“They’re a difficult lot, aren’t they?” Valerie turned the envelope over to reveal the royal coat of arms on the flap. “Makes one wonder why they deign to leave the palace. If we went there it’d save everyone the trouble.”
“It’s an honor to have the monarchs come to you instead of you going to them, but I agree, it is a bit of a nuisance. Mrs. Stenhouse says it was like this before when they came to dinner with the Baldwins. They have their ways. I suppose we all do.”
“I suppose so.” Valerie set the letter aside and rose. “Please, sit and chat. I’ll only keep you a minute. I’d like to know more about the situation in Europe. I read the morning newspapers, but there’s so much to take in, I can hardly make sense of it. I asked Mr. Colville about it when I saw him this morning, but you know how he is. I’m lucky to get more than a quick hello or good day from him.”
“He isn’t one for conversation, and I shouldn’t dally up here either, but I suppose I can stay a moment.” She joined Valerie on the sofa, perched on the edge as if she were about to take dictation. “To state it simply, France, Poland, and Russia are squabbling like children over how to stop Germany from overrunning whatever country or territory they fancy next. Most think it’ll be Poland. Not even Mr. Chamberlain’s negotiations are breaking the impasse or bringing the countries to some agreement. No one knows what’ll happen if Germany invades Poland, especially if Britain pledges to defend her.”
“It can’t be that bad if the King and Queen are carrying on with their American tour in May. They wouldn’t leave the country if there was an imminent threat.”
“I should think not, but who can say? If there is war, we’ll need the Americans’ goodwill along with a great many other things. Father is setting aside stores of tinned food in case there are shortages as there were in the Great War. I use what money I can spare from my earnings to help him. Mother thought we were foolish until I told her I’d overheard the ministers discussing plans to send their children to Canada and their wives to the country. They think it’ll be safer for them there, especially if Mr. Churchill is right about the Luftwaffe bombing London. If they believe it’s prudent to prepare, then so should we, although how does one truly prepare for war? We can’t leave London. We have no choice but to stay.” She picked at a loose thread on the cuff of her sweater, untangling it from the others, the same worry that’d darkened Elm’s eyes at the 400 clouding hers. The Coldstream Guards officers weren’t the only ones afraid of war. It touched everyone.
“But of course it won’t come to that, will it?”
Miss Holmes smiled brightly, cheerful and optimistic as always. If she could remain hopeful in the face of the growing threat and the few options she possessed to meet it, then so could Valerie. “No, it won’t.”
Miss Holmes smoothed her skirt over her knees, glancing about the room as if this were her first real chance to see it. “How exciting to think Their Majesties will be here. Merely being in the same building with them will be the closest I’ve ever come to meeting royalty.”
“The staff aren’t paying their respects?”
She shook her head. “We’ve begged Mrs. Stenhouse to put in a word with the secretaries about it, but with everything going on she refuses to bother them.”
“You should have the chance, especially with the work you do for His Majesty’s government. I’ll speak with Uncle Neville on your behalf.”
“You can’t. What would the Premier or Mrs. Stenhouse say if they heard I’d talked to you about it?”
“I won’t say you asked. I’ll say it’s my idea. I’ve seen the long hours you work. How many times have you been here when I come home from dinner parties?” She nearly winced at how shallow that made her sound, but it was true. The Garden Room Girls were typing their fingers to the bone while Valerie and Their Excellencies danced. She couldn’t change that, after all, the staff had their livings to earn, but for once she could use her position to do more than help herself. Maybe someday she could employ it to the benefit of more people than the No. 10 staff. It wasn’t expected of her, and it might not be appreciated, especially if Mr. Colville or Sir John got wind of it, but in this instance she had to try. “You should be allowed to pay your respects to the sovereigns like any proper Englishwoman.”
Miss Holmes lit up the way Valerie had during her final court dress fitting. “Mother and Father will be so proud. Of course, my sisters will say I’ve gotten too big for my britches, but I don’t care.”
“Nor should you. I’ll teach you to curtsey too.” She pulled Miss Holmes to her feet, positioning them across from each other in the center of the large rug. “Slide your foot behind you like this, then lower yourself, back straight, head down, yes, like that, then hold it.”
They maintained the low curtsey for a brief moment, Valerie steadier in her stance after hours of practice.
“What good shape you must be in from doing this. I might fall.”
“You won’t. When you think your legs are going to give out, that’s when you stand and slide your feet back together.”
They went through the motions a few more times, giggling while bobbing down and up to the imaginary monarchs. There wasn’t much difference between them but their worlds were utterly separate; Valerie’s lineage gave her entrance to this one as much as Miss Holmes’s kept her out of it. Aunt Anne had said war might change things. With everyone’s place so firmly fixed, it was hard to imagine anything except an utter catastrophe mixing it all up.
“Thank you, Miss de Vere Cole, for that. It was fun, but I must get back to work.”
“Call me Valerie, please.”
Miss Holmes sobered, lacing her fingers in front of her. “My name is Marian, but we won’t call each other that except in private. I don’t want to give anyone a shock.”
“Especially my cousin.”
“Certainly not her.” With a wink, Marian left, a little bounce marking her stride.
Valerie took a deep breath. It was time to keep her promise. She slipped through the drawing rooms to Uncle Neville’s study, hesitant to bother him, but if she didn’t do it today, there might not be another chance. She hoped it didn’t mean too much more correspondence between Aunt Anne and the palace. Her poor aunt didn’t need more work, but she wasn’t about to disappoint Marian. She’d promised that she’d ask for the Garden Room Girls to be presented and she would.
Outside the closed door, she took a deep breath and knocked.
“Come in.” Uncle Neville removed his pince-nez and laid them on the desk, his stern expression softening. He sat in his large tufted leather chair on the other side of the wide mahogany desk. The red dispatch box stood in its pride of place on the corner and a neat stack of papers rested before him. “What brings you to my side of Number Ten?”
“I have a favor to ask.” There was no point beating around the bush. He preferred directness. “I’d like the Garden Room Girls to be presented to Their Majesties. They work so hard on His Majesty’s government’s behalf, they deserve to be allowed to pay their respects.”
He straightened the papers on the blotter while Valerie waited, hoping her appeal to his patriotism would win the argument. It was difficult to read Uncle Neville sometimes. He kept things close to the vest, barely ruffled by anything except the most outlandish claims or behavior of his party or the opposition. Even in the Commons, while answering hostile and accusing questions, he rarely raised his voice. He was the most levelheaded person she’d ever known, but even a small hint as to what he thought of her request would be appreciated. It would stop Valerie from sitting on the edge of her seat like a nervous Nellie.
He leaned back in his chair, lacing his long fingers over his stomach. He winced in pain, then opened his hands, resting them on the chair’s arms, and she braced herself for a Dorothy-like lecture about not being too friendly with the staff. “It’s not up to me to make that final decision. Their names must be submitted to Sir Alexander Hardinge, His Majesty’s private secretary, for approval for present
ation by the King.”
That wasn’t a refusal or a rebuke. “Surely you have some influence, and it’d mean ever so much to the Garden Room Girls. Miss Holmes has been a dear to me, keeping me abreast of the European situation. I’d hate for her and the others to be overlooked when something so small would mean the world to them and give them something special to hold on to if things turn as dreary as some say. It’d also show people that even when the highest of the high are at Downing Street, the Prime Minister has a care for all Englishmen no matter what their rank.”
Uncle Neville smiled beneath his mustache, his tired eyes brightening with amusement. “A little flattery never hurts an argument, and you’re right, we all need a bit of cheer during these uncertain times. I’ll present your request through the appropriate channels and see if your reasoning sways them as much as it did me. I agree, they have as much right to pay their respects to the King and Queen as anyone with a title.”
“Thank you, Uncle Neville.” She came around the desk and hugged him, shocked by how bony he’d grown. He’d never been stout, but he’d never been this thin either.
He patted her hands where they rested on his shoulders, gripping her fingers tight. “You have a kind heart, Valerie, and I’m glad you think so highly of the Garden Room Girls. It’s good to care for more than frocks and dances and to not let the Season make you shallow or the past make you hard. Many things could’ve made you bitter, but they haven’t.”
“I have you and Aunt Anne to thank for that.” They and getting to them had been the single shred of hope that’d kept her going in the convent school. “How are you feeling? You look tired.” The way Father had the day they’d parted for good.
“I’m all right.” He rubbed his side with his long fingers, working out a stitch. “Too many cabinet meetings and rushing through meals or the line of ambassadors waiting to see me. Some are worried their countries will be crushed by Germany, others are afraid to be embroiled in what they see as a European problem. I worry the most about those. Whatever happens, we’ll need their support.”
She glanced at the papers on his desk, the War Office address visible at the top. “Will there be war?”
He forced a weak smile, more sad than cheering. “Things are bad, but there’s nothing you need to worry about.”
Not yet, lingered in the air between them. “Whatever it is, you’ll see us through it, I’m sure of it.”
“That means a great deal to me.” He placed the pince-nez back on his nose. “Now off you go. You have your duties and I have mine.”
“I do.” She made for the door, pausing to look at him as he leaned forward, engrossed in his papers, worried concern darkening his lean face.
She closed the door behind her. How different her life would’ve been if he’d been her father, but that wasn’t how fate had decided things. Fate had not been in her favor in the past, but that had changed. She hoped fate was more forgiving where Uncle Neville and England were concerned.
Chapter Ten
Mrs. Corrigan didn’t really do that, did she?” Christian slowly stirred her whipped cream into her chocolate malt. The whir of ice-cream mixers and the chatter of girls filled Selfridges’ brass and wood soda shop. Behind the marble counter, women in light gray smocks and floppy baker’s caps scooped ice cream and made other confections beneath the large red Coca-Cola sign.
“She most certainly did.” Valerie fished the cherry out of the bottom of her empty glass. “When he told her he was plain Mr. Lancaster and not the Duke of Lancaster she stood up and called down the table to see who was a duke. When the Duke of Wellington raised his hand, Mrs. Corrigan made Mrs. Lancaster change places with her so she could sit beside him.”
“What about Mr. and Mrs. Lancaster?” Eunice propped her elbows on either side of her tall glass. “They must’ve been mortified.”
“I’m certain they were, but they didn’t show it. The Lancasters and everyone simply carried on as if nothing had happened.” They could’ve crumpled at the snub or stalked out. Instead, they’d kept a stiff upper lip, refusing to be cowed by the American socialite who possessed all the manners of a lorry driver and enough money to make everyone call her eccentric instead of rude. Valerie was determined to develop the Lancasters’ tolerance for enduring cuts and thickening the hide she’d been growing since the court presentation.
“I wish something that exciting had happened at the Italian Ambassador’s luncheon.” Eunice sighed. “The conversation was as dull as listening to my dance partner go on last night about how Harrow will finally beat Eton at cricket this year. Even I know that isn’t likely to happen.”
“Invite Americans like Mrs. Corrigan and the conversation will be much livelier,” Dinah suggested.
“We aren’t all so uncouth.”
“Speaking of interesting dinner guests, I understand Elm is joining you at Number Ten for the King and Queen’s dinner.” Dinah turned to Valerie, drawing everyone’s attention to her.
“I heard you were rather chummy with him at the 400 Club.” Eunice exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Their Excellencies.
“Don’t believe a word of what they’ve told you. They’re teasing me.”
“So was Elm, and he isn’t one to tease,” Katherine shot back.
“He isn’t as somber as you think.”
“He isn’t as jovial as you think, except when he’s chatting you up.”
“Speaking of jovial, your aunt made an interesting comment about Prince George at Guinevere’s coming out. Something about a silver syringe. What did she mean?” Valerie asked, eager to change the topic.
“The prince is a dope fiend,” Katherine stated in the same sage tone she answered all their society questions with.
The table went silent. The whir of a mixer filled the quiet before they burst out laughing. Girls at the next table turned to see who was making so much noise before resuming their conversations.
Valerie shook her head at hearing yet another one of those secrets almost everyone knew but didn’t dare say too loudly. To her ire, Mavis was right, the money, titles, and lineage did cover up a great deal of coarseness. The more time she spent in society, the more she saw it. If ever the need arose, she hoped it might do the same for her. “That should shock me, but it doesn’t, not after what I heard about the Duke of Windsor being a German supporter. Can you believe it?”
“I can after having listened to Sir Arnold Wilson bang on about how grand a leader Herr Hitler is during one of Aunt Nancy’s dinners. Imagine being daft enough to still believe in that tinpot dictator.”
“This is all news to me.” Eunice sat back in a huff. “Why am I always the last to know?”
“Because you’re a Yank. You don’t hear people whisper the way we do.”
“I don’t suppose I do.” Eunice glanced at her watch. “Oh, look at the time. I must be off to dress for the Guildhall reception. The Queen will be there. Katherine and I are her second guards of honor.”
“The first are mothers from Wales who’ve received help from the National Birthday Trust,” Katherine explained. “Shall we?”
“Please. Mother will have a fit if I’m late.”
“Christian, care for a lift home?”
“Oh yes, I want to hear what else I don’t know before I have to dress for Lady Denedin’s Caledonian Ball.”
“Will John Miller be there?” Dinah asked in a singsong voice.
“He might be, and we’ll dance a Highland reel. Where are you off to tonight?”
“The Lillian Baylis Memorial Ball. How about you, Valerie?”
“The Royal Ballet opening, but first I’m going upstairs to peruse the book section. I’m desperate for something to read while Miss Lang does my hair. Uncle Neville’s library is far too dull.”
“How very blue stocking of you,” Dinah ribbed. “Walk me out so we can chat.”
The girls signed their names to the bills, except for Christian, who paid with coins from a small change purse. A twinge of guilt struck
Valerie as she charged the food to the account Aunt Anne had opened for her, one of many established at various stores throughout London. She’d spent years agonizing over every franc in France. To simply write her name and have everything taken care of felt too indulgent, but she must get used to it. Poverty was long behind her, at least for the Season. After that, she wasn’t going to be left to starve, but she wouldn’t have the freedom of Aunt Anne’s purse forever. There might be some money from her mother’s trust waiting for her, but she wouldn’t know how much if any until she and Aunt Anne met with the banker in May.
Katherine, Christian, and Eunice made their way out of the soda shop in a flurry of clicking heels and conversation, leaving Valerie and Dinah to gather up their things.
“Since I finally have you alone, we must have a serious chat.” Dinah slid her arm in Valerie’s. They strolled out of the soda shop and through the various departments of the massive store.
“Are you saying Prince George’s evening habits aren’t a serious topic of discussion?”
“Quite, but I was thinking of a titled lord a little closer to home.”
“Elm?”
“The very one.”
“Don’t tell me he has a silver syringe.”
“He has the silver spoon, and he’ll be expected to marry a girl with an equally polished one.”
That threw a bit of cold water on Valerie’s grand plans for Elm and the Queen Charlotte’s Birthday Ball, but she couldn’t fault Dinah for pointing out the obvious. Aunt Anne might enjoy touting her lineage, but Uncle Neville was no lord, and that held more sway with many toffs than anything else. She was only a near-penniless niece, a detail any potential in-laws would discover in their due diligence. With all the ladies and honorables tossed in his path, the son of a marquess wasn’t likely to choose her. However, for someone with higher aspirations he was paying her a lot of attention.
The Last Debutantes Page 15