The old frying pan was eventually discovered on a high shelf in one of the back pantries. Daisy came into the kitchen staggering under its weight. Her eyes went immediately to her elder sister’s face, but to her relief Violet seemed to have shed her ill humour and was laughing happily as she chopped up some dried thyme. She waved a large bottle of olive oil, saying triumphantly, ‘Look what I’ve found!’
She had managed to unload the dirty job of washing and scrubbing potatoes to Maud and Rose, but Daisy was so relieved to see her change of mood that she made no comment on this.
‘Great,’ she said, pouring the oil in after giving the pan a quick rinse.
‘It’s as big as a cartwheel,’ said Rose admiringly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.’
‘Let me riddle the fire, my lady,’ said Maud. ‘I understand that stove and its moods.’
The girl seemed quite at home with the young people, very different from the silent scullery maid who flattened herself against the wall with lowered eyes whenever a member of the family passed. She was laughing now at Basil and Poppy, who were both endeavouring to beat the eggs in the frenetic style of a drummer.
‘I’ll put on a second pan as well for the potatoes,’ said Daisy. ‘They should be soft, I think, but not browned. Chop them small, you two.’
‘Fires are lit,’ said Justin, coming in. ‘Oh, I say, what are you making?’
‘Spanish omelette,’ said Daisy. ‘We need help with the potatoes, so you and Simon get to work on them.’
‘We’ve taken all the mattresses from our beds into the ballroom and put them by the fire with pillows piled on them – the rooms are stone cold on the top floor.’ Justin began to scrub some more of the home-grown potatoes enthusiastically. ‘Don’t bother taking the skins off,’ he said. ‘The Spaniards don’t!’
‘Let’s eat down here,’ Daisy said impulsively when the egg mixture was poured over the softened potatoes. ‘The omelette will be cold by the time we all trudge upstairs. And we’re bound to forget something.’ This was true, but knew that she wanted both Maud and Morgan to have their share of the impromptu feast. ‘Morgan, you keep shaking this pan while Rose and I lay the table. Let’s see, there are eleven of us . . . That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Does it get tossed?’ asked Baz. ‘Bags I do it.’
‘And then we’ll all get down on the floor and lap it up,’ said Violet tartly. ‘Don’t let him, Daisy.’
‘I rather fancy it nice and creamy on the top,’ said Daisy. Violet was right; that frying pan was hugely heavy and the omelette was enormous. She needn’t have bitten the boy’s head off like that, but it was good to have her attention on scolding Poppy and Baz – it distracted from the eleven places laid around the table and made sure that she did not comment and embarrass Maud. Daisy decided she would ensure that everyone was seated around the table before Violet noticed.
Violet Derrington, the most beautiful and most popular debutante of the season – she had found that on a piece of paper written in Violet’s elegant script lying on top of her sister’s dressing table, no doubt inspired by a headline from one of her fashion magazines.
Debutantes, of course, could never, ever have makeshift meals eaten with spoons from a frying pan placed on a kitchen table in company with a scullery maid and a chauffeur.
On the other hand, high-earning film directors and women of the world, like her sister Daisy, could please themselves.
Chapter Thirteen
The fortnight between the Duchess’s invitation and the day of their departure for London passed in what seemed to Daisy like a flash.
Violet, in a panic at the amount of sewing she had undertaken, passed over the turning up of hems and other simple tasks to her and sometimes between that and work on her film Daisy did not get to bed until midnight.
Great-Aunt Lizzie, though she had to be kept in the dark about the length of the skirts and dresses, was unexpectedly helpful about adding new collars and lace edges to various blouses and eventually the work was done. Violet fitted Maud up with one of Elaine’s old-fashioned dresses before broaching the subject of taking her with them as a lady’s maid, and to their relief the old lady agreed immediately that the scullery maid could fill the role.
‘I’m nervous,’ said Violet suddenly when the car had left Maidstone and they were rolling smoothly along the road to London.
‘Why?’ Poppy sounded amazed. ‘You can’t be wondering how to behave when we are staying at the Duchess’s place,’ she added. ‘Great-Aunt Lizzie has been telling us all what to do and what not to do for the last fortnight.’
‘I’m thinking of writing a book about it,’ said Rose dreamily. ‘It will be called The Debutante’s Dream and it will be full of useful hints for young gels embarking on their season. It will be an indispensable guide.’
She stopped for a minute, looking from face to face.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You need stronger meat. Let’s turn it into a melodrama. A young girl, tired of her great-aunt’s lectures, decides to do everything that she should not do. She allows herself to be abducted by a notorious rake, but she proves more than a match for him . . . In fact, I must inform you, my dearest sisters,’ she went on earnestly, ‘I’ve finally made up my mind as to what my destiny is in life. I shall be an author – like Charles Dickens, but with more interesting girls. My girls will be full of spirit and will do what they want to do and not hang around repeating all the nice things that people say of them – like that boring Esther in Bleak House. My girls are more likely to carry a gun than a bunch of keys. I think I will have a heroine like Poppy. She always does what she wants and says what she feels like saying. Violet and Daisy worry too much.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Rose, and don’t interrupt; I wasn’t talking to you.’ Violet’s irritation and nerves were threatening to make the journey unpleasant so Daisy said to her consolingly, ‘Well, at least Justin will be there. I bet he will ask you to dance at the ball tomorrow.’ And me, perhaps, she thought silently, but decided not to mention partners for Poppy and herself.
Even Rose was going to be allowed to attend the ball. The Duchess had written to Great-Aunt Lizzie asking that the girls bring their ‘charming gowns’ for the ‘little dance’ that she was holding for her daughter. ‘Some young boy cousins have been invited,’ she wrote, ‘so in that way my Paula and your three girls may have their own little young people’s dance at the end of the room.’
‘And that means “Hands off the Debs’ Delights”, interpreted Rose after Great-Aunt Lizzie had gone off with her letter and a worried frown on her face.
‘What are Debs’ Delights?’ asked Poppy vaguely but didn’t wait for an answer before clattering down the stairs. These days she seemed to be escaping from the house even more than usual. Daisy had seen her wandering hand in hand with Baz in the woods, and had wondered about her sister.
‘Are you and Baz in love?’ she had asked the previous night when they were both in bed.
‘I suppose so,’ was all that Poppy would say, and then she began to sing ‘Love Will Find a Way’ in her rich, smooth voice. Daisy had waited. It never worked to push Poppy. She would speak when she was ready.
Daisy was almost asleep when Poppy’s voice roused her.
‘Baz has got his own house, you know,’ she said.
‘What!’ Instantly Daisy was wide awake.
‘It’s his grandfather – his mother’s father,’ explained Poppy. ‘He died last week and left most of his money to his eldest grandson, but he left Baz a little mews house in a place called Belgravia. Baz and I have plans. We’re going to turn it into jazz club downstairs and we can sleep upstairs. We won’t bother about a kitchen – Baz says that you never need to cook in London. There are places everywhere selling cheap food and cups of coffee.’
‘But Baz is only sixteen,’ said Daisy. ‘He can’t inherit a house when he’s only sixteen. I mean he can, but his father must be looking after it for him, or one of his older brothers.’
Baz was the youngest of a large family.
‘I suppose so,’ said Poppy vaguely. ‘We thought that when we are married they will have to hand it over.’
And with that she had turned on her side, throwing her pillow to the bottom of the bed to warm her toes, and soon she was snoring gently.
Perhaps they really did intend to get married. They were constantly in each other’s company. Perhaps that was why Poppy was so openly bored with the idea of the staying in the Duchess’s town house.
Rose, on the other hand, was fizzing with delight at the prospect. During the car journey she kept poking Maud in the back and pointing out various landmarks as they went through the Kent countryside. By the time they entered central London she was ecstatic as they glimpsed names familiar to her from reading the novels of Charles Dickens, gasping dramatically at the sight of Westminster, the Strand, Trafalgar Square and Piccadilly Circus.
‘Coming into Mayfair now, your ladyships,’ said Morgan as he manoeuvred the big car expertly along Regent Street. The road was crowded – Daisy could see at least a dozen cars as well as an open-topped bus full of men and women standing on its top storey.
‘Mayfair,’ breathed Rose in ecstasy. ‘Oh, I say! Lady Tippins! Mrs Gowan! Lord Verisopht! The Honourable Bob Stables! Mrs Sparsit, whose husband was a Powler! The Tite Barnacles! Nupkins! Oh, pinch me, someone!’
‘I will if you don’t sit still. We’re squashed enough as it is,’ said Violet. Daisy, looking sideways at her, saw that her face was quite white with apprehension.
‘Will you be going to listen to jazz while we’re in this boring place, Morgan?’ asked Poppy.
‘I was thinking of going to a few Dixieland sessions, my lady,’ he admitted. ‘His lordship has given leave for me to stay in London for the few days.’
Father should pay for his lodgings, thought Daisy. Morgan is probably staying for the sake of the ancient car. Four journeys like that might put a finish to what Morgan called ‘an old lady held together with a few pieces of wire and a prayer’. However, he would enjoy his jazz sessions.
‘Wish I could go,’ muttered Poppy disconsolately and Morgan laughed.
‘No one under twenty-one,’ he said.
‘Liar,’ said Poppy. ‘Baz has been to one. His grandfather took him the last time he was in London.’
‘Is this it?’ asked Violet, her voice full of tension, as the car slowed and came to a stop.
The house at Grosvenor Square was very tall and narrow. A flight of stone steps led from the pavement to the front door with its shining brass knocker. There was no sign of anyone to welcome them – we’re not considered to be very important guests, thought Daisy.
‘Now what happens at these sorts of places?’ Morgan looked over his shoulder enquiringly.
Violet gave an impatient click of her tongue. Rose suggested blowing the horn but Morgan turned down that notion, slipped out from behind the wheel, walked with stiffly erect back up the stone steps and knocked on the door.
A footman with a superior expression opened the door and accompanied Morgan back down to the car, opening the door politely and assisting Violet out. Two of the girls followed her hastily, Rose shaking with suppressed giggles and Poppy quite at ease. Daisy waited for a second and then tapped Maud on the shoulder and whispered in her ear, ‘Go to the back door.’
The whole procedure had been gone through several times with Great-Aunt Lizzie, who had lamented daily for the previous fortnight that the Duchess had not invited her and that her nieces would be on their own for their very first opportunity to join a house party.
‘Oh, my dears,’ said the Duchess in her gushing manner when they were ushered into the drawing room. ‘Have you had a terrible journey? Are you cold? What was the traffic like on the way up? Terrible the amount of cars on the road these days, isn’t it? You didn’t witness any nasty accident, did you?’ Without waiting for an answer to any of her questions, she said abruptly to the footman, ‘Robert, fetch the young ladies – oh, and MacDonald, Robert.’
‘MacDonald is my maid.’ She turned back to the girls after Robert had bowed and backed out of her presence. ‘She’ll look after you and show your own maid where to find everything. Did you have a good journey, my dears? Do come a little nearer the fire. We’ve had the happy idea of putting you all in together. We thought you would be more comfortable like that. Violet, dear, how pretty you look!’
‘Thank you, Your Grace.’ Violet’s voice was clear and self-possessed but a touch of colour warmed her cheeks. This first meeting was always going to be the worst hurdle. Try as she might, there was no way around the fact that their coats, run up by the village dressmaker from a bolt of cheap tweed, were old-fashioned and shabby.
‘Ah, here comes MacDonald! On second thoughts, my dears, perhaps you would like to wash and change after your journey before you meet Catherine and Paula and the other young people. Yes, that will be best. MacDonald?’ The Duchess suddenly ran out of words and looked appealingly at her maid.
‘Yes, Your Grace. Come with me, your ladyships.’
In a moment the lady’s maid had whisked the girls out from under her ladyship’s nose as if they were some piece of mess that had to be cleaned away quickly before it caused offence. Violet’s colour was high and she stared haughtily at Rose with an expression that said clearly I dare you to utter any of your headlines.
Daisy exchanged a grin with Poppy as they followed meekly in Violet’s footsteps. Daisy hoped that Violet would enjoy the next few days, but she herself was glad that she had come. London seemed such a busy, bustling place, full of noise and life – of crowds crossing roads, riding on buses, driving cars, shouting across streets, greeting others – that she was sure she would love it. And Sir Guy had promised to call the following morning with a letter of introduction from their father, and take her to see his film studio, packed with young men who smoked cheap cigarettes and argued about films. She couldn’t wait.
‘You’re in here, your ladyships,’ said MacDonald after they had toiled up three flights of stairs. She had a slightly disparaging tone in her voice as she opened the door to a suite of rooms on the top floor and showed them around. Daisy wondered whether it had formerly been the nursery suite. It had two bedrooms, a small room like a dressing room, where Maud would sleep, and a bathroom, all of which opened off a small, dark lobby.
But the wonderful thing was that each room was as warm as toast with a large coal fire burning in the fireplace. There was even a fire in the bathroom, with lovely thick, soft towels draped over a clothes stand and one huge towel over the wicker armchair.
As they peered into it from the lobby, a door from the back stairs opened and Maud came puffing in, carrying two suitcases.
‘Ah, here’s your ladyships’ maid,’ said MacDonald. ‘Tea is in the drawing room from four o’clock onwards.’ She gave another look around, nodded her head at Maud and then withdrew, shutting the door with practised care.
‘Spiffing!’ said Daisy, borrowing one of Poppy’s expressions. She went to the window and looked down at the street. A young woman, wearing a fashionable cloche hat fitting closely to her head and a stylish wrap-around lemon-coloured coat, came out of a house across the road. She ran lightly down the steps, climbed into a bright blue car, slammed the door and took off. Daisy wondered whether Morgan would teach her how to drive. She would need a car when she became a film producer and it was getting very old-fashioned to rely on a chauffeur.
‘And we’re all in together,’ Poppy was saying with satisfaction. ‘Bags you and me this room, Daise; Violet and Rose can share the other one. What’s your room like, Maud? I say, that’s a bit small and dark, isn’t it?’ she remarked as she peered into the dressing room.
‘It’s fine,’ said Maud hurriedly. She began to unpack, competently storing things on hangers or in drawers. Rose went to help her while Poppy joined Daisy at the window. Maud’s room was probably better than the one she had back in Beech Grove Manor, where she shared a freezing col
d room with Nora, thought Daisy.
‘Better than sharing with that stuck-up MacDonald,’ said Rose. ‘MacDonald! What a name!’
Daisy had already noticed that the Duchess’s lady’s maid was called by her surname. That must be the custom for lady’s maids, and she hoped they had not forgotten a vital rule of Great-Aunt Lizzie’s etiquette. Still, she realized, she didn’t know what Maud’s surname was so she couldn’t very well use it anyway.
‘Rose, dear,’ said Violet after all the unpacking was finished, ‘could you possibly go into Daisy and Poppy’s room for a moment? I would like to have a little time to think about what I am going to wear. Rose, are you listening to me? Rose, put down those old newspapers – they must have been left there by mistake. All my drawers are lined with scented paper.’
Daisy looked back and to her amusement saw that Rose was pulling out sheets of newspaper that had been lining the drawers of an old tallboy in the corner. She was scanning the headlines and chuckling with glee. ‘Scandal at Westminster. Ancient Name Besmirched,’ she read before Violet snatched them from her and stuffed them back into the tallboy. She faced her three younger sisters nervously.
‘It’s not that I want to outshine anyone or anything like that,’ she said. ‘It’s just that for all our sakes I want to make a good impression and . . .’ she hesitated.
‘And a brilliant match,’ put in Poppy with a yawn.
‘It’s for your sakes as well as mine,’ said Violet defensively. ‘I keep telling you: once I am married with a home of my own I can have you all to stay and throw parties, give balls, present you at court – but it all depends,’ she lowered her voice and glanced at the door, ‘it all depends on the Duchess offering to present me, to give me a season. Stuck down in Beech Grove Manor I’ll never meet anyone. I want to be a debutante, to have a little fun for the first time in my life.’
DEBUTANTES Page 12