Debutantes (18 page)

‘C’mon, Rose.’ Poppy was getting sick of Violet’s intensity. ‘Let’s get changed.’

‘Wait.’ Violet pulled out three identical pinafore dresses made by the village dressmaker earlier in the year. Daisy stared at them with surprise. She had not realized they had been packed.

‘Wear them with those Peter Pan collared blouses,’ ordered Violet.

‘What are you going to wear?’ Daisy reviewed in her mind her sister’s outfits. ‘Should you send Maud to ask MacDonald what the other girls are wearing?’ she suggested helpfully.

‘Certainly not,’ snapped Violet. ‘I want to be a leader of fashion, not a follower. Maud, come and do my hair.’

‘What about our hair?’ asked Poppy.

‘Just braid it,’ said Violet hurriedly. ‘Don’t you see?’ she went on in despairing tones. ‘I want to look my age, not one of the children, like you three.’

With that she grabbed Maud and closed the door behind them firmly. Poppy grinned. ‘Wish they’d bring tea up here as if we were in the nursery,’ she said. ‘The Duchess is a bore.’

‘How can you say such a thing, Poppy? Don’t you know that the Duchess has a wonderful flow of witty conversation?’ Rose mimicked Violet’s intensity with the rebuke, and then her voice changed into a high-pitched trill: ‘“Have you had a terrible journey? Are you cold? What was the traffic like on the way up? Terrible the amount of cars on the road these days, isn’t it? You didn’t witness any nasty accident, did you?” Admit! What a feast of reason and flow of soul!’

‘What do we care anyway?’ Poppy began to pull on the Peter Pan blouse and the baggy pinafore dress.

But I care, thought Daisy. I don’t want to look like a child either. Nevertheless, Violet had a point. If she married well then the grinding poverty of their existence at Beech Grove Manor would be at an end for her sisters. Somehow or other she would have to have her chance.

‘I suppose it might look better if I seem like a schoolroom miss when I’m filming – people won’t take too much notice of me then. Let me braid your hair, Poppy. You can wear it loose for the ball tomorrow night.’ She said the words as cheerfully as she could and went into the bathroom to wash her face and hands.

When Violet emerged from the bedroom she was transformed. She wore a short tweed skirt in a blue/ purple heather shade. Over it the outsize blue jumper, taken from the Robert Derrington trunk, reached well below her hips and was belted with a narrow leather belt – also taken from the trunk. The effect was to make her look incredibly slim. Daisy’s ten pounds from Sir Guy had gone on buying new shoes for them all and Violet was wearing a pair of pointy-toed shoes with a very high heel.

‘You’re wearing make-up! Where did you get that?’

‘I bought a lipstick in the village when I was collecting my magazine,’ said Violet, surveying herself in the looking glass with satisfaction. ‘And I’ve brought along one of those charcoal sticks that Great-Aunt Lizzie used to plague us with for doing tasteful sketches. Look!’ She fluttered her eyelashes enticingly to show her eyelids smudged with the dark powder and then surveyed her sisters critically.

‘Oh, Rose, darling,’ she gushed in an excess of sisterly feeling. ‘How sweet you look. That little Peter Pan collar suits you so much; you look like Alice in Wonderland.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like the Duchess,’ said Rose grumpily, but nothing could alter Violet’s good humour and she smiled happily, saying, ‘Perhaps that’s a good omen; perhaps I’ll marry a duke.’

‘It’s a shame that the son of the Duke of Devonshire got married a few years ago – he would have been quite right for you,’ observed Rose after a minute. Her eyes were thoughtful and she bore the look of one scanning through lists for a suitable suitor.

‘Her Grace sent me up to fetch you down.’ MacDonald knocked perfunctorily on the door and then came in. Her eyes went to Violet immediately and a grudging look of admiration came into them. She glanced at the three younger girls without interest and said over her shoulder, ‘Tea in the kitchen,’ in Maud’s direction.

‘Catherine, my dear, come and meet my goddaughter. Here’s dear Violet and her little sisters,’ trilled the Duchess when MacDonald had pushed open the drawing-room door. Violet advanced as nonchalantly as she could, while balancing carefully on her first pair of high-heeled shoes. Daisy felt heavy and ugly in comparison to her sister. Catherine smiled sweetly at Violet and more cordially at the other three, turning to summon her sister Paula for what Rose had muttered was
the nursery party
. They were alike, the two sisters – both plump, pale-faced and with an abundance of light, fair hair. Daisy was glad that she had refused to braid her hair when she saw that Paula wore hers loose on her shoulders.

‘Such a crowd,’ said Catherine to Violet. ‘It must be horrid for you. You live very quietly in the country, Mama says.’

‘Oh, but I love crowds,’ said Violet so loudly that lots of heads turned. ‘Oh Catherine, please introduce me to everyone.’ Violet, in her short skirt and hip-length jumper, seemed to have totally forgotten all of Great-Aunt Lizzie’s advice and was now acting just like one of the flappers in the film that Sir Guy had taken them all to see a few months ago. Daisy would not have been surprised to see her take out a cigarette holder from her handbag.

‘Violet!’ Justin pushed through the cluster of girls and took her hand. ‘You’re looking lovely,’ he said gazing at her with great admiration. There was a slight stir in the drawing room – there were mainly girls present, Daisy noticed. Justin was probably right about the lack of men available for house parties in London; certainly all female eyes were on him and he did, she had to admit, look very handsome with his black hair flicked back from his forehead.

‘Let’s go over here,’ said Paula to the three younger Derrington girls. ‘I’d like to introduce you to my cousins who are in London for the week.’

Daisy took one look at the group of shy, rather spotty-faced youngsters clustered around the potted palms beside the grand piano – all brothers, she reckoned by the resemblances – and produced her camera from the bag hanging over her arm.

‘You go on,’ she said with an amiable smile at Paula. ‘Your mother wants me to make a film of the weekend and I think it would best to get people used to me and my camera, don’t you?’

‘Do you play the piano?’ Poppy was asking Paula as they moved away. Daisy hoped that she would not suggest a ‘jam session’. Poppy, of course, had brought her treasured clarinet, carefully packed among her clothes in her suitcase.

A camera was like a cloak that made you invisible, Daisy thought as she moved around filming. After a while the girls ceased to look at her and returned to chattering among themselves. There were several comments on Violet – rather begrudging, thought Daisy – and there were many whispers about Justin – the dimple on his chin, his smile, the colour of his eyes, the width of his shoulders. These went on even after the arrival of several young men – Debs’ Delights, she supposed.

But then the fatal words were spoken, uttered by a tall, thin young lady with a triple row of pearls dangling down her chiffon dress.

‘My dear,’ she whispered to a girl who swooning over Justin’s dark Byronic looks, ‘don’t you know,’ and she spoke the next words with great emphasis, ‘
he’s only a younger son
.’

And then Catherine and all her friends turned their back on Justin, leaving him with Violet, and started to busy themselves in clusters around the few young men who had arrived.

No debutante worth her salt would get entangled with a younger son so early in the season.

Once dinner was over, Daisy escaped upstairs to her temporary darkroom. Everything was just perfect there. Sir Guy had sent over just what she needed. There was even a red light so that she did not have to work in darkness once she loaded the film into the developing tank. There were a few interesting shots, she thought, as she hung the film on the little line to drip-dry. Two in particular, of Catherine looking jealously at Violet who was standing chatting to a group of men, Justin in the foreground, and then turning to whisper something to her neighbour, would have made a very good sequence in a film.

‘If I were you, Vi,’ she said when they were all getting ready for bed, ‘I wouldn’t try to outshine Catherine tomorrow. After all, it is her ball and her season and—’

‘When I want your advice I’ll ask for it.’ Violet’s bright, chatty facade seemed to disappear once the door was closed behind them. ‘Run my bath, please, Maud.’ Her tone was abrupt.

‘Have it your own way,’ said Daisy. ‘You always do,’ she couldn’t help adding.

Violet’s only answer to that was to go into the far bedroom and slam the door behind her.

‘
Spoilt by success
,’ quoted Rose sadly and Maud’s lips twitched as she went in to run the bath.

‘What are they like downstairs, Maud?’ Daisy followed her into the bathroom.

Maud considered this question gravely. ‘Not very friendly, my lady,’ she said after a while. ‘Of course, I’m not used to a big staff like that. Back home it’s just myself and Nora and the cook mainly. Mrs Pearson and Mr Bateman are not too bad either. That MacDonald is very haughty. I think she guesses that I’m not really a lady’s maid.’

‘Thank you, Maud.’ Violet came out of her room wrapped in her dressing gown. ‘Could you kindly get out of the bathroom while I bathe, Daisy, if it’s not too much trouble?’

‘Very haughty,’ said Rose with a grin as the bathroom door lock clicked.

‘Hope she leaves us some hot water,’ said Poppy. She took out her clarinet and blew softly into it and Daisy couldn’t be bothered stopping her. She was too tired of Violet’s moods.

‘Hope tomorrow is more fun than today,’ she said as she began to undress. Violet, she noticed, had left her clothes on the floor – and Maud was busy picking things up and hanging them in the wardrobe. Mrs Pearson had given her a package of washing soap so that the girls’ underclothes and blouses could be laundered by her. Privately, Daisy guessed, Great-Aunt Lizzie was ashamed of their shabbiness and Daisy had decided that the money Sir Guy had given her was better spent on shoes, which would be seen, than on knickers and liberty bodices which would not be seen.

Daisy was first up in the morning. She had slept with the little alarm clock beneath her pillow and roused herself at its first chime. She got sleepily out of bed, noticing that someone had been into the bedroom and had seen to the fire. Maud was already up and was in the bathroom checking on the underclothes that she had draped around the room to dry overnight. She smiled when Daisy came in. ‘This is lovely, my lady, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘The scullery maid came in and made up the fires about half an hour ago so the bathroom is nice and warm for your bath. Shall I run it, my lady?’

‘Yes, please,’ said Daisy. It would be so wonderfully luxurious to wallow in a hot bath compared to the horrors of the stone cold water at home. She went to the window and peered out from underneath the drawn blind. The scene outside was busy – people walking briskly with rolled umbrellas, men and some women also, carrying attaché cases, all on their way to work.

‘Would you like to live and work in London, Maud? I would,’ she said as Maud joined her.

‘I’m not sure, my lady,’ Maud said hesitantly.

‘Why don’t you go and have a walk around London this morning?’ said Daisy. ‘It looks a very interesting place.’ It would do no harm, she thought. Violet was due to take coffee in Harrods with Catherine and her house guests, the Duchess had fixed up for Rose and Poppy to accompany her three nephews and Paula on a trip to the British Museum and she, Daisy – she hugged herself at the thought – was going to visit Sir Guy’s studios in his company. It had been arranged that he would collect her at eleven o’clock, the Duchess had told her last night. She had looked disapproving but Daisy was too excited by the news to care.

‘Would you know where Somerset House is, my lady?’ said Maud from behind her.

‘Somerset House?’ Daisy turned to face her. ‘I’ve never heard of Somerset House,’ she said. ‘Why do you want to go there?’

‘They keep birth certificates for everyone there, my lady. Morgan told me that when I said that I didn’t know when my birthday was. He told me that the orphanage would have registered me at Somerset House even if my mother didn’t. And for seven-and-sixpence I’d get a copy of the birth certificate. I got Mrs Pearson to give me some of my wages. Normally she keeps them for me and just doles them out when I ask for them.’