Songs of Love and War

by Santa Montefiore

  Miss Ferrel frowned. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  Bridie stiffened. ‘I thought you resented me. You had worked for her for twelve years and I arrived and she asked me to read—’

  ‘You think I was jealous of you?’

  Bridie shrugged. ‘You left money under the bed to trap me, did you not?’

  Miss Ferrel was baffled. ‘What money?’

  ‘And the earrings . . .’

  ‘Earrings? What are you saying, Bridget?’

  ‘You were trying to show her that I was dishonest.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Bridie began to feel uncomfortable. ‘The thousands of dollars I found under her bed and a pair of diamond earrings I discovered in the pocket of one of her dresses? Who else but you left those things there?’

  ‘I swear it wasn’t me, Bridget.’

  ‘Then who was it?’

  ‘Mr Gordon?’ said Miss Ferrel slowly. ‘Could it have been Mr Gordon?’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  ‘Because he was jealous. He was closer to her than anyone, even me.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it,’ said Bridie. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ Miss Ferrel agreed, looking pensive. She said nothing about the money she had found on Mrs Grimsby’s floor – and kept.

  Once back in New York it wasn’t long before Mrs Grimsby’s nieces arrived with their mother, just as Miss Ferrel had predicted, and walked around the mansion arguing over which paintings, ornaments and pieces of furniture should go to whom. ‘That table will look charming in my dining room,’ said Mrs Halloway. ‘I must have the chairs too.’

  ‘But I’d like the chairs,’ said Mrs Kesler, sticking out her bottom lip and appealing to their mother.

  ‘The chairs must go with the table, Tally. I’m afraid you’ll have to choose something else. Why don’t you have her bed? It’s a mighty fine bed.’

  Mrs Kesler screwed up her nose. ‘I don’t want her bed. She’s lain in it. That great big whale of a woman. It probably sags in the middle.’

  ‘You can buy a new mattress,’ her sister suggested with a smirk.

  ‘With the money I’m going to inherit, Evie, I can buy twenty new mattresses!’ Mrs Kesler exclaimed, cheering up. ‘All right, you can have the chairs, Evie, and I’ll have the bed, without the mattress. I want the Persian rugs. All of them.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little greedy?’ their mother asked.

  ‘Evie doesn’t need them. She already has beautiful rugs. She got the chairs. I’m choosing the rugs. I’ll have those rugs, do you hear!’

  Bridie left the room. She couldn’t bear to listen to the women fighting over Mrs Grimsby’s possessions when they hadn’t even buried her yet. When the women had previously come to New York they had been united in their plot to endear themselves to their aunt; now they were squabbling like crows over carrion. If Mrs Grimsby had known how disrespectful and avaricious they were going to be she might have considered burning down her houses so they got nothing.

  ‘Of course they can’t take anything until the will is read,’ Miss Ferrel told Bridie later when the three women had gone. They had departed in silence, furious with each other. ‘You know, it wouldn’t surprise me if she has left everything to charity.’

  ‘Indeed and that would serve them right,’ Bridie agreed. ‘They don’t deserve a dollar of her money.’

  ‘They don’t even deserve Precious,’ Miss Ferrel added. ‘Those women will kick her out onto the street.’

  ‘A job’s a job, but I don’t think I’d like to work for them,’ said Bridie. ‘I never thought I’d miss Mrs Grimsby.’

  Miss Ferrel raised her eyebrows and shook her head. ‘You’re an odd girl, Bridget,’ she said.

  Bridie and Miss Ferrel remained at the mansion for a week. They heard nothing from the family so they continued to do their jobs as normal, even though Mrs Grimsby was no longer there. Bridie kept the place dusted and Miss Ferrel went through her desk and tidied her papers. When she had done that she took all the books down from the shelves and rearranged them in alphabetical order just to keep busy.

  Then, at the end of the week, Mr Williams drew up outside the mansion in a shiny car. He stepped out in a pristine suit and hat and rang the bell. Miss Ferrel answered and showed him into the hall. He asked to see Miss Doyle. He had something important to say to her.

  He put his briefcase down on Mrs Grimsby’s desk in the study and smiled at Bridie. ‘Good morning, Miss Doyle. As you know, I’m Mrs Grimsby’s attorney, Beaumont Williams. I’m sorry for your loss.’ Once the pleasantries were out of the way, he sat down and put on his spectacles in a businesslike fashion. ‘Now, you might be aware that the reading of the will took place yesterday in the presence of Mrs Grimsby’s family.’ She dropped her gaze into her lap where her fingers fidgeted nervously. ‘It came as quite a surprise to the family when they were told that Mrs Grimsby has left her entire estate to you, Miss Doyle.’

  ‘Excuse me, sir?’ Bridie had gone white with shock.

  Mr Williams’ eyes twinkled in amusement. He was clearly enjoying this. ‘Let me speak plainly, Miss Doyle. Mrs Grimsby changed her will only a few months ago. She said this would be one hell of a surprise for her family who had never given her an ounce of affection until the very end. If I recall correctly, she said, “Miss Doyle has been more loyal to me than anyone I have ever known, in truth she is the only member of my staff to prove her honesty, therefore it gives me enormous pleasure to reward her with everything I own. But it gives me even more pleasure to deny my family an inheritance they don’t deserve.”’ He opened his briefcase with short, nimble fingers. ‘Now, let me show you the paperwork. It is a considerable fortune by anyone’s standards.’ He grinned at her with satisfaction. ‘She was very specific about two things, however. She requested that you cherish her book of Yeats’s poetry, and this.’ He pulled out the gold locket on the chain that the old lady had always worn and handed it to Bridie. She held it a moment in her trembling hand. ‘Don’t be frightened to open it, Miss Doyle,’ said Mr Williams encouragingly. As her eyes blurred with tears she clicked it open. Inside was a green shamrock set behind glass.

  Chapter 28

  London, England, spring 1923

  Celia Deverill and Lachlan Kirkpatrick’s scandalous flight to his father’s estate in Scotland sent waves of astonishment and disbelief through the grand drawing rooms of London society. Digby and Beatrice were devastated by their daughter’s incomprehensible decision to abandon her new husband; Vivien and Leona furious that their sister should bring dishonour to their family name; Kitty bewildered that her cousin had decided to run off after she had taken her marriage vows and not before, which would have been more sensible. The grandees who smoked cigars and drank port in the exclusive London clubs rallied around Digby, patting him on the back and reassuring him that his daughter would soon come to her senses and hoof it back to London like a runaway horse when she realized that her lover was not as exceptional as she had previously thought. If he was anything like his dishonest and puffed-up father, Porky Kirkpatrick, she’d regret her choice and beg Archie Mayberry to have her back. Those women who envied Beatrice’s eclectic wealth and collection of friends relished her daughter’s sudden fall from grace and gossiped maliciously in the tea rooms of Fortnum & Mason and the Ritz Hotel where the ill-fated wedding reception had taken place. No one, however, enjoyed the scandal more than Maud Deverill.

  ‘Poor Beatrice,’ she sighed disingenuously, bringing the delicate china teacup to her lips. ‘People are fickle. I doubt her salons will be so well attended in future.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m surprised,’ said Victoria, sitting opposite her mother in the pretty green sitting room of her London home that looked out onto pink camellias and white viburnum blossoming brightly in her lavish garden. ‘Celia always had a wild streak. Don’t you remember those summers when she and Kitty would run off like feral d
ogs and get up to all sorts of mischief?’

  ‘They were as bad as each other but Beatrice was much too indulgent. Anything Celia did was amusing in her eyes. Frankly, I wanted to give her a good smack.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure that Beatrice’s Salons will be diminished by the scandal. There’s nothing people love more than a drama and everyone will be longing to be in the know. I predict they’ll be flocking there in droves just to be at the centre of it all.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Maud was disappointed.

  ‘At least it’s distracted everyone from Kitty’s baby. You should be grateful to Celia for that.’

  Maud sighed. ‘Kitty’s baby. I don’t want to speak of it. She’s irresponsible and selfish. She hasn’t considered me for a minute. Or you, for that matter. What does Eric think?’

  ‘Oh Eric couldn’t give a monkey. He doesn’t relish gossip and like most men he finds Kitty compelling.’

  ‘She needs to marry,’ said Maud firmly. ‘A strong man will put her in her place.’

  Victoria wasn’t convinced. ‘Then she needs to find a very strong man indeed.’

  As soon as Harry discovered where Celia was he and Boysie took the Flying Scotsman to Edinburgh. ‘Who wants to live in Scotland?’ said Boysie, settling into the seat of the first-class dining carriage. ‘It’s full of Scottish people.’

  Harry laughed at Boysie’s irreverence. ‘I doubt Celia thought of that before she ran off with him.’

  ‘It’s all very well going north to fish and stalk but a week of wet feet and cold toes is enough to send anyone in their right mind shooting back down south. I really can’t abide those dreadful kilts. Most of the men who wear them have bulging calves and knobbly knees. I find the knee the least attractive part of the human body. It shouldn’t ever be on show.’

  ‘I hate to think what part of the body you do want on show. I suppose Lachlan wears a kilt, does he?’

  ‘Most certainly. He’s without doubt a kilt-wearer and offensive with it. No one but the King should wear a kilt. Kings are meant to dress up, it’s what they do, and tourists love the pageantry. But aristocrats harping on about their clans and their tartans and their silly Scottish reels are really very tiresome.’ He pulled a face at Harry. ‘Remind me, old boy, why we’re going to Scotland!’

  The station master blew his whistle and a puff of steam billowed up the platform in a quickly evaporating cloud. Slowly the wheels screeched and the train began to move out of the station. ‘We have to make Celia see the error of her ways,’ said Harry. ‘She might have to beg but I’m sure Archie will take her back. They’re married, after all. For better or for worse and all that.’

  ‘Lachlan might be devilishly handsome and unconventional, but really, one doesn’t want that every day of one’s life. He’s a terrible egoist. Poor Celia!’

  ‘If he had given her a thought he wouldn’t have encouraged her to run off with him. Her reputation is in tatters.’

  ‘On the contrary, old boy, she’s become much more interesting because of it. If she returns to Archie they’ll be the toast of the town. You wait, there won’t be a hostess in London who won’t want them at her table – excluding a few stuffy old dowagers, of course. There are always those.’ Boysie extracted his silver cigarette case from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. ‘Fancy a smoke?’ Harry took one and popped it between his lips. Boysie flicked his lighter and Harry puffed on the flame. ‘I hope she sees sense,’ Boysie added, lighting a cigarette for himself. ‘I’m not going all the way to Scotland for nothing.’

  ‘Then you’d better hone your powers of persuasion,’ said Harry.

  ‘I’m hoping that pea-size brain of hers will have worked it out already. Darling Celia, I do love her most ardently, but it seems to me that the brains in the Deverill family went directly to Kitty. No offence, old boy, but it’s not for your brains that I love you.’

  ‘No offence taken, Boysie,’ Harry replied with a grin. ‘But to make up for your slight you must now list all the reasons why, brains apart, you love me so dearly.’

  Celia was waiting for Harry and Boysie in one of the cold drawing rooms, huddling by the fire, drinking a mug of hot cocoa, when they arrived mid-morning the following day, having spent the night in a small hotel in Edinburgh. The butler showed them through an austere hall where antlers of all sizes hung on the walls and a giant bearskin was spread on the flagstone floor, the bear baring his teeth in a silent growl. He announced them at the drawing-room door while two young footmen went outside to attend to their luggage. ‘Darling boys, you’re too good to come to my rescue!’ Celia gushed, running to greet them with hugs and kisses.

  ‘Do you need rescuing, darling?’ Boysie asked.

  ‘But of course I do.’ She beamed a smile. ‘You’re my knights in shining armour.’

  ‘It’s a rather splendid house this, or could be if one heated it up a little and redecorated,’ said Boysie, rubbing his hands to warm them. ‘Where is he, the wife-stealer?’

  ‘Hush, Boysie! There are spies everywhere!’ Celia hissed, loving the drama. ‘You must be tired. It’s a ghastly journey, don’t you think?’

  ‘I think Scotland is ghastly, if you ask me,’ said Boysie, running his eyes over the tired furniture and faded upholstery.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ Harry asked.

  Celia looked sheepish. ‘Whatever it was, I’m not thinking it now,’ she said. ‘Do you believe Archie will have me back even though I’m no longer intact?’ she whispered.

  ‘You might have to grovel,’ said Harry.

  ‘Oh, I can grovel. Can’t we just pretend that Lachlan abducted me and had his wicked way?’ she suggested.

  ‘Is that really fair?’ said Harry.

  ‘Nothing’s fair in love or war,’ Boysie added, falling into the sofa.

  ‘Have some tea,’ suggested Celia. ‘Patterson, a pot of tea for my friends. Now sit down and warm up. It’s frightfully cold in here. Makes Castle Deverill seem as hot as a greenhouse by comparison.’

  She perched on the club fender so that the fire could warm her back. ‘What are we going to do? Lachlan thinks it’s all perfectly wonderful. He loves the fact that everyone in London is talking about it. He wants to marry me.’

  ‘Then he should have run off with you before you made your marriage vows,’ said Harry.

  ‘I don’t think he’s very clever, do you?’ said Celia, crinkling her pretty nose. ‘I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.’

  Boysie lit a cigarette. ‘You have two choices. One: you annul the marriage and marry Lachlan instead. But frankly, living up here will drive you mad.’

  ‘What’s two?’ Celia asked anxiously.

  ‘You come back to London with us. Explain to Archie that you had a terrible attack of wedding nerves and beg him to forgive you.’

  ‘Of course you’ll have to explain your decision to Lachlan,’ Harry reminded her.

  Celia was shocked. ‘Lord no. I’ll run off into the night and leave him a note. I couldn’t possibly tell him to his face.’

  Patterson soon brought them tea. He placed the tray on the coffee table then disappeared discreetly back into the hall, closing the door behind him. ‘Why did you run off at your wedding, Celia? Why not later?’ Boysie asked. ‘Did you really have to humiliate poor Archie, not to mention your poor mother?’

  ‘It was the thought of the wedding night. I didn’t think I could go through with it. Archie leaves me cold, you see. Lachlan is another matter entirely. He’s so devilishly attractive.’

  ‘I thought you girls just lay back and thought of England. Then after an heir and a spare, found a man who really satisfied you in the bedroom. Sounds very sensible to me. Marriage isn’t about love, it’s about alliance.’ Boysie glanced at Harry. ‘I’ll marry “the pudding” because it’s my duty as the only son to further the family line. But I won’t love her. If she loves me she’ll be desperately unhappy.’

  ‘Poor Deirdre,’ said Celia without really meani
ng it. ‘Dreary Deirdre. It rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?’ She sighed heavily as if the travails of womankind rested on her shoulders alone. ‘I suppose I must return to Archie.’

  ‘Where’s Lachlan?’ Boysie asked.

  ‘Fishing. He’ll be out all day.’ She looked suddenly forlorn. ‘He spends a lot of time doing that.’

  ‘And what are you meant to be doing while he entertains himself?’ Harry said.

  Celia smiled pathetically. ‘I don’t know. What do women in Scotland do?’ she asked.

  ‘Brush their husbands’ sporrans,’ said Boysie with a chuckle.

  ‘Really, Boysie, you’re too much!’ Celia laughed. ‘How do you bear him, Harry?’

  The three friends had lunch together in the dining room while Lachlan, blissfully unaware of Celia’s plans, sat beside the river with his gillie, watching his fishing line and eating the picnic the cook had prepared for him. When he returned home that evening he would find a note on the table in the hall and Celia gone.

  Beatrice was eternally grateful to Harry and Boysie for bringing Celia home. She threw her arms around her daughter and wept profusely as if Celia were the liberator of her unhappiness, not the cause of it. Digby was much less forgiving. ‘You’ve made us a laughing stock!’ he declared furiously. ‘After all we have done for you! Do you have any idea how much your wedding cost us, in both money and effort? I hope Archie takes you back, but I wouldn’t blame him if he got rid of you and chose someone else. You’d better beg, my girl. Without Archie I don’t think you have much of a future.’

  Celia was stunned. Her father had always been indulgent, quick to laugh, slow to chastise. She thought he might see the amusing side, smile at her courage, perhaps shake his head at her foolishness in a ‘Really, so typical of you, Celia my dear’ sort of way, but certainly not be furious. She disintegrated into passionate sobs. ‘Is it really so hopeless, Papa?’

  Digby lifted his hands and shrugged, the light catching the gold on his large signet ring. ‘There might be a way,’ he said.

  Digby met Archie in the library at Deverill House on Kensington Palace Gardens. He gave the young man a stiff drink then made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. ‘I can only apologize for my daughter’s deplorable behaviour. Wedding nerves might explain her foolishness, but not justify it. However, she is married to you and in the eyes of God marriage is a bond that no man can put asunder. Therefore I have decided to increase her dowry by £100,000 as a small recompense for the ordeal she has put you through. I hope you see it in your heart to forgive, or at least to take her back to save us all from further scandal. She has seen the error of her ways and is keen to make it up to you.’ Digby knew that the offer was, in truth, a humiliating one which no man would accept unless it happened that his family was on the verge of complete bankruptcy. Through his contacts in the city he had discovered that the Mayberrys were being overwhelmed by colossal debts. That house of cards was on the point of collapse. He knitted his fingers and watched the colour rise to his son-in-law’s cheeks.