Mayfair Rebel

by Mayfair Rebel (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m so bored with pale colours, Bella: nothing but pastel shades. I’d love a dress in a deep, dark blue, or olive – or black, even!’

  ‘When you are married you will be able to choose whatever colour you like,’ Bella said placidly.

  May sighed, then thought of Emily. Only the previous week she had said a final goodbye to her sister, after the young couple’s fleeting visit to Allingham Place; but she felt that Emily had been taken from her earlier, at the wedding ceremony: she belonged to William now, and had looked pale and drawn and dependent. The whispered confidence, ‘If all goes well you will be an aunt next year, May, in early January,’ had only seemed to emphasise the gulf.

  May felt a shiver of excitement as she swept down the wide staircase in the wake of her step-mother, but when they entered the outer drawing room a quick glance showed her that Harry Cussons was already holding court amidst a flock of elegantly clad women, among whom she saw the distinctive long neck and raven-black hair of Della Hindlesham; so she knew that Lady Clarence would remain firmly at the other end of the room.

  When the company began to move towards the dining room Mr Cussons glanced over the heads of his entourage, and for a moment smiled in May’s direction; then he was lost to view in the shifting crowd.

  At the dinner table May was interested to discover that one of her neighbours was Lord Hindlesham. As they were introduced she looked with some curiosity at the husband of the famous beauty; he was certainly no match for his wife in looks, being a small, slight man with a rather wizened face and the dark, sad eyes of an organ grinder’s monkey. Yet as the meal progressed she warmed to him: he proved a witty and informative companion, and they soon discovered a shared enthusiasm for food; he confided in May that one of his reasons for accepting Lady Andover’s invitation had been the well-known skill of Chef.

  ‘I remember a capital dinner I had in Arlington Street, back in June. The ortolans, my dear,’ leaning forward confidentially, ‘were out of this world – pure poetry!’

  May warmed to him even further.

  ‘You must visit the kitchens while you are here, Lord Hindlesham: Chef loves the appreciation of a truly informed palate. Perhaps you would care to accompany me tomorrow?’

  ‘With pleasure, my dear Miss Winton, with great pleasure.’ He glanced along the table to where his wife was chasing a fragment of turbot round her plate while courting Harry Cussons’ sallies, then leant forward and whispered, ‘Della bants, you know – she is terrified of becoming heavy! I tell her to eat up; when you’re middle-aged, I say, like we two, a little heaviness is quite forgivable – but she seems almost annoyed by my advice.’ And Lord Hindlesham’s monkey face crinkled up into a mischievous grin, as he gave the ghost of a wink in May’s direction. ‘But, my dear, we were discussing the relative merits of oysters. I respect your preference for your Colchester native, but do you not feel that those from Falmouth have just that touch more lightness of flavour?’

  After dinner the gentlemen seemed to May to spend an unusually long time over their port and cigars; then, when they did arrive, Lady Andover arranged the tables for bridge, while Archie called on the younger members of the party to join him in a spirited game of charades. May had to accept that Harry Cussons, being well into his thirties, was inevitably a bridge player, and although she enjoyed the dressing up and general quick-wittedness needed to satisfy Archie’s artistic ambitions, she nevertheless did feel that just a few minutes’ conversation with Mr Cussons would have been pleasant.

  On the stroke of twelve Lady Clarence appeared in the outer drawing room to summon May, so breaking up the party. As they ascended the staircase May spoke in a casual tone to her step-mother.

  ‘The tall, fair-haired gentleman, Step-mamma, was that not Mr Cussons, who Saunders said drove himself here by motor car?’

  ‘So I believe, May.’ Lady Clarence’s reply was cool. ‘We did exchange a few words, since I knew his mother, Lady Violet.’

  Lady Clarence seemed disinclined to pursue the subject further, so May said no more.

  Chapter Six

  The bedroom was full of light when May woke up the next morning. She reached for her watch on the bedside table; the hands stood at five to seven. She put it to her ear, but it was ticking steadily, so she lay back impatiently against the soft pillows; it would be another hour or more before Bella came in with her early morning tea tray, and outside the sun was shining! Coming to a rapid decision she threw back the covers, pulled her nightgown over her head and tugged on a shift and her lightest morning frock. Having hastily replaited her hair and wound it round her head she hesitated over her stockings, then pushed them to one side – well, they wouldn’t stay up without her corset, and in any case she would be back in her room long before anyone else was about. She slipped on her shoes, seized a plain straw boater and was through the door and scampering along the corridor in seconds. A housemaid clutching a pair of newly polished boots breathed a startled ‘Good morning, Miss.’ May flashed her an answering smile and bounded down the wide staircase. The heavy oak front door was locked and bolted, but she remembered the convenient small entrance between the gun room and the butler’s pantry, and, sure enough, the knob turned at her touch. Outside the air was fresh and sweet-smelling, every leaf pearled by the early morning dew. May ran straight across the wide level lawn, swung round the sentinel elm and then plunged headlong down the steep grassy bank to the smooth, still lake. She tracked back along the shore until she came to the swift-flowing stream which fed it, then crouched down to splash the silver water onto her face. Gasping with the shock she shook her head and laughed aloud as the drops showered over her bare arms. Then, walking purposefully, she set off for a circuit of the grounds.

  A farmer herding milch cows in one of the home farm meadows touched his cap, but there was no one else around: at this time of day the gardeners were busy near the house, so the estate was her own. May moved with confidence, remembering each hollow and hillock from her childhood. She approached the graceful little folly, perched on its bell-shaped mound with the winding path; but they had always run straight up the steep side, and now May did the same, arriving panting at the top. Then she was plunging down again and on to the dark hidden pond where they used to hunt for newts; a quick glance and she was away again and into the small mossy wood, in reality quite near the house, but always seeming so far away. She spotted the big central oak, a special favourite of theirs in childhood because, due to some arboreal peculiarity, the branches grew lower down than on most oak trees so it could be scaled more easily.

  May stood and eyed the branches speculatively; she had not climbed a tree since she had put her hair up. She glanced swiftly round: only the distant figure of a gardener pushing a wheelbarrow could be glimpsed through the trees. She took a deep breath, tossed her hat to the ground and reached up for the first two branches and braced her feet against the trunk. For a second she hung there, the next moves forgotten, then her muscles remembered and she was swinging herself up agilely. The branches shook and the leaves rustled around her as she climbed further and further up the tree, until eventually she came to the point where the trunk narrowed and bent against her weight. Panting and triumphant she gazed through the flickering green screen at the colonnaded length of the house, at one with the landscaped parkland behind it. Time hung suspended; then clear and sweet came the chimes of the stable clock. Reluctantly she began to edge her way down, more hesitant now, remembering that, in trees, the descent was always harder than the ascent: but she took a firm grip on the branches and moved down steadily. With her attention fixed on her hand and foot holds it was only as she reached the lowest branches that she glanced down and noticed the upturned face of a figure standing a few feet from the base of the tree. May stopped, poised in mid-movement, and stared down. Harry Cussons smiled up at her.

  ‘So, my Cinderella has metamorphosed into a dryad! Clearly you are a young woman of many parts, Miss Winton; you never cease to surprise me.’

 
; May unfroze and completed her movement, then slid down into a sitting position on the bottom branch. She strove to regain her composure, thinking wildly that Lady Clarence’s exhaustive instructions on the rules of proper behaviour had entirely failed to prepare her for this eventuality: how did a lady address a gentleman from the boughs of a large oak tree, and, more to the point, how did a lady make a graceful descent from such a position in front of the laughing eyes of a decidedly attractive man of the world like Harry Cussons? She looked down to check the state of her dress and noticed a long green stain; as she shifted her leg to conceal this she realised to her horror that her bare ankles were in full view. A quick glance at her companion’s face as she tugged ineffectually at her skirt told her only too plainly that she was merely drawing attention to her lack of stockings; she felt herself turning crimson from head to foot.

  He continued smoothly, covering her confusion, ‘Like you, I felt this fine morning was too good to be wasted, and so came out for an early stroll. I’m delighted to find I have company.’

  May finally managed to pull herself together.

  ‘Mr Cussons, I think it is nearly time for breakfast; perhaps you would be so kind as to – turn your back while I finish my descent.’

  ‘But you might slip and break an arm, or an ankle, and then how guilty I should feel!’ He strode up to the tree and stood beneath her. ‘Come, nymph, jump!’

  And May jumped into his outstretched arms. In seconds he had set her firmly on the ground, retrieved her hat and begun to usher her towards the house.

  ‘Let’s go and enjoy one of Melicent’s excellent breakfasts in the smug knowledge that we alone, by our early morning exercise, have truly deserved it.’

  May seized the proffered boater, set it on her head and followed him out of the woodland and up the sloping lawns to the main door.

  * * *

  As May entered her bedroom she saw to her surprise that Fenton was there, as well as Bella.

  ‘Good morning, Bella. Good morning Fenton. What a beautiful day!’

  She looked enquiringly at her step-mother’s maid.

  ‘Lady Clarence wishes to speak to you, at once, Miss May.’ Fenton’s voice was heavy with disapproval, her expression tight-lipped.

  May glanced at Bella, who looked uncomfortable and gave a tiny shrug of her shoulders and a shake of the head.

  Puzzled, May followed Fenton’s rigid back along the corridor to her step-mother’s room.

  Lady Clarence, fully dressed, was sitting in a straight-backed chair beside the empty hearth; her nostrils were pinched and her step-daughter realised, with dawning dismay, that she was very angry.

  ‘Thank you, Fenton, that will be all.’

  The maid retreated noiselessly. Lady Clarence did not invite May to be seated. There was a charged silence as her gaze raked her step-daughter from head to foot. May began to feel acutely conscious of her untidy appearance.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m rather dishevelled, Step-mamma. It was such a lovely morning I got up early and went out for a walk…’ Her voice trailed off in the face of Lady Clarence’s withering look.

  ‘Yes, I saw you outside, walking – with a young gentleman! just the two of you, alone, together!’ Her tone was spiked with ice.

  May had often incurred her step-mother’s displeasure before, but she realised that Lady Clarence was angrier than she had ever known her.

  ‘I didn’t go out with him, Step-mamma. I had been walking by myself. I met Mr Cussons just before I came in, quite accidentally.’

  ‘That is the kind of “accident” that no young lady should ever allow to occur.’

  ‘But Step-mamma, I couldn’t help it. I climbed a tree and he came along while I was up it.’

  ‘You climbed a tree!’ Lady Clarence’s eyes were bulging with horror. ‘You climbed a tree, at your age! The more you tell me the more appalled I become.’

  May realised at last that silence was the only sensible course. She stood, head bowed, under the weight of Lady Clarence’s censures. These finally rose in a crescendo with, ‘And I have not failed to notice that your ankles are bare. Not only have you committed a major impropriety, you have committed it improperly dressed!’

  By this time May felt nearly as angry as her step-mother. She had met Harry Cussons purely by chance; having once met him it would have been discourteous and hypocritical to have refused to walk back with him. But despite her sense of bitter injustice she knew better than to try and argue with Lady Clarence in this mood. She merely asked, ‘May I go and dress now, Step-mamma?’

  Lady Clarence made a gesture of dismissal, but insisted on the last word.

  ‘You would have done better to have dressed before you left the house this morning. I am thoroughly ashamed of you.’

  With cheeks ablaze May stalked back along the corridor. Bella was waiting with a sympathetic expression and day clothes at the ready. She dressed her mistress in silence. As the last hairpin was driven home May exclaimed, ‘I can’t do anything! I am as restricted and controlled as those wretched slaves in Uncle Tom’s Cabin, but there are no Northern States for me to escape to – and don’t tell me I should get married: I’d only finish up under the thumb of a husband instead.’

  ‘Husbands are easier to manage,’ Bella replied. ‘Lots of wives twist their menfolk round their little finger.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to marry that sort of man and have to wheedle for trifles. Oh, Bella, I wasn’t doing anything wrong!’

  May felt the gentle pressure of Bella’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to her maid.

  ‘I do miss Emily, and in November I shall lose you as well; I dread to think who Lady Clarence will find to maid me when you leave to get married.’

  ‘That’s a long way off Miss May, she’ll come round. There now, that’s the breakfast bell.’

  May felt she scarcely had the appetite for breakfast, but once she got downstairs the appetising aroma of grilled kidneys and devilled bones made her think again, and she filled her plate from the hot dishes before sitting down at the end of the table with the other young girls. When Harry Cussons came in she scarcely glanced in his direction and instead applied herself to chatting to Louise Dumer, who seemed so painfully grateful for the attention that May felt quite guilty about her previous neglect.

  After breakfast the men went out for what was described as a stiff ride, and the ladies composed themselves to their usual occupations of letter-writing, fancy work, sketching and most engrossing of all, gossip. Lady Andover and Lady Clarence had retired to their rooms, so the conversation soon became livelier. Lottie Dones, a vivacious, rather pert girl whom May had always found amusing in a casual way came and sat down beside May and Louise.

  ‘Goodness, May, you have made a name for yourself. Fancy roaming round the grounds with the most eligible bachelor of the weekend – unless you count Bertie, which I don’t suppose you do, since he’s your cousin’ – with a sly look at Louise, who reddened unattractively, – ‘rich, handsome, and oh, so charming – how did you manage it my dear? You really are clever, why you hardly spoke to him last night, and yet you contrived an assignation for this morning, when we good little girls were all still in bed! You are a sly one, May.’

  Louise was staring at May in astonishment. The latter replied through gritted teeth.

  ‘I met Mr Cussons purely by chance. I was out for an early morning stroll, alone, and so was he. We only exchanged a few words.

  Lottie emitted a high-pitched trill.

  ‘Oh really, May, we’re not as naïve as all that!’ She leant forward confidentially. ‘And I shouldn’t bother making that excuse to dear Della Hindlesham, they say she’s blazing.’

  May stared at the other girl in bewilderment.

  ‘What on earth has it got to do with her? It wasn’t Lord Hindlesham I met in the grounds.’

  Further trills were at once forthcoming.

  ‘Oh May, you are so droll! I must go now, Mamma’s beckoning me.’

  May glared
at her retreating back. There was an agitated voice at her side.

  ‘Don’t take any notice of her, Miss Winton, she’s only jealous. I expect if Mr Cussons had seen her in the grounds he would have walked off in the other direction.’

  May felt momentarily warmed by Louise’s championship; however, apart from the visit to Chef which Lord Hindlesham insisted on their making, this was the only bright spot of the day. On the wagonette expedition to a deservedly lesser-known local ruin May felt only too conscious of the barely-veiled hostility of Lady Hindlesham and the knowing whispers of the other women. She kept well clear of Harry Cussons, and when he approached her on the terrace at teatime she felt acutely embarrassed, could only manage monosyllabic replies to his comments and soon retreated back to the shelter of Louise, whom she had begun to think of as a quite acceptable cousin-in-law. Indeed, she decided that since her own affairs were in disarray she might as well do someone else some good: to this end she engaged Bertie in a triangular conversation and then, when Louise appeared to be holding her own, melted into the background. Her grandmother signed her over and patted her hand.

  ‘That was kindly done, my dear.’ May felt her eyes fill at the unaccustomed praise.

  Lord Hindlesham then approached and suggested a visit to the kitchens in the lull before the preparations for dinner got under way. The footman returned with the message that Chef would be pleased to welcome Miss Winton and her guest, so they set off through the green baize door. Chef and Lord Hindlesham were soon absorbed in a welter of technicalities and May stood amazed at this other side to a man spoken of as an up-and-coming politician, who had made his mark in the Lower House before his father’s death and now held junior office in the Upper. Both men were too courteous to leave her long out of the conversation, and she was cheered by Chef’s: ‘She ’as a natural talent for flavours, Mees May, eet iz instinct with ’er – ah, she could ’ave been a superb cook, what a waste.’ May blushed and disclaimed, but felt duly flattered by this praise from a master of his art.