A Bright Young Thing

by Brianne Moore

  “Talking about me, Joyce?” Laura asked, jouncing into the room with so much energy I expected her to cartwheel her way to the table. “You both have to join me tomorrow morning. Nothing like a good run of exercise to get the blood flowing.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Joyce said drily.

  “No, really, Joyce, you should try it,” Laura urged. “It’ll turn your mood right around. There was a colleague of Bobby’s who was heading straight for disaster—drank and smoked too much and just looked awful. So I took him in hand and before you knew it, he was a new man. He dropped 15 pounds and gave up all the vices. And it’s all thanks to me. So you should really take up exercising, Joyce, before it’s too late. You know your family’s inclined to stoutness. You should put in a pool. A few laps every morning will get your day started just right.”

  “There’s a river nearby. Why don’t you swim laps in that?” Joyce suggested.

  Laura grinned. “I’ll take Astra with me. We can paddle down to Midbourne and have breakfast with Jeremy in our swimsuits.” She dropped into the chair next to mine and squinted at my plate. “Are you really going to eat that?” she squealed, scrutinizing the marmaladed toast and oozing egg yolk. “Honestly, you have no idea how much you’re clogging yourself up, do you? All that ghastly stuff is just plugging your pores and arteries. It’s why your skin looks the way it does.”

  I blinked at her and then looked at Joyce, who rolled her eyes over her coffee cup and shook her head before digging into the pile of post.

  “I’ll fix you right up,” Laura promised, clapping me on the shoulder and bounding to the sideboard to retrieve a broiled grapefruit decorated with a maraschino cherry. “Always a light breakfast,” she told me in between juicy mouthfuls. “Too much animal protein slows you down from the inside out. Joyce, is there any Melba toast?”

  “No, just ordinary toast. This one’s for you, Astra.” Joyce handed me a letter as, with a wink, Laura lunged to pluck a piece of toast from my plate.

  “From Cee,” I murmured, tearing into the envelope as Laura munched my toast.

  Astra, darling,

  I’m so, so, so sorry I can’t come to Wotting Park and see you! Please don’t be cross with me—I’ve begged and begged, but my aunt’s been on Daddy so fiercely he simply won’t budge. I don’t know what’s possessed him, but he’s made it clear I’m not to go, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Sorry! Sorry! Sorry! I’ve missed you awfully and was sooooo looking forward to seeing Laura again. Poor dear, you must have felt so abandoned—I didn’t even inquire after you when you were ill! Terrible, I know, but Millicent was going through all the mail and watching me every time I went to use the telephone, so I couldn’t. But she’s away now, so I’ve a bit more freedom. I’ll keep working on Daddy, and Ducky’s coming up for a few weeks, and I’m sure he’ll help me because he’s always thought very highly of you. Darling A, please forgive me! –C

  I slumped, appetite gone. Cee’s sweet father too? Was there anyone left whom Millicent hadn’t poisoned?

  Laura finished the toast and snatched the letter. She read it, shaking her head, then crumpled it up and tossed it over her shoulder. Dandy and one of his sisters pounced on it and began nosing it across the floor. Laura patted me on the shoulder. “Don’t fret, chum, I’m sure it’ll work itself out sooner or later. These things do. I mean, really”—she paused to take a large bite of grapefruit—“it was inevitable that something like this would happen. Of course you would end up being a scandal.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’?” I asked.

  Laura smirked, pointing to me with her grapefruit spoon. “You, my dear, currently defy categorization, and we all love to categorize. It makes us think we understand the world. A loose woman doesn’t fit into any of the proper boxes—wife, mother, daughter. It makes people nervous. They don’t know what to expect from you. So, naturally, they were only too eager to assign you the one label that was left: whore. Without family or a willing guardian to speak up for you, you had no protection, and that’s how these kinds of reputations get made. Sorry, dearie, but that’s the world at work.” She patted me on the shoulder again, as if that would comfort me.

  Joyce gaped. “I think that’s quite a stretch, Laura.”

  Laura shrugged. “You saw for yourself what happened. The only way to reel it back now is to get the women on your side or to find a better label. We all need labels. Or you could embrace it. If everyone who matters thinks you’re hopping into any bed that takes your fancy, then do it! What have you got to lose?”

  “Quite a bit, I think,” I replied.

  She smirked. “Like your reputation? Gone now: these sorts of whispers tend to follow you all your days. Maybe you should just come back to America with me. Everyone’s more tolerant of the amoral woman there. They took me in, didn’t they?”

  “You weren’t a scandal,” I pointed out.

  “No, but my mother was, and that’s just as bad. These things always follow a family, especially the daughters. Immorality, they think, is passed down in the genes. If I’d stayed in England, I’d never have got married. Not because the boys weren’t interested, but because none of their mothers would have me. But America, well! That’s a fresh start! We love a notorious woman there: we celebrate them in films and everything! You, my dear, could be the quintessential ‘It Girl’!”

  “Those are my choices? Be notorious here or make myself notorious in America?” I wondered aloud.

  “Oh, you make it sound so dreary. It’s loads of fun—really! Have a fling or two; you’ll enjoy it.”

  “That’s risky business,” Joyce pointed out.

  “Oh, hardly.” Laura turned to me. “If you want, I know a nice doctor who’ll fix you up.”

  “Fix me up?” I didn’t like the sound of that. As if I were a car or misbehaving boiler.

  Laura nodded. “He’s very nice, this doctor. Fits you for a Dutch cap, tells you how to use it, then sends you on your way. No judgment, no lectures. Much better than resorting to Lysol.”

  Joyce seemed intrigued. “Does it really work?” she asked.

  “Of course it does! Look at me: no squallers. Bobbie and I agreed on that from the outset.”

  “And where do you come by your vast knowledge of the benefits of flings?” I asked with a wry smile.

  “I come by it naturally: we Bradburys are born knowing these things,” Laura answered. “We clearly lack sexual hang-ups, isn’t that right, Joyce?”

  Joyce buried her face in her teacup, which failed to cover her incredible blush.

  “So I take it you’ve had affairs, then?” I asked Laura, somewhat intrigued.

  “Only with Bobby, before we were married.”

  “You never did!” Joyce breathed.

  “Of course we did! Three days in a grubby little cabin camp, with spiders and a bed that squeaked and sagged in the middle. Nearly did poor Bobby’s back in.” Laura winked at me. “And then we decided it’d be fine, and off we went to the courthouse.”

  Joyce and I gaped at her.

  “But—but what if it had been terrible?” Joyce stammered.

  “Then we probably would have skipped the courthouse,” Laura responded. “You don’t buy the car that gives you a bumpy ride, do you?” She took one last bite of toast and bounced back onto her feet. “I think I’ll go do a few laps around the garden before tennis. It’ll slow me down, so the rest of you can keep up.”

  “Good heavens, Laura, what sort of drugs are you taking?” Joyce asked her.

  “Fresh air’s all the drug I need,” Laura answered. “Though a friend of mine swears by cocaine when you really need to pep up. Astra, tennis in an hour. Up you get and into the whites. We need to work that breakfast out of you.”

  “Sounds delightful,” I said dully as she galloped out.

  “Have another few eggs, just to spite her,” Joyce urged, as she perused a letter of her own, frowning.

  “Not bad news, I hope?” I asked, nodding toward th
e letter in her hand.

  “No, no, just something from a lovely woman I met when we were in Dresden.” She folded the letter and stood. “I’m going to speak to the chef about these brains. I don’t care if he does think I’m déclassé, I still want him to make food I want to eat. Ta, darling. Make sure you drink plenty of water—it sounds like you’ll need it.”

  By late morning I was exhausted, hauling myself gracelessly back and forth over the tennis lawn, diving for balls Laura lobbed my way with a serve so deadly it should have been weaponized. It went on and on, set after set. I told myself I was tiring her out, but there’s no tiring Laura. By the time a maid appeared with lemonade and biscuits, I was literally dripping wet, my whites sticking clammily to my skin.

  “You’ve barely worked off breakfast; you haven’t earned your ca-ake!” Laura singsonged as I stuffed an unladylike number of ginger nuts into my mouth. I told her I was finished and stumbled, colt-legged, back to the house and summoned Reilly. She took one look at me and went to draw a bath.

  “I could tell them all you’re indisposed this afternoon,” she offered, returning to help me peel off the soggy whites.

  “I’m not sure Laura will accept any excuses,” I said, sighing.

  Reilly smiled very briefly and handed me a letter. “This came today, miss,” she said, searching for bath salts among the cut-crystal bottles on the dressing table.

  I tore open the letter. It was from Toby.

  Greetings, cousin mine! Hope Wotting Park is all you wanted and needed. Eastbourne is … well, we won’t talk about that. I’ll never understand the appeal of sea air: it smells of fish, and the seagulls have no respect for new hats or the need for peace.

  Rest assured, I have not forgotten my task here. I believe I’ve made some inroads with Mums vis à vis you continuing to live with us. I actually quoted Job the other day, can you imagine? Remarkable what one can do when called upon in a crisis! I’m sure she’ll come around soon. Better news in the next note, I’m sure.

  Do be a darling and send cake or biscuits. I know Joyce has that marvelous chef; please, be generous to one in need.

  All love, T

  “Good news I hope, miss?” Reilly remarked.

  “Oh yes, very,” I lied, quickly refolding the letter before she could see anything. She noted it and cringed as someone does when you raise a hand against them.

  “I’ll see to your bath now, miss,” she said, holding the jar of bath salts to her chest, as if to shield herself. I noticed, then, that her fingernails were badly bitten, and her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying.

  “Reilly,” I said, “is everything all right?”

  She paused just a few seconds too long before answering, “Yes, of course, miss.”

  “Reilly, you are the worst liar. You might as well tell me.”

  “You needn’t concern yourself, miss. Not when you have so much on your mind.”

  “Then what’s one more thing?” I caught her hand as she tried to move toward the door and gently drew her back toward me. “Is there something you need to tell me, Reilly?” I braced myself for her answer.

  “Well, it’s—it’s my brother, miss,” she replied.

  I felt strangely relieved it wasn’t something to do with Millicent. And then terribly guilty for being so self-centered. “The one with the five children?”

  She nodded. “He’s lost ’is job, and they’re, well, a bit desperate.” She looked desperate too, eyes welling with tears. “I’ve sent ’em all I can, but it’s not enough, and there’re no jobs to be ’ad.”

  “Oh, Reilly, I’m so sorry,” I breathed. “I wish there was something I could do.”

  She shook her head. “No, miss, it’s all right. It’ll come right in the end, I’m sure.”

  Her optimism was admirable, but still the situation weighed on me. So much so that Joyce noticed at lunch and decided I needed cheering up.

  “Why don’t I invite Jeremy for dinner tonight?” she suggested.

  “Oh yes, Joyce, he brightens a room right up,” Laura agreed.

  “Well?” Joyce asked me.

  I shrugged. “It’s your home, invite whomever you like.” But I couldn’t deny the thought of seeing him again did lift my spirits.

  Once again, I was down early and found Jeremy crouched on the floor of the hall, playing with Dandy. He looked up and grinned as I came down the stairs.

  “Welcome to my part of the country,” he greeted me.

  “Welcome back,” I corrected him. “You forget I’ve been here before.”

  “Of course.” He straightened. “I promise: no doll kidnappings this time.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m very glad to see you recovered,” he said, smiling.

  “Thank you, Jeremy.” I reached over and brushed some stray dog hairs off the front of his crisp black dinner jacket. “And thank you for the rose you sent me.”

  He shrugged. “A poor replacement for a real garden, but one can only grow so much in London. And speaking of gardens, would you like a turn in this one before the others come down? I think he will appreciate it.” He indicated Dandy.

  “As would I.”

  We walked in comfortable silence through the garden as the sunset blazed the sky and Dandy rushed after a ball we took turns throwing.

  “So,” Jeremy said with a wry smile, “how’s life with the Battling Bradburys?”

  “You know all about that, do you?” I sighed.

  “Of course! When they’re off I get regular earfuls from David, and I’m sure you hear plenty from Joyce. Seems they’ve been off a fair bit lately.”

  “They should be railing at each other instead of sniping to us.”

  “Well”—he bent to pick up the ball—“what are friends for?”

  “What does David have to say about it?” I asked.

  Jeremy hesitated and gave me a sidelong glance. “Strictly between us?”

  “I can keep a secret,” I reassured him.

  He chucked the ball and Dandy sped off. “David thinks Joyce is having an affair.”

  The idea was so ridiculous I burst out laughing. “Why would he think that?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Apparently she disappears with no warning. Stays away for hours, overnight a few times. When they were up north, Joyce left one morning, saying she was going to Newcastle, which is absurd: Why would she be going to Newcastle?”

  “Did he ask her?” I asked.

  “Of course he did. She just said she was working on something and he wouldn’t understand. She doesn’t give him much credit. And there’s all this tussling over the cost of redoing the house. David says it could have been done much more cheaply than it was, but she kept insisting on hiring only the best master craftsmen for absolutely everything. Joyce spends money as if there’s no end to it.”

  “That’s because to Joyce there is no end to it,” I pointed out. “Porter could stop making money this instant, and she could still spend what she wants and never run out.”

  “David doesn’t want to be a kept husband.”

  “Then he shouldn’t have married an heiress!”

  Jeremy held up his hands in a defensive gesture. “Your quarrel isn’t with me!”

  “I know,” I said, in a calmer tone. “It just seems silly. Joyce is not having an affair, and I can’t blame her for wanting a nice home. It’s not as if she swept away anything of historical importance. That would be something to quarrel about. And she did buy him an airplane. You’d think he’d be pleased about that.”

  “Oh, David thinks that’s just further proof of this alleged lover,” Jeremy sighed, seeming weary of all this. “He thinks the plane’s a distraction, so he won’t pester her.”

  “He really is looking for reasons to be annoyed,” I muttered. “She thought she was doing something that would make him happy. She’s trying to take some interest in something that interests him. He could try doing the same.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t tried to point that out to him.�
� Jeremy shook his head. “It’s funny: we think that having a fortune will make us happy and our lives easier, but it doesn’t. It just brings a different set of problems.”

  “And yet we keep pursuing it.” I sighed too. Dandy returned and dropped the ball, thick with slime, at our feet. “Laura thinks Joyce needs to settle on a project, and I agree. She always tended to be the arranger, even when we were small. If we can find something to keep her busy down here, there won’t be any mysterious journeys to Newcastle or wherever. I don’t suppose a village hall needs redecorating nearby?”

  Jeremy scooped up the ball and rotated it between his thumb and forefinger for several moments. Dandy whined and spun in anxious, frantic circles.

  “There isn’t, but I may have another idea,” Jeremy said, at last throwing the ball. Dandy sped off. “I think I know just the thing.” His smile widened into a grin.

  I couldn’t help but grin back. “Do you? Gosh, how useful you are! What is it?”

  “Let me get everything worked out,” he said, “and I’ll tell you all about it. Perhaps on a ride later this week? I believe I owe you some bridle paths.”

  “That sounds delightful!”

  The air was cooling as twilight approached, bringing with it a summery mist. The perfume of the roses was as thick and heady as it had been at Belinda’s wedding, and the crickets and cicadas were beginning their evening chorus. It was peaceful. A world away from, say, a miner’s cottage where the air was thick with desperation.

  “Do you think you might be able to help me with something else?” I asked.

  “Of course. Ask me anything.”

  “Do you know anyone in mining?”

  He frowned, thinking. “I may, but I’d have to give it a think. Why do you ask?”

  I stopped and looked up at him imploringly. “This is a mission of mercy. My maid’s brother has lost his job and needs a new one.”

  He frowned again, puzzled. “Your maid’s brother?” he repeated.

  “The poor man has five children and they’re in a very bad way, apparently.”