Tilly True (36 page)

The date of the ball at Ludlow Castle was drawing near and Harriet was almost hysterical with excitement, having heard that Ronnie would be on leave and certain to attend. Today Harriet and Susannah were sitting side by side on a loveseat in the Cholmondeleys' drawing room, discussing ball gowns. Mrs Cholmondeley presided over afternoon tea, sitting on a chair that resembled a throne. Her back was so straight that Tilly wondered if she had a poker stuffed down her stays.

Largely ignored and feeling very uncomfortable, it was all Tilly could do not to slide off the slippery, damask-covered sofa as she attempted to balance the fragile porcelain teacup on its equally fragile saucer in one hand whilst holding a tea plate in the other. This left her with the problem of how to manoeuvre the tiny triangles of cucumber sandwich to her mouth without dropping something. She was never certain whether she ought to take off her white muslin gloves when attempting to eat, or whether to risk chewing off a finger whilst nibbling daintily on a sandwich. She would not have worn gloves at all, but Harriet insisted that no lady would be seen out of doors without her gloves, hat and parasol. Sometimes, Tilly found herself envying the servants their faceless anonymity; at least their code of conduct was clearly laid down for them. Being a lady was more difficult than she would have imagined possible.

Glancing anxiously at Mrs Cholmondeley, Tilly was relieved to see that she seemed more interested in picking up snippets of Susannah and Harriet's conversation than in scrutinising her table manners. In fact, no one was paying the slightest attention to her, and, while Tilly was struggling quietly with the niceties of etiquette, she tried to imagine that Ma and Pops were sitting on the sofa beside her. Ma was dressed in her Sunday best and was perspiring freely in the unaccustomed heat; Pops wore his one and only suit, slightly green-tinged and shiny, which only came out for weddings, funerals and christenings. He was drinking his tea out of the saucer, quite oblivious of the fact that if she spotted this dreadful behaviour Mrs Cholmondeley's eyes would cross over the bridge of her nose and might remain that way. Ma had her little finger cocked and was blowing on the tea to cool it, but her eyes were wide as she gazed at the opulent surroundings over the rim of her teacup. ‘This is a bit of a lark, isn't it, Tilly?'

‘Tilly?'

Coming back to reality with a start, Tilly realised that Susannah was repeating her name and Mrs Cholmondeley was glaring at her. ‘I'm sorry, I was miles away.'

‘I hope we are not boring you, Mrs Palgrave.' Mrs Cholmondeley's eyes narrowed to a squint.

Casting a helpless glance at Hattie, who sent her a pleading look, Tilly thought quickly. ‘I was just admiring your drawing room, Mrs Cholmondeley.' Judging by the slight thawing of Mrs Cholmondeley's frozen face, Tilly could see she was on the right track. Was it rude to make remarks about a person's home? Not knowing the answer, Tilly continued recklessly, warming to her theme. ‘My mum back in London would give her eye teeth for a place like this. Of course, the family has moved from Red Dragon Passage in Whitechapel to East Ham, now that my dad has got a job with the Gaslight and Coke Company. They've got a villa in ever such a nice street, lined with plane trees. They've got a front and a back garden and an indoor privy. That's one up on you lot here in India with your thunderboxes.'

‘Tilly!' Harriet's face crumpled with dismay. Susannah covered her mouth with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Mrs Cholmondeley's face resembled a boiled beetroot and she appeared to be choking.

‘What did I say?' Tilly demanded. ‘What did I say?'

Having endured a long lecture from Harriet on what to say and, more importantly, what not to say, Tilly was dressed and ready for the ball, waiting nervously in the entrance hall while Harriet went back to her room to fetch her fan. She had tried to plead a headache, but Harriet had seen through the excuse and told her not to be so silly. There was nothing to worry about: all she had to do was smile, say as little as possible and wait for someone to ask her to dance. But that, as Tilly had tried to explain to Harriet, was just the problem; she did not know how to dance, or at least not the sort of dancing that went on in a ballroom. The only kind of dancing that she had ever seen was the lively, foot-stamping, thigh-slapping sort of capering that the costers did on a Saturday night in the pub. Harriet had told her that there was nothing to it and she had done her best to teach Tilly the basic steps of the waltz and had explained the intricacies of the Paul Jones, the polka and the Gay Gordons, but Tilly knew she would never remember which was which. Her feet would get all tangled up and she would make a complete fool of herself.

‘You look very nice, Tilly.'

Francis appeared from the direction of his study, looking so unlike his usual self that Tilly had to blink and look again. Dressed in a severe black evening suit with a gold brocade waistcoat and a pleated white shirt and black tie, he looked almost dashing. Before Tilly could say anything, Harriet came flying down the passage, her cheeks as pink as the silk flowers in her hair.

Francis opened the front door. ‘The gharry is waiting. Do hurry up, Harriet.' Beckoning them to follow him, he went out into the night.

‘I really do have a headache,' Tilly said, fanning herself vigorously. ‘I think I may have caught a fever.'

Harriet grabbed her by the wrist, squeezing Tilly's flesh until she winced with pain. ‘Don't you dare let me down, Tilly. Without you to chaperone me, I can't go to the ball, and Ronnie will be waiting for me. Let me down and I'll never speak to you again.'

Ludlow Castle, formerly the residence of the Commissioner of Delhi, so Tilly had found out from Ashok on one of their long walks, was now the Delhi Club. Like Cholmondeley Palace it was a large, single-storey, castellated edifice surrounded by formal gardens and tennis courts. Flares lit the driveway and a procession of carriages, tongas and gharries stopped to drop off their passengers, resplendent in their ball gowns and evening suits.

Walking into the brightly lit interior with Francis and Harriet, Tilly wished that she were back in Whitechapel with Ma and Pops and the nippers. It was Saturday night and they would be having a treat of eels and mash or pie and peas swimming in liquor or gravy, unless of course Pops was off sick again with his chest. In that case they would be having boiled spuds mashed with a bit of margarine, but there would be warmth and laughter at home, not a lot of toffs hee-hawing to each other like a load of blooming donkeys. Quite suddenly, the veneer of correct speech and good manners that she had worked so hard to acquire felt dangerously thin, and brittle as a thin skim of ice on a pond. One false step and Tilly felt that the ice would break and she would sink like a stone.

‘Tilly, for goodness' sake smile.' Harriet pinched her arm. ‘Only speak when you're spoken to and please, please don't show me up in front of Ronnie and his parents. Oh, my God, there he is and he's seen us. Isn't he the most handsome man you've ever seen, Tilly?'

A tall, fair-haired young officer was approaching them. Tilly bobbed a curtsey as Harriet introduced them.

‘How do you do, Mrs Palgrave?' Ronnie said, with a smart bow from the waist and a light pressure on Tilly's fingers. ‘I've heard so much about you from Harriet.'

‘How do you do?' Tilly repeated, feeling like a parrot, but having been strictly schooled by Harriet not to say pleased to meet you or nicely thank you. Ronnie offered Harriet his arm and she laid a gloved hand on it, looking up into his eyes with such open adoration that it made Tilly feel like a peeping Tom, and she turned away. Francis had gone off to speak to a group of men and she was alone in a sea of people who all seemed to know each other. If only Barney were here, Tilly thought, looking round desperately for a friendly face. And why hadn't he sent for her before now? It was all very well for Hattie making excuses for him and blaming the army, but Barney was her husband and if he were here now, standing at her side, these toffee-nosed snobs would be all over them, smiling and chatting and treating her like one of themselves. As it was, she might as well have been a fly on the wall for all the notice anyone was taking of her. For a wild moment, Tilly toyed with the idea of breaking into a cockney song from the music halls, picking up her skirts and doing a jig, but much as she would have liked to cause a stir she knew she could not disgrace Harriet and Francis by such bad behaviour.

Holding her head high and making an effort to appear casual, Tilly made her way through the knots of laughing, chatting men and women to sit on one of the gilt chairs placed against the wall. At the far end of the ballroom the orchestra was playing, and gradually couples began to fill the floor. Harriet and Ronnie waltzed past her with eyes for each other only. Several of the younger officers present eyed her speculatively, but as she had not been introduced to anyone it seemed that protocol forbade them to approach her. Tilly didn't know whether to be relieved or dismayed. Gradually the seats along the wall filled with the older, married ladies and their plain daughters, who waited anxiously for someone to take pity on them and ask them to dance.

After an hour of being ignored, Tilly saw a portly, middle-aged man advancing on her with an unsteady gait that suggested he might have drunk too much.

‘May I have the pleasure of this dance?'

He was standing directly in front of her, breathing brandy fumes into her face and he leaned towards her holding out his hand. To refuse would cause a fuss and Tilly got up slowly. Clamping his arm around her waist, he clasped her to his starched shirtfront and whirled her into the polka. For his age, and considering the fact that he was more than a little drunk, he was surprisingly strong and Tilly's feet barely touched the ground. It was not a question of remembering the steps but more a case of keeping up with his prancing and avoiding getting their feet tangled.

‘What's a pretty little thing like you doing sitting all alone?' he demanded, breathing heavily.

With the breath squeezed out of her body, Tilly couldn't answer. She gazed anxiously over his shoulder, looking for an escape. Twirling her round until she was dizzy, her partner galloped towards the anteroom. ‘Let's go somewhere a bit more private, shall we, my dear?'

Despite the difference in social standing, Tilly had the horrible feeling that this was Stanley Blessed all over again. As they neared the doorway, she stuck her foot out, causing him to trip and stumble. He loosened his grasp, and Tilly slipped free and ran. Shoving, pushing and elbowing her way between the couples on the dance floor, she didn't care about propriety and manners; she wanted to escape. Lifting her skirts, she raced up the steps towards the entrance hall and cannoned into a man wearing the green uniform of the Rifle Brigade.

‘By God, Tilly!'

Winded, shocked and overjoyed, Tilly looked up into Barney's smiling face. Closing her eyes, she opened them again one at a time thinking that it couldn't be Barney; her overactive imagination was tricking her. ‘It can't be you.'

‘If it isn't me, then I don't know who it is.' Lifting her off her feet, Barney kissed her none too gently on the lips. ‘There, does that convince you?'

‘Take me away from here, Barney.' Tilly slid her arms around his waist, resting her cheek on the coarse material of his jacket. ‘Take me home.'

‘Your carriage awaits, Mrs Palgrave.' Grinning, Barney tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and led her out through the entrance hall to a waiting gharry. The night was cold and the sky above was spangled with stars. Taking off his uniform jacket, he wrapped it around Tilly's shoulders.

‘How did you find me?' she demanded, snuggling into the warmth of his coat and inhaling the tantalising, familiar scent of him, mixed with dust and sweat but still achingly sweet. ‘How did you know I was at the ball?'

‘I went to the bungalow and your maid told me where you'd all gone. It's as simple as that.'

‘And we've left without telling Francis or Hattie. They'll wonder what's happened to me.'

‘Don't worry about them. I'll send one of the servants back with a note explaining that I've kidnapped my beautiful wife and I'm going to make passionate love to her all night.'

‘You're a wicked man, Captain Palgrave.'

‘And I hope you're going to be a wicked woman, Mrs Palgrave.'

‘Oh yes,' Tilly said, raising her face to receive his kiss. ‘Yes, please.'

Next morning, rather late, Tilly and Barney went hand in hand into the dining room.

Francis looked up from his toast and marmalade, frowning. ‘Trust you to make a spectacle of us, Barnaby.'

Holding out a chair for Tilly, Barney went to sit beside her. ‘Nonsense, old boy, I daresay no one noticed a thing.'

Harriet sipped her tea, eyeing them over the rim of the cup. ‘You might have told me that you were leaving, Tilly. And you, Barney, you could have waited up for us.'

‘You can't blame me for wanting to be with my wife,' Barney said, flashing a smile at his sister. ‘You'll understand when you're a married woman, Hattie.'

Harriet blushed and looked away. ‘Don't be coarse, Barney.'

‘Yes, that kind of talk may be suitable for the mess room but not for the breakfast table.' Wiping his lips on his table napkin, Francis got to his feet. ‘I have to be in class, but we'll talk later, Barney. I want to know what your plans are with regard to your wife.'

‘He's taking me back to Rawalpindi,' Tilly said, nudging Barney in the ribs. ‘Aren't you?'

‘Well, it may not be that easy, darling. I'm not sure if there is a suitable married quarter ready for us.'