Authors: Fiona McIntosh
‘Especially as his speech in the German Reichstag was all about maintaining peace in Europe.’ The dryness in Rafe’s tone and the sad chuckle at the other end gave Stella pause. She’d recalled hearing an extract of that speech of 17 May on the wireless, and now, somewhere distant in her mind, thoughts – not fully formed – niggled on the edge of her consciousness in response to his appeals. The words were non-inflammatory and yet even in her ignorance of politics and the diplomacy of statesmen she had heard that false note, hadn’t she? It was as though Hitler mocked the League of Nations that promoted international cooperation to maintain collective security when, as a seemingly strong exponent of peace, the new Chancellor promised that Germany would follow all of the restrictions on weaponry if the other armed nations destroyed their aggressive weapons alongside her.
‘. . . and if you believe that you’re a fool like all the rest of the liberalists who are being taken in,’ she heard Basil say.
She agreed with this sentiment, recalling the tide of anger that swelled whenever she thought of all the men lost to the Great War because of Germany’s hostility.
‘Of course I don’t believe his cunning declarations are anything at all to do with peace; more about putting us on the back foot.’
‘Indeed. There’s no denying he’s rebuilt Germany but while our officials seem to be very friendly with that Austrian-turned-German dictator who talks of only desiring security in the region, few of us in the dark recesses of the ministry trust him or his new Nazi party with anything nearing equality. The fact is, Monty, your friend is too well connected in Berlin for us to ignore anything he wants to share about the Nazi party. We may never get another easy chance to hear what he has to say.’ There was a difficult silence before Basil spoke again. ‘The cruise with your family is the perfect cover. We’ll pay for it, of course, and Kew Gardens can request some special tasks of you. Hide behind that ridiculous moth society you’re a member of.’
Rafe ignored the barb. ‘You surely can’t expect my family to —’
‘No danger for them, I assure you; they’re passengers like any other. In fact there’s not even a need for any of your girls to leave the ship. A voyage to Egypt and the Holy Land is innocent, draws no attention and you are well entrenched at Kew. We need you, old chap. I’ll have all the voyage paperwork delivered to your club.’ This time Basil barely paused a heartbeat, rushing on to close the conversation before Rafe could put up any further protestation. ‘Goodnight, Monty . . . and thank you. King and country and all that.’
The phone line clicked dead. Stella waited until she heard Rafe put his receiver down too before she replaced hers, her mind swarming with tension at what she’d just heard. She needed to piece it together. Grabbing her cup, she hurried upstairs into her room, looking to the ceiling as it creaked angrily above her; he was moving around urgently, Stella could tell. She wished now she hadn’t ignored him when he had knocked and called to her earlier. Suddenly she needed to see him again, hold him once more, if just for a moment. A door banged distantly above.
And then the house became silent and she knew in her heart that Rafe had gone.
She hadn’t slept – not even fitfully – and thus was awake to hear the first trill of the birds. By the time she heard the soft knock she had been dressed for more than two hours. For a wild moment of hope she thought it might be him and if so, she would confess to what she’d heard the previous night and hope for an explanation. Her mind had been running away with her during the dark hours and taken her to clandestine places where her thoughts felt dangerous and frightening. They whispered of old enemies, scores to be settled . . . war. But when Stella pulled the door back it was the dour Mrs Boyd holding a tray. She tucked away her disappointment as she shouldered herself into a cardigan and schooled her expression to one of calm.
‘Mrs Boyd, you needn’t have —’
‘It’s all right. I was on my way up anyway,’ she said, handing the tray over with a single boiled egg wearing a bright blue woollen egg cosy, two slices of toast with butter whorls on the side, a tiny dish of what looked to be a glistening globule of strawberry jam and a small pot of tea with an even smaller jug of milk and a sugar basin with three cubes. Stella couldn’t imagine where the housekeeper might have been going ‘on her way’ but stayed quiet, covering her confusion with a smile of thanks. ‘Mrs Ainsworth would like to talk with you after breakfast,’ the housekeeper added. ‘Shall we say nine sharp?’
‘We shall. How is Grace?’
‘Her mother is with her now. Mr Ainsworth kept a vigil through the night from midnight.’
Stella looked startled to hear this.
‘Is something wrong, Miss Myles?’
‘Er, no, I was feeling badly that I didn’t hear anything, offer to help.’
‘We didn’t need it,’ Boyd countered, smiling in an unsuccessful attempt to soften what felt to Stella like ostracism by the Ainsworth women and their minions. ‘And Mr Ainsworth is abnormally silent on his feet,’ she remarked, frowning.
‘So Grace slept well?’
‘Soundly, and has woken with a dull headache, which is to be expected. But she seems alert, so we’re all feeling a lot happier.’
‘Oh, that’s such a relief.’ Already Grace’s fall was fading to an event of less importance. She was safe; in recovery. There were far bigger events to fear now. Her mind was tripping again with alarm. She blinked back to the present moment where the housekeeper was staring at her, nonplussed.
‘It is a relief,’ Mrs Boyd echoed unnecessarily, her hands crossed neatly in front of her. Why was she lingering? Didn’t she know her boss was a spy? Didn’t she know he was on a dangerous mission for the government?
Settle, Stella
, an inner voice warned. She cleared her throat.
‘Er . . . do you plan to take it in turns for the rest of the day? I am happy to sit with Grace if they —’
Mrs Boyd made a soft tsking sound. ‘No need. Between Miss Hailsham, myself and Mrs Ainsworth, we have it all covered.’
‘How about her father?’ she frowned, recalling Rafe’s near despair yesterday and somehow hoping his silent footfall had returned him.
‘Mr Ainsworth left for London very early this morning as soon as Mrs Ainsworth relieved him from Miss Grace’s bedside.’
The housekeeper’s casual confirmation of what her instincts had clued nevertheless hurt, the words feeling like tiny hammers bruising her vulnerability. She showed no sign of this ache in her expression, though. ‘I see. Well, I shall meet with Mrs Ainsworth at nine. In her salon?’
‘No, she plans to spend an hour or two with her daughter. So perhaps you wouldn’t mind meeting in Miss Grace’s room.’
‘I wouldn’t mind at all.’
Stella knocked at Grace’s door and heard a muffled voice call, ‘Come.’
She opened the door but only got halfway across the threshold. ‘Oh!’ she said, freezing to see Georgina smirking at her.
‘Hello, Stella. I’m gathering lessons are off for my sister.’
‘You’re home,’ she said, instantly wishing she hadn’t stated the obvious.
‘Well, unless I’m a mirage . . .’ Georgina said, rolling her eyes.
‘How are you?’
‘Not thrilled to be home.’
‘When did you arrive?’
‘Mummy sent a car late last night.’
Being at the back of the mansion and on such a high level meant Stella heard none of the comings and goings of the family and staff, other than the footsteps of Rafe. She could hear them now echoing in her mind as he packed in haste to leave. Perhaps the same car that brought Georgina home took her father away.
‘You look lost, Stella,’ Georgina pondered, from where she sat on the bed next to her sleeping sister, head cocked to one side in contemplation.
‘It’s because of Grace,’ she replied, quickly schooling her features to be alert. Rafe was right: Georgina was always on the hunt for mischief. ‘May I come in?’
‘I don’t see why not. My mother is expecting you, isn’t she?’
Stella nodded. ‘Is she not here?’ Again the obvious. She wanted to bite her tongue out.
Georgina smirked. ‘She was called away to the phone. Apparently my father wanted to speak rather urgently to her.’
‘Where is he?’ It was out before she could stop it.
Georgina’s attention that had been returning slowly to Grace now snapped back to Stella in blinking surprise, her quizzical expression filled with intrigue. Stella wasn’t going to let her have the opening.
‘I mean, he said something yesterday about needing to show me some of the systems for his filing.’ It sounded convincing enough.
‘Really? Well, he’s gone to London. Heaven only knows what he does there. Mummy can’t tell me. Probably has a woman, or maybe two, given the time he spends away from us. They must be very dull to want him.’
‘Georgina!’
‘Do I shock you?’
‘You disappoint me, especially in front of Grace.’
‘Well, you see, Stella, I’m at least sure that Grace
is
asleep.’
She glanced at the little girl, breathing quietly, rhythmically. ‘What does that mean?’
Georgina smiled and stood, advancing further towards Stella in an intimidating way. ‘It means that you should also be sure that Grace is actually asleep – not just dozing – especially if you’re going to be honest in front of her. I might be the gorgeous daughter but I have to admit, the angels made up for Grace’s lack in the physical department by making her exceptionally smart with a viciously sharp memory.’
Stella’s frowned deepened. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’
Beatrice chose this moment to arrive. ‘Yes, whatever are you talking about, Georgina?’
‘Nothing important, Mummy. Stella and I were just discussing how it must feel to be the other woman in a man’s life.’
Stella felt her body turn clammy. No words would come and suddenly she was an observer, unable to participate.
‘Other woman? What would you know about being another woman, Georgie darling?’
‘Nothing, of course. That’s why I was asking Stella if she’d ever been in that situation; her being older and all that. You know, of being someone’s mistress . . . what it must feel like to be an adulteress.’
Stella’s throat closed to the point where she thought she was going to start gasping for air, like a fish hooked out of its natural watery environment. She struggled to swallow.
‘What a ridiculous and curious question, Georgina. Quite rude too. How should Stella know?’ her mother admonished with an affectionate chuckle. ‘Good morning, Stella,’ Beatrice said as she arrived bedside, leaving Stella to wonder whether yesterday’s reveal was already forgotten.
‘Morning, Mrs Ainsworth,’ she choked out, still standing in the middle of the room, hardly daring to make eye contact with Georgina but she knew she must not let this vixen have such control. ‘To answer your question, no, Georgina, I wouldn’t know about any of that.’
‘Really? I would have thought any and every man might be in danger with you around.’ She lifted an eyebrow as if they were both aware of a conspiracy and when her mother turned, she grinned sweetly. ‘I mean, you’re so attractive, who couldn’t fail to notice you?’
‘Georgina! Be off with you. Thank you for staying with your sister. Now let me have a private talk with Stella, please.’
‘I’m going into Brighton, Mummy. Potter is taking me. It’s far too boring here – everyone’s so maudlin.’
Grace began to stir.
‘Bye, Stella,’ Georgina added, with a wink. ‘Nice chatting.’ She departed the room and Stella was left feeling as though a trained boxer had just punched her as hard as he could in her belly.
‘You’re very quiet, Stella. Are you offended?’
‘No . . . er, just a bit shocked by Georgina’s line of questioning,’ she admitted, finally finding her voice.
‘I’m afraid Georgina has men on her mind. She’s been seeing a young man – you know, for picnics, meeting for afternoon tea and the like – but I suspect she’s more interested in another.’ Stella schooled her features to appear interested. ‘There’s an older fellow, you see,’ Beatrice continued in a more gossipy tone. ‘Excellent family credentials, who’s quite taken by Georgina – and why not, she’s quite the catch and undoubtedly setting up to be the belle of the 1934 Season.’
Stella blinked. ‘The Season’ was so removed from her life and yet she was familiar with its crowd of wealthy families that rented houses or, if they were seriously rich, returned to London residences
en masse
for a chunk of the year to launch the young women in their lives onto the Society scene. It involved everything from attending horse racing to boating competitions but the highlight was the balls. She’d met enough of the folk involved during her days on the department floor to know what a different world they moved in to her. And yet here she was, having a conversation about Georgina being released into a society that prided itself on matching up monied families. She often thought love must be a happy coincidence.
‘. . . drives a flashy car, talks himself up. I don’t mind. I think a young man should have a healthy ego. Doug won’t hear of him taking her out yet. He said both should wait until she’s seventeen. Typical father.’ She smiled to herself. ‘I quite like Reginald. Tons of money – she’d want for nothing and gain a title, no less.’
‘Indeed,’ Stella murmured, uninterested, her mind racing back over the hidden threat in Georgina’s words.
What did she know?
She watched Beatrice remove a long cigarette from a box of expensive menthols. ‘Help me, would you, Stella?’ she said, offering a small, square-shaped lighter that looked to be inlaid with some sort of black stone. It was surprisingly heavy when she dropped it into Stella’s palm.
Stella flicked the flame. It caught instantly. ‘This is rather lovely,’ she said to fill the awkward silence.
‘From Doug,’ Beatrice replied just before she sucked back to drag the flame onto the tip. ‘Our first anniversary – I’m quite sentimental about it and I’m not very sentimental about much,’ she said. ‘Black onyx,’ she added as Stella gave it back. The cigarette looked elegant in Beatrice’s manicured hand. The smoke didn’t drift into her eye either to make her blink or squint, nor did it make her cough. Instead she inhaled slow and deep as the air in Grace’s bedroom lost the sharp, medicinal tang of witch hazel that had obviously been daubed on her head and became newly fragranced by the camphor-laced smoke.
‘So . . . Stella,’ Beatrice began in a tone that sounded suddenly stiff.
‘Yes?’
Gone was the languid pose on the bed and the conversational tone. Now Beatrice was straight-backed and focused. ‘Yesterday was a difficult day for all of us, I’m sure you’d agree?’
Stella nodded, not daring to break eye contact with the glacial stare that pinned her like prey.
‘Good. It was unfortunate you were put into the position of witnessing what should have remained a private conversation.’ She raised a hand as Stella opened her mouth to leap in with an apology. ‘That was my fault, but I had no idea that my husband was so upset. Doug is usually impervious to the comings and goings of the house.’
‘But this was his daughter,’ Stella let slip.
Beatrice’s lips thinned. ‘Yes, and that’s my point. I had misjudged how upset he was by Grace’s accident. He blames himself, I can tell. Anyway, something was exposed that —’
No, she wasn’t prepared to go through it again. Stella jumped in. ‘Mrs Ainsworth, I was employed to help improve your daughters’ French and appreciation of cultural aspects of life and now I understand that I am to help with filing of information for Mr Ainsworth’s work. I’m happy with the work. That’s all that interests me. I do not wish to be drawn into any discussion about the family’s private affairs.’ She could see this brought a relief as Beatrice’s shrouded gaze lost some of its storminess. ‘And before you feel you must ask, Mrs Ainsworth, whatever I inadvertently shared was never my business and I have no intention of making it so. What I heard I will not be speaking about with the staff or anyone else.’
‘I appreciate your discretion, Stella. And I would like to apologise for anything said yesterday that may have given offence.’
‘You were both clearly upset, Mrs Ainsworth.’
‘Nevertheless, I wish to know for sure.’
Stella took an audible breath. ‘No offence was taken,’ she lied, but only for his sake.
Her employer’s expression rearranged itself away from concern; the brows unstitching themselves as Beatrice’s forehead smoothed over and her shoulders relaxed and her gaze lost its hostility. Her slight air of disdain was back as she waved a hand, and a trail of silver smoke followed, as though wafting away the ugly business of yesterday. ‘Good. Doug’s in London; he just called me a few moments ago from his club. Apparently he’s having to bring the voyage he’s so determined to share forward.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said, the phone call of the previous evening still echoing in her mind. So he was going ahead with the plan of Basil Peach. ‘Under the circumstances I completely understand.’ She was gabbling. Beatrice was staring at her in bafflement. ‘Um, I can head back to London immediately.’
‘Why?’
‘I won’t make it at all difficult, Mrs Ainsworth. I can be gone from here in hours.’
‘Stella, stop chittering and allow me to explain. I asked to see you this morning because I had to talk to you about a new schedule. On my husband’s instructions I am to have you shown into his attic offices so you can begin your work for him. He has left you a detailed guide to what needs doing urgently. Please don’t ask me, I have no idea of his work. I also wanted to discuss an adjusted schedule for Grace, given her new situation. However, suddenly that conversation is academic now the trip is brought forward.’