The Last Debutantes

by Georgie Blalock

  Valerie slid in past Katherine, Christian, and Dinah, their heads turning in unison to follow her. Valerie sat down and fluffed her skirt out around her so it wouldn’t be too wrinkled during the film, the stretching quiet proving more than Their Excellencies could stand.

  “Well, well, well, collecting a few chaps, are we?” Katherine said.

  “Don’t snap them all up.” Dinah poked her in the ribs before Christian leaned across Katherine.

  “Leave a few for the rest of us.”

  “Come off it. I’m simply being friendly and enjoying myself.”

  “Don’t enjoy yourself too much,” Dinah warned. “You don’t want to flame out early, not with so much fun left to be had.”

  Queen Mary sat in the balcony off to the right with her attendants, waiting like everyone for the medieval forest tapestry stage curtain to open. Overhead, the high ceiling, elaborately carved and festooned with crystal chandeliers, gave the vast theater the air of a European palace. Valerie followed the line of it to the seats far up behind her, searching for Richard.

  “He’s chatting up Princess Natasha Bagration.” Dinah turned around like Valerie to look at the audience. The others tittered over Ronnie Howard sliding into the row two down from theirs, his famous father nowhere in sight.

  “She’s far more glamorous than I am and has important work to do.” The Bagration family’s diplomacy on behalf of Yugoslavia was well known.

  “An impoverished royal with no country. They’re a dime a dozen nowadays,” Dinah scoffed. “Besides, gentlemen don’t look to us for interesting discussion. They want us to be clever but not too clever and show them up or do more than hang on their every word and look pretty. Speaking of which, Richard never took his eyes off you the entire time you were here. We might as well not have even existed, for all he cared.”

  Dorothy’s warning about jealous girlfriends crowded into Valerie’s thoughts. “You aren’t interested in him, are you?”

  “Goodness, no. I like him well enough and he’s great fun, but a doctor? My father would have quite a bit to say about that.”

  She was right. A woman of Dinah’s background couldn’t possibly marry a mere doctor, no matter whose son he might be. Chaps like that were best left to girls like Valerie. If only thinking that didn’t make her sound as desirable as day-old fish. “Who do you want?”

  “I haven’t decided, but there’s plenty of time to think about it.”

  “Unless war comes.”

  “What a dreadful subject. What brought that on?”

  “Something Richard said. Chaps have real and meaningful work, while we’re left to hairdressers and shopping.”

  “Not all the chaps have work. Michael doesn’t, and he desperately wants it, but Aunt Nancy can’t see it. I shudder to think how she’ll be when I find something to do besides die of boredom in the country when the Season ends.”

  “What were you thinking of?”

  “I don’t know, but after Aunt Nancy shrieked at Michael, I don’t dare discuss it with her. I love her to bits, but she wants to run everyone’s life. I won’t let her run mine, not that it matters. If war comes, we might not have a future.” Dinah picked at a loose thread on one of the embroidered flowers on her cream organza gown. “I thought I had a lifetime with Mummy when I finally came home, but the pneumonia bitched that up. Everyone expects you to carry on after someone dies, to go about as if it never happened, as if everything you’d hoped for wasn’t snatched away, but it was, and it’s with you every day. Mummy used to say that about my half brother David after he died. I didn’t understand how it weighed on her, but I do now.”

  “I know.” Valerie clasped Dinah’s hand before she could undo the flower’s delicate stitching. “It’s hard to stand in the middle of everyone and act like everything is fine when the past is still bothering you. I feel it every time I wish things about my parents were different, but they aren’t, they never can be.”

  Dinah gripped Valerie’s hand tight, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “It’s ghastly, isn’t it?”

  “It is, but you can tell me whenever you like that you aren’t happy. I won’t expect you to pretend you aren’t.”

  “You promise not to pretend with me too. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” The word was barely out of her mouth and it was a lie. She couldn’t tell her everything the way she longed to. No one could ever know that much about her, not if she wanted to keep them in her life, but the possibility to share other things, to not feel quite so alone, gave her hope.

  “Look at us, acting like a couple of sad sacks when we should be having fun.” Dinah tugged a handkerchief out of her purse and dabbed her eyes, careful not to smudge the hint of pink eye shadow.

  “I think we have more than our share of reasons to be glum every now and again.”

  “Over tea where we can have a proper cry and a good chat, but not tonight, when we should be planning something utterly delicious, since our chaperones aren’t here. I don’t want to see the film, do you?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then let’s do something else.” Dinah tugged her out of her seat as the houselights dimmed and the stage curtain began to part.

  “Where are you two going?” Christian whispered.

  “Somewhere more thrilling than this. Come with us if you like.”

  “Do sit down and be quiet,” an old man in the row behind them spit through his mustache.

  Dinah pulled Valerie out of the row and up the aisle, stopping in the quiet lobby, where attendants emptied ashtrays and tidied the room. Footmen laid cloths over long tables and set out trays of food and glasses for the champagne reception after the film.

  “What are you two doing here?” Jakie strolled into the lobby with Michael, neither of them skulking in shame at being incredibly late for the showing.

  “Shouldn’t you be inside watching dear Claudette like good little debutantes?” Michael was more acidic than charming, the evening row with Lady Astor telling.

  “I should chide you both for taking so long to arrive, but not tonight. We want to go to the 400 Club. It’s not far from here and you’ll take us.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Jakie snapped a crisp salute. “I’ll fetch the car.”

  “Lady Warrender gave us the evil eye when we left.” Christian was nearly out of breath from hurrying out of the theater.

  “Where are we going?” Katherine asked.

  “Everything all right?” Richard asked before Dinah could answer. “I saw you leave.”

  Valerie nearly leapt out of her shoes. At this rate the entire theater would be in here wondering what they were up to and they’d be sunk before they’d even begun.

  “We’re off to the 400 Club if you care to join us.” Do please care.

  “Not what I had in mind for the evening, but why not?”

  “Then we’d better go before some old biddy decides to see what we’re up to.”

  Everyone followed Dinah into the street outside the Plaza Theatre. The crowds and cameramen were gone, replaced by a line of parked cars on either side of the street. Liveried chauffeurs mingled about to chat and smoke and crowd into the pub across the way. The Astors’ chauffer probably didn’t appreciate being pulled away from his leisure to ferry them about, but he brought the car to the curb as instructed.

  The group piled into the black Austin 12 saloon, Valerie pinned between Richard and Dinah, his arm resting over the back of the seat behind her, his thigh pressed against hers. If they weren’t packed in like a tin of sardines she’d lean deeper into him but she’d endured enough ribbing for one night. She wasn’t about to give Their Excellencies fodder for more, no matter how delicious it was to have Richard so close.

  “We’ll have until midnight.” Katherine’s shoulders were near her ears at being wedged between Christian and Jakie.

  “That doesn’t give us much time.”

  “It’s our first taste, but we’ll be back.” Dinah was practically sitting on Michael’s lap.
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  The car sped down Denman Street toward Leicester Square. Within moments, the marquees of the Odeon and the Leicester Theatre came into view. The square was alight with flashing neon signs and splendidly dressed couples filing into the theaters.

  The car pulled to the curb of the nondescript 28 Leicester Square, with its cinema and the side door leading down into what every debutante had been warned was the premier den of iniquity. Michael pushed open the door and in a rush of cool air they spilled out, straightening their wrinkled dresses and jackets. Michael told the chauffer when to return, then faced everyone and clapped his hands. “Are you ready for your first taste of sin?”

  “Is it really wicked?” Christian clasped her purse in front of her as if it were a shield.

  “Let’s find out.” He offered her his arm, Dinah joining him on the other side. Jakie escorted Katherine, leaving Valerie to Richard.

  He dutifully extended his elbow and she took it, feeling too sophisticated and nervous to notice how close he stood while they descended the stairs to the club to the strains of “Heart and Soul” played by the orchestra.

  “Mr. Astor, a pleasure to see you this evening,” the dark-coated maître d’ greeted, flashing a wide smile beneath his thin mustache.

  “A pleasure to be here. Anyone we should be concerned about inside? We have the Premier’s niece, Miss Katherine Ormsby-Gore, Miss Dinah Brand, and Miss Christian Grant.”

  “Michael, don’t tell him who we are.” Katherine glanced around as if anyone who was mingling nearby might care or notice.

  “Don’t fret, Mr. Rossi won’t tell a soul you’ve been here.”

  “If I were so indiscreet we’d be closed in a month,” Mr. Rossi assured them. “Not to worry, ladies, no one of concern to any of you is here tonight. Should one arrive, I’ll notify you at once. We don’t like awkward scenes at the 400 Club.”

  “How does he know who we should and shouldn’t be worried about?” Valerie whispered to Jakie.

  “Mr. Rossi knows more about people’s lineage than Debrett’s. Don’t worry, you’re in capable hands.”

  “Table forty-eight, John.” He handed them off to a young waiter, who led them into the heart of the small and dimly lit club.

  Valerie and the girls gaped at the pillars holding up the low ceiling and the dark silk covering the walls. A long string of square tables stood crammed together along the edges of the room, velvet benches on the far side packed with people. Various bottles, glasses, and plates cluttered the tablecloths in front of them.

  “What fun.” Katherine tossed her purse on the table, tapping her fingers against the chair in time to the music. “Michael, dance with me.”

  “A lady asking a chap, how daring.”

  “I feel daring tonight.” She took his arm and led him off.

  “It’s my turn to be bold. Jakie, you can dance with me,” Christian insisted.

  “I’d be honored, so long as I don’t have to do a Highland jig.”

  “I won’t make you jump about. Come on.” They crowded onto the already full dance floor, the size of it almost as minuscule as the basement club.

  “Are you going to leave me without a partner?” Valerie said to Richard with a saucy shake of her head, making her thick curls bounce around her neck and cheeks.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “If I’m going to be the odd man out, then you owe me the next dance, and I expect to get it.” Dinah leveled one pink-polished finger at him. “While you’re gone, I’ll order drinks.”

  She summoned the waiter, while Richard led Valerie to the edge of the dancing crowd. He pulled her into his arms, guiding her as far around the floor as the crush allowed, their steps more of a walk than the jittering jumping of the energetic couples. Valerie could barely see past his crisp white shirt and waistcoat. Not that she minded. His arms around her felt as natural as the chiffon dress against her back.

  “What do you think of the club?” He didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. The band played soft enough for everyone to chat.

  “Not as scintillating as I expected but I can feel the sin in the air, especially at the tables in the back.” A break in the dancers offered a view of the far corners of the club and the couples seated at the shadowed tables. “I’m sure those women aren’t their wives.”

  Their simple clothes gave them away.

  “Pretend not to see them and they’ll pretend not to see you.” He turned her around, his low laugh rippling through her chest and his.

  “Is that how it works?”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  If all of society adhered to this sort of discretion she wouldn’t fret half as much as she did about Mavis or Mr. Shoedelin. She refused to worry about it tonight, enjoying Richard and this naughty adventure. “No skeletons in your closet, then?”

  “None except my anatomy one. Elm and I had a ripping time with him during a Thursday to Sunday at Cliveden. We hid the old boy in Lord Beresford’s bed. He was over the moon at having a partner and very disappointed when he wasn’t as lively as he’d hoped. He chucked my skeleton out the window and if he’d known Elm and I were hiding behind the curtains he’d have thrown us out too. The gardener found it the next morning and if Elm hadn’t explained everything before he called the magistrate I’d have lost a perfectly good specimen and been sent down without a degree or the means to pay for my evening clothes and flat.” Richard laughed, but it faded fast. He adjusted his hand in hers, the weight of the one on her back lightening. “It isn’t easy being raised with all this and then be told it isn’t really for you.”

  “It’s like living in Downing Street. I’m in it but not a part of it, at least not the government part. We’re both outsiders in our own way, aren’t we?”

  “Being the fourth son does set one pretty far down the aristocratic pecking order.”

  “A man is better off with work. It gives him something worthwhile to do besides gad about.” It was more than Father and half the aristocrats in society were willing to do, even at their most desperate. After watching her father flail about in debt, more concerned with being a gentleman than being properly fed, clothed, or housed, she couldn’t respect a man who refused to help himself.

  “You don’t think me too serious, then?”

  “I think you’re divine and your dedication to work dashing.”

  “You might be the only deb who does.”

  The number drew to its close and they let go of one another to clap and return to the table. They weren’t ten feet from it when Dinah leapt up and rushed at Richard. “It’s my turn. Katherine and Christian swapped partners and I’m not going to sit out again.”

  “Then I’ll endeavor to do my duty,” Richard assured.

  “Don’t do it too well, I wouldn’t want Valerie to be jealous.”

  Valerie hoped he couldn’t see her blush in the dim light before Dinah tugged him to the dance floor. She sat at the table and picked up the drink, leaving a water ring on the tablecloth in front of her. She sipped it, wincing at the strong liquor in sugary syrup. All around her, women enjoyed their cocktails without blanching, a highball glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Valerie wasn’t about to take up that habit, but she lounged in the chair, feeling quite chic even while the drink burned the back of her throat.

  When she’d had enough sophistication, she took a turn around the club, twisting this way and that through the tables until she came face-to-face with Vivien.

  Her eyes went as wide as Valerie’s. Apparently she wasn’t supposed to be here either. They set their shoulders, bracing for another verbal match. There was nothing holding them back except Mr. Rossi’s mandate against awkward moments.

  “I see they let nearly anyone in nowadays.” Vivien threw down the gauntlet. “Perhaps this club isn’t as exclusive as it used to be.”

  “It isn’t if they’re letting in fascists. Shouldn’t you be at a Blackshirts meeting?”

  “We aren’t all defined by our fathers.”


  “Of course we are.” There was a bit of honesty they could both suck on. “Best to remember that when chucking words about. We have enough to manage with the family hand we’ve been dealt to add anything more to it.”

  She wasn’t about to beg Vivien to keep her stupid mouth shut, but a little reminder that neither of them benefited from the other snitching about being here tonight couldn’t hurt.

  Vivien took Valerie’s meaning, nodding and making her gold teardrop earrings swing. “I think it’s best if we not mention we saw one another here.”

  “I agree.”

  They stalked past each other. What Vivien told her friends when she reached their table she didn’t know, but like Christian, Katherine, and Dinah, who were watching from over their partners’ shoulders, that group wasn’t likely to let anything slip either. None of them needed chaperone troubles or to find their fun curtailed this early in the Season, not with all the other London nightclubs left to visit.

  “You and Miss Mosley appeared quite chummy,” a familiar voice said.

  Valerie whirled around to discover Elm leaning against a chair, not caring that he crushed the fur coat draped over the back of it. He wore the standard white-tie, not filling it out as solidly as Richard, but no slack either. His Jermyn Street tailors had done a fine job of fitting it to his slender frame. “How much of that charming exchange did you hear?”

  “Enough. She’s a wicked minx, isn’t she?”

  “I could think of a few other words to describe her, but I don’t want to send anyone into a faint.”

  “I can manage bold words.”

  “Not from a lady. I’ll leave them to your imagination.”

  She led him to their table and Elm held out her chair. She sat down, shocked by the quick clip of her heartbeat when he sat beside her, the tight quarters pushing his knee against hers.

  “Since this is your first time here, you must have the full experience. Waiter!” He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter, who rushed to their table. “A bottle of Veuve Clicquot.”

  “Yes, Lord Elmswood.” The man hustled off, returning a moment later with the uncorked bottle and glasses. He poured, not dribbling so much as a drop on the white tablecloth, set the bottle between them, and then vanished into the crowd as fast as he’d appeared.