Lakeland Lily (12 page)

Edward had always been a bit hard on him because of the boy’s greater degree of sensitivity, but Margot knew that all her beloved son needed was a good wife to care for him, and provide her with grandchildren.

Selene was making little progress in this direction so all her hopes rested on Bertie. And it looked as if her efforts might be paying off.

The summer season had been most satisfactory. Several young ladies had caught his eye, though admittedly none quite suited, for one reason or other.

Millicent Gowdrey, for instance, was completely lacking in grace. Felicia Morton-Cryer talked in too loud a voice, and Sophie Dunston seemed a positive recluse. The one thing they all had in their favour, however, was money. Without exception their parents were quite comfortably off, the Dunstons positively rich.

Margot chewed on the end of her pencil, then added Sophie’s name to her list. The girl might cast off her excessive shyness in time. And if she stopped squinting behind those spectacles, might even become less plain.

Which left poor dumpy Dora, the girl’s only claim to charm, and therefore inclusion on this exclusive list, being her parentage. The Ferguson-Walshes were one of the richest families in the district.

Margot had missed out on an alliance with the Lindens for poor dear Selene, but the Ferguson-Walshes would make a very good alternative for darling Bertie. If she could but bring him to the point. Margot sighed. She had rather hoped that Bertie and Dora would have taken to each other by now, and if young people today were not half so pernickety they would certainly have done so. Yet it remained Margot’s all-consuming dream to bring the marriage about. She hadn’t yet given up hope, and enjoyed Edith Ferguson-Walshes full support in her campaign. If the two women had their way, the young couple would be married by Christmas.

The September picnic to Kelda Bay was Margot’s chance to bring this desired state of affairs to fruition. This would be the crowning glory of her year. If she couldn’t bring Bertie to a decision at the picnic, then she would eat her best hat!

The golden September sun burned through the wreaths of mist floating over the lake. Flat calm, it was a perfect day for a sail. The mountains basked in the sunshine. Even the becks were running quietly, as if reluctant to disturb that quiet autumnal magic.

From the moment she arrived at the small stone jetty, Lily knew she was not welcome. Margot and Selene ushered their guests aboard, fussing over where everyone else should sit, ignoring her completely. Edward Clermont-Read scarcely glanced in Lily’s direction as he poured water into a copper vessel rather like a small tea urn.

‘It’s called a Windermere kettle,’ Bertie whispered in her ear. ‘Since that’s where it was first invented. Contains a coil of pipe through which high pressure steam from the boiler passes. Boils water in ten seconds, once we’ve got up full steam.’

Lily said, ‘I see,’ though really she didn’t, and Bertie grinned at her, as pleased as if he’d invented it himself.

‘Like her? The boat, I mean. Built on the lines of a real steamship, only in miniature.’

As the
Faith
set sail for Kelda Bay Lily told him she thought the boat looked perfect, sleek and gleaming from hours of loving care. Despite her more prosaic motives for wanting this invitation, she’d experienced an unexpected feeling of happiness simply climbing aboard. It had been like stepping into another world: refined, leisurely, gracious. A world where everyday cares and worries did not exist.

A white funnel shone in the September sunshine and the engineer opened up two glass doors through which he began to tinker with the engine.

‘Be laying her up for winter soon, eh, George?’

‘Aye, Mr Albert. Clean the boiler tubes, and give her a scrape and varnish.’

Not a soul addressed Lily as Bertie led her through the panelled saloon and found her a seat on one of the blue leather couches. ‘You’ll be comfortable here,’ he told her. ‘While I go and help Pa up front.’

Lily thanked him, and after dutifully smiling at one or two people who pretended they hadn’t noticed, perched resolutely on the edge of her seat, gloved hands clasped tightly together, trying not to regret her decision to come
.

Her new blue print dress with its braid trim had seemed perfectly wonderful when she’d first altered it, and even when she’d put it on this morning. Now, it felt drab and second-hand. For all she’d trimmed her new straw hat with a fresh pink rose and a length of baby blue ribbon, it too felt somehow cheap and tawdry.

At the far end of the boat, sitting in the stern, she could see Selene talking earnestly to her mother. The two of them kept looking daggers in Lily’s direction. Would Bertie suffer a dressing-down for daring to bring her? She rather thought so.

She glanced in the opposite direction, to where Bertie stood at the brass wheel so he could be in charge of steering the steam-yacht as he clearly loved to do. He caught her eye, lifted a hand and waved. Upon the instant Lily felt better. She drew in a deep breath and slid back more comfortably upon the seat, deciding that cruising was really rather pleasant, and she fully intended to enjoy the day. Even the smell of the hot steam and Welsh sea coal was intoxicating.

And if no one had welcomed her with open arms, what of it? She was here at Bertie’s invitation, which had nothing to do with Margot Clermont-Read. He was of age, after all, and could surely choose his own friends?

Deep inside, Lily knew this to be asking a great deal. No one in their right mind could consider her friendship with Bertie suitable. But so far as she was concerned, that was the whole point, wasn’t it? She hadn’t agreed to attend this picnic in order to have Bertie fall in love with her, but to find the opportunity to speak her mind to the Clermont-Reads.

Having reminded herself of her motives, some of her pleasure in the day faded. To find herself seated in the very vessel which had ploughed down and killed her darling Dick was suddenly almost more than she could bear, and she’d waste no time in telling them so. Lily tightened her small fists, longing to jump to her feet and embarrass these people with her accusations before all their fine friends. What sweet revenge that would be!

Managing to restrain herself, she lifted her chin to the sun where it streamed through the window, and turned her attention to the beauties of the passing scenery. Perhaps they might calm her shredded nerves. Lily certainly meant not to be overwhelmed.

They steamed along the eastern shoreline of Carreckwater past Blengarth Hall, a Gothic mansion built during the last century by a Liverpool shipping magnate. Woodlands of birch, oak and alder crowded the shoreline, interspersed at intervals by the precipitous face of craggy rock dropping sheer to the water. Finally the upper reaches of the lake brought a long stretch of shingle, known locally as Kelda Bay, and the
Faith
steamed silently closer to shore.

‘Nice, ain’t it?’ Bertie enquired at her elbow, as if he had invented the spot especially for her.

Lily smiled up at him. ‘It’s lovely.’

‘Kelda is the old Norse word for spring,’ he told her. ‘I’ll show it to you after tea. The water is lovely, very fresh and clear. It’ll give us a few moments’ peace away from the family.’

She had to ask. ‘Did they mind your inviting me?’

‘I didn’t ask their permission.’

This should have pleased her, but instead a tremor of apprehension ran through her as Bertie handed her down on to the tiny wooden jetty. As she turned to thank him, Lily thought how handsome he looked. His sandy halo of hair, bleached to a new fairness by the
summer sun, seemed backlit by the glorious sweep of the Langdales and Bowfell behind him.

‘I’d best go back and help Mama, mustn’t neglect the old thing. Are you all right?’

Lily smiled up at him. ‘I’m grand.’ And she would have been, except that Selene chose that very moment to push hurriedly past, causing Lily to lose her balance. One foot slid into the water, soaking her in seconds.

Selene looked disdainfully down at her predicament. ‘Oh, dear, how very clumsy of you.’

‘It were your fault, not mine,’ Lily protested, too annoyed to consider her words more carefully.

‘It
were?
What sort of language is that?’ Selene let out a trill of laughter. ‘How very quaint.’

Lily winced at her own mistake. She’d been taking such care to do everything right and speak properly, but next to Selene’s well-bred tones, her own voice sounded vulgar and broad. ‘You know what I meant.’

Selene quickly checked that Bertie was still engaged in attending to Mama and then
 
stepped closer to Lily. ‘Don’t think we aren’t aware what you’re up to. It won’t work. We’ll see you never get your thieving hands on our darling Bertie. We know how to deal with money-grubbers like you.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you?’ laughed Selene, cruelly mimicking Lily’s accent. Then shot up her parasol and swung it above her head. ‘Suit yourself. You’ll find us fearsome adversaries.’ Erupting into fresh peals of laughter, she turned up her elegant nose and flounced off.

If the sail across the lake had been silent and difficult, tea was a nightmare. Not a soul except Bertie acknowledged Lily’s presence.

For once Margot had chosen to dispense with servants and ordered Selene to lay the white damask cloth and set out the silver and glass with her best china - though not without incessant instructions as to each correct placement.

‘Much more fun this way, don’t you think?’ she trilled, moving a glass half an inch to the right. ‘Perfect, though I do say so myself.’

Plates of sandwiches were passed around, cakes offered at such a distance from herself that Lily soon began to suspect a calculated design in the fact that barely a morsel of food reached her plate. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Bertie hadn’t been so engrossed in lighting a bonfire, or if she hadn’t been so hungry.

She tried to concentrate upon a family of coots swimming merrily by, but from the corner of her eye she could see Edward Clermont-Read approaching and her heart gave a little flutter. Would this give her the opportunity she sought?

Lily intended to ask if he’d visited The Cobbles recently, and when he denied it, as he surely must, she’d demand to know why, since he owned so much of it. Did he not care about the people forced to live in his poor miserable dwellings? Of course he didn’t care, she would go on to say.
Didn’t you kill my own sweet love without a word of apology?
The words were already forming on her tongue when he leaned closer.

‘I fear we are neglecting you, Miss Thorpe. Would you care for a slice of Madeira?’

And to her very great amazement he slid a slice of cake from his own plate on to hers. Even more alarming, when she met his calm grey gaze, he closed one eye in a slow and solemn wink. For one head-spinning moment Lily thought she might actually laugh out loud, despite her better judgement. But then Margot’s commanding tones reached them loud and clear. ‘Edward, what are you about?’

He turned on his heel and strolled away, as if nothing untoward had occurred. But every word Lily had been about to utter had quite gone from her head. What had it all meant? Thrown into confusion, she frowned at the offending item on her plate and fell into a deep study. Oh, dear, why had she come? Rose was right. What could she hope to achieve? The Clermont-Reads were far too clever for her.

It startled her that this man whom she’d been about to accuse of gross negligence and an act little short of murder should take the trouble to share his tea with her. Was he genuinely sympathetic or merely trying to make her think so?

‘Pray pay attention, Miss Thorpe, when you are being spoken to.

Stricken, Lily glanced up to find herself the centre of attention. ‘I was saying that you hold exceedingly egalitarian views upon matrimony,’ Margot stated pompously, and Lily looked even more confused.

‘Egalitarian?’

Selene giggled. ‘I doubt she understands the meaning of the word, Mama.’

Margot rolled her eyes, begging the assembled company to pity her for what she was forced to suffer, while Edith Ferguson-Walsh hid a smile behind her napkin. The more foolish this little hussy appeared, the more perfect a bride her own darling Dora would seem for dear Bertie.

Bertie must have sensed her thoughts for he came strolling over, blazer flying open, hands in the pockets of his white bags, a blue silk cravat knotted carelessly about his neck. He looked what he was: a dashing, carefree young man with plenty of money, and not a care in the world.

‘Egalitarian means that you believe anyone should be allowed to do as they wish, Lily, without disapproval. No matter how poor, foolish, or unwise they may be.’

Edith Ferguson-Walsh felt moved to comment. ‘Marriage is so very important. I always think a gel shines best in her own home.’

Margot sniffed into her lavender-scented handkerchief, as if something close by had offended her. ‘So long as she is the right sort of gel.’

‘But of course, I do so agree.’ Edith eagerly followed Margot’s lead and simpered a half smile up at Bertie, wishing Dora would say something on her own account. She tried to bring her daughter into the conversation. ‘Didn’t you remark only the other day, Dora dear, that you believe the salvation of the starving poor must lie in education?’