Later that day standing at the same lookout Daniel thought on his mother’s words. Lease-lend is a cruel way to describe his situation but close to the truth. If he is hogtied it is by Julianna’s willingness to give affection while retaining her heart Stefan Adelman a case in point. That she visits Adelman’s wife suggests a compassionate association yet there’s more than compassion in the doctor’s glance when gazing at her. Then there’s the Prince of Wales. Two years or more she’s been a Court favourite. Naturally there is gossip. Of late, her popularity with the Prince ever constant, gossip has acquired a barbed edge. ‘A tease, warm but unwilling,’ was said of her last week at a ball at Sandringham. Daniel attended as her partner. He’s hoping this thing with Bertie won’t last. As Callie says the Queen hangs by a thread. Those close to the throne are flexing their muscles ready to repel boarders. It’s likely in the push for space Julianna will be swept aside. Then again Bertie may hold fast and she becomes a Person of Note. The likely-hood of this was made clear last week. Entering the ballroom, Julianna glorious in a gown the colour of old gold and pearls in her hair, they had walked toward a dais far end of the room, the crowd parting to let them through. As they walked Daniel could hear locks being applied to knees and knew that when this woman walks by the natural inclination of those with an eye to the future is to bow and curtsey.
The Prince was smiling, ‘Mrs Dryden, so happy to see you.’ To Daniel he’d extended a hand nails polished and cuff immaculate. ‘And you, Greville Masson, always a pleasure.’ Thus presented they took their place among the Marlborough Set; then began a game of Pass the Parcel, the manoeuvring of all such occasions edging the preferred beauty close to the prince. Thus Julianna was soon side-by-side with the current maitresse en titre, Alice Keppel, Daniel to his horror was confronted by Cousin Francis’s wife, Lady Brooke, Countess of Warwick, Royal mistress and inspiration behind the song, ‘Daisy, Daisy! ‘
Daisy Greville Warwick is the thorn in the family paw that Francis Warwick would love to pull. Callie can’t abide her. ‘Francis married down when he married her. She’ll bring us all to ruin.’ Noisy, embroiled in many affairs and not afraid to tell, she’s known as Babbling Brooke. At the ball, worse for wine and chagrin, the prince committed to Mrs Keppel, Daisy hung on his arm, ‘awfully pleased to see you, handsome Colonial Cousin.’ Daniel steered her about the floor dodging Ostrich plumes in her hair and impertinent questions such as, ‘why aren’t he and Julianna Dryden wed. Has Daniel been refused or is she as she is with the Prince of Wales warmly unwilling.’ There is much public and private speculation. The newspapers adore Julianna and while quick to publish photographs remain kind. Rumours as to the exact state of the Royal connection are brought to the breakfast table by Callie.
‘They say she won’t dine alone with him.’
‘Who says?’
‘A cook at Sandringham, who heard it from a butler at the Cassel’s place. They say she doesn’t toe the Court Line, too picky about invitations and refusing shooting parties. I must say I’m with her on that. I used to hate being with your father when for a change he was in the mood to shoot at deer and not me. ’
Daniel doesn’t ask questions of Julianna. The only right he has is to love, and to accept, or refuse, love offered in return. Friday evening on the way back from Sandringham it was chilly. Enfolded in fur Julianna shivered. Daniel leant forward to pull the hood about her face and unable to resist her lips kissed her. Hands flat against his chest she resisted but the kiss deepening she relaxed against the cushion. Soft and compliant her body was an offering. Those lips and the curve of her breast! His hands burned to close about her. Lashes lowered she waited to see what he would do. Ardour retreated before pride and with the thought all or nothing he did nothing.
*
Stefan is unwell. He’s spent the better part of the year travelling back and forth to Osborne House. The journey, and a worsening situation with Karoline, is taking their toll. Julianna rang to see how he is.
After a lengthy wait the phone was picked up. ‘‘Ello?’
‘Is this Doctor Adelman’s residence?’
‘It is but I’m afraid he’s busy. Can I take a message?’
‘Thank you. Would you tell him Julianna Dryden will be making the trip to Bradbury next Tuesday as planned and would he meet me at the station?’
‘Alright, ducks, I’ll pass the message on.’
Replacing the phone Julia wondered whether she was quite awake. Three nights in a row she dreamt she phoned Stefan and a woman with a melodious voice answered. In the dream Julia asks if she might speak with Stefan. The woman replies, ‘I’m afraid the Professor is busy. May I take a message?’
Now Stefan’s cockney charlady answers and breaks the dream
Ten minutes later the phone rang. ‘Sorry, my dear,’ Stefan panted. ‘I was otherwise engaged.’
‘Not to worry. I rang to say I’ll be with you Tuesday.’
‘Good! I am so looking forward to seeing you. A month apart is a very long time. And Matthew is he well?’
‘He is very well.’
‘Excellent. I’ll see you Tuesday, as my charlady would say, with boots blacked.’
‘That was your charlady who took the call.’
‘It was, my Peggy Carstairs.’
‘And does your Peggy take good care of you?’
‘She does. I am a fortunate fellow.’
*
Julianna is talking with Maud. ‘So you see with this document you become a partner in the tea-shop and are entitled to a share of the profits.’
Mrs McLaughlin gaped. ‘A partner?’
‘Yes and it’s only right. You are the backbone of our little establishment.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s no need to say anything. Just sign and it is yours.’
‘You are referring to Bakers, madam, not the one in Cambridge?’
‘The Cambridgeshire tea-house will be managed by people who live in the area but as a partner in the business association, and having agreed to get the new shop started, any and all successes will be shared with you.’
‘I’m quite overcome. I never imagined my life working out like this.’
‘It is what you deserve. I could not have managed without you. And you’re happy with Leah as manager here while you are away?’
‘You couldn’t have a better worker. I’m just saying I wouldn’t want to stay in Cambridge permanent. I don’t mind helping but this is my home, mine and Joey’s. And I would so miss Matthew.’
‘You’ll always have a home here, Maud, and for that matter were Matty and I to move elsewhere we would ask you to come with us.’
‘Move? Is that a possibility?’
‘I have been thinking along those lines. It depends how things work out. Anyway on the subject of Matty I am away this Tuesday. Please ensure he refers to his piano teacher as Mr Faulkner and not Mr Polly Wolly Doodle.’
‘I will, madam, though I don’t think Ben minds.’
‘Perhaps not but I do.’
Mrs Mac might smile at such things but Julia isn’t amused. Matty gets stronger by the day, while his speech is still hesitant the need to shut out the world is not nearly so evident. The piano lessons have helped. Ben Faulkner is kind but a child must not be allowed to take liberties.
Nan is here discussing bookings. It wasn’t long before the topic turned to Matty. ‘Your boy needs a strong but kindly hand.’
‘You have a particular hand in mind?’
‘Nay, not me! I’m as inquisitive as the next but not so foolish as to dip my oar in choppy waters. I’m sure with all this society gadding-about you’ve plenty suitors. Is it true you’re to dine at Sandringham again this evening?’
‘I believe so. ’
‘Is he a nice man Prince Albert?’
‘His Highness is a gentleman, if that’s what you me
an.’
‘A gentleman? Does that mean he treats you as you should be treated and doesn’t take advantage of his position?’
‘I thought you said you didn’t dip your oar in choppy waters?’
‘Is the water choppy then, Anna?’
‘It is certainly deeper and more dangerous than I ever imagined but I believe I am learning to paddle my own canoe with a certain amount of dexterity. Talking of deep waters I saw Luke yesterday back from Italy.’
The moment it was said it was regretted the smile gone from Nan’s face. In drawing attention away from her secrets she highlighted another’s.
‘Oh don’t talk to me of Luke! I can’t bear to think on him. That woman! If I’d have known what her coming to Bakers would lead to I’d have barred the door.’ Useless trying to divert the course, Nan’s hatred of ‘that woman’ flooded out. ‘Not enough he follows her to London she tries comin’ here. I won’t have it. She calls wantin’ rooms for her and her limp-wristed brother and I say we’re full. Most times we are but if we were empty I’d not let her in.’
‘Why does Lady Carrington want to come do you suppose?’
‘Probably to tighten her grasp on my deluded son and to tell him how happy he’d be if he were to leave this miserable backwater for London.’
‘You were listening in on the call!’
‘I was and not ashamed to do it! I wouldn’t mind if he was happy.’
‘Is he unhappy?’
‘I don’t know what he is! He’s handsome in cutaway coats and blossomy buttonholes and all that but as miserable as sin.’ Nan sniffed. ‘It’s my fault. I should have let him have the woman he wanted. I should’ve let him have you.’
‘I should have let him have you?’ Julia pondered the remark. Damned cheek! Who are these people that think they order one’s life? She likes Nan and is glad of her support but could manage without her. Not so long ago a door was slammed in Matty’s face and Julia regarded the Whore of Babylon. Evie having ruffled Nan’s feathers Julia is considered the lesser of two evils.
Well, thank you, Nan Roberts, but as I said I paddle my own canoe. It’s true the water is choppy and I make mistakes but they are my own mistakes. As for Luke he too is his own man and must make his own choices.
With the popularity of the Nanny Tea Shop, the bustling life and the dashing in and out of carriages there have been rare glimpses of the man. His mother says he’s changed. Lithe electric body, brooding eyes and mass of dark hair, Julia believes the essential man the same.
Last week at the theatre watching Mrs Patrick Campbell in The Second Mrs Tanqueray they were in opposite boxes, Luke handsome in a midnight blue tail-coat, his waistcoat embroidered in a similar blue, Evie’s brilliant hand and eye at work. For a while there was sniggering and the quirking of eyebrows, Luke more than once likened to one of the new motoring cars, ‘ latest model, plenty poke under the bonnet but in need of polish.’ Time has moved on and with much else to occupy gossip public interest in that particular private affair waned. It’s likely the sniggering continues but behind closed doors as in Julia’s case with her friendship with Bertie.
Nan asks what kind of a man is the Prince of Wales. Julia sees him as a series of men the medals and insignia on his chest a row of buttons that if gently pressed allowing a good man to appear and individual acts of real kindness. If however the buttons are mishandled, and protocol and good manners so meaningful to him not observed, then a bully appears, witness Marlborough House last year between Acts of The Mikado, the Doyle Carte playing before a selected audience. ‘Why deny me your company, Ju-ju?’ he’d said, his hand grasping her elbow. ‘Am I not worthy of attention?’
‘You are, Sir.’
‘And what of love? Am I not worthy of that?’
‘Every man is worthy of love.’
‘And in this am I to be as every man?’
‘In the right to love and be loved surely we are all as one.’
Her answer didn’t suit. ‘Mrs Dryden?’ He’d frowned. ‘Is it possible you seek to recreate history while looking toward the future?’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘Then allow me to elaborate. I suspect you, dear Ju-ju, of playing politics, of withholding treasure in anticipation of gaining greater treasure.’
‘In what way am I doing that?’
‘In the way of certain intransigent woman who centuries ago would persist in withholding duty toward an illustrious forbear of mine, an infamous forbear, I might add, known for the swift dispatching of errant wives.’
‘With respect, Sir, if you speak of English History then your description offers ample choice, however, if the lady you refer to is the unfortunate Anne Boleyn let me assure you emulating her fate was never an ambition of mine.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ He’d leaned close his breath smoky. ‘As you say every man is worthy of love. Kings too are worthy and must not be coerced into offering of a reward for that which should be freely given.’
Furious, Julia kept her distance and for weeks afterward cited illness or prior engagement to invitations. ‘No,’ she thought. ‘This is the twentieth century. I’ll not be bullied.’ The prince regretted the incident. He said he had toothache at the time and his comment was an ill-judged attempt at humour. She was not to be so easily appeased and continued to stay away until Hugh Fitzwilliam arrived one day at the cottage bearing the rubies she will wear tonight.
‘A pretty little coronet goes with that, Ju-ju,’ Bertie suggested some weeks later. ‘I would’ve sent it but thought the gesture excessive.’
Julia thought it all excessive and said so the day the necklace was offered. ‘I can’t accept this,’ she told Sir Hugh. ‘He insulted me and I’ll not wear it.’ Hugh had laughed. ‘Then wear the rubies instead. You can’t give ‘em back. That would be tantamount to treason. My advice, Anna, is to see beyond the outer crust to the soft underbelly of the man. That way you will both benefit.’
That day all was said with a smile but Julia knew him in earnest and in accepting the rubies tried looking beyond the crust. Last April an attempt was made on Bertie’s life, he and Princess Alexandra shot at aboard a train to Brussels. Then the death of his brother Alfred scored another wound. Bertie was heartbroken. ‘Affie got a chance to prove his worth and will be remembered as a man who did something. I shall be remembered as the prince who did nothing.’
The day he said that, sun turning the velvet curtains ruby-red, and he aging and bewildered, it was easy to comfort, to take his face between her hands and kiss his sorrow away. That the kiss should lead to closer intimacy was not the intention. Bertie didn’t press her. To say they are close friends would not be true, others have a greater claim, yet they trust one another. He writes letters to ‘My Dearest Ju-ju,’ nothing indiscreet, more the chronicles of a complex man. They don’t always agree. Julie accepts most invitations but won’t attend shooting parties. Her refusal to attend the last Glorious Twelfth brought a public dressing down, ‘if the patronage of the Prince of Wales is of so little consequence we suggest, Madam, you return poste haste to your tea-room.’ The intermediary this time was the long-suffering Hugh and the treasure the ‘pretty little coronet.’
Alice Keppel says Julia needs to manage herself better. ‘You’re here but look as if you’d sooner be elsewhere.’
‘But I don’t really know why I am here,’ Julia replied.
Mrs Keppel smiled. ‘You do know. You’re here to be beautiful and to entertain and be entertained. If you accept that and are pleased you’ll see the situation for what it is a chance to make a man happy.’
*
Julia sat with Maggie and Dottie wrapping early Christmas presents for patients at Bradbury, linen handkerchiefs for the men and lace for the ladies.
‘A bit early for Christmas ain’t it, madam,’ said Maggie.
‘It is but I’m not sure when I shall be i
n Cambridge again and am thinking ahead.’
‘They are mad, ain’t they, the people where you go, and this is nice lace.’
‘You would sooner they were given nasty lace?’
‘Would they know the difference?’
‘I would know so make haste and wrap them as prettily as possible.’ Julia added a sweetener. ‘There may well be some left over after wrapping and they’ll need a pocket in which to sit.’ Bait taken wrapping is resumed.
It’s been a busy week for the Tea-Room bookings being taken for the New Year. It was Matty brought the name about. The N an N clumsy on his tongue it became the Nanny and staff and customers taking it up.
The success of the Tea Shop is surreal. Julia often thinks to pinch herself. This last year has seen locals as well as strangers sitting down to tea, the people of this ‘miserable backwater’ crossing a Rubicon. Evie used to call Bakers a backwater when trying to inveigle Julia to London. Now it’s Luke’s turn. News of him hums through the wires, his reputation in the restoration of property taking him and a substantial work-force all over the country. He still keeps the house on Fairy Common. Last week knowing him away Julia took a peep. That same night she dreamt an angel took her on a tour of the house. Gleaming space and light, a blaze of colour with ornate tapestries hanging on every wall, she marvelled. ‘It’s so big, the rooms go on forever. And this light is so bright! What am I seeing?’ The angel had smiled. ‘You’re seeing beyond the outer crust.’
Ten am the door bell rang, August Simpkin and his wife. The Tea-Room being fully booked this Christmas Abigail asked if they might book next Christmas for the Good Wives annual luncheon, and might they also reserve the whole of 16th February 1902 for their daughter’s wedding breakfast. ‘It’s the very thing in London,’ said Abigail, ‘guests waited upon in a fashionable emporium. We’d like to do the same for our Laura and what could be more fashionable than your tea-room, Dear Mrs Dryden.’
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