Debutantes (6 page)

‘Well?’ The twins were waiting in the hall when Violet came out of the drawing room, gently closing the door after her. She was flushed and smiling.

‘She says yes – but we must talk to Mrs Pearson first. And we can take what we like from the attic. And most of the food at the supper has to be made from eggs,’ she added, and both girls started to laugh. Hens were their standby. Dozens of them wandered around the beech woods and their eggs were plentiful even in wintertime.

Mrs Pearson was eventually tracked down by Rose to Great-Aunt Lizzie’s bedroom. As they climbed the stairs, they could hear her scolding the maids.

‘Nora, haven’t you finished Lady Violet’s room yet? Dorothy has cleaned three bedrooms while you were lingering here. And Maud, hurry up, child, for goodness sake. There are ten more fireplaces for you to do.’ Mrs Pearson could never get used to having only three maids under her.

‘Don’t be cross, Mrs Pearson; we’ve come to you for some advice.’ Daisy knew that Mrs Pearson had a soft spot for good gossip and she led the housekeeper into Violet’s bedroom. ‘Poppy and I were thinking about having a birthday party for Violet next week; Great-Aunt says that we may, but we’re not sure what to do about it. You remember the old days, don’t you, when there were parties all the time?’

Mrs Pearson began to smile. ‘Well, of course, there were only two boys at Beech Grove Manor when I first became housekeeper, but then of course . . . later on, when . . . when your mother came here . . . But I suppose you know all about that.’

‘A bit,’ said Daisy, frowning at Poppy who, she guessed, was going to bring Mrs Pearson back to the point. It was better to let the old lady have her reminiscences and gently steer her back to practicalities. ‘Was Mother pretty?’

‘Very!’ Mrs Pearson sighed. ‘They were . . . Yes, she was lovely. Well, no good talking about the past,’ she said, to the girls’ relief. ‘You were asking about parties and I can tell you we had plenty of them the year your mother came here.’

‘Sit here, Mrs Pearson.’ Violet pushed forward the shabby old chair. It had originally been covered in velvet, but most of the silky nap had been worn off so the chair had been moved out of the library to the bedroom. ‘Tell us all about it.’

Violet, Daisy was glad to see, gave her a beautiful smile and began to look as happy as a girl whose future lies ahead of her. She was an imaginative person and it was easy for her to lose herself in a dream. The trouble came when she had to face reality.

‘Did they use the ballroom?’ asked Rose.

‘Of course they did! And musicians hired from London.’ Mrs Pearson sank into the still-comfortable ancient chair. The four Derrington girls arranged themselves in a row on the bed.

‘There was more staff then: four scullery maids to do all the fires, three parlourmaids and six chambermaids – and, of course, your mother’s lady’s maid.’ Old Mrs Pearson smiled at the memory. ‘And Mrs Beaton had a couple of useful girls to help her with the cooking – training them she was, of course.’

‘Of course,’ echoed Daisy, trying to visualize possibilities for useful-young-girls-to-help-in-the-kitchen from among the inhabitants of the village beyond Beech Grove Manor on the day of Violet’s party and then rejecting the idea. Even girls from the village school would want to be paid.

‘Of course lots and lots of visitors used to come to stay. Every room in the house filled, for sure,’ went on Mrs Pearson. ‘And all those beautiful young ladies and fine young men! And our own ladies . . . lady . . . the most beautiful and the cleverest of them all. And the sweetest by a long shot. This was before the war, of course. Everything was different then.’

‘We could never do that nowadays, of course. But we wondered about just having a small party for Violet’s eighteenth birthday.’ Daisy decided to take a chance and lead the conversation back to the present.

Mrs Pearson had been shaking her head sadly but at Daisy’s last words, she stiffened. A light of battle came into her old eyes.

‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t seem right that an eighteenth birthday shouldn’t be marked. I remember when your father was eighteen, the celebrations – nothing to when he was twenty-one, of course. They were roasting whole deer out in the park for the tenants then and the house was full of young people.’

‘And my Uncle Robert?’ asked Daisy. What she wanted was an account of a smaller party.

‘He was dead, poor fellow, before he ever reached the age of twenty-one. That nasty old Boer War.’ A tear came into the old lady’s eye. She sighed heavily and then said hastily as she got to her feet, ‘We could do a small party for you, Lady Violet. Mrs Beaton would make some nice little cakes and we could have a trifle I dare say. Custard is no problem; the hens are still laying well and, of course, there’s always cream from the Jersey cow. That would be nice. You have a little chat with Mrs Beaton and I’m sure that she’ll come up with some good ideas.’

‘Now for the attic!’ said Poppy as soon as Mrs Pearson had gone.

The trunk marked with the label L
ADY
M
ARY
D
ERRINGTON
, B
EECH
G
ROVE
M
ANOR
, K
ENT
, E
NGLAND
 was still there. Daisy threw back the lid and started to pull out dresses, wraps, petticoats, and pretty gloves, stockings and shoes.

But there was a shock.

As each dress was shaken and held up to the light of the roof window the awful truth was revealed.

They had all been attacked by moths.

Thousands of tiny holes showed like pinpricks against the light and then the fabric began to split and rends appeared. Garment after garment was taken out until only an old photograph album was left at the bottom of the trunk. But it was no good – they were all ruined. A musty smell set them all coughing and sneezing.

Poppy’s eyes met Daisy’s with dismay.

‘It’s us,’ she said, half laughing, half ashamed. ‘We probably left the lid open when we used to dress up years ago.’

‘Look, a photograph album,’ said Rose, picking out the pockmarked velvet-covered book. ‘Oh, how sweet! Look, it says P
OPPY
A
GED
O
NE
M
ONTH
. What a dear little girl.
Beautiful Baby Grows Up to Be Ugly Duckling!
’

‘Just Poppy? Where am I?’ wondered Daisy.

‘Perhaps you were camera-shy,’ suggested Rose.

‘I can’t believe it,’ muttered Violet. ‘Everything always goes wrong. We can’t use any of these – they’ll probably fall apart on the dance floor.’

She got up and wandered irritably around the attic and then stopped beside a trunk labelled L
ORD
R
OBERT
D
ERRINGTON
. ‘Perhaps we could make it a fancy dress party,’ she said. ‘This will have his uniform from the Boer War. Father’s probably got his Indian Army stuff somewhere as well.’

Daisy thought of her father’s fury if they meddled with his uniforms. ‘Wouldn’t suit you,’ she said hastily. ‘You’re not one of those girls that look good in men’s clothing. You’re the Lady of Shalott type.’

‘Here you are, Daisy,’ said Poppy, who had now got hold of the photograph album. ‘Here we are, both of us: “P
OPPY AND
D
AISY ON BOARD SHIP
”. This must have been going back to England after the news came about grandfather’s death.’

‘You look more advanced than I do,’ said Daisy, peering over her shoulder. ‘I seem to be all floppy-headed and you’re holding your head up and looking all around you.’

‘L
ADY
E
LAINE
C
ARRUTHERS
,’ read Rose, who had been kicking noisily at a jammed cupboard door in another room of the attic and had just managed to get it open. And then she repeated in excited tones: ‘Elaine Carruthers! Come quick, everyone – I’ve found another trunk in this cupboard. Who’s Lady Elaine Carruthers?’

There was a clatter of feet as her sisters followed her, Daisy hastily replacing the photograph album.

‘Carruthers? But that’s Great-Aunt Lizzie’s name.’

‘And Mother’s – she was Great-Aunt Lizzie’s niece.’

‘This Elaine must have been related to Mother.’

‘Wonder what her clothes are like?’

‘I seem to remember,’ said Daisy, ‘that when Father was talking once to Great-Aunt about the entail and how Dastardly Denis would get the lot because the estate is entailed to a male, she sniffed and said: “Nothing like that in our family – the two girls inherited everything! No nonsense about having to have a brother.”’

‘So perhaps Elaine was Mother’s sister,’ said Poppy.

‘But why haven’t we heard anything about her? Why the secret? Perhaps she murdered someone and died on the scaffold.’ Rose was enraptured.

‘Probably she and Great-Aunt Lizzie had a quarrel. You know what she’s like.’ Daisy pulled at the upended trunk, pushing it around so that the handle could be found.

‘Bet she had some good clothes – Mother’s family were very rich. I think, from something that Great-Aunt Lizzie said, that was how Father financed the diamond mine out in India,’ said Violet happily. ‘Wonder if Elaine looked like me? After all, if she was Mother’s sister she would have been our aunt.’

‘Do you know, this is the funny thing,’ said Daisy. ‘I don’t think that I’ve seen a photograph of her. I must have a look in the gallery.’

‘It’s locked; the trunk is locked,’ announced Rose, holding a stout padlock in her hand and then letting it fall. The sisters looked at each other.

‘Well,’ said Daisy, ‘Great-Aunt Lizzie did say that we could use anything from the attic. Poppy, see if you can find Morgan.’

Poppy was gone almost before the last word fell from Daisy’s lips. The remaining three girls looked carefully at the label on the trunk. ‘That’s Mrs Pearson’s handwriting,’ said Violet after a moment. ‘I know the way that she makes a “E”. I’ve seen it often enough on the pots of elderberry jam.’

‘Perhaps Elaine Carruthers went out to India with Mother and Father. Mrs Pearson must have packed away all the clothes that Elaine didn’t take with her,’ said Daisy. ‘Perhaps she got married out in India and never turned up to claim her clothes. Let’s hope that she left behind a few decent dresses.’ And then something caught her attention and she bent over the trunk. ‘It’s been sealed with wax,’ she said with awe. ‘Good old Mrs P – no moths here.’

‘Hope there’s something for me,’ said Rose wistfully. ‘It’s sad to be the sister who is always ignored and left out of things.’

‘Don’t worry, you’re as tall as Daisy and these days no one needs a figure,’ said Violet kindly. ‘We’ll find something for you if we can get the trunk open.’

Funny the way that no one suggests asking Great-Aunt Lizzie for a key, thought Daisy. We’re probably right though. There’s something odd about this Elaine. Why haven’t we heard about her before? Perhaps it was true that she went out to India with Mother and Father and left behind the clothes she wasn’t taking with her. But why has she never been mentioned by either Great-Aunt Lizzie or Father? She made a resolution to hunt for a photograph of the long-vanished Elaine and went to the door to wait for Morgan.

When Poppy reappeared though, she was followed by the tall figure of Justin.

‘Morgan’s not back from the village yet; Mrs Beaton went with him so they may be ages. I’ve brought Justin. I’ve told him about the party and about us looking for dresses. Oh, and Rose, Great-Aunt Lizzie is looking for you everywhere. You’d better fly.’

Daisy could see a struggle in Violet’s face as horror at Poppy’s outspokenness fought with the desire to see what was in the trunk. She won’t worry too much, thought Daisy, watching her elder sister with interest as she shrugged her shoulders. He’s a younger son; he has no money, no house, no estate. She could almost see the words ‘Why should I care about him?’ form on her sister’s lovely lips before she smiled and said graciously, ‘It’s very kind of you to come all the way up here.’

‘On the contrary, you’re doing me a favour. I’ve been carrying around this ridiculous penknife with forty blades in it since the days when I was a Boy Scout,’ he said with a smile that deepened the dimple on his chin. ‘Let’s drag the trunk over under the light. Now, I wonder, how does one pick a lock? You read these things in books, don’t you? They always sound so easy. Let’s try the blade for getting stones out of a horse’s hoof. That’s the only one that I’ve ever used.’

‘Never mind,’ said Violet kindly after a good ten minutes had passed and Justin had risen to his feet, staring in a frustrated way at the lock which remained stubbornly fastened. ‘You did your best . . .’

‘I suppose you’ve tried this key already,’ said Justin. He reached over to the top of a worm-eaten tallboy standing in the corner of the room and took down a small key, blowing the dust off it before handing it to Violet. Daisy could see her sister’s hand tremble as she fitted it into the lock and the click seemed very loud as she turned it.

‘Well, we never thought of looking for a key up there,’ said Poppy. ‘Good job you’re so tall.’

‘I’m so sorry that we troubled you.’ Violet had gone back to her society manner, modelled on Great-Aunt Lizzie.