Debutantes (12 page)

‘I like Maud,’ declared Poppy. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about anyway, Violet. Who cares whether she is or isn’t a lady’s maid? She can do Rose’s sums and our hair. That’s more than you can do, Vi.’ She cast a quick look around at her sisters and said, ‘Must fly. We’re going to practise that dance tune again.’ A moment later they heard her footsteps clattering down the uncarpeted staircase to the back door.

Violet shrugged her shoulders. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said with a martyred air. ‘If she’s unmasked, on your head be it, Daisy.’

‘I say,’ said Rose. ‘Talking of being unmasked, haven’t you shown her the letter, Daisy? Daisy found a letter from someone in 1906 who thinks she’s expecting a baby. And we think the baby was Maud. She says that . . . what was it, Daisy?
They’ll have to allow us to get married
.
They can’t say that we’re too young now
. Daisy, should we tell her, do you think?’ At Daisy’s look of horror, she continued, ‘No, you’re quite right, not until we’re sure. How sad it sounds! It’s like Romeo and Juliet, isn’t it, Violet?’

‘Sounds like nonsense to me,’ said Violet. ‘Why on earth should it be anything to do with Maud? Anyway, it was probably written by some housemaid who got herself in trouble.’ She sounded impatient and completely uninterested and reverted immediately to the subject that was on her mind.

’All right,’ she said with a sigh, ‘let’s go up to the attic again, Daisy, and see whether any of that stuff of Elaine’s will do. Stop it, Rose – I don’t want to hear any more of your stories. You read too much rubbish and your mind is full of nonsense.’

‘You shock me,’ said Rose. ‘I thought you would not be able to wait to hear the whole story. I see I was mistaken in you.
Romantic Girl Unmasked As Fraud. “I Just Want to Marry Money,” Says Earl’s Daughter
,’ she murmured. Nevertheless she followed her two older sisters up to the attic.

‘I thought as much,’ said Violet in despairing tones after a long scrutiny of the top layer of Elaine’s clothes. ‘These jumpers and cardigans might be good quality, but they just have such an old-fashioned look – and I can’t chop up knitted stuff. And the blouses too. People are going to laugh at us if we arrive wearing these. I want to be stylish.’ She mused for a moment and then went quickly across to the trunk marked R
OBERT
D
ERRINGTON
and flung it open.

It was at that moment Daisy heard a heavy footstep on the stairs. ‘Shut it, Violet,’ she hissed. ‘Father is coming. You don’t want him to see you taking things out of his brother’s trunk.’

However, it was not the Earl but Justin who came in, ducking his dark head below the small, low doorway.

‘Any use for a man with a handy knife?’ he enquired as he saw Violet on her knees in front of the trunk. A ray of sunshine coming in through the attic window lit a smile on his face.

‘No, thank you.’ Violet’s voice was curt and she did not look at him, but frowned to herself as she pulled out shirt after folded shirt.

The smile faded from Justin’s face, but then it came back as he turned to Daisy. ‘How did the filming go?’ he asked with an air of genuine interest.

It seemed that the truce the two had called during the tango was over. ‘Haven’t had the time to do anything with it yet. We’ve been wondering what to wear when we visit the Duchess. Have you ever been to one of those house parties, Justin?’ Daisy was determined that Violet wasn’t going to boss her. She would talk to Justin if she wanted to.

‘I’ve been to a couple. Can’t think what the girls wore, though. Dresses, I suppose,’ he said unhelpfully and went to sit on the low window seat. The little attic window jutted out from the roof and the sun was pouring through it now, making the seat a warm and comfortable place to be. He looked as though he were determined to stay so Violet gave a shrug and turned back to her sisters.

‘I’ve just had an idea,’ she said, wearing that intent look which always came over her face when she was talking about clothes. ‘It was seeing Poppy in that old pullover of Father’s. I’ve always thought it was ridiculous, but looking at it this morning, I suddenly thought that she looked rather good in it.’

She bent down and started to rifle through the trunk, discarding evening clothes, army khaki and army dress uniform, until at the bottom she came across what she was looking for. Carefully packed in a bag, heavily impregnated with lavender and cedar shavings, were the jumpers.

Daisy could see at glance that there was going to be nothing there to suit her. Robert had obviously had the Derrington colouring – he appeared to be a dark-haired, dark-eyed young man in all the photographs and whoever selected his jumpers had done it with an eye to what would look good on him. There were heather green and moss green jumpers, three of each, and then one russet one which would look good on Poppy and a couple of blues and one soft black cashmere.

‘What I was thinking,’ said Violet, flushing with excitement, ‘was that Elaine has got all those lovely tweed skirts – really dowdy now, of course, because they must have been nearly down to the ankles, but they’re made from heavenly tweed. If I cut them so that they are above the knee – straight skirts, quite short, like the ones shown at Coco Chanel’s last fashion show – well, the oversize jumpers over these short skirts could look rather smart and just the thing for morning wear. Let me see. That blue one should do you, Rose – pull it on.’

The jumper almost came to Rose’s knees, but the clear blue suited her and Violet gave a satisfied nod. ‘Looks good with the riding breeches,’ she remarked, ‘but I’d say that in London you’d have no excuse to wear them. It will have to be skirts.’

She picked up a soft moss green, put it aside with an appraising look, and then took the black jumper from the pile.

‘Try it on, Daisy,’ she urged.

‘It will make me look ridiculous, as if I’m in mourning,’ objected Daisy, but it was easier to give in to her sister so she pulled it over her head. It felt incredibly soft, and warm as a blanket.

‘Looks good,’ said Justin from the windowsill. ‘Makes you look very grown-up. Shows up your hair too. Makes it a lovely silvery blonde. And makes your skin seem very white.’

Daisy felt herself blush and hoped that Violet would not notice, or if she did that she would not make any comment.

‘Come down and you can see yourself in the looking glass,’ suggested Violet, but Daisy shook her head.

‘No, I can’t, Vi. I’ll help you carry down the stuff but I need to work on my film. Rose, why don’t you do your schoolwork now and then when I’ve finished developing we can plan the film together and you can do some title cards for the frames we select.’

When Daisy reached the basement she was surprised to see Sir Guy coming in the back door, followed by Morgan carrying something large, wrapped in brown paper, in his arms.

‘Ah, my favourite goddaughter,’ said Sir Guy, looking a little embarrassed.

‘I’m your only one,’ responded Daisy mechanically, wondering what on earth Morgan was carrying. Sir Guy had volunteered, to everyone’s surprise, to escort the Duchess to the station at Maidstone and had gone off, after an early breakfast, sitting beside Her Grace in the squashy back seat of the ancient Humber.

‘Just go out and see if I left my newspaper in the car, would you, Daisy?’ said Sir Guy and she went out of the back door, shivering a little as she crossed over towards the stables. She was half sorry that she hadn’t grabbed one of the discarded jumpers from Robert’s trunk. Even if that dark green was quite unbecoming on her, it would have been warm. Today, with the frost still silver in the shadowy parts of the stable yard, was definitely a three-jumper day – especially in the icy darkness of her dairy. In a while I’ll have a hot mug of cocoa, thought Daisy. It will warm my hands as well as my insides. She would take another out to Justin, she decided. Even if the sun was on the bridge it would be cold work fishing on a day like today.

There was no newspaper on the seat of the Humber and none in its capacious boot. In the distance Daisy could see her father riding slowly down the back avenue – he had come home earlier than usual from his morning ride. He would be worried about the house party and would be racking his brains to think how he could get money to buy new clothes for his daughters. His instinct would be to refuse permission to allow the visit and that would solve all his problems. As long as he could shut away the outside world he could avoid confronting his financial problems. But first of all he had to justify himself and Daisy was the one he usually chose in order to unburden himself of guilt.

I’m not going to tell him that turning down this visit is the right thing to do, thought Daisy. Not this time. This is too important for Violet. She has a right to have her chance.

There were voices inside the open door to her darkroom as she came in and she stopped short.

There was a smell of oil in the room, but that was not all.

Standing in the corner of the dairy pantry, well fenced in with an ancient fireguard, was an upright oil heater, painted black and with the word PERFECTION stamped on it. It had a screened window to view the flame and a small brass fuel-level indicator to show how much oil was in it. Already a wave of delicious warmth was filling the tiny room. Daisy gasped. Her eyes began to fill with tears. Her voice shook as she said uncertainly, ‘That’s not for me!’

Daisy was not used to being given treats. It was so seldom that anyone had time to think of her. She was sensible enough to know that Poppy needed to be treated carefully and that her music lessons were essential, that Rose was a delicate child who needed extra care, that life at Beech Grove Manor was harder on Violet than on anyone else, but sometimes she felt that it would be nice to think someone was concerned about her.

‘No, no, no.’ Sir Guy sounded shocked. ‘Not for you at all, m’dear. I’m just worried about the film. Isn’t that right, Morgan?’

Morgan gave a grin. ‘That’s right, Sir Guy. Expensive stuff, films. Cold and damp must be very bad for them. I feel the same about my drums. Never let the fire in the range die down too far.’

‘There you are then,’ said Sir Guy happily. He accepted Daisy’s kiss, but said hurriedly, ‘Now get working, Miss Daisy. I’m looking forward to seeing this film. Remember, tell a story and tell it through the pictures. Don’t say this to Rose, but the fewer the title cards, the better your film will be and the more your audience in the cinema will lose themselves in the story.’

‘And don’t move that heater from that safe corner, or fill it yourself,’ added Morgan. ‘Sir Guy has bought a barrelful of oil that will be delivered later. I’ll keep it in my workshop in the stables and I’ll light the burner and check the level every morning. Don’t you touch it, my lady! If anything is wrong with it come and fetch me.’

‘That’s right,’ agreed her godfather. ‘Film is dangerous stuff. Will burst into flames as easy as anything. Always happening in studios! These young lads insist on smoking and one spark and the place goes up in flames. I make my youngsters go outside to smoke. Can’t stand the smell of their cheap cigarettes either.’

Talking fast to cover Daisy’s thanks, he went out and Morgan, giving her a smile, went after him.

Two hours later, Daisy sat back and thought. The reel of film had been developed and pegged on to the little line to dry. Then she had taken out her scissors and cut out promising sequences. Normally she rushed in and out, doing one job at a time, but today, in this delicious warmth, she just sat and thought. What did she want to achieve with this film? A movie that had substance . . . that would have the audience sitting on the edges of their seats . . . a story that would bring gasps of horror – even the odd tear.

What had she got so far?

Well, lots and lots of wonderful background shots. Violet’s first sight of Justin that day by the lake; Justin looking up at Violet as she sat on her horse and looked demurely down at him. A few interesting close-up frames – Justin and Violet dancing together, their eyes locked, every fibre of their being showing how attracted they were to each other. Daisy gazed for a long time at these frames. It was such a shame that they were just pretending. Justin was exactly the sort of man she wanted for her eldest sister – someone who had some spark. But it was impossible – Justin had made no secret of the fact that he was as poor as they were, living by his wits at the moment. He would be on the lookout to marry a rich heiress, not someone like Violet without a penny to her name, a girl from an almost bankrupt estate that would descend to a hostile heir. Denis Derrington had no interest in the family, no desire to do anything that would make their life more bearable, and that fact was unalterable. Violet had to marry money. And, thought Daisy wisely, she would be happiest if she married a man with a country estate and a grand house. Unlike her younger sisters she had never become reconciled to their poverty.

Still, her professional side told her that the frames were excellent. There were other good ones: Rose listening to the Duchess with bated breath; Baz and Poppy laughing together; Great-Aunt Lizzie with a look of satisfaction in her gimlet eyes; Maud serving demurely at table; Bateman bending over her father offering him wine with a look of such affection, such concern on his old face; Violet crying hopelessly (but still looking pretty) sitting on the windowsill of her bedroom . . .

Not enough drama, she thought. She got to her feet, leaving her prize frames on the table. She would walk around and think, she decided. Perhaps being so warm was robbing her of ideas. Almost automatically she took her camera, loaded a new spool of film into it and went out into the stable yard. Morgan was out there, a workbench spread with nuts and bolts from the ancient Humber in front of him.