Isobel crawled into bed. Images chased round her head. Childhood Christmas Eves, bubbling with excitement, and stockings hung ready on the bedpost. More recent years, going to Midnight Mass with her dear parents. Last Christmas, spent quietly grieving their deaths. Outside in the street there was laughter and season’s greetings and farewells as other shopmen and girls started home to their families. Isobel had not felt so alone since that first terrifying fortnight in London. She turned onto her face and wept until she finally cried herself to sleep.
She woke to the sound of church bells. Seven o’clock on Christmas morning. Her body ached with weariness and her head was throbbing. At least she did not have to get up and go to work. She could stay in bed all day if she wished. But perversely this made her feel even worse. She almost wished it was another working day, for that would give her a reason for going on. Miss Higgs would be waiting for her, wanting her there exactly on time to polish the counters and tidy the drawers and be ready to serve. Who was waiting for her today? Nobody.
The room was very quiet without Daisy. So quiet that it seemed dead. Even Daisy sulking and snapping at her was better than this oppressive silence. It grieved her that Daisy should be so jealous of Johnny Miller’s admiration The last thing she wanted to do was to come between Daisy and the man she wanted. She owed her survival here at Packards to Daisy. She had certainly tried hard enough to shake Johnny off. If she could have switched his attentions to Daisy she would have done, more than willingly. She stared at Daisy’s empty bed, still rumpled from her hurried departure last night. Daisy was her only friend in the world, and if she turned away from her because of Johnny, Isobel would have nobody at all.
It was the church bells that saved her from sliding completely into the black abyss. They attacked her as she lay weeping, peeling out their message of joy to the world. It must, she realised, be a sin to feel so totally without hope on the day dedicated to Jesus’ birth. She dragged herself out of bed, shivering as the cold air of the unheated room met her warm body. She would go to the next service.
From then on the day did get a little better. She opened the present that Daisy had left for her – a set of handkerchiefs with an italic I in the corner – and hoped that Daisy would like the hairbrush she had given her. The church service gave some solace to her lonely spirit. Then when she got back Mrs Drew the housekeeper made her come and join her and the other girls who either did not have families or lived too far away to get home. There was a very embarrassing moment when Mrs Drew presented her with a parcel, ‘From an Admirer, dear,’ and insisted that she opened it then and there. It turned out to be a rather gaudy brooch with a blue glass stone, and of course it was from Johnny. Isobel resolved to return it at the earliest possible opportunity. The others teased her about it, but soon lost interest and went on to talk about other things. There was an air of false jollity about the house which they all tried desperately to maintain, Isobel included. She did not want to go back to feeling as she had done when she woke, but it was hard to keep smiling, even when Mrs Drew served up Christmas dinner. It was all such a sham, pretending to be a family when they weren’t. She was overwhelmingly glad to be able to plead a headache and go to bed at half-past nine. She knew that they would talk about her the moment she had gone, agreeing about how stuck-up she was, but she did not care. She had survived Christmas, just.
The next hurdle was the January Sales. Miss Packard came bouncing in to decide on the marking-down of the stock, putting a lead offer of much reduced tennis racquets in the window to bring the customers in.
‘You’re so lucky, being in Ladies’ Sportswear still,’ Daisy grumbled. ‘I just loved it when Miss Packard came in. It’s so boring in Baby Linens.’
‘The trouble with Miss Packard being back in Town is it means her brother is as well,’ Isobel let slip.
‘What, Mr Edward? He’s hardly been away.’
‘No, not him, although –’ although he was a worry as well. ‘Mr Perry.’
Daisy did not look at all sympathetic. ‘Well, it’s all right for some, that’s all I can say.’
Isobel did not continue with the subject. Daisy did not think that having men pursue her was a problem. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But it was a problem, and a growing one. Every day, Mr Perry would turn up in the department, either with his sister or on his own. When he was on his own, it was always when the department was very busy with bargain hunters. Then he could approach her without attracting the attention of Miss Higgs.
‘And how is the most beautiful girl in Packards today?’ he would ask, with a twinkling smile.
‘Very well, thank you,’ she invariably answered, trying not to look directly at him.
‘Not working too hard, I hope?’
‘Hard enough.’
‘Is Packards being fair to you? Are you getting your breaks? Is the food in the dining room still the appalling school stodge it always is?’
The trouble was, she had to try very hard not to smile. The food was appalling stodge.
‘It’s very sustaining, thank you.’
‘How tactful you are. A veritable soul of discretion. You can be honest with me, you know. I shan’t tell a single person. How do you like Trent Street?’
‘It’s very comfortable, thank you.’
‘Comfortable! That’s rich. Those places are like prisons. Are you hoping that if you’re nice about it they’ll let you out in ten years for good behaviour?’
Despite herself, her lips twitched. Mr Perry gave a delighted laugh.
‘There! You’ve given yourself away! I can’t tell you how relieved I am. It proves you are human after all, not an Ice Princess. I thought you might be something out of a fairy tale, transported here and condemned to work behind the counter by a wicked witch.’
There was just enough of a grain of truth in that to sober her.
‘Oh please, don’t adopt that stem look again. You’re so beautiful when you smile.’
He was always considerate, not getting in her way, not preventing her from serving customers, not embarrassing her beyond the fact of his being there at all. He was the perfect gentleman, amusing and kind. And when she forgot herself and looked at him, his blue eyes were devoid of that hungry look. After three weeks of daily visits, she ceased to feel hunted. In fact she almost caught herself acknowledging that though men were dangerous and frightening, he might be the exception.
It was nearly the end of the Sales when Daisy came storming into their attic room after work and flung open the door so that it banged back against the wall.
‘What the bleeding hell do you think you’re playing at?’
Isobel gaped at her. ‘I – I – what do you mean?’
‘Oh, don’t give me that little Miss Bleeding Innocent act. You know. You got a Christmas present, didn’t you?’
‘A Christmas present?’ Of course she had. From Daisy. And then it dawned on her. ‘Oh – you mean –’
‘Yeah, I mean from him. You little cow! You never told me, did you? Give you a brooch, didn’t he?’
Daisy walked towards her as she spoke, menace in her movements. Fear churned in Isobel’s stomach. She started to retreat. She found herself gabbling.
‘I didn’t know he was going to give it to me, really I didn’t, Daisy. I knew nothing about it. He gave it to Mrs Drew to give to me. If he’d said anything beforehand I would have refused to accept it. And I gave it back the very next time I saw him. The very next time. I didn’t want it, Daisy, I didn’t keep it –’
‘Call y’self a friend? Why didn’t you tell me? Why the big secret, eh, eh? Tell me that!’ Daisy yelled. Her hand swung back, whipped forward and slapped Isobel hard across the face.
It stung, but worse than that was the look in Daisy’s eyes. The rage and the loathing. Isobel cried out.
‘No, Daisy, please – I didn’t mean to deceive you – but I knew you’d be upset –’
‘Too bleeding right I am. Why did you have to interfere, eh? Why di
d you have to come along? If you hadn’t of come here, everything would of been all right. You spoilt everything, you have.’
Isobel could do nothing in the face of this unreason. Sobs rose in her throat.
‘Daisy, forgive me. I didn’t set out to –’
‘That’s right, cry,’ Daisy sneered. ‘Always get your own way, don’t you? If smiles don’t work then try the tears. Well, it don’t work on me no more. I’m never going to speak to you again!’
She slammed out of the room.
Isobel collapsed onto the bed. Her face throbbed where Daisy had hit her, but it was nothing compared with the pain inside, which sliced through her like a physical wound.
Daisy did not return that night. Through the endless cold hours of darkness, Isobel hit bottom. She finally faced up to what her future had in store for her. There was no going back to the old days. She had known it in her head before, but now she accepted it in her heart. Her former life was gone for ever. She now had just two courses open to her. She worked as a shopgirl for the rest of her life, becoming more tired and dull with every passing year, or she married someone like Johnny Miller. Either way there was precious little of comfort or beauty or pleasure. Nothing but poverty and hard work. She did not know how she got through the night.
But somehow the hours did creep round, and Mrs Drew herself came to wake her. Isobel turned her face away.
‘Leave me alone, please,’ she begged. ‘I just want to die.’
The housekeeper clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Come, come now. That’s no way to talk. It’s nothing but a silly spat. She’ll come round, you’ll see. Now get up, there’s a good girl, and get yourself off to work.’
It took a good deal more than that to persuade her, but at last she did get out of bed. Like an automaton she went through the motions of the day, hardly hearing what people said to her. Everything was grey, it was like walking through a fog. There was no point to anything, no point to life. Miss Higgs reprimanded her. She nodded slowly, mouthed some words of apology. After a great desert of time, dinner break came round. She took her meal, sat in the noisy dining room, ate nothing, heard nothing. She set out upon the long journey of the afternoon.
Not long after lunch Mr Perry came through the archway. He was speaking to her for a while before any of the words made sense.
‘. . . the matter? You look as if the world has fallen in.’
‘It has,’ Isobel said.
‘That bad, is it? Now, take a tip from me. Count to ten and forget about it. Always works. However bad things seem, you put them aside for a while and they’re never half so bad when you come back to them. In fact sometimes you wonder why you ever worried at all.’
Isobel hardly heard him. She stood with her hands clasped in front of her as she had been trained to do, and her unfocused gaze directed somewhere slightly to his left.
‘Now, I don’t believe you’ve been listening to one word in three of what I’ve been saying. Looks like a bad case to me. A case for Doctor Perry. And do you know what I prescribe? A little jaunt down to the country, a stroll along a river bank and a nice cosy tea. Earl Grey and toasted crumpets. Now what do you say to that?’
Slowly, as if moving underwater, Isobel turned her head towards him and focused on his face. His blue eyes were brimming with kindness and sincerity.
‘How does that sound, do you think? Would tea and crumpets bring a smile back to your face again?’
What did it matter? What did anything matter?
‘Why not?’ she heard herself say.
21
RAIN BLURRED THE winter landscape, turning rolling parkland and majestic trees into a depressing study in grey and black. Amelie sat on the window seat in the massive stone mullioned bay of the drawing room of Mere Castle, the Teignmeretons’ seat, and looked out at the enveloping drizzle. The gloom of the day just about matched the gloom of her mood. This stay with the Teignmeretons had at least held the chance to do some riding, and here she was, imprisoned in their ugly pile of a home, which wasn’t a castle at all, because she had been stupid enough to sprain her ankle. She turned away from the view to look at the offending joint. Her leg was stretched out in front of her on the window seat. If only it had been her right ankle, she might have still managed to ride, but it was her left, the foot which went in the stirrup.
The one thing that cheered her about the day was that Georgy would be going out. The hunt was due to meet here this morning, on the gravel sweep before the front door, and Georgy, along with practically everybody else in the house, would be following the hounds, at least to the first covert. Half of her uncharitably hoped it would be a bad day’s sport, because she couldn’t be part of it, the other part hoped just the opposite, so that Georgy would be kept out of her way for as long as possible.
She wondered how the January Sales were going. She had managed to get to the department to decide on the marking down, but that was all. The Teignmeretons did not have a telephone, so she could not call her grandfather and ask him. Perhaps Perry would turn up soon from Town, although it was unlikely that he would have any idea of what was happening at the store. It was odd that Perry should still be in London, come to think of it, when she knew he had been included in the invitation to Mere Castle. Even odder at first was the fact that Edward was here, and on his best behaviour, being charming to everyone. She knew that he despised the world in which their mother moved, and on top of that she would have thought that he wouldn’t have left the store at such an important time. But now she was beginning to guess his ulterior motive. He had been paying special attention to a Miss Sylvia Forbes.
The long double doors opened and in came Georgy, smiling cheerfully as usual.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ Amelie said, and looked back out of the window again.
Undeterred by this less than enthusiastic welcome, Georgy picked up a chair and came over to sit beside her.
‘Bit of a dismal old morning, isn’t it?’ he remarked. ‘How are you? How’s the poor old ankle?’
‘Getting better. Shouldn’t you be getting changed?’
The meet was in less than an hour, and most of the family and guests were busy pouring themselves into their mirror-shiny hunting boots and tying their stocks.
‘Oh – I’ve decided not to ride this morning. Thought I’d stay and keep you company instead.’
Amelie was horrified. ‘What on earth do you want to do that for?’
For a moment, Georgy looked embarrassed. ‘Well – I – er – I’d really rather be here with you.’
‘Well, I’d really rather you went hunting,’ Amelie told him.
Poor Georgy was crestfallen. ‘Don’t you like me the littlest bit?’ he asked.
‘No. Now go away, do.’
He looked so pathetic that Amelie relented just a fraction. ‘I’m in a really bad temper. I don’t want to talk to anyone, so just go off and enjoy yourself and don’t give a thought to me.’
Georgy sighed and got up. ‘If that’s what you want – but I shall give a thought to you. Lots of them. I think about you all the time, don’t you know?’
It was the nearest he had got yet to telling her he loved her. It made her even more desperate to get rid of him.
‘Oh rubbish,’ she said.
He went, only to return five minutes later, carrying a pile of newspapers and magazines.
‘I’ve brought something for you to read. The library’s all incredibly boring old stuff, so I’ve got you a Tatler, the Strand – there’s a cracking adventure story in that – and the Illustrated London News, and some others. They might help to pass the time a bit.’
If it had been anyone else, Amelie would have been touched by their thoughtfulness. But Georgy just made her feel emotionally cornered.
‘Thanks,’ she said ungraciously. ‘Now go and change. You’ll be late.’
She had resolved to stay in the drawing room and ignore the meet, but when it came to the point it was at least some entertainment, so she hobbled over to
the Great Hall where she could watch what was going on.
The spectacle was one of colour and movement against the grey backdrop of the weather. A large field had turned out, despite the rain. Men in hunting pink and women in immaculately tailored habits sat easily on glossy horses, bay and brown, chestnut and black, with the occasional showy dappled grey. Farmers in tweed jackets and bowler hats made another group, while excited youngsters on ponies were held by stoical grooms. Whippers-in controlled the milling pack of hounds, all bright eyes and waving tails and strong black and tan and white bodies, eager to be off. Amongst the riders went the Mere Castle servants with silver trays, offering stirrup cup.
Amelie watched it all. There was the Teignmereton family, moving with assurance amongst the crowd, greeting friends, acting as hosts. There were two other sons apart from Georgy, and four unmarried daughters. An inflow of money to the family coffers would be very welcome. Packard money was not at all despised, especially as Georgy was not the eldest son. They were more than ready to have him provided for. Amelie veered away from this unwelcome fact and searched the crowd for other familiar faces. Close by were the people who had dined here at Mere Castle the other day, there was a young man she had danced with last week before she sprained her ankle, and the jolly sisters who had been such fun when they all played charades. There was Edward, looking dashing in his impeccably tailored hunting pink, and yes, there beside him was Sylvia Forbes. Amelie knew quite enough now about the ground rules of society life to realise that Lady Teignmereton must have had designs on her brother for one or other of her daughters. She must be most put out to find Sylvia cutting them out. She smiled to herself, in tune with Edward for once. She disliked Lady Teignmereton intensely. Idly, she shifted her gaze from Edward and saw – Hugo Rutherford.
If anything, he looked even more handsome on a horse than he had done in a boat. Amelie gazed at him. If only, if only she had not sprained her ankle. She would be out there now, beautifully mounted on one of the Teignmeretons’ hunters and dressed in her riding habit, in which she always looked her best. Anything could happen on the hunting field. Somehow she could manage to get herself introduced to, or at the very least noticed by him. But as it was, she was stuck here helplessly watching. She hated being a spectator at the best of times. Just at this moment, it was purgatory. She kept her eyes on him, envying everyone he spoke to. When a pretty girl with dark hair laughed up at him, obviously flirting, Amelie clenched her teeth and her fists, digging her nails into her palms without even noticing she was doing it.
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