War Comes Home to Winthrop Manor: An English Family Saga (Winthrop Manor Series Book 2)

by Mary Christian Payne

  “Yes, it would have been. When Win travels to London, our driver, David, takes him.”

  “Yes, well…actually, perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but he kissed her once they settled into the auto.”

  Josephine could feel the colour drain from her face.

  Chapter Three

  Later that day, Josephine stood at the mullioned window overlooking the neatly cut lawn behind the ancient home. It was April 1925. She gazed at the beauty of the landscaping, while observing her ten-year-old son, Andy, playing with his beloved terrier, Twist. He would throw a ball and Twist would retrieve it, trotting back to Andy.

  Josephine absolutely adored her son. It seemed he had grown up in such a short time, and she was keenly aware that soon he would be starting his first year of school at the Winfield Academy, the exclusive day-school, in Winthrop-on-Hart. Until that moment, it had never dawned upon her how quickly time passed.

  She turned and paced the length of the drawing room. It was nearing time for dinner. Soon she would retreat to her bedchamber to change into a formal gown, the usual style of dress at Winthrop Manor for the evening meal.

  Win would be returning from a day spent with financial advisers and would also retreat to his chamber to bathe and dress for the evening. Generally, he did dine with Josephine at the manor, but for quite some time he’d begun to depart shortly after the servants removed the dessert plates, saying that he had appointments in London.

  Josephine wasn’t a fool. She may not have grown up in an aristocratic setting, but she was well aware that her husband had no appointments of any necessity in the evenings–especially those lasting far into the wee hours.

  She was certain that he was about to head to The Pussy Cat Club, and such knowledge filled her with concern. Perhaps most importantly, Josephine was frightened that her life with Win might never return to its original quiet existence. She had always trusted him implicitly. Josephine was certain, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that he would never cheat on her. Still, she didn’t care for the existing situation. A married man belonged with his family, not gallivanting ‘round London until the wee hours. Having met and spoken with Barbara Stanley earlier in the day, she was even more concerned.

  Uncle Roderick had been Josephine’s guardian since the loss of her parents, and she thought of him as a father. She asked the Winthrop Manor chauffeur, to drive her from the village to Roderick’s cottage. She poured her heart out to her uncle. Roderick held her in his arms as she wept, admitting all the fears buried inside.

  “Oh, my dear, dear Josephine. Win is a good man. I’ve always admired him. I never hesitated to grant my approval when you made the decision to marry. I can’t say I’m terribly surprised at the behaviour you’re now describing. The poor young men who fought in the war saw and experienced wretched things. At a time when they should have been enjoying their youth, they were thrust into a most abysmal situation. My only true amazement is that this behaviour has taken a rather prolonged time to manifest itself. I would have assumed these traits might have come out directly after he was mustered from the Expeditionary Forces.”

  “Yes, I agree.” Josephine nodded. “Nevertheless, Win was every bit as loving and dear as he’d always been when he returned. Of course, the explanation for that may be that he was faced with so many challenges immediately upon his return. Andy’s kidnapping, his brother Oliver’s trial, and then the death of his father, followed shortly thereafter by the loss of Lady Beatrice. I know he discovered that financial matters at the manor were extremely troubling, and it took quite a spell for us to sort everything out. At one point we thought we might have to sell the estate.”

  “Hadn't you told him of the inheritance you received when you turned twenty-one?” Roderick asked.

  “I did finally,” she answered. “As I watched him struggle with worry about debt, I couldn't bear keeping secret the fact that I had a great deal of money stashed away in a London bank. It would have been cruel of me not to help him hold fast to Winthrop Manor and its staff. He’d always led such an unencumbered existence–had never faced that sort of difficulty. We were looking at the possibility of total ruin, so I stepped in and helped solve the problem.”

  “You did the right thing, my dear. Win had a wonderful life as a youngster and on into the years after he became a viscount. Most everything he dreamed of or wished for was his.”

  “I bailed us out rather quickly, Uncle.”

  “I understand, Josephine. I’m glad you were honest with him. Perhaps I gave you poor advice when I told you of my belief that a wife should have her own stash of funds and that she bore no obligation to share such information with her husband.”

  Josephine took a sip of tea. She sat on the sofa in the small parlour, uneasy and deeply anxious.

  “The truth about your financial situation has been remedied,” Roderick said. “I know Win. Actually, I wouldn’t have been completely surprised if he had refused your help. He’s an extremely proud man. I’m not at all certain he would have wanted you to solve financial difficulties associated with Winthrop Manor. Nonetheless, I’m glad you confessed everything. It isn’t as though you’d only been married a short time. Enough years have passed, and it was time for everything to be out in the open between you.”

  Josephine reached up and tucked a strand of hair back into the up-do she always wore. “I agree, Uncle. I’m glad we had the chance to discuss it. However, that still leaves my present dilemma. I’ve never been the sort of wife who badgers her husband. I haven’t tried to set boundaries for Win, nor has he with me. But I simply cannot live anymore with his gallivanting off to London night after night. I can’t believe he’s cheating on me. Well, at least, I don’t think he is. I’ve always felt that Win has very high morals. Only, he’s never home with me at night. We have our evening meal, and he departs for London, saying he has a meeting or some such nonsense. I know it isn’t true. I’ve been told by others that he can be found night after night at The Pussy Cat Club. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

  “Oh, yes. Who hasn’t? It’s apparently where the new breed of young people congregates. Flappers. Isn’t that the word for the young ladies?”

  “Yes. Win is much too old for such foolishness. He has me and Andy. To be honest, I would love to have another child. The chances of that are slim, however, since he sleeps at the townhouse in Mayfair more often than he does Winthrop Manor.”

  “You need to have a talk with him, Josephine. You’ve always had a tendency to let things ride, assuming they’ll pass of their own accord.”

  “Yes. You’re right. I’ll have to give some thought as to how and when to best approach him, but I shall pour out all my feelings. This isn’t a healthy way to live. I’ve always loved Win with my entire being. I shouldn't hold back my feelings now. He has to know he’s hurting and confusing me. Also, Andy is growing up. I should think Win would want to spend time with his son.”

  It was nearing five o’clock when she rang David Carlisle to collect her. She gathered her gloves and pocket book, making ready to depart.

  “Thank you, Uncle. You always give the best advice. I love you so and am grateful I have you to discuss things like this.” They hugged and kissed goodbye.

  * * *

  Home again, Josephine sat in the drawing room. She’d reached an important decision. Life couldn’t continue in such a vein. Her discussion with Uncle Roderick had helped immensely. She'd always been a loving, understanding wife and, even in this instance, she had fine instincts about the reasons for his behaviour. Nevertheless, it had to stop.

  With her mind firmly made up, she left the room and hurried up the winding staircase to her bedchamber, where she encountered Emma, her lady’s maid.

  “Hello, Emma. I’m happy to see you.” Josephine smiled. “I need you to help me select a truly elegant gown for this evening.”

  “Is it a celebration of some sort, milady?” Emma asked.

  “No. Not at all. I simply fancy a special night. Following the eve
ning meal, I’m going to do something rather out of character for me.” Josephine smiled again, adding a small giggle.

  “What on Earth?” asked Emma.

  “For quite some time, Win has been returning to London and spending his evenings there, staying in the Mayfair Townhouse, only to return the next day or evening. I’ve been told by numerous acquaintances that he’s often seen at that new club–The Pussy Cat. I intend to pay a visit to the place and see with my own eyes just what intrigues him so much.”

  Emma covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, milady, do you think that’s wise? Is there the chance that his Lordship will think you don’t trust him?”

  “Yes, of course, but I’m willing to take such a chance. I’m afraid he’s given me reason to doubt him. I need to know what is pulling him toward that club, night after night. Therefore, Emma, I must look resplendent.”

  “You always look resplendent, if I do say so. Nevertheless, we’ll choose the most exceptional frock in your wardrobe,” answered Emma.

  Together they began to inspect each gown hanging in the large cupboard, which dominated nearly one wall of Josephine’s room. She had a plethora of magnificent dresses. However, what she had in mind for that particular evening needed to be uncommonly lovely, and one her husband hadn’t seen for a long while, if ever. Often, she purchased gowns she found appealing, so she would have one when an unexpected event presented itself. This was one of those times.

  The Victorian style that had ruled during the beginning of the twentieth century called for items like bustles and corsets to literally hold women into the formal, stiff dresses. This was turned completely on its ear by 1920 when frocks became more loose-fitting, with waists that dropped lower and lower. By then, the typical waist was around the hips. Boyish bodies were in vogue for women, and the new styles needed no restricting undergarments in the tube-like dresses. Women had taken to wearing pants and men's dress shirts as well, which was another comfortable style. Dresses were frilly and fringed to go along with short, bobbed hair. Hemlines finally settled just below the knee. Evening dresses had a hemline anywhere from mid-calf to floor length.

  Josephine was by no means a flapper, nor did the current fashions delight her. She had a lovely silhouette, and it was the exact opposite of boyish. However, she thought she remembered having purchased a rather daring gown with a bare back, and then hadn’t had the cheek to wear it.

  Thumbing through her wardrobe, she came upon the frock she’d forgotten having purchased. It was a Madame Vionnet, and she’d bought it in Paris when she and Win had paid a visit to the beautiful City of Lights the previous year. The dress was pale-pink chiffon with a beaded halter, bare-backed top. It was rather scandalous. Josephine had never worn anything so revealing. The front, which dipped into quite a deep V, was also beaded. She knew the moment she saw it again that it was the perfect dress for the night’s outing.

  Because of the ornate beading on the bodice and back, she chose to wear no jewelry, other than her wedding ring and a high, Cleopatra-style bracelet, which was all the rage. Hers was set with pink diamonds.

  Emma agreed the dress was divine. “Why, milady, I don’t recall seeing this before. Have you ever worn it? It looks absolutely brand-new.”

  “No, Emma, I haven’t. I fell in love with it, but when we returned to England, I decided it was a bit risqué for me. Still, we’ll be going to London this evening, and from what I hear of this Pussy Cat Club, this gown will be perfect. I’m still not certain I won’t feel a bit naughty in it, but I think Win will consider it enchanting.”

  Emma ran a bath, and piled Josephine’s thick, chestnut hair on top of her head. After she stepped out of the tub, Josephine slipped into a white, silk robe. Emma unpinned her hair and brushed it until it shined. She still wore it quite long – near her shoulders. She had been contemplating having it cut into one of the new bobs that were seen on every street corner but still wasn’t certain she wanted to do away with the locks she’d worn since she was a young girl.

  Emma had been urging her to try the new style. “Milady, it will always grow back. I think it would look so chic with your features. Won’t you allow me to cut it?”

  Emma was an excellent hair stylist. If Josephine were to allow anyone to cut her locks it would be her lady’s maid.

  “Well, do you truly think it would look all right? I haven’t cut my hair since before Win and I married. What if he loathes it?”

  “If I thought there was a remote possibility of that, I wouldn’t suggest it. Let’s give it a go.”

  “All right, Emma. I hope I don’t regret this, but I am in the mood for a change.” Her hands trembled with fear and trepidation.

  Emma snipped and combed with unparalleled concentration.

  Josephine was terrified to look into the mirror. Slowly, she turned her body ‘round and stared at her reflection. She loved it! She simply adored it! She hadn’t worn her hair so short since she was a small child, so it was truly shocking. But the length accentuated her eyes and drew attention to every one of her fine features. Because her hair had natural wave, Emma arranged it so that it curved a bit around her forehead falling into a chin-length bob, curving towards her cheeks. It was incredible that a simple hairstyle could make such a difference in one’s appearance.

  “Oh, Emma! I do think this was a wise choice. I look ages younger. I’d be immensely surprised if Win isn’t very much in favour of this. Bless you for convincing me to take the chance. Win should be returning within the hour. My fondest hope is that after tonight, when he sees me enter The Pussy Cat Club, he’ll see that his wife is far superior to the Bright Young Things one reads about in the Times. Perhaps then he’ll resume his usual pattern of staying here at the manor, instead of running off to London.”

  “I’m certain your hope will be realized.” Emma put away all of the various instruments she’d used to transform Josephine’s image. Then Emma held the spectacular gown so it could easily slip over her mistress’s head.

  Once clad in the shell-pink frock, Josephine walked to the cheval mirror. She looked spellbinding. “Emma! Oh, Emma! I look so…I look like a different person. Oh, Lord. I am a bit afraid that Win will be dismayed at such a complete makeover.”

  “Oh, milady, I shouldn’t think so. Most men are delighted to see their wives keep up with the times. Surely Lord Winthrop is no different.”

  “No, I don’t believe he is.” Josephine smiled and turned this way and that, observing her reflection from all angles. “He should be home soon. I’m really most excited, but a bit nervous.”

  Emma deposited the wet towels and clothing Josephine had previously worn into a pile to be cleaned and returned to the countess’s suite. “Do you wish for me to do any additional makeup, milady?” she asked.

  Josephine furrowed her brow and thought for a moment. “Yes. You know I think this new look calls for a bit more glamour. Not too much. However, perhaps a change in lip colour—not scarlet red, but a more outstanding shade of darker pink. Also, perhaps my cheeks need additional highlighting with some rouge—certainly, not too much though.”

  “I agree, milady. Also, how would you feel if I added a bit more charcoal to your lashes? You have such spectacular eyes, and this new hairstyle accentuates them.”

  “Yes, Emma, I agree. Let’s give it a go,” Josephine said, laughing.

  Chapter Four

  She heard the Rolls Royce on the manor’s gravelled drive. Glancing in the great hall’s mirror, she moved toward the entryway to greet Win when he came through the doors. He’d stayed in London the night before, so she was anxious to see him and to have their long-awaited conversation.

  As he entered the house, she smiled sweetly and put her arms ‘round him.

  “Hello, darling. I’m so glad you’re home. I hate it when you stay in London overnight. Let’s have a drink and sit down in the drawing room. I’ve asked Radcliffe to build a lovely fire in there. It’s so cosy,” she exclaimed.

  Win looked tired. He was either
suffering from sleep deprivation or had a bad hangover—possibly both. He returned her hug with a peck on the cheek. “I’m rather worn out, dear. I had meetings that lasted far into the night and more today with bankers. I think I’d rather not have a drink. I’m going to have a wash and a short lie-down. Then I’ll change into a fresh suit. We’ll dine, and I’ll return to London, as I have more meetings early in the morning.”

  Josephine’s heart sank. Her usual reaction would have been to allow Win to climb the stairway without uttering a complaint. However, this routine had gone on for much too long. She took a deep breath and began to speak.

  “No. That simply won’t do. I’m truly sorry you’re tired, but we need to have a serious conversation. This is becoming the norm for you. I’m at my wit’s end not knowing how to cope with your behaviour.”

  “I haven’t the faintest notion what you’re talking about, Josephine.” He looked confused.

  “Please, Win.” She ran her hand through her newly bobbed hair, feeling hurt that he hadn’t noticed. “I think you know precisely what I’m talking about. You haven’t spent an evening, let alone a night, with me in a very long time. Do you think I’m ignorant? I don’t believe you have business dealings in London every night. You know I’m right.”

  “Are you accusing me of not telling you the truth?”

  “Yes. While I hate to admit it, that is exactly what I’m doing. I’m not stupid. I am sick and tired of your foolish excuses to spend nights in London. I read the London Times, you know. Aren’t you aware that the names of people who frequent The Pussy Cat Club are printed in the society pages?”

  A stunned look crossed her husband’s face, as if that fact had never crossed his mind. He was silent for a moment and then quickly changed the subject.

  “Darling, you’ve bobbed your hair. Forgive me for not noticing the moment I entered the house. Turn around... let me see the back,” he urged.