The Last Debutantes

by Georgie Blalock

  They turned onto Pall Mall, and the lush green trees of St. James’s Square surrounding the bronze statue of William III in the center came into view. The car glided to a stop at a small pillared entrance stuffed in the corner of the square of cheek-by-jowl houses. With its dark brick facing, Palladian front, and white-trimmed windows, it seemed too small for Lord and Lady Astor’s notoriously large personalities and soirees. How they fit the hundreds of guests who regularly attended their parties in there she didn’t know, but she was about to find out, along with how much of Dorothy’s unwelcome warning about female friends was true.

  Curse Dorothy. Why does she have to spoil everything?

  Mr. May came around to open the door. Valerie gathered up her purse and prepared to step out.

  “Shall I walk you to the door so no ruffians attack you?” Miss Holmes asked with an impish smile.

  “I think I’m quite safe here.” She wished she could invite Miss Holmes to join her, to bring in an ally to help her face whatever waited for her inside, but it was impossible. Miss Holmes had her work to do and Valerie had hers, even if society didn’t seem quite so important as government business. Except it was. Valerie’s future depended on making friends and forming connections. Without them, she’d be as alone and overlooked in England as she’d been in France. “Thank you for accompanying me.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Valerie approached the Astors’ front door, where the butler, a lanky man in black tails and a white waistcoat, greeted her. “Miss Brand is expecting you.”

  He ushered her inside and helped her off with her coat. Valerie barely felt him removing it from her shoulders, too in awe of the house. To say the plain entrance expertly concealed the space and grandeur of the inside was a misstatement. Everything on the walls that wasn’t a work of art was either covered in ornate molding or gilded. The high ceilings supported by the plaster Corinthian columns with gold tops gave the foyer an airiness anchored by the marble and bronze statues tucked in the alcoves.

  “If you’ll follow me.” The butler led her up the staircase.

  She trailed her hand over the polished dark wood banister, grasping it every so often to lean back and take in the intricate friezes set in the high walls. Large windows filled the marble staircase with light that sparkled off the gilded-columned spindles that matched the ones holding up the ceiling. The sheer opulence was breathtaking and far more lavish than No. 10, the Astors’ wealth and status echoing in every detail. None of it was weighed down by the practical needs of civil servants and the government. She couldn’t help but wonder how different things might’ve been if her father hadn’t lost his town house in Cadogan Square to creditors. She would’ve been raised in London, and Dinah and this house might have been a part of her childhood, familiar from years of birthday parties and children’s teas. Instead, she’d been exiled to boarding school and France.

  She paused at the top of the stairs and drew in a steadying breath. That was all behind her. She was the debutante in Downing Street with friends to visit, and unless Dorothy’s doom-and-gloom predictions came true, this house would become a regular part of her life.

  They walked down the wide upstairs hallway, passing the antiques, paintings, and fine rugs filling the space. Various footmen and secretaries hustled by, their activity similar to the bustle of Downing Street. With Lord Astor in the House of Lords and Lady Astor in the Commons, she wasn’t surprised by the flurry of people.

  “We must support those Germans who are willing to stand up to Herr Hitler. They could foment a revolution within Germany that will oust him and end this menace once and for all,” Lady Astor’s refined but commanding voice rang out. Valerie paused at the open door of a study with red-silk-covered walls and a painting of a manor house hung between the windows. Lady Astor sat behind a large burled-wood desk with a black telephone receiver pressed to one ear. She signed the paper on the blotter with a flourish and handed it to the secretary on her left, while the man on the right slid another in front of her. “Yes, thank you for calling.”

  Lady Astor dropped the phone on the base and looked over her shoulder to the older social secretary who sat at a Louis XV French writing desk near the window. “Mrs. Wendell, place Sir Vansittart on the list for dinner. He’ll offer valuable insight into the German situation.”

  “Yes, Lady Astor.”

  “If some of these ignorant men, such as Sir Arnold Wilson, can’t see who Herr Hitler really is after the last two days, then a dose of truth about what it’s like to live under that awful man might open their eyes.”

  “I doubt it.” Lord Astor brushed his hand over his graying dark hair, his round face accented by a bushy mustache. He lounged in a wing chair by the large fireplace, his feet propped up on a footstool. “Meeting the Führer didn’t open the Duke of Windsor’s eyes. It only made that gullible fool more enamored of him. If he were still King he’d be cozying up to that German menace instead of trying to thwart him.”

  “The Duke of Windsor supports Herr Hitler?” Valerie exclaimed, then clapped her hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t eavesdrop on a private conversation, and she expected them to sternly say so. She was surprised when Lord Astor rose, smiling instead of scowling.

  “The Duke of Windsor isn’t known for good judgment.”

  “If he were, he’d still be King, not the husband of that fourth-rate divorcée.” Lady Astor swept out from behind her desk, the wide collar of her teal blouse fluttering with her movements. A tight strand of pearls encircled her wrinkled neck and a pair of pearl earrings dangled from her earlobes. “Good day, Miss de Vere Cole. It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “I’m sorry to interrupt.”

  “No need to apologize. Treat our house as if it were your own and come whenever you like. It does Dinah good to have friends about, and you can plot your conquests. Now, if you’ll excuse us. World affairs are pressing.”

  “Of course.” Valerie left them to their work and followed the butler, stunned by what she’d overheard. She’d thought German admirers all extremists like Sir Oswald, not the former monarch and who knows what other members of society Lady Astor intended to convince. She hoped Lady Astor succeeded. Uncle Neville needed England’s full support to maintain the peace. At least Lady Astor hadn’t pounced on Valerie for interrupting them. They’d welcomed her despite her slip, which was more than Lady Ashcombe and her ilk had done. Whether Dinah and the others would continue to be welcoming after another go at her remained to be seen, but there was no backing out of it, not with the butler opening the sitting room door.

  “Valerie, at last!” Dinah jumped up from the table where she and the other girls sat and clasped Valerie by the arm, dragging her into the white-paneled room accented with Wedgwood blue, and past the two marble Greek philosophers holding up the fireplace mantel. “We were afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

  “I had some trouble with the car at Number Ten.” Valerie took the empty seat between Christian and Katherine, sitting back to allow the butler to lay a napkin across her lap and pour a cup of tea. The airy brightness of the room was a far cry from the dark wood and plain plaster walls of the convent dining room or the drafty and cluttered Victorian sitting room of the Cambridge dame school. Conversation during meals at both places had been forbidden, leaving plenty of time to concentrate on the poor food that’d never quelled her hunger.

  “Are you excited about the Midnight film premiere?” Christian asked. “I think it’ll be divine.”

  “I can’t wait to meet Ronnie Howard,” Katherine gushed. “I heard he’ll be there. Maybe his father will join him. Imagine seeing Leslie Howard in person. I wonder how he’ll be in Gone with the Wind.”

  “He’s sure to be marvelous, as he is in everything,” Eunice assured. “I’ve read all the film magazines about it. Mother thinks they’re perfectly dreadful rags but I adore them. It’s my one vice.”

  “Then you aren’t a nun after all.” Dinah dismissed the butler, who bowed and left.


  “I would be if Mother let me, but it’d ruin her plans for me to marry an important Catholic man who’ll bring more grandeur to the Kennedy name. Mother’s only devotion besides Catholicism is to never be looked down on.”

  “A tall order for an ambassador’s wife. Speaking of chaps.” Dinah turned to Valerie. “Will you be at Lindsey Furneaux’s coming-out ball tomorrow night?”

  “I will.” Valerie accepted the plate of scones from Katherine.

  “Good, I’ve decided that none of us will allow the others to stand alone if we don’t have a dance partner.”

  “Then you’ll be standing out a great deal with me. I barely know a soul,” Eunice complained.

  “I thought your sister knew everyone.”

  “To hear her tell it she does, but heaven forbid her little sister tag along and meet them.”

  “All the more reason for a pledge. We’ll make sure we introduce one another to the chaps we know.”

  “I don’t know any.” Christian poured cream into her tea.

  “Neither do I, except for government secretaries. With everything happening in Europe, they aren’t likely to attend balls. Even if they did, you wouldn’t be interested in them, they’re terribly droll.” Valerie popped a piece of warm scone in her mouth, enjoying the tang of lemon curd to keep from blurting out anything else to make her appear more socially inept.

  “Then you must meet my cousins, their friends, and Katherine’s brother. They’re all great pals.” Dinah wasn’t nearly as concerned with Valerie’s nonexistent circle of male friends as Valerie was.

  “They aren’t very good dancers, so don’t wear any shoes you mind getting stepped on,” Katherine suggested with a rumbling chuckle.

  “I’m more worried about the conversation than the dancing,” Eunice complained. “What are we supposed to talk about?”

  “If you can’t think of anything, then use the alphabet game,” Katherine suggested. “My sister taught it to me. You begin with a topic that starts with an A, and if that doesn’t do it, then keep going through the letters until you find something that sparks his interest. Hopefully, you won’t have to resort to that, but there you have it in case you need it.”

  “Heaven forbid.” Eunice sighed. “Given the sheer number of invitations I’ve already received, I’m sure I’ll have to use it once or twice. They won’t all be great conversationalists. How are we ever to get through all of the dances?”

  “By sticking together. We can make it a sort of club similar to Aunt Nancy’s Ark Club but without the intellectual conversation or naming everyone after animals and such,” Dinah continued in a rush of words.

  “What was it they named my father?” Katherine looked to the ceiling as if the answer were written beside the chandelier medallion. “Gore the Gorilla.”

  “Aunt Nancy was the Gnat.”

  “Quite fitting, since she’s always moving.” Lady Astor hadn’t been still the entire three minutes Valerie had watched her work.

  “What shall we call ourselves, then?” Christian asked. “A club must have a name. All the good ones do.”

  “Hmm.” Dinah touched her finger to her chin while everyone mulled over something worth suggesting.

  A couple of ideas came to Valerie but she kept them to herself, thinking them too silly. She didn’t wish to be laughed out of their circle before the end of the first tea.

  “I’ve got it.” Dinah clapped her hands together and sat up straight. “We’ll call ourselves the Excellencies because we’re all related to politicians.”

  “My father was merely the Deputy Lieutenant of Aberdeenshire,” Christian lamented. “Hardly notable, considering he never did anything.”

  “That’s good enough. What do you say, Your Excellencies?”

  “It’s a grand idea,” Katherine seconded, and Eunice and Christian both agreed.

  “What about you, Valerie? Are you in? Please say you are. It’ll be ever so fun.”

  Valerie paused in dishing out a dollop of lemon curd. For girls waiting to pounce, they were certainly going to a great deal of trouble to look out for one another, and her. Fish Dorothy’s fearmongering, she wasn’t about to risk standing out alone at dances. She set down her spoon and picked up her tea. “I am, Your Excellencies.”

  “Your Excellencies.” Dinah clinked her teacup against Valerie’s, the others joining in to make the Astor china ring to the corniced ceiling.

  “Wait, before we drink, I have something more bracing.” Dinah dashed to a walnut bombé chest to fetch a dark glass bottle from inside. She hurried back to the table, pulled the cork, and tipped a sherry-like liquid into each girl’s cup.

  “What is this?” Katherine sniffed, wincing at the petrol smell.

  “I thought your aunt was a teetotaler.” Uncle Neville and Aunt Anne had grumbled more than once after a dinner at Lady Astor’s about the lack of libations to smooth out the more argumentative guests.

  “She is, but the gamekeeper at Cliveden has a hidden still. I slip him a few bob to keep me in regular supply. I’m quite popular at dinners when guests need something more bracing than witty conversation to get them through the evening. Cheers, girls.”

  They took a sip, most of them coughing and sputtering at the aperitif.

  “A charming recipe.” Katherine cleared her throat.

  Christian coughed, her cheeks bright red. “It’d pop the pennies off a dead Scotsman’s eyes.”

  “I quite like it.” Eunice licked her lips and held out her cup for more.

  Valerie could almost see Dinah refilling it through her watering eyes. “Well, Your Excellencies, what’s our first order of business?”

  “To widen your circle of chaps.” Dinah tapped the cork into the liquor bottle. “Aunt Nancy told me Elm is going to be at Lady Dunford’s coming-out dance.”

  “A tree?” Valerie didn’t think floral decorations were anything to get riled up about.

  “Lord Elmswood, the Marquess of Fallington’s son, a very eligible bachelor with a family pile that’s still flush,” Katherine matter-of-factly explained. “He’s a friend of my brother David’s and of Dinah’s cousins, Jakie and Michael. They were all at Eton and Oxford together.”

  While Katherine continued to detail the young lord’s lineage, Eunice whispered to Valerie, “I can’t keep track of all these titled people and I’m tired of looking the fool for asking.”

  “Me too.” Most of the society families were so intertwined, one needed a chart to keep it all straight. Her lineage was mixed in there somewhere, but instead of having been raised with these names and titles tossed about like dinner dishes, Valerie struggled to keep them and their social idiosyncrasies straight. “At least they’re kind about explaining it.”

  “Tell me about it. I made the mistake of asking Lady Meade about a title once and she looked at me as if I’d spit on her scone.” She stuck her nose in the air in what Valerie thought was a perfect impression of a snotty dowager.

  “Elm’s father is in government and banking like mine and Dinah’s,” Katherine explained. “And a vocal member of the House of Lords. He’s one of the many men being considered for First Lord of the Admiralty.”

  “Elm’s a real deb’s delight.” Dinah returned her contraband to its hiding place. “A bit broody but quite the charmer.”

  “Heathcliff-broody or Mr. Rochester–broody?” Valerie pushed away her unfinished tea.

  “I don’t know either of those chaps, but get to know Elm and you’ll always have at least one dance partner.”

  “No, thanks. I’ve already had the pleasure of being snubbed by his mother and sister. I don’t need the son and heir looking down his aristocratic nose at me.”

  “Don’t take it personally, Lady Fallington does that to everyone, but Elm isn’t like that. I’ve spent loads of time with him at Cliveden. He’s can be a touch serious and self-involved but not at all nasty.”

  “Then why haven’t you made a rush for him?” Christian asked.

  “I don’t care fo
r him like that. Although I must admit he’d be tolerable enough to stare at across a breakfast table and when it comes to other things.” Dinah rolled her spoon in the air, then set it in the saucer with a clink.

  “What other things?” Eunice innocently asked, and the girls burst out laughing.

  “Didn’t they teach you anything at Catholic school?”

  “The sisters don’t talk about such things, and don’t act so worldly,” Eunice chided. “I’ve seen how the young marrieds clam up whenever us unmarrieds are around.”

  “You don’t need to eavesdrop like a scullery maid, simply ask your friends. That’s how I learned everything. It certainly wasn’t from my mother. She won’t discuss it even when I ask,” Katherine said with a sigh.

  “My stepmother never held back even when I wanted her to keep her mouth shut.” And her legs. It would’ve spared Valerie and Father a lot of trouble in Ascain if Mavis hadn’t been so free with her favors.

  “Is that where you heard all those delightful stories about Mrs. Guinness, I mean Lady Mosley?” Christian asked.

  Valerie gripped her fork so hard, the pattern imprinted on her palm before she set it down. She should’ve held her tongue instead of advertising her worldliness, which, according to Dorothy, was a cardinal sin. If it was, Their Excellencies didn’t think so, practically perched on the edge of their chairs to hear more gossip. “I don’t know anything more than anyone else.”

  “Liar,” Dinah challenged. “Tell us everything about Lady Mosley and her awful sisters. We’re desperate for the delicious details.”

  Valerie shouldn’t say anything, but she could hardly pretend to ignorance, not after the licking she’d given Vivien at the luncheon. There was nothing to do but spill what she knew and sing for her supper; after all, this was why she’d been invited here. She glanced around to see if the butler had slipped into the room. She’d never be allowed out of No. 10 again if Dorothy caught wind of this.

  “Don’t worry, there’s no one to overhear. Even if there was, Aunt Nancy pays her servants well enough to keep the gossip flowing into the house and not out of it.”