Searching for Pemberley

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  “I don't know. It's been so long since I fancied myself in love—not since I lived in Australia—that I'm not sure how I would respond. And I take your point. You have reason to be cautious because, if it weren't for Rob, I'd have a run at you myself.”

  I didn't know what to say, so I kept walking. Although my relationship with Rob was on rocky ground, it seemed wrong to have a flirtation with Michael on one day and to meet Rob at the train station the next.

  It was a gentle climb to the top where the gazebo was located in one of the loveliest spots on the property. In one direction, you could see clear across the valley to the boundary of the Peak District and the spires of Stepton's churches from the other. Although the long view was now interrupted by a number of country manors and farmhouses, it was easy to imagine Elizabeth and Will Lacey sitting alone or with their children admiring the view of their slice of Derbyshire.

  “Mum told me she and her friends used to stage plays up here when she was a girl. However, while I was still in short pants, the Pratt boys had turned the gazebo into a fort with straw bales as the palisade. Dennis, the youngest Pratt boy, James, and I would have to storm the fort, and the older boys would pelt us with rocks, and on occasion, manure mixed with straw and made into 'shit balls.'” Laughing, he said, “You may hear some awful things said about the Pratts, and everything you hear will be true.”

  I turned around to face the manor house and its newly restored gardens. Looking at Montclair with the low autumn sun glinting off its windows, I asked Michael if he had any regrets that he had never lived above stairs in the manor house.

  “None. When my mother tells stories of growing up there, it's as alien to me as India would be to you. Mum said her parents would often host what they called 'Saturday to Monday' weekends. It was a bit of snobbery because obviously you didn't need to work if you could stay through Monday. Do you know what the guests complained of the most? Boredom. They could ride, play tennis, shoot, go fishing, and yet, with everything there was to do and surrounded by all of this beauty, they were bored. I can't relate to that at all.”

  We started down the hill toward the village, and we decided to have an early lunch at the inn. When the owner brought the tea and sandwiches over to our table, Michael stood up and gave her a big hug. “My dear boy, where have you been? Your mother says you're stationed in Malta. Are you out of service, or are you just in for the gala at Montclair?” Mrs. Rivers was so happy to see him that she wouldn't let him answer. “Everyone is getting out their best dresses, and because of the war, we're taking them in instead of letting them out.” Pulling on her own dress, she said, “I lost a stone during the war, but I've put half of that back on since I'm back in the kitchen. We have a full house every weekend. Even with the rationing, people are finding a way to get here, and that's with Chatsworth closed. If they ever open it again, there won't be a room to be had in the whole county.”

  Turning to me, she said, “And you and your young man are to be special guests, I'm told.” Beth had introduced me to Mrs. Rivers when we had lunch at the inn one afternoon. “You'll be dining with the aristocracy, my dear. I saw Lord and Lady Bramfield and their son yesterday and Sir John Heslip. And if Lady Viola is feeling up to it, you'll have a countess as a guest. But she really is getting on in years.” Seeing her husband waving at her, she said, “Oh, he'll be after me for running on with so many customers calling for their tea, but it was lovely to see you.”

  “Is Lord Bramfield the same person as Ginger Bramfield?” I asked after Mrs. Rivers left.

  Michael looked surprised. “How do you know that?”

  I didn't think I was telling tales out of school when I told him that his mother had used Ginger to make his father jealous so that he would agree to marry her. This was all news to Michael.

  “It must be a family trait. If you want something badly enough, you go after it.” After being quiet for a moment, he said, “Look at James and Angela. He stayed in that dusty village in Italy running errands for Angela's father for what, five or six months, before they could marry. He told me he didn't have a beer for three months until a mate brought a case down from Germany. Now that's true love.”

  I was trying not to compare James's willingness to do whatever it took to win Angela with Rob's decision that marriage should not even be considered until everything was just so.

  Arriving back at the house, we could see James's Jaguar, courtesy of the Lacey Trust Fund, in the driveway. Beth had told me at breakfast that Ellen Manning, the mother of Trevor's daughter, as well as Beth's cousins, the Alcotts, were staying at Montclair because there was no room at the inn in Crofton. It was all very exciting. The clans were gathering for a big celebration, and Rob and I would be at the center of it.

  Chapter 28

  ON THE NIGHT OF the gala, I kept thinking about Elizabeth Bennet and how she felt when she was getting dressed for the ball at Netherfield Hall. She was wearing her favorite ivory-colored dress, and Jane had put a wreath of white flowers in Lizzy's hair. Beth had chosen my gown, a green dress with an accentuated bodice that complemented my dark hair and blue eyes. While Beth was putting up my hair, she told me stories of the Harvest Festival Balls of her youth, and it brought back wonderful memories of her parents and brothers.

  Beth, who looked good in gardening clothes, was truly elegant in a simple black dress with a sequined jacket. She wore a beautiful pearl choker, a gift from her father to her mother on their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Extending her hand, she showed me the ruby ring Will Lacey had given to Elizabeth Garrison when they had become engaged. She must have fallen out of her chair when she saw that rock.

  Once Angela was ready, Beth said we should go downstairs and meet our dates. I thought Rob was very handsome in a suit, but when he met me at the bottom of the stairs in his white tie and tuxedo, I could hardly believe this man was waiting to take Maggie Joyce from Minooka to the ball.

  “You look beautiful,” I told him, and he laughed and took my hand and kissed it. When we went into the living room, there stood the three Crowell men, who were as handsome a trio as I had ever seen. Putting out his cigarette, Jack said, “Let's get this show on the road, or the guests will be there before us.”

  All during the war years, the windows at Montclair had been covered with blackout curtains. But not tonight. Driving up to the mansion, I could easily imagine how it appeared to Elizabeth Garrison when she first saw Montclair more than one hundred fifty years earlier. Numerous torches lined the path to the entrance, and men dressed in livery were there to help ladies out of their cars, just as Jack had done forty years earlier. Inside, dozens of candelabra created the warm glow of a late summer's eve, while shadows from the wrought iron staircases cast intricate lace patterns on the walls.

  This was to be a night of surprises, but I didn't think there would be a bigger one than the sight of Mrs. Caton, standing in the foyer, straightening Freddie's tie. When Freddie had seen all that Mrs. Caton had done to make Montclair shine, he had gone into the village and borrowed a jacket and tie from the owner of the Hare and Hound. This might possibly be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  As Beth and I had planned, I asked Jack, James, and Michael to stand with Rob and me at the bottom of the staircase. Beth came down the stairs, just as she had done in 1909, when the sight of her had stopped Jack in his tracks. Their marriage had taken some real blows, but this was true love. He met her at the bottom of the stairs and whispered to her, “My beautiful bride.” Both James and Michael nodded their heads, recognizing they were witnessing something very special. The evening was getting off to a very good start.

  Beth had cast a wide net when she had sent out her invitations. My first introduction was to Constance Cornwallis-West, the Duchess of Westminster, and her husband, Captain Fitzpatrick Lewes. During The Great War, the Duchess had funded her own hospital in an abandoned casino in Le Toquet, France, and Beth had been a VAD assigned to her hospital. Following on the heels of the Duchess were Lord and Lad
y Alcott, and their three daughters, Lily, Iris, and Violet, and their spouses, and Miss Lettie Blessing, Beth's former lady's maid, who was dressed in her Sunday best. I met Lord and Lady Bramfield and Ellen Manning and her husband, Scott. Beth had to shout when she introduced me to a cadaverous Viscount Sterling, who looked like Ichabod Crane. He was escorting his beautiful third wife, Althea, who was at least twenty-five years his junior. Rob showed real excitement when he was introduced to Col. Mitchell Armstrong of Bomber Command who flew forty-two missions over Germany.

  Rob and I had added a few names to the guest list, and I was so happy to see Rob's flat mate, Ken Burroughs, and my boss, Don Milne, and his date. Don had taken the same train up from London with Pamela and her husband.

  “My mum's with the baby, and I'm the only one who can feed her,” Pamela said, laughing. “If I stay too long, I'll start leaking, but I wasn't going to miss this for neither love nor money.”

  Don and Ellen Caton were joined by Don's son, Stephen, an Annapolis graduate, who had been critically wounded when the destroyer, the USS Hammann, had been sunk in the Battle of Midway in June 1942. Mr. Caton had said that when he first saw Stephen at Bethesda Medical Center in Maryland, he thought his son was lost to him, but Stephen had fought back and returned to active duty before the Japanese surrendered in August 1945.

  Another surprise was meeting Mrs. Ferguson, the wife of Montclair's grouchy gardener. Mr. Ferguson hadn't married until he was in his forties, and when he did, he shocked the village of Crofton by marrying Linda McDonnell, the daughter of a baronet, who shared his love of gardening. They lived in one of the apartments over the garages so they would be close to the gardens.

  I was trying to remember all the stories Beth was telling me as the guests went through the receiving line because I knew that I would never see them again, and I was trying to take a snapshot of each person as they went by.

  While the Crowells, the Catons, Rob, and I were meeting the guests, the Crowell sons were under strict instructions from their mother to make sure all the visitors were enjoying themselves. While James Crowell was circulating around the room, pulling at his starched collar all the while, most of the men thought it was their duty to make sure that his wife, who was wearing an ivory sheath that made her look like a Roman goddess, didn't lack for company. Angela's English was limited to a handful of stock phrases, but no one seemed to care.

  Another lady who didn't have to worry about a lack of companionship was Eva Greene, Mrs. Caton's stepdaughter from a previous marriage. To use Freddie's word, Eva was a “smasher"—tall, blonde, blue eyes, great figure and smile, and in another century, she most definitely would have had to tuck lace into her bodice. She had most of the men, married or not, lined up to dance with her. But before the evening was over, it was obvious that she definitely had two favorites: Michael and Rob.

  Mrs. Caton had asked Jack to say a few words before the ball got under way. In his booming baritone, he thanked his guests for coming. “There are many reasons why we are here tonight, but none of this would have been possible without Don and Ellen Caton.” After waiting for the applause to die down, Jack said, “I grew up in this house, and I can honestly say it has never looked more beautiful than it does tonight.” Mrs. Caton now had her reward for all of her hard work.

  “Another reason is that we are among friends. We've been through a lot together. Britain's not completely recovered, which will be evident once you see the buffet table.” Using a voice that was familiar to everyone who had listened to wartime BBC broadcasts, Jack said, “Grow your own vegetables, meats and fats are to be used sparingly, and eat your potatoes in their jackets.” Everyone laughed. Even this crowd was familiar with rationing.

  “There is a third reason,” Jack said looking at me. “Beth and I had the good fortune to meet a young American whose curiosity about Montclair and its history led to a friendship that, I believe, will last a lifetime.” And he introduced me, “Miss Maggie Joyce of Minooka, Pennsylvania.”

  “While in England, it was Maggie's good fortune to meet another American, a former navigator for the 8th Air Force, stationed at Bassingbourn during the war.” Turning in Rob's direction, he said, “I'm afraid I'm going to embarrass you.” Everyone was looking at Rob, waiting to hear what Jack had to say. “Rob McAllister left his home in Flagstaff, Arizona, and flew thirty missions over Nazi Germany and has the scars to prove it.” Everyone burst into applause, and I thought, “There goes my makeup.”

  “One more thing, and then I'll shut up. I'd like everyone to raise a glass to all of the young people who served us so well in this last war, and I pray to God it is the last. There are too many to mention individually, but we know who you are and what you did. Please be upstanding.” And raising his glass, Jack said, “To love, to family, to friends.” After everyone emptied their glasses, Jack added, “Cut the ribbon. Let the games begin.”

  The band's first song, “Sing, Sing, Sing,” had everyone on the dance floor and got the night off to a roaring start. Rob and I did a mean jitterbug to “Bugle Call Rag,” as did Violet Alcott and Michael Crowell. Apparently, James had been teaching Angela how to swing because she was dancing her heart out. I had only a couple of dances with Rob because there were plenty of young ladies who got in ahead of me, especially Eva Greene. I danced with every man who wasn't in a wheelchair, as well as Freddie, who couldn't dance at all, but that didn't stop him. When the band leader announced the last dance, I looked for Rob, but he was nowhere to be found, nor was Eva. So the last dance, “Always,” went to Michael. Instead of taking my hand, he put both of his arms around my waist and pulled me close to him. By that time, I was a little tipsy, and so I put my arms around his neck and laid my head on his chest. And nothing I had ever done seemed as right to me as being in the arms of Michael Crowell. But that last dance would set the stage for all that happened the next day.

  When I came downstairs the following morning, the house was quiet. I found Rob drinking coffee and reading the newspaper in the garden. “Good morning,” I said, still yawning. Rob and I had stayed at Montclair until the last of the guests had left at 3:00 a.m. I was so tired I had fallen asleep on the four-mile trip back to Crofton.

  “It's afternoon.”

  “A little cranky, are we?” I said, taking a chair next to him at the patio table. “Where is everyone?”

  “James and Angela left at dawn. Apparently, Julia doesn't travel well, and she was up all night. You just missed Beth, Jack, and Michael. They went up to Montclair to visit with Ellen Manning and the Alcotts. The Catons are having a late lunch for family members.”

  “Did you have a good time last night?” I asked.

  “Yes, I did,” Rob said, folding the newspaper. “But now that this shindig is out of the way, we probably should be talking about our next step. I've already booked a berth to New York for September 3rd, but I don't know what your plans are.”

  For me, this was a shot out of the blue. Rob had not given any indication he was ready to talk about the day after tomorrow, no less our future plans. “Before we start on my plans, may I ask what yours are?”

  “Well, I have to go back to Atlanta. I figured I'd give TRC at least a month's notice. I'm not sure they'll need that much time, but it seemed like the right thing to do.”

  Apparently, step one did not include my going to Atlanta. “And after that?” I asked.

  “Flagstaff. I want to spend some time with my family and then go on to California to see if I can get an interview with Boeing. I've heard they're hiring. The problem is, there's no place to live. Every apartment gets snapped up as soon as it's listed. I'll have to check all of these things out.”

  “And while you're going to all of these places, where am I?” This was the big one, and my heart was pounding because I didn't know what Rob was going to say.

  “I assumed that you'd want to go back to Minooka, at least for a while, so that you could be with your family. You've been gone a long time.”

  “Go back to
Minooka?” If only it was that simple. I thought about what would be waiting for me at home: a dying coal town, no jobs, my mean grandfather and alcoholic father, and the deciding factor, my brother, the one who hung my bras out the front window and told his friends when I was “on the rag.” “Rob, I am not going back to Minooka until I know when I will be leaving Minooka.”

  “Is there any other reason why you would rather stay in England?”

  I thought of saying something sarcastic about getting so used to post-war austerity that I wouldn't be able to adjust to America's prosperity, but I wanted to know what he meant by “any other reason.”

  “Maybe it's just me, but where I come from, a man does not flirt with another man's girlfriend when the boyfriend is in the same room.”

  “If you are referring to Michael Crowell, then I should object to all of the time you spent with Eva Greene. I didn't say anything because it was a party, and after Monday, there's a very good chance I will never see Michael again and you will never see Eva. So this is a non-issue.” I should have left it right there, but I didn't. “You know what the issue is? You have plans for you, and you have plans for me. But you don't have any plans for us. And you know why? Because there is no 'us.'”

  I had run this whole thing through my mind time and time again. I thought Rob's relationships with women spoke volumes. I thought about Alice in Flagstaff, whom he dumped as soon as he went into the Army, and then I asked him about Arlene in Atlanta, who got the heave-ho when he went overseas.

  “Arlene?” Rob looked at me as if I had two heads. “What the hell does Arlene have to do with this?”

  “I'm getting to that. How long did the two of you go out?”

  “I don't know—three or four months. We enjoyed dancing and going to the movies. That was it.”

  “I assume the two of you were intimate?” Rob nodded. “And when you told Arlene you were taking a job in England, she was just fine with that. After all, you were just dance partners, right?” Looking at Rob, I said. “I bet she cried her eyes out.”