Debutantes (16 page)

‘Where are you going?’ said Justin in her ear.

‘The linen cupboard,’ she whispered back. ‘You open the door to the gallery. Hook it back so that no one closes it.’

The linen cupboard, or hot press, as Mrs Pearson always called it, stood opposite to the door from the servants’ stairway to the gallery. Daisy took her camera from the windowsill near the candlestick, then opened the doors, allowing out a rush of hot air and the delicious smell of ironed linen. The shelves were much emptier of sheets and bedclothes than usual – she and Poppy had made up five extra beds on the top floor so that Justin and the jazz band boys could stay the night. Daisy climbed the slatted shelves easily until she was about halfway up, then she propped open the two top doors.

‘Pull the bottom doors shut once you’re up here,’ she whispered. Now the two of them were on the top shelf, looking down. The hot press couldn’t be better placed. From the shelf it commanded a view of the servants’ staircase, the main staircase, the gallery and the six doors leading to the bedrooms on that floor. Dark shadows darted in and out. Daisy arranged a pile of pillowcases in front of her, building them up to eye level, placed the camera on them, opened the shutter, detonated the percussive cap in the trough of flashlight powder and pressed the button.

‘There was a scream when the first flash came –Violet by the sound of it, thought Daisy. A slim figure looked around fearfully – yes, it was Violet. Daisy thought she would spot her and Justin in the hot press, but she went towards the staircase leading down to the ground floor and Daisy could hear the sound of her shoes tapping on the oak boards.

‘Any luck, Baz?’ That was Edwin. Daisy had the camera in position as they both came out of Sir Guy’s bedroom. She ignited the flash once more and giggled silently as Edwin said: ‘What was that? A touch of lightning. I say, that will be fun.’

‘I’m going to try the back hallway – thought I heard the door go to the servants’ quarters when he left the library.’

‘That was probably just Bateman – I’m going to have a go at the front attics, Baz. Obvious place really – full of old junk up there. Probably find him in an old trunk.’

And then there was a figure that came slowly and cautiously up the back stairs – a heavy figure, moving slowly, unlike the others, who were galloping exuberantly, leaping from stair to stair, rushing into rooms.

‘This is getting a bit boring,’ said Justin in Daisy’s ear. ‘I think I’ll be off. Pity I can’t do a real murder. I must say that I feel like it,’ he added as he slid down.

Probably fed up about Violet, thought Daisy. He, too, must have thought that Violet had seen him and then turned her back and walked away. She would give him a minute and then follow. It was time for her to play her part before anyone decided to try the basement.

She leaned over, pushed open the lower doors of the hot press and climbed down, reaching up for her camera when she was near the bottom.

‘And now for the wash-house,’ said Daisy aloud.

The wash-house at Beech Grove Manor was a small suite of rooms. There was the drying room with its enormous clothes horse suspended on ropes from the ceiling, its solid pine table and its heavily blackleaded stove in the corner with a set of Victorian flat irons and box irons neatly ranged in size on top. The next room was the mangling pantry where the water was squeezed from the clothes by a huge old mangle. Daisy put a candle on the floor in front of it – the wheel made an interesting shadow on the wall and she filmed that before passing through into the inner room, the wash-house itself with its pump and washboard and its set of enormous tubs for soaking and washing clothes.

She entered the large room to to see a figure slumped on a chair with his head on the pine table. Only the back of the head was visible but by the candlelight she could see the red stain that smeared and clotted the white hair.

Daisy ran outside into the stone-fagged passageway and screamed ‘Murder!’ at the top of her voice.

And then there was a moment’s silence. Daisy shivered but waited until she heard the first sounds: doors being opened, light and heavy footsteps running down the grand staircase, exclamations, and then the first footsteps sounding on the servants’ passageway. They would all be here in a moment. She stepped back until half-hidden by the shadow of the door and began to film, turning the camera first to the dead body, sweeping it in a large arc around the whitewashed walls and then coming back to the table again.

Justin was the first one through the door. Daisy filmed him frantically, praying that she had caught that first moment of shock in his eyes, that slackening of his jaw.

And then the others came – Baz and Poppy giggling together and then stopping abruptly; the Earl frowning, taken aback by the silent figure slumped against the table; Edwin, Simon and then Rose, who screamed loudly and with great drama. Daisy carried on filming – great expressions, she thought exultantly: the stunned disbelief, horror, shock, fear and dread seemed to flit from one face to the other as people in the room moved and shifted from pools of light into dark shadows, their unease and dismay translating into these abrupt changes of position.

And that was the moment when Violet came in. Thinking about it afterwards, Daisy realized that Violet was tired and very strained these days. As soon as she saw Sir Guy she started violently, then burst into tears, sobbing hysterically. Justin’s arm went around her immediately and Sir Guy, hearing genuine sobs, sat up and said jovially: ‘
“Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.”
I’ve always envied Mark Twain the opportunity to say that wonderful line,’ he added.

‘Oh, bother,’ said Daisy. ‘You could have stayed dead for another few minutes – still, I think I have some good footage.’

‘You’ll have to forgive us the trick we played on you all,’ said Sir Guy. ‘It was Daisy’s idea. Dry your eyes, Violet. When you are a film star earning millions in Hollywood, you will look back at this film as the first step on the ladder of fame. Get that film developed as soon as possible, Daisy. I’m really looking forward to seeing myself in a starring role.’

‘I’ll never forgive you,’ said Violet, but she said it with a smile. Justin’s arm was still around her, noticed Daisy. They seemed to have forgotten their quarrel at the hunt earlier in the day.

‘Let’s go and have a brandy, Guy,’ said the Earl when his friend had finished vigorously towelling the sparse remains of his hair.

‘I say,’ said Baz when the two men had departed in search of the library fire, ‘let’s have a party. I don’t want to go to bed – bit tame after all that fun.’

‘Our dresses are already packed away,’ said Violet, but she sounded tempted.

‘A pyjama party,’ said Baz. ‘Just pyjamas and dressing gowns. It’s all the thing in London these days – my brother tells me all about them.’

‘Jazzy!’ Poppy did a little twirl on the tiled floor then kissed Basil’s cheek as sign of her approval of his genius.

‘A pyjama party,’ echoed George. ‘That would be the bee’s knees! Edwin and I will go and get Morgan and bring back the drums and the double bass from his cottage.’

‘And I’ll be able to stay up all night as Great-Aunt Lizzie is away,’ said Rose and then added, predictably: ‘
Deprived Child has Glimpse of Paradise
.’

‘Violet looks cold; she’s had a shock. Should we light a fire in the ballroom?’ asked Simon. He was so shy and quiet normally that Daisy looked at him with surprise.

‘Wonderful idea!’ Violet beamed at him. ‘Thank you, Simon.’

‘I’ll help you.’ Justin squared his shoulders, giving Simon a cold look. ‘Where’s that axe?’

‘There’s chopped wood in the timber store,’ said Daisy. ‘Take a basket each. Poppy, you go and have a quick word with Father. Promise to keep the music low.’

‘But I don’t like low music,’ declared Poppy with a note of surprise in her voice.

‘Just say it,’ said Daisy firmly.

‘Let’s go and talk to Mrs Beaton, Daise,’ said Baz. ‘I bet she has a few goodies hidden.’

‘No, don’t,’ said Daisy. She didn’t want the elderly cook to be disturbed and there was little to spare in their cupboards, except eggs, of course. She and Rose had collected a large basketful yesterday.

‘Eggs,’ she said aloud. ‘I have a wonderful idea. Let’s make a Spanish omelette. Come on, everyone – you can all help. Basil, you do the eggs – Poppy can help you when she comes back. Two for each person and two for the pan – oh, just put in a couple of dozen. Violet, will you do the potatoes? Rose, help her while I find that huge old frying pan.’

The old frying pan was eventually discovered on a high shelf in one of the back pantries. Daisy came into the kitchen staggering under its weight. Her eyes went immediately to her elder sister’s face, but to her relief Violet seemed to have shed her ill humour and was laughing happily as she chopped up some dried thyme. She waved a large bottle of olive oil, saying triumphantly, ‘Look what I’ve found!’

She had managed to unload the dirty job of washing and scrubbing potatoes to Maud and Rose, but Daisy was so relieved to see her change of mood that she made no comment on this.

‘Great,’ she said, pouring the oil in after giving the pan a quick rinse.

‘It’s as big as a cartwheel,’ said Rose admiringly. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.’

‘Let me riddle the fire, my lady,’ said Maud. ‘I understand that stove and its moods.’

The girl seemed quite at home with the young people, very different from the silent scullery maid who flattened herself against the wall with lowered eyes whenever a member of the family passed. She was laughing now at Basil and Poppy, who were both endeavouring to beat the eggs in the frenetic style of a drummer.

‘I’ll put on a second pan as well for the potatoes,’ said Daisy. ‘They should be soft, I think, but not browned. Chop them small, you two.’

‘Fires are lit,’ said Justin, coming in. ‘Oh, I say, what are you making?’

‘Spanish omelette,’ said Daisy. ‘We need help with the potatoes, so you and Simon get to work on them.’

‘We’ve taken all the mattresses from our beds into the ballroom and put them by the fire with pillows piled on them – the rooms are stone cold on the top floor.’ Justin began to scrub some more of the home-grown potatoes enthusiastically. ‘Don’t bother taking the skins off,’ he said. ‘The Spaniards don’t!’

‘Let’s eat down here,’ Daisy said impulsively when the egg mixture was poured over the softened potatoes. ‘The omelette will be cold by the time we all trudge upstairs. And we’re bound to forget something.’ This was true, but knew that she wanted both Maud and Morgan to have their share of the impromptu feast. ‘Morgan, you keep shaking this pan while Rose and I lay the table. Let’s see, there are eleven of us . . . That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘Does it get tossed?’ asked Baz. ‘Bags I do it.’

‘And then we’ll all get down on the floor and lap it up,’ said Violet tartly. ‘Don’t let him, Daisy.’

‘I rather fancy it nice and creamy on the top,’ said Daisy. Violet was right; that frying pan was hugely heavy and the omelette was enormous. She needn’t have bitten the boy’s head off like that, but it was good to have her attention on scolding Poppy and Baz – it distracted from the eleven places laid around the table and made sure that she did not comment and embarrass Maud. Daisy decided she would ensure that everyone was seated around the table before Violet noticed.

Violet Derrington, the most beautiful and most popular debutante of the season
– she had found that on a piece of paper written in Violet’s elegant script lying on top of her sister’s dressing table, no doubt inspired by a headline from one of her fashion magazines.

Debutantes, of course, could never, ever have makeshift meals eaten with spoons from a frying pan placed on a kitchen table in company with a scullery maid and a chauffeur.

On the other hand, high-earning film directors and women of the world, like her sister Daisy, could please themselves.

The fortnight between the Duchess’s invitation and the day of their departure for London passed in what seemed to Daisy like a flash.

Violet, in a panic at the amount of sewing she had undertaken, passed over the turning up of hems and other simple tasks to her and sometimes between that and work on her film Daisy did not get to bed until midnight.

Great-Aunt Lizzie, though she had to be kept in the dark about the length of the skirts and dresses, was unexpectedly helpful about adding new collars and lace edges to various blouses and eventually the work was done. Violet fitted Maud up with one of Elaine’s old-fashioned dresses before broaching the subject of taking her with them as a lady’s maid, and to their relief the old lady agreed immediately that the scullery maid could fill the role.