Daughters of Castle Deverill (29 page)

‘I’m surprised Archie isn’t reining you in, considering the present climate,’ said Harry, calling the waiter for the bill.

‘Darling, he says there’s nothing to worry about. You have to remember that I married a very clever man.’

Harry wasn’t convinced. ‘He’ll have been affected by the Crash like everyone else.’

‘Then he must have secret reserves,’ she giggled. ‘Because I’m spending them!’

But Celia’s confidence was shaken a few weeks later when her favourite couturier in Maddox Street failed to give her credit. Pale with concern she waited for Archie to return home, having
enjoyed a long lunch at his club, and then she asked him.

‘My darling Celia, it’s simply a reflection of the times,’ he explained coolly. ‘Everyone is being extra cautious.’

‘So there’s nothing to worry about?’

‘Nothing.’

Her shoulders sagged with relief. ‘I’m so pleased. I’d be utterly devastated if I couldn’t go to the Russian sale at Christie’s. I asked Harry to come with me, but
he’s cried off so Mama is coming instead. Really, everyone is making a fuss about nothing!’ She put her arms around her husband and kissed him. ‘You’re a wonderful man,
Archie. Just wonderful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

He frowned and in her happiness she missed a certain shiftiness that made him avert his eyes. ‘Do you know what gives me the
most
pleasure, darling?’

‘You tell me,’ he replied.

‘Watching Papa enjoying Castle Deverill. He grew up in the shadow of that place and he loved it and yearned to belong there as his cousins Bertie and Rupert did. All those summers in
Ballinakelly made such a deep impression on him, Mama told me, that his pleasure at my ownership of it is all the more satisfying. It’s as good as owning it himself, I think. You have done a
wonderful thing, not only restoring the family seat, but giving it to the London Deverills. You can’t imagine what that means. The prestige is enormous. I love Cousin Bertie and cherish the
memories of having enjoyed the place when Hubert and Adeline were alive, but I’m happy it’s fallen into
my
hands. I love it dearly and Papa does too. Thank you, my darling, for
making it possible. You’ve made us incredibly happy.’

Archie pulled her into his arms and held her close. ‘That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,’ he said and she felt him nuzzling his face against her hair.

At the end of November Charlotte Deverill was delivered of a boy who was immediately named Rupert after Harry’s uncle who was killed at Gallipoli. The birth of their son
mollified a little Charlotte’s hostility towards her husband. After two daughters the arrival of a boy gave both parents something about which they could be truly happy. For a brief moment
they could forget their resentment and celebrate the arrival of the heir to the centuries-old title and the future hope that Little Rupert would one day father a son who would secure the title for
another generation. Harry loved his daughters but the arrival of his son affected him in a very different way. The child distracted him from his constant pining for Boysie and revived his withered
heart. Little Rupert’s innocence touched him profoundly and every wriggle he made induced smiles that came from deep inside him. But then as December brought windy nights and cold, dark
mornings, the black dog of despair began to hound him once again.

Celia’s busy little white hand impressed everyone at the Christie’s Russian sale. With the encouragement of her mother she bid for almost everything and won all the pieces she had so
desired. To celebrate, mother and daughter lunched in Mayfair and discussed Celia’s plans for her grand New Year Ball. ‘It’s going to be even more wonderful than the summer
one,’ she told Beatrice. ‘I’m going to ask Maud and Victoria, even though I can’t bear either. I think it’s time to hold out the olive branch, don’t you?
I’d love Maud to see what I’ve done and to like it.’

‘Darling, I doubt very much she’ll ever set foot in Ballinakelly again. I think it would be too much for her to see her husband’s inheritance in your hands. But I’m sure
she’ll appreciate the gesture. I think your sisters might come this time. They spent Christmas with their husbands’ families last year so it’s our turn this year. I’ve told
them you intend to host Christmas and they’re rather curious to see what you and Archie have done to the place. I think they’re the only members of the family who are yet to see it,
having not been able to come in the summer.’ Beatrice smiled contentedly. ‘To think of all those children running around the castle gardens. They’re going to have a wonderful
time.’ Then her smile faded and concern furrowed her brow. She toyed with the stem of her wine glass. ‘I think it will be good for your father to get away from London. He’s been
very distracted lately. He’s even told me to cut back where I can . . .’

‘You mean to stop spending?’ Celia asked, aghast.

‘I’m afraid so. I’m doing my best. I’m sure the trouble will blow over, but until it does I’m being careful.’ She chuckled wistfully. ‘I haven’t
been careful since before I married. You know your father was a very wealthy man when I met him. He’d struck lucky in the diamond mines and then in the gold rush. He was such a dashing
adventurer. But he’s a risk-taker. I’m not sure what’s going on, but I fear some of his gambles haven’t paid off and that the crash has robbed him of some of his wealth.
I’m sure it’s not too serious. I
hope
it’s not too serious. But we’ll weather it, won’t we?’

‘Papa will be fine,’ said Celia emphatically. The idea of her father being anything less than solid, rich and unshakeable was an abhorrence. ‘He’s much too clever to let
something like this pull him down. But you’re right, Christmas at Castle Deverill will make him feel much better. It makes us all feel better. It’s that sort of place.’

In the grand tradition of the Deverills who had occupied Castle Deverill before her, Celia invited the entire family to stay for two weeks over Christmas and New Year, ending
the festive period with a sumptuous ball which promised to eclipse all the previous parties ever held there.

Maud declined, as was expected. However, Victoria wrote to say that she would come, because, having done her duty by her husband’s side entertaining the tenants and estate workers,
followed by his mother, the dowager Countess, at Broadmere, their stately home in Kent, for the last fifteen years, she deserved to spend Christmas wheresoever she desired. Celia’s
grandparents, Stoke and Augusta, accepted too, which was a great surprise because Augusta had given every indication that she would be dead by Christmas. Celia’s sisters agreed to come as did
Harry and Charlotte, which dismayed Celia for she had hoped Harry might manage to leave his grumpy wife in England. Her biggest disappointment, however, was Boysie. He had written back in his
beautiful brown calligraphy on luxuriously thick ivory paper from Mount Street that it was with great regret that he was unable to accept, for Celia Mayberry was undoubtedly unsurpassed not only in
Ballinakelly but in London too as the greatest hostess of their age. Flattered though she was it saddened her that one of her dearest friends would not be present for her first Christmas at Castle
Deverill and her first New Year Ball.

Kitty and Robert would come for Christmas Day with the Shrubs and Bertie, and Elspeth with her ruddy-faced, Master of the Foxhounds husband Peter, who now insisted on introducing Archie to the
joys of Irish country living, thinking nothing of lending him a horse and sending him off with the hunt. The castle promised to be full of children – Deverill cousins all doing what Deverill
cousins had always done: run around the grounds like wild dogs. Celia was as excited as a thoroughbred at the Derby and couldn’t wait for everyone to arrive.

At last the cars swept up the drive and halted in front of the impressive entrance, which Celia had decorated with a wreath made of fir and red-berried holly. The butler was by the door to greet
them and three footmen ready to carry the luggage to the bedrooms. The wet wind blew in off the sea and grey clouds gathered in heavy folds above the towers of the castle, but nothing could dampen
Celia’s joy at welcoming everyone into her expensively heated home.

The first to arrive were Augusta and Stoke. Augusta waited for the chauffeur to help her out of the car and then she stood a moment, gazing up at the walls, her face full of wistfulness as she
remembered the days when she had come to stay with Adeline and Hubert, before the fire had done unspeakable things to the family. For a moment she thought she saw a face in the window of the
western tower and she blinked to clear her vision. Perhaps it was a child playing up there, or a trick of light. Distracted by her husband, who walked round to offer her his arm, she turned her
eyes to the entrance where the open door gave a glimpse of the lavish hall and roaring fire beyond.

‘She’s still alive,’ Adeline commented to Hubert as their spirits gazed down from the tower window. ‘I suspect she’ll outlive all of
them.’

‘I hope not,’ said Hubert.

‘She’ll certainly outlive her husband. Stoke is more rickety in the legs than ever. Ah, there’s another car. Let’s see. Who’s that?’ She waited beside Hubert
who was getting increasingly difficult to entertain in the monotonous limbo that had been his for too many years now to count. Adeline smiled. ‘It’s Harry and Charlotte.’ She
sighed and dropped her head to one side. ‘Poor Harry, he’s desperately miserable. Life is difficult.’

‘Life after life is worse,’ grumbled Hubert.

‘Well, you had better get used to it,’ came Barton’s voice from the armchair. ‘You have nothing to complain about.’

‘Don’t bicker,’ said Adeline patiently. ‘You might as well get along because by the looks of things you’re all here to stay for the foreseeable future. Ah,
there’s Digby and Beatrice. Do you remember, darling, how Digby used to bring you the finest Cuban cigars?’ Hubert grunted. ‘And Beatrice brought all of us the most exquisite
silks. They were always so generous. Poor Digby’s finding life difficult too. But these things are sent to test us, are they not? We were tested, weren’t we, Hubert?’

‘Wish I’d listened to you, Adeline,’ he said suddenly. ‘I just thought you were . . .’ He hesitated then chuckled at the irony. ‘I thought you
were a bit mad, but it was I who was mad. I thought your ghosts were in your imagination but now I’m one of them. How blind we human beings are and how misled. Look at them all.’ He
stared down as another car slowly made its way over the gravel. ‘They’re blind too. All of them. Only death can open their eyes.’

There came a loud tut from behind them. ‘Be of good heart, Hubert. At least you’re not in Hell.’

Hubert turned to Barton. ‘I don’t believe in the Hell that I was taught. Hell is on earth. That’s very clear now.’

‘And that is Hell right now,’ said Adeline mischievously. Hubert smiled, for there, stepping out of the car, was Victoria, Countess of Elmrod, with her desperately dull and
humourless husband, Eric. ‘Now that’s going to set the cat among the pigeons,’ she said. ‘We’re all in for a fortnight of entertainment. Isn’t that
fun!’

Victoria had been in the castle for no more than an hour and already the servants were exasperated by her incessant demands. She wanted all her dresses ironed and her
husband’s shirts pressed. She insisted that her eight-year-old daughter, Lady Alexandra, have a lady’s maid of her own, which meant that Bessie, one of the younger housemaids, had to be
removed from her usual duties to look after her.

Victoria had arrived ready to criticize her cousin’s audacious rebuilding of her father’s former home, but to her surprise she found it very much to her liking. ‘It has proper
plumbing and electricity!’ she exclaimed in delight, flouncing into the bathroom. ‘Goodness, Celia’s dragged it out of the Dark Ages and what a difference it makes. I think
I’m going to be very happy here. I rather wish Mama had swallowed her pride and come because even
she
would be impressed with the comfort and luxury of the new castle.’

‘My dear, she’d find something to criticize, I assure you,’ said her husband, looking out of the window onto the manicured box garden below. ‘And her jealousy would make
her stay intolerable.’

‘But she’s spending Christmas alone in London.’

‘That’s
her
choice, Victoria. She was asked and she declined.’

‘Well, I’m
not
going to let her make
me
feel guilty.’

Eric laughed. ‘She’ll make a fine job of trying.’

Harry and Charlotte were given the same room as they had had in the summer, which put an added strain on their already overwrought marriage. Harry hadn’t laid eyes on
Boysie in all those months, and now, finding himself back at the castle, he discovered that memories of his friend shone out from every corner, which only served to make him feel even more sick
with misery and longing. He too looked down onto the gardens but his mother’s jealousy was not the focus of
his
thoughts. No, Harry stared onto the box hedges below and contemplated
the idea of hurling himself out the window. The thought of it came slowly yet steadily, creeping across his mind like an evening shadow. Death would be a release, he figured. He’d feel no
more the pain of separation and the agony of guilt; he’d be free.

Charlotte left the room to go and check on the nursemaid and Little Rupert, who had been put at the other end of the house with the rest of the children. Harry lit a cigarette and allowed his
memories to float before his eyes like ships on the sea. He remembered his first love, Joseph the first footman; the time Kitty had discovered them in bed together; the moment he had had to say
goodbye and return to the Front. He remembered the war, the cracking sound of gunfire, the skull-shattering explosion of bombs and the yearning, the terrible
yearning
, when at night he had
sat huddled in the trenches gazing up at the stars that twinkled like the distant lights of home. He felt that yearning now, for Boysie, and it was just as terrible.

That evening the Shrubs arrived with Kitty and Robert, Elspeth and Peter and all their children, and Bertie who wandered up from the Hunting Lodge with a torch. Everyone embraced excitedly, for
it had been so long since they had all been together, the London Deverills and the Ballinakelly Deverills, and they fell on each other with exclamations of joy. ‘I’m just grateful that
I have been spared to see once again the magnificence of the castle restored to its former splendour,’ said Augusta in her stentorian voice, sinking into an armchair like a fat bantam. Her
black dress ruffled up at her neck like feathers and the diamonds on her ears weighed so heavily that her lobes hung loose and floppy. She knitted her swollen, arthritic fingers so that the large
gems she had managed to force onto them clustered together in a glittering display of bright colours. ‘I am ready to go, now that I have seen it one last time.’