Daisy (11 page)

“I shall go and meet them at the pier,” said the Duke stiffly. “Oh, don’t be such a silly ass!” The last remark was to the Earl who was pantomiming a horsewhipping.

A glorious fiery sunset was flaming across the evening sky as the Duke of Oxenden waited for the arrival of the Greenwich boat. Down the river, the spars and masts of the ships at anchor stood out black against the burning sky like the charred remnants of a forest fire.

He began to feel foolish standing on the edge of the pier in his evening clothes. Perhaps she would not be on the next boat. Perhaps he was being overly concerned for her welfare. Perhaps she would misinterpret his concern.

Then he saw the steamer chugging toward the pier, lurching drunkenly on one side as the passengers gathered along the rail facing the shore.

He saw Daisy almost at once, standing in the bow, her arm raised to keep a ridiculous confection of pink tulle on her hair.

She waited, motionless, until almost all the passengers had left, and then she turned and made her way with little mincing steps down the gangplank.

The Duke moved forward to meet her, still hoping that Daisy would not think that he was in any way in love with her. But she merely regarded him silently with a mixture of tiredness and irritation. The Duke suddenly realized that Daisy regarded him as a sort of overwhelming parent who was forever finding her in the wrong.

She did not ask what he was doing waiting on the pier, but burst out with, “Well, how was I to know he was a masher?”

The Duke smiled and led her toward his carriage. “No way at all, my dear. Captain Brothers is reputed to have great charm when he is heiress hunting.”

“I don’t know
why
he should consider me an heiress,” said Daisy crossly.

Perhaps, because of your impeccable taste in dress,” drawled the Duke, eyeing the pink organza with an appreciative eye. He did not feel like betraying his friend Harry Trenton. “And on the subject of hunting, are you not tired of searching for the man of your dreams?”

Daisy was indeed tired. She felt very disillusioned, very young, and very silly. But she was not going to back down. A bet was a bet.

“I am not searching as you put it, Your Grace… I mean, Toby. I am like any other girl having her first Season. I am looking for a suitable young man.”

“Then you are not like ‘any girl,’” said the Duke. “Most would shudder to admit that that is their role in life. I notice that the new wave of women’s emancipation does not seem to have touched you.”

Dairy looked out at the jumbled lights of nighttime London. “Oh, I agree with the women’s movement,” she said with an odd maturity. “But I am no leader and no world changer. I could become a nurse or a stenographer and work hard for a pittance. I may yet have to become a governess. But strange as it may seem I would like love, a home, children.”

She continued, almost talking to herself, “Perhaps I have been trying too hard. Perhaps I have been too trusting.” She gave a little shiver and turned to the Duke. “I shall not go anywhere again unchaperoned without first finding out as much as I can about the gentleman.”

“Really, Daisy,” he mocked. “You are alone with me. I am glad I do not make you nervous.”

“Oh, no,” she said seriously, looking at him wide-eyed in the light of the carriage lamps. “I feel quite comfortable with you… that is, when you don’t make me feel like a guilty schoolgirl. You are like a sort of uncle.”

Now the Duke of Oxenden was well aware of his attraction for the opposite sex. He had been courted and toadied to all his life. Women hung around the doorstep of his town house waiting for a glimpse of the “handsome Duke.” Society women wrote him impassioned verses and even sent him flowers.

He found to his surprise that Daisy’s remark about him being a sort of uncle annoyed him immensely. It was high time he gave Miss Daisy Chatterton less of his distinguished attention.

He pulled the high collar of his opera cloak around his ears and pretended to go to sleep.

“Don’t sulk,” said an infuriating voice from the opposite corner.

Impertinent child! He was not sure that he liked her at all!

The London Season had nearly come to an end. Daisy had done the rounds—Ascot, Henley, Goodwood, ball after ball and party after party. The novelty had worn off and she felt tired and somehow rootless. The Nottenstones’ town house was charming with its huge bowls of flowers and frivolous cane furniture and bright wallpaper, but it managed to convey the very essence of impermanence. It was not a home to be lived in all year round and sometimes Daisy could not help wishing there were a few dogs or children around to break up the impeccable facade.

The grand marble staircase seemed to have been expressly designed for the Nottenstones to make stately descents or furious and dramatic exits. The conservatory appeared to have been built on so that indiscreet and intransient amours could take place behind the potted palms. The music room was for changing partners, and the library, an ideal place to make an assignation. The whole gave the impression of a stage set with the couples changing their affections with all the complexity and intrigue of a Restoration comedy.

In Upper Featherington one “walked out,” became engaged, got married, and never looked at another man again—or that was the way Daisy remembered it. Seen from a distance, her old life seemed safer and more permanent. Society seemed to adore the artificial. Love of nature was damned as “too boring.”

Driving in the park with the Earl one afternoon, Daisy had suddenly cried out, “What beautiful beeches!” “Never heard of ’em,” remarked the Earl cheerfully. “New family in town, eh?”

She had tried to flirt with various young men, but her experiences with Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone and Captain Brothers had soured her in some way. She could not put her heart to it. The infuriating Duke of Oxenden had retired in the middle of the Season to his estates and she found herself missing his company.

Daisy was increasingly puzzled at her father’s silence. Why not send her allowance to her direct? Why send it to Curzon? But Curzon was ready with the answer and Daisy did not know it had been long rehearsed. Curzon explained that he had been in Lord Chatterton’s service as a footman a long time ago. Lord Chatterton was old-fashioned in his ways and would not let a woman handle money directly. He relied on his old servant to manage Daisy’s financial affairs.

Slowly a plan began to form in Daisy’s mind. She ceased to buy new clothes, preferring to make over and alter those she already had. Although she still sent part of her allowance to the vicar in the East End, she decided to save the rest. Perhaps one day she would journey to France to meet her mysterious father. There must be some reason why he did not return. Perhaps he was ill? No, Miss Chatterton, replied the ever-ready Curzon. His lordship was in excellent health.

Daisy began to study timetables of trains and the Channel ferries and to dig out her old French primers. She had mentioned her idea once to Curzon, but he had looked so horrified that she decided to make her plans in secret. The sympathetic Amy had promised to go with her.

Daisy had almost made up her mind to leave before the end of the Season. Then she met Sir James Ffoulkes.

The Earl and Countess had thrown a masquerade party and when Daisy had first seen the tall, masked figure of Sir James across the ballroom, her heart had missed a beat. She had been so sure he was the Duke. He had the same soft, husky voice and the same teasing, ironical manner. She had run straight across the ballroom and tugged at the wide, slashed sleeve of his Tudor costume crying, “Toby, where
have
you been?” and then without waiting for an answer had begun to pour out all her troubles and frustrations. She had blushed with dismay when he had finally told her he was
not
the Duke of Oxenden, but wished heartily that he were, since the Duke seemed to hold her affections.

Daisy had blushed again and disclaimed. The Duke was an old friend, nothing more. Sir James had looked relieved. But with his undoubted elegance, heavy-lidded, cynical eyes, and man-of-the-world air, he did seem very like Oxenden and Daisy had warmed to him.

Daisy and Sir James were soon a familiar couple on the London social scene. Not all Amy’s diligent ferreting could unearth anything doubtful or unsavory about Daisy’s new escort. Sir James had been married to an American heiress who had recently died in New York and had left him a wealthy widower. He was charming and the ladies adored him. The gentlemen did not seem overly fond of his company, but Daisy put it down to masculine jealousy. She judged him to be around thirty-five years old.

Daisy was young and feminine enough to enjoy the jealous looks she herself received when the suave Sir James continued to single her out at ball or party. Daisy began almost unconsciously to adopt the flirtatious manners of the more daring young girls of her social set, since it seemed to amuse Sir James and he seemed to realize that she was only joking. Their conversations became more intimate in a secondhand kind of way as they freely discussed the liaisons and affairs of various society members. Daisy began to feel very dashing and “up-to-date.” Up-to-date was the latest slang word, as if the top ten thousand were determined to shrug off the last remnants of Victorian fuddy-duddiness.

Sir James’s heavy-lidded eyes began to take on a predatory gleam as he watched Daisy’s slim figure dancing through the ballrooms.

Her apparent innocence combined with her slightly naughty conversation was intriguing. She certainly could not be as innocent as she seemed. Her father was a cardsharp and she was being chaperoned by the Nottenstones whose affairs were legendary. Daisy danced and laughed and flirted and Sir James waited and watched like some elegant bird of prey.

Daisy had learned to avoid being made the butt of practical jokes or, if she could not escape, to take it in good part. She felt a much more sophisticated and worldly girl these days than the one who had fled in tears from the Trentons. Accordingly, when Lady Trenton came to call with an invitation to a house party at the Trenton country home, Daisy gladly accepted. Sir James had been invited and Lady Mary’s mother, the Countess of Lenderton, was to supervise the whole event. Nothing could be more respectable!

The guests were to be taken to Wester Cherton, the Trenton home in Sussex, by special train from Paddington.

Champagne, lobster patties, game pie, and other delicacies had been freely served to the party on board the train and when they finally puffed into the small station of Wester Cherton village, Daisy felt sleepy and overfed.

The rest of the guests, who seemed to have a bottomless capacity for champagne, piled into the waiting carriages, cheering and laughing. One young man leapt on the box of Daisy’s carriage and enthusiastically blew on a hunting horn right in the coachman’s ear. Daisy wondered fleetingly for the hundredth time how some well-trained servants managed to keep their tempers. Roaring with laughter and all in tearing high spirits, they clattered up the long weedy driveway of Wester Cherton Manor.

The manor was a long, low, redbrick Tudor building which had recently had its brickwork cleaned and repointed and in the process had shed a great deal of its antique charm. It now appeared distressingly modern and naked, rather like a series of laborers’ cottages all crammed together. There was a strong odor of dogs and bad drainage. The dark hallway was cluttered with horse brasses, bits of harness, whips, and polo sticks, and a stuffed horse’s head glared at them mournfully from over the cavernous fireplace.

Daisy was just trying to work out in her mind why a stuffed horse’s head should be shocking and a stuffed deer’s not, when her hostess descended the oaken staircase trailing a multitude of lace shawls. During her visit, Daisy was never able to discover if her hostess was wearing a complete gown. The Countess of Lenderton seemed to be dressed from head to foot in a multitude of scarves, feathers, beads, stoles, shawls, and brooches. She was a small, stout woman with heavy, strong features which seemed familiar to Daisy and it took her a few minutes to realize that the Countess looked exactly like the horse over the fireplace. Her hair had been dyed a rich brown and she whinnied rather than laughed.

“Drunk—the lot of you,” she whinnied in welcome. “Get to your rooms and sleep it off. Your own rooms, mind. I’ll have no shenanigans here.”

She stared around at her guests. “Know you all anyway. Except her.” She pointed at Daisy. “What’s yer name?”

“Daisy Chatterton.”

“Daisy. Common name. Chatterton, eh. Better lock up the silver.” She threw back her head and whinnied to the rafters. “No need to bridle, girl. I’m a plainspoken woman. Call a spade a shovel, what! Well, go on. Get along the lot of you. Drinkies at six.”

Daisy was shown to her room and thankfully left alone with Amy. It was a low-raftered bedroom which smelled of dry rot and damp. It seemed nearly filled by an enormous brass bed. Daisy felt the coverlet and noted gloomily that that was damp as well as everything else. Great trees pressed against the window. Amy lit the candles and sniffed, “We should really leave by the next train, if you ask me.”

“I know,” agreed Daisy. “It’s all pretty horrible. And she’s horrible… the Countess, I mean. Silly old horse. But Amy, I can’t leave. Sir James is coming.”

Amy started to unpack and gave her mistress an enigmatic look. “You’re sweet on him, ain’t you?”

Daisy blushed and nodded.

“I dunno,” said Amy slowly. “I can’t find nuffink bad about him but he gives me the shivers.”

“You’re romanticizing,” said Daisy lightly. “He’s always behaved like a gentleman and goodness knows, he’s had enough opportunity not to.”

“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Dais’,” said Amy slowly. “Sort of fast-like. Might give some gents the wrong idea about you.”

Daisy laughed. “Oh, it’s up-to-date to speak like that, Amy. Everyone does it. Now lay out my dinner gown and then let me have a nap, there’s a dear.”

“I see you’ve dropped the idea of going to France.”

“Not quite.” Daisy picked nervously at the coverlet. “I’ve only bought one frock after all and I’ve got plenty of money saved.”