by Carola Dunn
He sighed. ‘You’re right, of course, Aunt Jo. Excuse me while I get some coffee.’ He drifted off.
‘Wilfred is a pip-squeak,’ said his aunt. ‘Geoffrey may yet amount to something. He’s up at Cambridge, and already he’s a boxing Blue though he’s only nineteen.’
The youngest Beddowe had taken a seat by the coffee table and was silently consuming a huge wedge of cake.
The last crumb disappeared as Daisy watched. She found she had picked the almonds off the top of her slice and eaten them first, a bad habit from nursery days.
‘More cake, Geoffrey?’ Lady Wentwater asked with a smile.
‘Yes, please.’
‘The bottomless pit,’ said Wilfred, grinning. Unoffended, Geoffrey ate on.
By the time Daisy finished her coffee and went over to beg a second cup, Geoffrey was on his third slice. He had uttered no more than another ‘Yes, please.’ Daisy put his reticence down to shyness.
Lady Wentwater was quiet, too. Wilfred held forth about the Music Box Revue with the rather desperate air of one who considers it his duty to keep the conversation going under difficult circumstances. Daisy, who had seen the show, threw in occasional comments, and Lady Josephine asked about the sets.
‘If the sets are good enough,’ she said, ‘one can amuse oneself admiring them during the dull bits. Do you like revues, Annabel, or do you prefer musical comedies, as I do?’ she added in a good-natured attempt to draw her young sister-in-law into the discussion.
‘I’ve never been to a revue, and only one musical comedy, but I’ve enjoyed the few plays I’ve seen.’
‘Of course, you’ve had little opportunity to go to the theatre,’ said Lady Josephine and turned back to Wilfred. The critical note in her voice surprised Daisy.
The countess looked so discouraged Daisy tried to cheer her. ‘Shall we do a matinee together next time you come up to town, Lady Wentwater?’ she suggested.
‘Oh, thank you . . . I’d love to . . . but I’m not sure . . . Won’t you please call me Annabel, Miss Dalrymple?’
‘Yes, of course, but you must call me Daisy.’
She had noted that Wilfred and Geoffrey both avoided addressing their stepmother by her Christian name. No doubt Lord Wentwater would frown on such familiarity, yet to call her ‘Mother’ was equally difficult. It was altogether an awkward situation, her being so much nearer in age to her stepchildren than to her husband. Sympathizing, Daisy wondered whether that was enough to account for her obvious low spirits.
Lady Josephine finished her coffee and heaved herself out of her chair. ‘Well, Daisy, shall I give you a tour of the house before luncheon? Why don’t you come along, Annabel? I’m sure there are stories you haven’t heard yet.’
‘I’d like to, but I simply must write a few letters,’ Annabel excused herself.
‘Though who she has to write to,’ Lady Josephine muttered as she and Daisy left the morning-room, ‘I can’t for the life of me imagine. When Henry married her she was utterly friendless. They met in Italy last winter, you know,’ she explained. ‘Henry had had rather a nasty bout of bronchitis and was sent there for his health, and she was newly widowed.’
Her tone told Daisy a great deal about her opinion of young, beautiful, friendless widows who married wealthy noblemen old enough to know better.
The tour started in the Great Hall, which was still used occasionally for large dinner-parties. ‘I shan’t tell you all the stuff you can get from books,’ said Lady Josephine frankly. ‘There’s quite a good book in the library about the house and the polite history of the Beddowes – you know the sort of thing, who married whom, and who was minister in whose cabinet – but you won’t get the family stories.’
‘I’m relying on you for those.’
‘Well, the first Baron Beddowe built the place in Henry VII’s reign, a clever chap who ended on the right side in the Wars of the Roses – after several changes of allegiance. His grandson was one of the few noblemen to entertain Queen Elizabeth without being bankrupted.’
‘How did he manage that?’ Daisy asked, scribbling in her notebook in her own version of Pitman’s shorthand.
‘Rather disgracefully, I’m afraid. She descended on Wentwater with her usual swarm of retainers. The second night, at a lavish banquet in this hall, my ancestor picked a quarrel with one of the courtiers. The Queen had been trying to rid herself of the fellow, without success as he was the son of an influential nobleman. Supposedly in his cups, Wilfred Beddowe stabbed the fellow to the heart with that poniard up there between the halberds.’ She gestured at a gem-encrusted dagger hanging on the wall, in pride of place over the cavernous fireplace.
‘And Elizabeth was so grateful she departed the next day?’
‘Yes, expressing shock and censure, of course. However, the Earldom of Wentwater was created not a year later.’
Daisy laughed. ‘That’s just the sort of story to make my article interesting. Lord Wentwater won’t mind my using it?’
‘Good Lord, no. Just don’t put the scandals of the last century or so into print.’ Lady Josephine went on to tell a scurrilous tale of her great-uncle’s involvement with Lillie Langtry and Bertie, Prince of Wales. ‘Henry has rather reacted against that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘In some ways he’s more Victorian than the Victorians. I do sometimes worry that he won’t be happy with Annabel.’
‘She seems quite a sedate sort of person,’ Daisy said tactfully.
‘But so much younger. If only my chump of a nephew had not invited Lord Stephen!’
Daisy made a token effort to avoid the confidences she was dying to hear. ‘I haven’t been able to place Lord Stephen, though the name Astwick is familiar. Who exactly is he?’
‘The younger brother of the Marquis of Brinbury. Always a bit of a black sheep, I’m afraid. In fact rumour has it his father disinherited him, but he made good in the City, though Hugh doesn’t trust him an inch.’
‘Sir Hugh jolly well ought to know.’
‘Hugh is the knowingest man in the City,’ agreed his proud wife. ‘He’d have put paid to Wilfred inviting Lord Stephen if he’d been consulted.’
‘Wilfred invited him? How odd! I wouldn’t think they’d have anything in common.’
‘High living,’ said Lady Josephine wisely, ‘but if you ask me, Marjorie put him up to it. She’s potty about the fellow, got it into her silly head she’s madly in love with him. Thank heaven he don’t show a particle of interest in the girl. If only I could say the same of Annabel! But that’s beside the point. Let’s go up to Queen Elizabeth’s chamber. It hasn’t been changed since she spent her two nights at Wentwater.’
Her curiosity frustrated, Daisy concentrated on matters historical. The notebook filled with mysterious curlicues she hoped she’d be able to decipher later. As they moved up through the house, she learned about the shocking split in the family when an eldest son fought for Parliament against the Royalists; the daughters who had ended up as old maids because their father had spent their dowries on building the new wings; and the Regency bride who had eloped with a highwayman.
Lady Josephine frowned. ‘On second thought, perhaps you’d better leave that one out, Daisy. It hits a bit close to home. Not that I mean to suggest there’s the slightest chance of Annabel’s succumbing,’ she hastened to add. ‘But one can’t deny that Stephen Astwick is a handsome man, with an insinuating sort of charm – and not a scruple in the world. His name is constantly in the scandal sheets, linked with those of ladies who ought to know better.’
‘Annabel eloping with Lord Stephen?’ Daisy asked in astonishment, turning from the turret window where she had been watching a rider on a bay horse canter across the park.
‘They were acquaintances some years ago, I gather, and now he is really pursuing her in the most determined and ungentlemanly way, quite blatant. I’m afraid poor Henry is at a loss what to do. He can’t throw Brinbury’s brother out of the house as if he were some plebeian bounder. They belong to the same clubs!’
‘Gosh, what a ghastly mess.’
‘Mind you, Henry is far too gallant to mistrust his wife. In fact, I’m not at all sure he’s aware of what’s going on under his nose. My brother has always been the impassive, stoical sort, you know, impossible to guess what he’s thinking. I feel I ought to open his eyes, but Hugh has absolutely forbidden it.’
Tears had sprung to the plump matron’s eyes and her second chin quivered. Daisy patted her arm and said soothingly, if meaninglessly, ‘I’m sure Lord Wentwater has everything under control, Lady Josephine.’
‘Oh, my dear, I should not burden you with our troubles, but it is such a relief to get it all off my chest and simply nothing shocks you modern young things. There, now let us forget all about it. Where were we? Oh yes, this is the very room where Charles II was caught in flagrante with the then Lady Wentwater’s young cousin. He was not invited again.’
She prattled on. As Daisy took down her words, she resolved to keep a close eye on the inhabitants of Wentwater Court. To a would-be novelist, the intrigues of the past were not half so intriguing as those of the present.
Some time later, from yet another turret window, Daisy saw the skaters straggling up the hill towards the house. Lady Josephine glanced out and consulted her wristwatch. ‘Heavens, how time passes. We must go down if you’d like to see the ballroom before lunch.’
‘Yes, please. Oh, that’s odd. Surely Lord Stephen isn’t going off somewhere just before lunch?’ A grey Lanchester on its way down the drive had stopped. As Daisy watched, Astwick crossed to it and spoke to the driver.
‘I expect he’s sending his manservant off on some errand again,’ said Lady Josephine, irritated. ‘My maid tells me the fellow is gone more than he’s here. I only wish he’d take his master with him!’
Dismissing the unpleasant subject, she took Daisy down to the ballroom, chattering about the splendid formal dances of her youth. The vast ballroom was shrouded in dust covers. Daisy decided not to request that it be exhumed for her to photograph. There was enough of interest in the older part of the house.
Lady Josephine sighed. ‘Of course, you young things prefer nightclubs these days. Well, my dear, I’ve shown you the best. Do feel free to wander about by yourself, and I’ll try to answer any questions you may have.’
‘You’ve been perfectly sweet, Lady Josephine.’ She riffled through her notebook as they started down the stairs. ‘I’ve got loads of material here to start with, and some topping ideas for photographs. I’d like to try a shot of the family in front of the fireplace in the Great Hall, if you think Lord Wentwater will agree.’
‘I’ll speak to him,’ her ladyship promised.
In the drawing-room, a long, beautifully proportioned room furnished in Regency style, they found several members of the household already gathered. James, with Fenella at his side, was dispensing drinks. He mixed a gin-and-tonic for his aunt, and Daisy requested a small medium-dry sherry.
‘I can’t drink a cocktail before lunch or I might as well chuck in the towel as far as getting any work done this afternoon is concerned,’ she said.
‘There’s no focussing a camera when you can’t focus your eyes,’ James agreed with a grin.
‘And it’s difficult enough to read my shorthand at the best of times. Thank you.’ Taking the glass, she looked around the room.
Nearby Wilfred, his voice a fashionable drawl, was recounting to his stepmother the plot, such as it was, of Al Jolson’s musical comedy, Bombo. As Daisy watched, he wet his whistle with a gulp from his nearly full cocktail glass. She doubted it was his first. Annabel’s sherry glass was also nearly full. She seemed to have forgotten it, standing with bowed head, either listening to Wilfred with more interest than his tale warranted or lost in her own thoughts.
By the fireplace, Sir Hugh and Phillip chatted together – politics, Daisy guessed, hearing mention of Bonar Law and Lloyd George. Marjorie stood by looking bored. She was smoking a cigarette in a long tortoise-shell holder and her cocktail glass held the remains of a pink gin. Daisy guessed that Phillip’s glass contained dry sherry. She knew he preferred sweet, but he considered it unmasculine and always asked for dry in company. His nose wrinkled just a trifle as he sipped, confirming her guess.
Lady Josephine went to join her husband, and after a moment Marjorie drifted away from that group. Coming over to the drinks cabinet, she handed her brother her glass.
‘Fill it up, Jimmy, old bean.’
‘It had better be a small one,’ James warned. ‘Father will be here any minute.’
‘Don’t be such a wet blanket.’ She drew ostentatiously on her cigarette and blew a stream of smoke over her shoulder.
Daisy hastily retreated from the prospect of a family squabble. She went over to Annabel and Wilfred. Annabel looked up and smiled absently.
‘Have you seen the new show at the Apollo, Miss Dalrymple?’ Wilfred asked.
‘Daisy, please. No, not yet. Is it good?’
‘Oh, pretty tolerable, don’t you know. The finale was rather a’ – his voice died away as Lord Stephen entered the drawing room – ‘rather a nifty do,’ he finished with an effort, a gaze burning with resentment fixed on the older man.
Making some casual response to Wilfred’s words, Daisy watched Lord Stephen. He went up to the drinks table, where Marjorie greeted him with a languishing look.
‘Lord Stephen always has a dry martini,’ she instructed her brother.
‘Make it a gin-and-twist, if you don’t mind, old chap,’ Lord Stephen promptly requested.
‘Right-oh.’ James gave his pouting sister a malicious glance and handed over the drink. He sounded malicious, too, as he continued, ‘I say, Astwick, would you mind asking my stepmama if she’d like a refill?’
‘My pleasure.’ The bland tone was belied by the predatory curl of his thin lips, the gleam in his hard eyes.
As he approached, Wilfred blanched. ‘Must have a word with Aunt Jo,’ he muttered, and sheered off. Why on earth had he invited the man if he detested him? Daisy wondered.
‘Miss Dalrymple.’ Lord Stephen nodded to her but his attention was already on the countess. ‘Annabel, my dear, Beddowe sent me to find out if your drink needs refreshing, but I see his solicitude was in vain.’ He ran his fingertips across the back of her hand, holding the still-full glass.
The amber liquid shimmered as her hand trembled. ‘Yes, thank you. I have all I want.’
‘All? Few can claim to be so lucky as to possess all that they desire,’ he said with a meaningful smile. ‘I know I do not.’
‘But I do, Lord Stephen.’ She flashed him a glance under her long lashes. Daisy couldn’t tell whether she was just flirting, trying to rebuff him, or deliberately leading him on by playing hard to get.
‘Come, now, didn’t you promise to call me Stephen? Miss Dalrymple will think you don’t count me your friend. I assure you, Miss Dalrymple, Annabel and I are very good friends from long ago, aren’t we, my dear?’ He laid his hand on her arm.
‘Yes, Stephen.’ Her voice quivered with suppressed emotion. She neither shook off his hand nor moved away.
CHAPTER 3
To Daisy’s relief, Geoffrey came up and broke the charged tension between Annabel and Lord Stephen. His large, solid, unambiguous presence made Lord Stephen’s elegant figure appear slight and rather effete. He brought with him a wholesome breath of fresh air.
‘Have you been riding?’ Daisy asked. ‘I thought I saw you from one of the turret windows.’
‘Yes, I had a first-rate gallop,’ he said with enthusiasm, his face brightening.
‘Isn’t it dangerous to gallop when the snow lies so deep?’ asked Annabel. Lord Stephen’s hand slipped from her arm as she turned towards her youngest stepson.
Geoffrey blushed. ‘Not when you know the country.’ His tongue once loosened, he continued, ‘If you know where the hidden obstacles are, ditches and such, it’s absolutely topping. The air’s so clear you can see for miles. No mud to make for he
avy going, and you don’t have to worry about crushing crops. Of course, it’s not every horse can cope with snow, but my Galahad’s a splendid beast.’
Half-listening to a recital of Galahad’s finer points, Daisy saw Lord Wentwater come in. At once Marjorie furtively put down her drink and stubbed out her cigarette. Wilfred also disposed hurriedly of his glass. Their father didn’t appear to notice.
Good manners demanded that Daisy report to him on her tour of the house. She slipped away and crossed to his side. Head bent, he listened with civil interest, then gave his permission to use the stories Lady Josephine had told her.
‘No doubt every family has skeletons in its cupboards,’ he said with a wry smile.
The butler came in just then to announce that luncheon was served. Lord Wentwater escorted Daisy into the dining-room and seated her beside him. Since he was so cordial and approachable, she decided not to wait for Lady Josephine to mention her request to him.
‘Would you mind if I took a photograph of you and your family in the Great Hall?’ she asked as the soup was ladled out. ‘I think my readers would like to see who lives in the house now, don’t you?’
‘Probably,’ he said dryly and paused for a considering moment. Daisy held her breath, afraid he judged her request mere pandering to vulgar curiosity. ‘I don’t see why not. We’ll confine it to those of us who are descended from my disreputable ancestors, thus avoiding the thorny question of whether Miss Petrie ought to appear.’
And excluding his wife, Daisy noted. Did he fear that by the time the article was printed, Annabel might have run off with Lord Stephen? If so, he gave no sign of it, asking with unaltered calm, ‘Will it suit you to take your photograph shortly before dinner? I’ll ask everyone to come down early.’
‘That will be perfect,’ she said gratefully.
A hush had fallen over the table in tribute to a superb cream of leek soup. Lord Wentwater announced that he expected his children, and invited his sister, to be present in the Great Hall at half-past seven that evening to have their photographs taken. Amid the nods and murmurs, Daisy thought she saw a hurt expression pass across Annabel’s face, at the far end of the table. She couldn’t be sure, for Lord Stephen said something to the countess and she turned her head to respond.