But Dodo seemed to have forgotten about the book. ‘I dare say one just has to soldier on,’ she said, still picking at her skirt. ‘But I had no idea it would be so hard. So many rules.’ She paused. ‘Last week I was in one of the glasshouses, and I picked a peach. There was the most fearful row. Wainwright – he’s the head gardener – he complained to the butler, who complained to Esmond, who absolutely . . . Well. Apparently one’s not supposed to interfere with the glasshouses. Or the gardens, or the kitchens. I’ve never even seen Cook, she just sends up the menus every week for me to mark up. Although of course I never dare. I spend my days rushing about the countryside, leaving cards on people, and hoping against hope that they won’t be in, because the visits are the worst. If one wasn’t born out here, one’s a foreigner for ever.’
‘Come and stay at Berkeley Square,’ said Belle. ‘You know Sibella’s always glad to see you. We’ll have fun.’
Dodo shook her head. ‘Esmond would never allow it. I haven’t been up to Town since we got back from the honeymoon. At first he said it was because of the ’flu; and when that died down, he said there were too many fast women on the streets. He means women with jobs, like conductorettes and postwomen. He thinks they’re an abomination. It’s why he resigned from the Athenaeum, because they’d taken on a waitress. And now of course the ’flu’s back again, so that’s that.’
‘But I hear it’s only the old people who are going down with it,’ said Belle. ‘And they say that you’re fine if you stay indoors, and drinks lots of fizz. Besides, it can’t last more than a couple of weeks, can it? It’ll be over by October. Just like the War. You can come then. We’ll make plans.’
Dodo nodded, but Belle could see that she was only pretending to cheer up for her benefit.
Belle squeezed her hand. ‘In the meantime, let’s just enjoy the house party—’
‘Oh, don’t,’ said Dodo with a shudder. ‘I’ve made a hash of that too. Esmond’s absolutely incandescent.’
‘Why, what have you done?’
She met Belle’s eyes. ‘I’ve gone and invited Adam Palairet.’
Belle looked at her without understanding. ‘I’m afraid I don’t— Oh, you mean Osbourne’s cousin? But what’s wrong with that?’
‘Belle! He’s Celia’s ex-husband!’
Belle blinked. ‘Oh. Oh, dear.’
‘Exactly,’ said Dodo. ‘And you know how protective Esmond is of Celia. She’s so beautiful, and he’s known her for ever. Even the DD adores her.’ She swallowed. ‘That was why I invited her, you see, to please them. But then I became so frantic with all the arrangements that I got . . . absent-minded, and invited Captain Palairet, to please Drum. They were at school together, and I really didn’t see the harm. Besides, he’s had such a frightful time – Captain Palairet, I mean – in and out of hospitals for months. And he wrote such a lovely letter when poor St John was killed. I simply didn’t connect . . .’
‘Can’t you write and put him off? I’m sure he’d understand if you told him Celia’s here.’
‘No he won’t, he’ll come down and cause a scene. At least, that’s what Celia says. She’s in a fearful tizz about it, and so is Esmond. Besides, it’s too late to put the Captain off. He’s arriving tomorrow.’
Belle bit her lip. ‘Perhaps he won’t turn up.’
‘Yes he will,’ said Dodo. ‘He wrote and asked if Osbourne would be here. Apparently he needs to see him urgently. Oh, Belle, it’s such a muddle! And I was only trying to please everyone!’
Belle felt guilty all over again. Thank heavens she didn’t have to please anyone but herself. And Osbourne, of course.
She stood up and slipped Marie Stopes into the pocket of her afternoon gown. ‘I’m sure Osbourne can handle his own cousin,’ she said. ‘I’ll get him to write and put him off. And if that fails, then Osbourne and Drum shall form a guard of honour around Celia, and stop the dreaded captain getting anywhere near her. And just to make sure, I’ll be on the lookout from dawn tomorrow, so that I can head him off at the first sign of trouble. How’s that?’
Dodo leapt up and gave her a hug. ‘What would I do without you?’
‘Promise you won’t worry any more?’
Dodo nodded. Then she caught her lip in her teeth. ‘What about Esmond?’
‘Bother Esmond! The dreaded captain isn’t coming down till tomorrow, by which time Esmond will have forgotten all about being incandescent, he’ll be too speechless with admiration after your wonderful party. And it will be wonderful, Dodo. I know it will. Now let’s go and dress, and start enjoying ourselves!’
Chapter Eleven
Belle’s costume for the party was a housemaid’s afternoon dress: a deep green alpaca with a white organdie apron, and a little organdie cap with green velvet ribbons. The dress was authentic, but she’d drawn the line at housemaid’s slippers, opting instead for high-heeled glacé kid with pearl-buttoned straps.
But it was surprisingly hard to persuade her maid into one of her evening gowns.
‘It just don’t feel right, miss,’ Jenny said stubbornly.
‘But that’s the whole point!’ said Belle. ‘It’s a master and servant party. We dress up as servants, and you wear evening dress.’
Esmond had thought it ‘screamingly funny’ when Celia had first mooted the idea, and at the time Belle had thought so too. Now, though, seeing Jenny’s discomfort, it struck her as snobbish and hard.
Pushing the thought aside, she flung open the wardrobe and scanned her gowns. ‘This one,’ she said, pulling out a Poiret evening frock of silver gauze over mauve brocade, which would complement Jenny’s delicate colouring.
Jenny looked even more doubtful. ‘I couldn’t, miss. That’s one of my favourites.’
‘All the more reason. Now off to your room to dress. And don’t forget the shoes that go with it, and the headdress and the gloves.’
That made Jenny laugh. ‘That’s my job, miss.’
When she had gone, Belle threw her dressing jacket over her maid’s costume, and sat down to make up.
At Kyme, electricity was restricted to the state rooms, and bedroom lighting meant smoky oil lamps and an overhead gasolier. The lamp on the dressing table was an old-fashioned one, which reminded Belle of Eden – although Eden, she reminded herself, had electricity now. But we hardly use it, Mamma had written in her last letter. The generator makes too much noise, and the lights attract too many mosquitoes.
Mamma wrote once a month: sprightly, amusing letters which couldn’t mask the occasional note of wistfulness. Over the summer she’d been worrying about air raids, and urging Belle to move to Sibella’s house in Sussex until the War was over. More recently she’d seen a report in the Gleaner about moral laxity, and tentatively suggested that Belle should beware of jazz, and avoid what she quaintly called ‘paint’.
Papa wrote at Christmas and Easter and on Belle’s birthday, in November. His style was brisk and informative, and he always covered exactly four sides of notepaper. By the end, Belle knew a great deal about how the estate was going on, and nothing whatsoever about him.
Don’t think of that, she told herself firmly. Think of the party. Think of having fun.
She was annoyed to find that her hands were shaking as she reached for her little crystal pots of rice powder and rouge à lèvres. What was wrong with her? Since leaving Dodo’s rooms, she’d become aware of a vague, creeping dread.
It’s probably because of Dodo, she told herself. Poor Dodo. Whatever had possessed her to marry Esmond?
‘Because he proposed,’ Dodo had told her when Belle had finally plucked up the courage to ask. ‘Because the family wanted it. Because I wanted to please them. I don’t know. Because.’
Belle’s hand went to her breast, and beneath the alpaca she found Osbourne’s ring. With us it’ll be different, she thought. It’ll be all right. Once you’re married, you’ll be safe.
As if summoned by an invocation, Osbourne opened the door. He looked resplendent in a footman’s ful
l-dress livery.
‘Why, infant,’ he exclaimed as he closed the door behind him. ‘What an adorable costume.’
She leapt up and ran into his arms, and he bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth.
The dread was gone. She was safe. Osbourne treated her with a gentleness she adored: as if he thought she was made of porcelain. Yes, a porcelain doll.
‘Darling infant,’ he murmured against her mouth. Then he kissed her more deeply.
They broke apart for breath, and he stooped to check his appearance in the looking-glass.
Belle sat down to reapply her rouge à lèvres.
As Osbourne straightened up, he looked about him and gave an elegant shudder. Then he cast himself onto the bed and flung a corner of the counterpane across his legs. ‘Your room’s even colder than mine.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ said Belle with a smile. In the looking-glass they exchanged amused glances. Dodo had thoughtfully given them rooms in the same wing. ‘Follow the green carpet till you reach the Grecian urn,’ she’d told Belle in a conspiratorial whisper, ‘then turn left at the blue Persian rug. But do try to make it back to your own room by six, or you’ll embarrass the servants.’
On the bed, Osbourne propped himself up on his elbow and yawned. ‘Kyme is such a trial. Why can’t Dodo get the appointments right? My room has rose-water instead of a shaving mirror, while yours has an ash-stand and no pincushion. Why do we put up with it?’
Again, Belle smiled at his reflection. At twenty-eight he was nearly ten years her senior, but looked younger, his fair hair as golden as a boy’s, his grey eyes full of light. For his costume he’d chosen the Kyme house colours of sea-green and blue: dark blue breeches and patent pumps, a green satin waistcoat, and an immaculate cutaway coat of green broadcloth with crested silver buttons. He looked so beautiful that Belle’s heart swelled with pride. To mask her feelings she said, ‘We put up with it because we’re Dodo’s friends.’
‘Ah, is that why,’ he murmured. His gaze wandered to the bedside table. ‘What’s this?’ He picked up Married Love. Then he burst out laughing.
‘It’s not mine,’ Belle said quickly.
‘I can see that. Dodo’s written her name on the flyleaf.’ Another snort of laughter. ‘Dodo and Marie Stopes? Isn’t that exquisite?’
‘Don’t mock,’ said Belle. She was annoyed with herself for failing to hide the book before he came in.
‘Oh, do listen to this,’ said Osbourne, leafing through the pages. ‘The frequent troubles which arise in physical intimacy cannot be said to be the fault of our educated girls, composed as they are of virgin purity enclosed in ignorance, but rather result from the insensitivity of the male . . .’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Belle.
Osbourne blinked. ‘Kitten, I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that you’re new to all this.’
By ‘all this’ he meant slipping into each other’s rooms, and the loss of ‘virgin purity’. He couldn’t be more wrong. Belle hadn’t been new to it since she was thirteen. But it had been easy to persuade him that he’d been the first. It always was.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked Osbourne.
She shook her head.
‘Now let me guess. Something’s up with Dodo. That’s why you were closeted with her all afternoon.’
‘It’s nothing you need to know about,’ said Belle.
‘What does that mean?’
‘Women’s secrets,’ she replied, softening that with a smile. Then she said, ‘Actually, there is something you ought to know. Your cousin Adam is arriving tomorrow. Dodo invited him by mistake. Then she remembered Celia, and got herself in a tizz. I’ve told her that you and Drum will guard Celia with your lives.’
She’d spoken lightly, but to her surprise, Osbourne’s face had gone still. ‘Adam’s coming here?’ he said in an altered voice.
Belle paused with her scent bottle in her hand. ‘Yes. Why?’
Osbourne ran his thumb thoughtfully across his lower lip. ‘How fearfully tiresome,’ he said.
‘Why?’ Belle said again.
He heaved a sigh and threw himself back against the pillows. ‘Because he’s always trying to drag me down to Scotland. Because he wants me to run the estate, and I simply won’t. It’s an absolute ruin after all the death duties. Because—’
‘Why does he want you to run it?’
‘Kitten, it’s far too complicated for you to understand. The point is, we shall have to leave before he arrives.’
Belle turned and stared at him. ‘What?’
‘I can’t see Adam now. I simply cannot.’ He propped himself up on his elbow. ‘I’m frightfully sorry, infant, but there it is. We must leave first thing tomorrow. I shall order the motor for six. Can you bear to be ready by then?’
‘But I can’t leave Dodo.’
‘Of course you can. Dodo’s married. Dodo can look after herself. I, on the other hand—’
‘But why do we have to leave?’
‘Kitten, do try to pay attention! Cousin Adam wants me to be a farmer. How could we possibly marry if I were herding sheep on some ghastly hillside?’
‘But he couldn’t make you do that.’
‘I expect he could. He’s the head of the family.’ Once again he lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘He probably wants me to go down there at once, so that he can marry me off to some appalling laird’s daughter with ankles like tree trunks.’
Belle knew perfectly well that all this talk of sheep-farming and lairds’ daughters was just a smokescreen; Osbourne often made up stories when he wanted to avoid the truth. But she also knew that it was best not to come right out and confront him.
Busying herself with her hairbrush, she said, ‘But why should it matter what Captain Palairet wants?’
He was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. ‘Because – because, kitten darling, I fear that he wouldn’t quite approve of our engagement.’
Belle set down the hairbrush. ‘He wouldn’t approve? Why not?’
Again Osbourne sighed. ‘It’s just the way he is, darling. Grim and dour and disgustingly moral. All the Scottish Palairets are. Apart from me, of course. I’m the glorious exception.’
He was trying to throw her off the scent. ‘Why wouldn’t he approve of me?’ she said quietly.
‘Oh, Lord. It’s just— If you must know, he’s got something into his head about your mamma’s family. The Durrants. But it’s really nothing . . .’
Belle felt her face growing hot. The old taint rising to the surface. It is in the blood . . .
‘It’s ridiculous, I know,’ said Osbourne with a yawn. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll square it with him eventually. But now do you see why, just at the moment, I need to stay out of his way?’
Belle thought about that. She felt torn between her loyalty to Osbourne, and her promise to Dodo to stay at Kyme. ‘Osbourne,’ she began. ‘About Dodo—’
‘Oh, Lord—’
‘But I don’t see how I can leave her. She’s having such trouble settling into her new role. She needs me.’
He got up and came over to her, and pulled her gently to her feet. ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said, taking her in his arms. ‘After the party, you can come to my room, and we’ll play master and servant.’ His hand moved down to her breast. ‘I’ve always wanted to roger a maid.’
Belle twisted sharply out of his grip. ‘That isn’t funny.’
He dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘It wasn’t meant to be funny, darling. It’s the truth.’
When he had gone, Belle sat down at the dressing table and put her head in her hands. She felt shaky and sick. I’ve always wanted to roger a maid . . .
One sentence was all it took to bring it back. Just one sentence.
You wear clothes well, because you only just tolerate them. If you were mine, I don’t imagine that I should allow you to wear any clothes at all. Perhaps just a housemaid’s organdie apron, with a fine gold chain about your neck.
She shut her eye
s, and willed the memory back down again. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? The housemaid’s costume. The creeping dread . . .
She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection, and a mask stared back at her. Painted lips. Rouged cheeks. Glossy dark bob beneath the little organdie cap. She was looking at Isabelle Lawe, and at Belle, and Dodo’s best friend, and ‘infant’ and ‘kitten’ and ‘maid’. She was looking at anyone – or no-one.
A sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. Mechanically, she repaired the damage with powder; but nothing could hide the fear in her eyes. The mask was beginning to crack.
Wrenching open a drawer, she took out the flat lacquer box that she took with her everywhere. Inside, beneath a bundle of her parents’ letters, was a child’s clay model of a yellowsnake, and a plain morocco travelling case for photographs. She took out the case and opened it, and stared down at the image inside.
This was the only way she knew of pushing the memory back down again, but it never really worked. Because in invoking Eden, she was invoking the memory, too. Eden was where it had begun. Like her, it was tainted for ever.
A knock at the door. She started. The photograph case fell to the floor.
‘May I come in?’ said Celia Talbot.
Belle nodded. She didn’t like Celia. But Celia was better than no-one.
‘You’re fearfully pale,’ said Celia. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Belle. ‘Just a little tired.’
Celia looked wonderful. She’d dressed as a lady’s maid, in a gown of dove-grey taffeta, with neat white collar and cuffs, and a small embroidered muslin apron tied by a black velvet ribbon. With her sleek black marcelled hair and clear blue eyes, she managed to look both disturbing and demure.
‘You’ve dropped something,’ she said, stooping for the picture frame. Then she gave the photograph a longer look. ‘Heavens, what an attractive man. Who is he?’
Belle swallowed. ‘My father.’
As Celia studied the photograph, she gave a slow smile. ‘Isn’t that odd? Such a strong face, and yet – his eyes are rather similar to Osbourne’s.’
The Daughters of Eden Trilogy Page 92