Debutantes (25 page)

‘Morgan,’ she said when they all had finished their ice creams, ‘is it possible to stop off at Fleet Street on our way home?’

‘Only down the road from here,’ he replied, looking at her closely.

‘The dear Duchess getting her to do her errands – you were quite a favourite with her, Daisy,’ said Violet acidly, and Morgan nodded understandingly and turned to scan through the pages of the discarded copy of
The Times
.

‘I have an idea,’ said Daisy. ‘While we are here in London, why don’t we spend the money on a new pair of riding breeches from Aquascutum for the four of us? That’s one thing that Vi can’t make and they would be essential for any country house parties. What do you say? I really don’t see Great-Aunt Lizzie agreeing to take those guineas.’

‘You’re the one that earns the money; you make the decisions,’ said Poppy with a grin. ‘But wait until Baz and I set up our jazz club – I’ll be the rich twin then!’ She gave Daisy’s hand a quick squeeze.

The house seemed dark, gloomy and very, very cold when they returned from London. Michael Derrington was prostrated by one of his frequent sick headaches which left him lying on his bed in a darkened room for a few days and sipping from a glass of milk from time to time. Any sympathy, any enquiries about his health and any attempts to make him more comfortable drove him into fits of rage and the girls learned to keep well away from him.

‘It’s just the war, that terrible war,’ Mrs Beaton used to say to the children. ‘He was the nicest, kindest, most cheerful man before the war. It was a terrible thing that war – left nobody in the country untouched. All those young men shell-shocked, maimed and even slaughtered. The only consolation is that they say it was a war to end all wars. Britain will never go to war again.’

And that left Great-Aunt Lizzie.

Tense, tired and disappointed, suffering from a heavy cold and sore throat, she was, decided the girls, in no mood to consider a trip to Buckingham Palace to present her great-niece to King George and his wife.

However, Violet was in good spirits. From the day after their arrival, she sewed like one inspired. Ball gowns, cocktail dresses, lunch outfits, walking costumes – the picture rail in the schoolroom was hung with so many clothes that Justin took to calling it the milliner’s shop. He was back in Kent with his tolerant uncle and aunt whose heir lived in another part of the country and who were glad to have a lively young man around the place.

‘You’re getting better and better at this, Vi,’ said Daisy one day, examining how cleverly Elaine’s blouses were altered and how expertly her tweed jackets were taken in at the waist. ‘Perhaps you could set up a dressmaking firm in the west end of London and make pots of money.’ She smiled nervously but it was obvious that Violet was not listening to her. She was completely obsessed with the idea of being a debutante and having a season. Will I feel like that in a year or two years’ time? wondered Daisy, trying to take her mind away from her fears and uncertainties. Her godfather, Sir Guy, was keen for her to have a season; he had told her that, pretending it was for the sake of all the wonderful film she might be able to shoot of her fellow debutantes. She turned her attention back to Violet, who had taken down a long dress made from white satin with elaborate white lace trimmings.

‘The great thing is that Elaine’s presentation dress looks just the same as Catherine’s,’ said Violet exultantly. ‘The style hasn’t altered at all. They still wear those long flowing dresses, nipped in at the waist and with a train. I’ve shortened the train a little. Catherine said that the palace has issued instructions that it need not be more than eighteen inches long now. And the three ostrich feathers that you have to have are there in a box. Look at them.’

Daisy gazed dubiously at three fluffy white feathers, each about a foot long. ‘They’re a bit yellow,’ she observed.

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter,’ said Violet impatiently. ‘Marjorie told me that she will be wearing her grandmother’s ostrich feathers. She said that she was going to be the tenth girl in the family to wear them.’ Violet giggled at the thought of the lovely gossipy conversations with the other girls at the Duchess’s house party and then her face darkened as she thought of the abrupt end to her stay.

‘I don’t know why you are criticizing and moaning, Daisy,’ she said in an irritated way. ‘You’re very sour these days. What’s the matter with you? Don’t walk off; I was going to show you—’

The matter with me, thought Daisy as she closed the door on Violet’s angry voice, is that nothing is happening. And I’m sick of lying in wait for the postman and finding that nothing but bills are arriving at the house. She had spent her last few pennies on sending the completed film of the ball to the Duchess and the revised version of
Murder in the Dark
to Sir Guy and on buying
The Times
. Her advertisement had appeared ten days ago but there had been no repsonse. She had clipped it out, shown it to Poppy and then hidden it in her underclothes drawer. From time to time she took it out and looked at it.

‘Everyone who is anyone reads the Court Circular,’ Great-Aunt Lizzie had said one day, laying down the law as usual.

‘You mean everyone reads the personal column.’ Michael Derrington, now in a good mood, had chuckled at this and had forced his aunt-in-law to admit that she did usually glance through it to see whether any old friend was trying to get in touch.

But perhaps Elaine did not take
The Times
. Perhaps she had no friends who would have spotted the advertisement and called it to her attention. Or perhaps she had returned to India?

Daisy didn’t know and the uncertainty was terribly hard to bear. She tried to throw herself into the plans for Violet’s presentation and had even read up on the requirements for court presentations in an ancient book of etiquette that Rose had unearthed from the library, but she found it very hard to keep her mind on it. It had suddenly occurred to her today that Elaine might have replied with another advertisement in
The Times
, giving a box number and telling ‘Daisy’ to contact her through this. And if Daisy had not replied then she might have been secretly relieved. Daisy felt that her head was splitting with all the thoughts that were rushing through it.

She would try to distract herself, she decided, and grabbed a basket, going out through the back door to collect the eggs from the hen house. There was something soothing about this occupation and by the time she came out with a basketful she felt better. She waved cheerily at Justin who was just dismounting from his horse.

‘I’ve got the list of costs from my aunt for my cousin’s coming-out dinner and dance,’ he said. ‘Should have been an accountant, that woman! She’s got it all written down. Writes down everything, apparently.’

Daisy took the notebook from him. There they were, all the prices. ‘Lend it to me, Justin, just for the moment. I want to copy them out. I won’t take long.’

‘No hurry,’ said Justin carelessly. ‘Is Violet in the schoolroom?’ He didn’t wait for an answer but went towards the back door, patting the pocket of his Norfolk tweed jacket and saying, ‘I’ve followed your advice and bought
The Times
at the village shop. Hilarious some of the advertisements in “Situations Vacant”! I thought I would read them out to Violet to help pass the time while she’s sewing.’

‘Let me have a look,’ said Daisy. She almost snatched it from him and felt her hands tremble as she searched for the personal ads. She read through them twice, but there was nothing there so she handed the paper back to Justin.

‘Anybody advertising for a brilliant young lawyer and offering a princely salary?’ She put her question quickly before he could ask her what she was looking for.

‘I fear that the secret of my brilliance is remaining somewhat too hush-hush for my liking,’ he retorted with a grin. ‘However, I live in hope.’

He should go up to London rather than hang around kicking his heels and dangling after Violet, who has no intention of marrying him, thought Daisy as she went into the drawing room. Great-Aunt Lizzie, still rather shaken after her illness, had retired for her afternoon rest so she would have the place to herself. She opened up Lady Pennington’s Household Accounts Book at the page that was marked by a helpful slip of paper and gazed at the page headed in neat capital letters: PAMELA’S COMING-OUT PARTY.

The prices were all there arranged in neat rows of pounds, shillings and pence:

And underneath that was:

Well, thought Daisy, at least we could cut out that eighteen guineas for the band; the jazz boys and Morgan would do it for the fun and for their supper.
Hire
was probably for those chairs for the chaperones – that would be unavoidable. Perhaps, she thought optimistically, the whole thing could be done for about forty pounds. And Sir Guy was talking about paying her forty pounds for her second film. He had been delighted with the new ending – particularly the shot of Violet and Justin riding off past the lake, and Morgan standing there looking after them.

‘Yes,’ she murmured aloud, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of her earning power. ‘I think I might be able to do it if only Violet would be happy to have it here. After all, she keeps getting letters from men and girls that she met at the Duchess’s place so she will have enough people to invite. She could have a small dance.’

The food and drink were expensive, but perhaps the champagne could be skipped. There were still lots of bottles of wine down in the cellar and the price of the food could be cut down if they used plenty of eggs and potatoes. She giggled a little as she thought about the giant Spanish omelette and reached into her great-aunt’s desk for a piece of scrap paper on which she could write down the prices.

The drawers were full of thick, expensive writing paper and gilt-edged visiting cards and invitation cards, but Daisy did not like to use any of these without permission. The little centre door only had pens and ink bottles behind it. Impatiently she got to her feet. She would have to go up to the schoolroom to get some paper.

As she rose her foot caught in a hole in the carpet and caused her to stumble, pressing against the ornately carved ridge below the pull-out, baize-covered writing surface. Suddenly a drawer shot out, almost causing her to lose her balance. So Great-Aunt Lizzie’s desk had a secret drawer! There must be a spring under one of those carvings, but Daisy did not waste time investigating this. Her whole attention was on the contents of the drawer. It was stuffed with old photographs and she picked some out and started to leaf through them.