong beyond the pale.’
‘But do you not think you would like to marry anyone over here?’ Portia asked. ‘Not even Captain Pilkington?’
‘If it was my way I wouldn’t, Miss Tradescant, no, most certainly not.’
‘Why? Is there someone you prefer back home in Ireland?’
‘There was somebody, but there is not any more. Shall we ride on? You see, as we were agreed when we first met, we girls have precious little say in our futures, so really it is hardly up to me whom I may marry. My parents are anxious I should make a good match. I am very fond of my mother and father and rather than see them lose their beloved Glendarven – what am I saying? For it is not as if I do not love my home too! No, I suppose rather than have us all lose our home I could at not that much of a pinch marry the captain. After all he is excessively good-looking, and he is extremely rich.’
‘Yes,’ Portia sighed as she eased her horse back to a trot. ‘I understand your predicament exactly. Happily I have no such difficulty to consider. No, if I ever marry then I am afraid it will have to be for nothing less than love, which is not I am told the very best of reasons.’
Of course as far as Daisy Evesham was concerned there was no such if hanging over Emily’s future, at least not once she had got the silly girl sorted out. As it was life was becoming inordinately difficult for Daisy who had always had considerable trouble controlling her sexual appetites and was finding this enforced abstinence not at all to her liking. In her darkest moments she had even considered discarding Emily altogether and finding some other impoverished debutante whom she dreamed of bribing with her own or to put it more accurately with some of the Old Fool’s money to catch the eye of and subsequently marry her beloved and much desired captain, only to realize in the cold light of day that such a thing was a nonsense since the captain was an innocent in these matters and had to marry a girl to whom he was attracted and for whom he felt some genuine affection, besides someone who would suit his glamorous lifestyle. Any girl plucked from the ranks was hardly going to achieve this difficult end, whereas Emily, if only the wretched girl would screw her head back on, fitted the bill perfectly since Captain Pilkington had eyes for no-one else but her and talked of no-one else but her from the moment of their initial meeting in Galway.
Until he had remet Emily in London. Now he let it be known to Daisy that he felt sure that he must have been in the spell of the famous fairies while he was in Ireland, for most certainly this gauche and clumsy creature with nothing to say for herself was a veritable goose compared to the goddess Diana the huntress that he remembered.
‘Vese are ve moments when I wish to frow fings,’ Daisy suddenly announced to Jenkins who was busily buttoning the countess into her newest day dress.
‘Which are, my lady?’ her maid enquired from somewhere at the back of her.
‘You know perfectly well, you foolish woman,’ Daisy replied, looking for something breakable but not too precious to hurl against a wall or simply just across the room. ‘Moments when I consider life to have got out of hand. I know! Pass me vat rarver horrid scent spray someone gave me for Christmas. I fink I shall hurl vat at vat perfectly silly photograph of ve Old Fool for really I cannot stand ve sight of eiver.’
Jenkins dutifully did as her mistress ordained and watched in silence while Daisy broke the photograph of her husband by throwing Jenkins’s Christmas offering at it, and then once she had finished dressing her mistress she set about clearing up all that was left of a gift which had cost the maid her entire month’s wages.
The most surprising success of the three girls who had by now all met was that of Portia Tradescant who had been considered not only by herself but by most of her connections to be someone who would have to be put through the ritual of coming out in the faint hope of attracting an altogether better husband than any she might find courting her in the remoteness of Bannerwick Park in Norfolk. Imagine everyone’s surprise, therefore, when Portia had been chosen by the Duke of Salisbury himself as his partner for the opening dance at the ball he had thrown to celebrate the start of the Season proper.
Subsequently she had been inundated both with floral tributes and with invitations to everything everywhere. Of course Portia viewed the whole thing with complete equanimity, keeping the flattery well in proportion and treating her success in exactly the same manner, she very much hoped, as she would have done her failure.
Aunt Augustine on the other hand was beside herself, summoning Aunt Tattie round immediately after the ball to congratulate them both on being so thoroughly expert at effecting the introduction of girls into Society and with the most particular regard to their niece.
‘There is no doubt about it all, Tatiana,’ Augustine announced. ‘I have said so right from the very beginning. From the moment I first saw my niece as a child I said this gel has quality, and quality of the very highest order. Everyone is saying so, my dear. Everyone is speaking of her most charming manner, her delightful sense of humour, and her grace. She made a very marked impression on his Grace the Duke of Salisbury, I can inform you now. Very marked indeed. In fact you will find among the many invitations to come Portia’s way there may well be another from the Salisbury family to attend either Ascot or Henley in their private party.’
‘I have never particularl
y liked the Salisburys,’ Aunt Tattie replied. ‘There is too much treason in the family and not enough merit.’
‘Come, come, Tatiana!’ Augustine laughed without an ounce of humour. ‘Were Portia even to be married to a cousin of the duke you could not have hoped for better for her.’
‘For a gel of such quality, Augustine?’ Aunt Tattie returned. ‘Of such exceptionally high quality, not to mention her most charming manner, her delightful sense of humour, let alone her grace? No, no, Augustine, if I were to consider the Salisbury family as a serious possibility I could not possibly consider anyone less for Portia than the first-born.’
Portia knew Aunt Tattie was teasing, but kept a perfectly straight face as if in total agreement, leaving her Aunt Augustine speechless, since Aunt Tattie had very successfully left her hostess hoist with her own petard. Even so, Aunt Tattie was delighted with Portia’s obvious success, although like Portia she had no illusions as to the fickleness of Society.
‘At times like this, dearest girl, we are but creatures of fashion,’ she said on their way home. ‘And as we know, fashion exists only to become unfashionable. So all of this we take with a very large pinch of salt, although of course I do not have to tell you that, my dear.’
‘I think you do, Aunt Tattie,’ Portia said. ‘We can never be reminded too much of such a thing.’
Unfortunately however it seemed that Portia’s success, although well received by her closest relatives, was not enough to alleviate the atmosphere in the house at Curzon Street which had been becoming increasingly tense.
‘It is this wretched trial,’ Aunt Tattie told her over lunch one day, sitting picking at her food for which she showed no real interest. ‘I expect you have heard that it has been going on, dearest girl, and is now over, though I do not for one moment expect you to understand what the implications of it are for I do not pretend to understand them myself. You have of course heard of the trial, that of Mr Oscar Wilde, because we have discussed the matter en passant before, but it has all become somewhat more serious now. There is now to be another trial with Mr Wilde having to face criminal charges, and without going into too many finer points, both your uncle and I are most upset and concerned not only by the outcome, dearest girl, but by the ramifications. At least I think and believe that to be the correct word.’
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