by Rhys Bowen
Two nannies were walking their charges, talking together as they pushed prams. A maid was scrubbing a front step. A milkman was making a delivery, the bottles rattling as he carried them down to a service entrance. It was all so peaceful and domestic that I found myself staring up at Rannoch House with longing. It was in the middle of the north side of the square—the biggest and most imposing of the houses.
“I wish . . .” I heard myself saying out loud, but when I analyzed it, I didn’t quite know what I wished. Probably that I had a place where I still belonged in the world. I was just about to walk past when the front door opened and none other than my brother, Binky, current Duke of Rannoch, came down the steps, adjusting the scarf at his neck as he came. He was about to walk past without noticing me but I stepped out in front of him.
“Hello, Binky,” I said.
He stopped, startled, then blinked as if he thought he was seeing a mirage. “Georgie. It’s you. Blow me down. What a lovely surprise. We didn’t know you were in town.”
“I didn’t expect you to be in town either,” I said.
“We came down a couple of weeks ago,” he said. “Fig’s aunt just died and left her a nice little legacy, so we decided to have a central heating system put into Castle Rannoch. It can be beastly cold in winter, can’t it? And little Adelaide gets such nasty croup. So while they’re putting in boilers and pipes and things we decided to come down to London. We have to look for a governess for Podge anyway so it was really killing two birds with one stone. But enough of our boring lives—how about you? What have you been doing? The last we heard you were staying with the Duchess of Eynsford.”
“A lot has happened since then,” I said. A spasm of guilt passed through me that I should have written to my brother more often. Then I told myself that Fig would probably have burned the letters anyway. “But are you on your way to an appointment? I could come to visit when you have time and give you all my news, rather than standing here in the street freezing.”
“Come in now, if you’re not too busy,” he said. “I was only going down to my club to read the morning papers and Fig would love to see you.”
This later was completely untrue, I was sure, but I wasn’t going to turn down the invitation. “I’d love to see everyone,” I said. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen Podge and Adelaide. Are you still calling her that, by the way? It doesn’t seem the right sort of thing to call a baby.”
“I call her Dumpling, because she has round chubby cheeks,” Binky said, “but Fig doesn’t like that and Nanny insists on calling children by their proper names. No baby talk and no nonsense.”
“You have a new nanny?”
“Yes. Fig’s idea, actually. She felt that our nanny was too old and too indulgent. So she pensioned her off. Must say I don’t quite take to the new one. Too modern and efficient and worries about germs.”
As we talked Binky went back up the steps and opened the front door. “Come in, Georgie.”
I followed him into the foyer. Binky had hardly had time to close the door behind us when our butler, Hamilton, appeared with that uncanny sense that butlers have when someone is going in or out.
“Back so soon, Your Grace? I hope there is nothing amiss,” he began, then he saw me and his face lit up in a most satisfying way. “Why, Lady Georgiana. What a pleasant surprise. It’s been so long.”
“How are you, Hamilton?” I said as he helped me out of my coat.
“As well as can be expected, my lady. Rheumatics, you know, and a lot of stairs in this house. Should I serve coffee in the morning room, Your Grace, or would her ladyship prefer a proper breakfast in the dining room? It hasn’t been cleared away yet although I believe Her Grace had a tray sent up this morning.”
“Jolly good kidneys this morning, Georgie. And you know what damn fine kedgeree Cook makes.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said. In an attempt to make my mother’s check last as long as possible I had been living quite simply, apart from the occasional splurge of ready-made food from Harrods. And I didn’t know how to cook kidneys.
“Go and help yourself,” Binky said. “I’ll let Fig know you’re here and then I might join you for another round, although Fig complains I’m putting on a bit of weight around the middle.” He patted his stomach, which was becoming a little like Father Christmas’s.
“Should I have fresh coffee sent to the dining room, my lady?” Hamilton asked, hovering at the baize door that led down to the kitchen.
“That would be lovely, thank you, Hamilton,” I said. “I’m sure I haven’t forgotten my way to the dining room.”
I started for the back of the house while Binky went up the stairs. I hadn’t quite reached the dining room door when I heard a shrill voice say, “Here? Now? What does she want?”
“I don’t think she wants anything, Fig,” Binky’s voice answered. “We met on the pavement quite by chance and I invited her to come in, of course.”
“Really, Binky, you are too tiresome,” Fig’s voice went on. “You don’t think, do you? I am not even up and dressed. You should have told her to come back at a more suitable hour.”
“Dash it all, Fig, she is my sister,” Binky said. “This is her home.”
“This is our home now, Binky. Your sister has been off for months, God knows where, making her own life—as well she should, since she’s no longer your responsibility.” A heavy sigh followed. “Well, go downstairs and entertain her and I suppose I’ll have to get up. I was looking forward to a long lie-in with Country Life this morning too.”
I tiptoed through to the dining room as Binky came down the stairs again.
“Fig will join us in a minute,” he said, managing a bright smile. “Slept in late today, don’t you know. But do go ahead and tuck in. I’m sure it’s all still hot.”
I did as I was told and sat down with a plate piled with kedgeree, kidneys, scrambled egg and bacon. It was a feast such as I hadn’t had in a while and it made me wonder whether Fig’s legacy had been big enough to have improved their standard of living. When I had last been at home at Castle Rannoch, Fig’s catering had been decidedly on the mean side, to the point of replacing the Cooper’s Oxford marmalade with Golden Shred.
Coffee was brought and I had almost cleaned my plate when I heard footsteps tapping down the hall and Fig came in. “Georgiana,” she said in a clipped voice, “what a surprise. How lovely to see you.” She looked older than when I had seen her last and permanent frown lines were beginning to show on her forehead. She’d never been a beauty but had once had that healthy if horsey look of country women, with a perfect complexion. Now she looked decidedly pasty faced and I felt renewed pity for Binky that he was stuck with someone like this for the rest of his life. If things went as planned I would have Darcy to look at across the breakfast table every morning—a far more desirable prospect.
Fig poured herself a cup of coffee then sat down across the table from me. “We didn’t even know you were in town or we would have had you over for a meal. In fact we had no idea where you were, had we, Binky? Your brother was quite worried that he hadn’t heard from you.”
“The last we heard was when you went to stay with the Eynsfords,” Binky said, “and there was that spot of bother, wasn’t there? That unpleasant business with poor old Cedric.”
“Georgiana does seem to attract unpleasant business,” Fig said. “You’ve been abroad since you left the Eynsfords? We met the dowager duchess at Balmoral and she mentioned something along those lines.”
“I went to America with my mother,” I said.
“What on earth for? Is she looking for a rich American husband now?” Fig stirred her coffee fiercely.
“Oh I say, Fig, that’s really a bit much,” Binky interrupted.
“On the contrary. She went there to divorce one.” I smiled at her sweetly. “She is planning to marry the industrialist Max von Strohheim.”
“A German?” Fig frowned at my brother. “You hear that, Binky? Georgie’s mother is going to marry a German. How people can forget the Great War so quickly I just do not understand.”
“I don’t suppose Georgie’s mum’s beau had much to do with the Great War,” Binky said in his usual affable manner. I didn’t like to say that I thought he had probably made a fortune in supplying arms. His industrial empire was certainly wide reaching. “So did you have a good time in America, Georgie? Were you there long?”
“Parts of it were lovely, thank you,” I said. “The crossing on the Berengaria—”
“You hear that, Binky?” Fig interrupted. “She sailed on the Berengaria—the millionaires’ ship, they call her. Something I’ll never be able to do. Obviously I went wrong in life. I should have become an actress and had dalliances with all kinds of men, like Georgie’s mother.”
“You don’t have the looks, old thing,” Binky said kindly. “You have to admit that Georgie’s mum is an absolute corker.”
Fig went rather red and I tried not to choke on my coffee.
“She is little better than a high-class tart,” Fig snapped.
“Steady on, old thing,” Binky said. “Georgie’s mum may have led a somewhat colorful life but she’s a thoroughly decent sort. Really kind to me when she married Father. She was the only one who could see I was miserable at boarding school.”
Fig saw that this battle wasn’t going her way. “You were missed at Balmoral, Georgiana,” she said. “The king and queen both commented on your absence. Quite put out that you weren’t there.”
“Oh, I’m sure my presence hardly made a difference,” I said, secretly pleased that they even noticed I hadn’t joined the house party this year.
“Quite put out,” Fig repeated. “The king actually said to me, ‘Where’s young Georgiana then? Had enough of putting up with us old fogies? Rather spend time with the bright young things, what?’”
“And the little princesses missed you too, Georgie,” Binky said. “That Elizabeth is turning into a damned fine horsewoman. She said she was sorry you weren’t there to go riding with her.”
“It’s probably not the wisest thing to snub the king and queen, Georgie,” Fig said. “They are the heads of the family, after all. And you know how the queen absolutely expects one to show up at Balmoral.”
That was true enough. It was hard to find any excuse good enough to get out of it. It was even reported that a certain member of the royal clan timed her pregnancies so that she could miss Balmoral biennially. Actually we Rannochs didn’t mind it. We were used to freezing cold rooms and the piper waking everyone at dawn, not to mention the tartan wallpaper in the loo.
“We had a lovely time there this year, didn’t we, Binky?” Fig drained her coffee and got up to help herself to a piece of toast.
“Oh rather,” he agreed. “Of course, the weather wasn’t too kind. Rained every bally day, actually. Missed every bird I shot at. Apart from that it was quite jolly. They’ve a new piper who plays at dawn.”
“I’m sorry I had to miss it,” I said with a straight face. I turned back to Fig. “So I hear you’ve come into a legacy, Fig, and you’re having central heating put in.”
“Only a small legacy,” Fig said hurriedly. “My aunt lived very simply. No luxuries. She was very active in the Girl Guides until she died.”
“And you’re just down here until the new boiler is put in?”
“Actually we thought we might as well keep on here until the wedding,” Binky said and got a warning frown from Fig.
“The wedding?” I asked.
“The royal wedding,” Binky said.
“The Prince of Wales is finally going to buckle down and get married?” I asked in surprise.
“Not the Prince of Wales, although it’s certainly taking long enough for him to select someone suitable to be a future queen,” Fig said. “It’s the younger son, Prince George, who is to marry next month.”
I couldn’t have been more surprised. “George?” It came out as a squeak. Prince George, the king’s fourth son, was utterly charming and delightful and fun, but from all I’d heard (and seen on occasion) he had been rather a naughty boy. “So the king and queen are trying to rein him in.”
“What do you mean, rein him in?” Fig asked.
“One has heard rumors . . .” I glanced at Binky but got no reaction, so I supposed that news didn’t travel as far as Scotland or my relatives were so naïve that they weren’t aware that behavior like George’s went on.
“Come now, Georgiana. Even princes of the realm are allowed to have a little fun in their youth,” Fig said. “As long as they do the right thing and marry well.”
Personally I thought that posing naked wearing nothing but a Guardsman’s bearskin and having an affair with Noel Coward were slightly more than “having a little fun.” I’d once spotted him at a party where cocaine was being snorted. There were rumors also of affairs with highly unsuitable women.
“Who is he marrying?” I asked.
“Princess Marina of Greece,” Binky said. “Danish royal family, you know. You’ve met her cousin Philip, haven’t you? Very handsome. Nice boy. Good sportsman.”
“And of course we’ve been invited to the wedding,” Fig added with satisfaction. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, would we, Binky?”
“Oh no,” Binky said. “Ripping good fun.”
“I wonder if I’m invited,” I said. “Is it to be a big affair?”
“Westminster Abbey,” Fig said. “I wouldn’t know if you’ve been included in the guest list. They have to draw the line somewhere.”
Binky pulled up his chair a little closer to me. “So, Georgie, what are your plans now you’ve returned from America? Are you staying in London?”
“I was borrowing a friend’s mews cottage,” I said, “but she has returned home unexpectedly so I’m having to move out. I was thinking of coming up to Castle Rannoch while I look for a suitable job, but of course that’s now out of the question. There is always my grandfather. . . .”
“The one in Essex?” Fig made it sound as if it were one of the outer circles of hell.
“Since the other one has been dead for many years the answer to that would be yes,” I replied. “He’s a perfectly charming person, just not—”
“Of our class,” Fig cut in. “You can’t seriously be thinking of living in Essex! What would the family say if they found out? I don’t think they would appreciate the news that you were staying with a Cockney in Essex, Georgiana. However charming he is.”
“Then do you have a better suggestion?” I asked.
“You must stay here,” Binky said with great enthusiasm.
Fig’s face was a picture. She opened her mouth, went to say something, closed it again. I couldn’t resist answering hurriedly, “If you’re really sure it wouldn’t be inconvenient?”
“Inconvenient?” Binky said. “It’s your home, Georgie, old bean. We’d love to have you—wouldn’t we, Fig?”
There was a distinct pause before she managed a tight smile and said, “Of course we would. Absolutely love you to stay.”
Chapter 4
OCTOBER 29
RANNOCH HOUSE, BELGRAVE SQUARE, LONDON W.1.
I had to smile to myself as I left Rannoch House and headed for the Hyde Park Corner tube station. I had somewhere to stay for the immediate future. Now all I needed to do was to collect Queenie from her parents so that she could pack up my clothes and help me move in.
“Oh golly,” I thought as reality dawned. That would really annoy Fig. She couldn’t stand Queenie and had wanted me to sack her on numerous occasions. I found I was taking a perverse pleasure in knowing that both Queenie and I would be a source of irritation to Fig. Of course it wouldn’t be for long, but if I was also invited to the wedding, then I’d have to stay until the end of Nove
mber, by which time I should have secured some kind of job or invitation.
The train arrived and we plunged into darkness on my way to deepest Essex and my grandfather’s house. His next-door neighbor was Queenie’s great-aunt so she would know whether Queenie’s mother had recovered sufficiently for me to drag Queenie away. My grandfather’s house was on a quiet suburban street of lower-middle-class respectability. Each semidetached house had a small square of front garden blooming with roses and lavender in the summer but at this time of year looking sorry and bare. Granddad’s front garden still looked cheerful since he had three brightly painted gnomes in the middle of his flower bed. I took a deep breath before I went up to the front door. I seemed to wait a long time before I heard a voice saying, “I’m coming. I’m coming.”
The door was opened and Granddad stood there. To my surprise he was in his dressing gown and slippers. He looked at me with suspicion then his old wrinkled face broke into a broad grin.
“Well, swipe me,” he said. “You’re the last person I expected to see, my love. I thought it would be her from next door coming round with the stew she promised me. If I’d known you was coming I’d have spruced meself up a bit.”
“You’re not well?” I asked, kissing the stubble on his weathered cheek as he hugged me.
“Nothing serious. Just a touch of the old bronchitis. I get it something shocking when the weather’s like this. But I’m on the mend now. Taking it easy like the doctor said and letting her next door take care of me. I must say she’s a good sort, coming round with all manner of dishes to tempt me to eat again. But come on in. Don’t just stand there. I’ll put the kettle on and she baked a tasty Dundee cake the other day.”