Читать книгу Daisychain Summer - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 13

Exactly on time the train from King’s Cross to Edinburgh pulled into York station and Julia wished she could have brought Drew to see the thundering green monster that hauled it. But her mother was returning from France and it was not a day for watching trains.

‘Dearest!’ Julia saw her at once; saw sorrow in her face, the sorrow they all felt.

‘Oh, my dear! Awful. So awful.’

‘Hush, now.’ Julia took her hand, holding it tightly. ‘The Holdenby train is already in. Let’s get ourselves settled.’

With luck they would find an empty compartment and her mother could pour out the heartbreak she had carried with her from the bedside of a dying woman.

‘I spent last night in London,’ Helen offered when they were seated on the train that would take them to the tiny, one-line station. ‘I wanted to get back, but –’ It had been her instinct to make like a small, bewildered animal for the safeness that was Rowangarth, but there had been things to do. ‘I went to see Anne Lavinia’s solicitors, you see – and her doctor. Only when I told him she had died, would he tell me.’

‘I know Aunt had seen him last time she was in London, but she made nothing of it.’

‘Well, it wasn’t nothing. She had a serious heart condition; she shouldn’t have been riding that great strong horse. Probably that was why she took a tumble. She didn’t regain consciousness – died not long after we got there.’

‘She went the way she’d have wanted to.’ Julia’s mouth was right with hurt. ‘Will it be in France?’ She couldn’t say the word; not burial.

‘No. We want to bring her home. She was born at Rowangarth and your Uncle Edward and I want her in the Sutton plot. She’ll be near your Pa. When all the French formalities have been seen to, Edward will come home with – with her.’

‘When?’ The train began to move. Julia looked out to see the Minster towers, blinking her eyes against tears.

‘A week today, I think it will be. I’ll have to see the vicar. Sad that it couldn’t be Luke to do it.’

Luke Parkin had a kindly way at burials; gentle-voiced, so those who stood at Holdenby gravesides drew comfort from his compassion. Poor Luke.

‘Mother – I don’t want that vicar!’ Not the locum; Luke Parkin’s stand-in, Julia called him derisively. ‘Nathan is home – why can’t he read the service? There’s nothing in canon law, surely, that says he can’t?’

‘Oh, but I’d like that. Your aunt would have, too. I phoned Cheyne Walk, by the way. Clemmy and Elliot will come back to Pendenys, of course, when I can give them a date.’

‘Of course.’ Julia didn’t want Elliot at the funeral; not standing there, imitating sorrow. And why should he be alive and Andrew dead? ‘Try not to be upset, mother. You know how Aunt Sutton loved horses …’

‘Yes, I do. Her solicitor holds her Will, by the way. He wants to see you, Julia.’

‘Yes – but not yet.’ That she was her aunt’s sole beneficiary had not slipped her mind, though now it seemed less important than on the day she had learned of it. Just a few days after their wedding, it had been. She and Andrew hadn’t had a honeymoon – not the usual one, because of the war – but 53A, Little Britain had been an enchanted place. Andrew’s cheap lodgings near St Bartholomew’s church had seen their first, fierce loving. She still paid the rent on those rooms; couldn’t bear to let them go. Now, she had two London addresses and decisions would have to be made.

‘Try to make it soon, dear. He said things had best be settled quickly. He’s putting her death in The Times obituary – save me the trouble, he said.’

‘He’ll charge for it, you know.’

‘Doubtless he will but oh!’ Helen covered her face with her hands. ‘It seems that life is slipping away from me. Everyone I love, leaving me one by one.’

‘But there’s me, and Drew. We won’t leave you.’ Julia smiled as the train hooted three times as it always did when it neared the bend, half a mile from Holdenby station. ‘And we are almost home, now.’ Soon they would be back within the shelter of Rowangarth’s dear, safe walls and things would not seem so bad. ‘Chin up, dearest.’

Alice waited in the village shop that was also a Post Office and telephone exchange, glancing up at the clock almost every minute, wondering what could be so important. Julia’s last letter had told her of Aunt Sutton’s death. Dear Aunt Sutton; such a fine lady. Indestructible, somehow. Alice had never linked her with death.

… I know how much you cared for her and I have ordered flowers for you, Alice. I will write a card, with your name on it. But there is something, more important, and I need you with me.

Is it possible Tom will allow you to come to London? I’ll telephone, and explain. Can you be at your Post Office at eleven, on Wednesday morning …

So now she waited, one eye on the clock, glancing all the while through the window at Daisy’s pram.

Julia had always been dramatic, always spoke before she thought. Marriage and widowhood hadn’t changed her. To her, everything was larger than life; her lows abysmally low; her highs acted out on a pretty pink cloud.

Alice had passed the letter to Tom who said of course she must go. Daisy would be no trouble, her being on breast milk and sleeping most of the time, though he’d heard London water was dirty, and best boiled – especially if a baby was to drink it.

‘It seems that Julia needs you urgent and a few days away will make a change from the quiet, here,’ he’d smiled. ‘Though by the time you get back, there’ll be someone in Willow End …’

‘It’s here, Mrs Dwerryhouse,’ called the postmistress from the switchboard at the back of the shop. ‘Just lift the phone, my dear. You’re through, caller,’ she said most professionally, then went to stand at the counter to let it be known she wasn’t listening in. And anyway, she’d be content with Alice’s half of the conversation.

‘Julia? What’s the matter? You’ve got me worried.’

‘Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to. But I’m coming to London. It’s Aunt’s funeral on Friday and I plan to travel down on Saturday. I’m her executor, you see – me and her solicitor. I’m seeing him on Monday. But could you come down, some time after that – I’d meet you at the station. Daisy will be all right. I’ll get hold of a pram and cot, for her. We’ll stay at Aunt Sutton’s. There’ll be plenty of room – but please come?’

‘Julia! Calm down! What’s so awful about seeing a solicitor that you want me there? What’s really the bother?’

‘Little Britain, if you must know. I’ve made up my mind to go there!’

‘To Andrew’s place? But you haven’t been there since he –’

‘No. Not since he died. You understand, Alice, so I want you with me. I’m not brave enough to go alone. Please tell Tom, so he’ll understand. I’m sure he’d let you come if –’

‘Oh, whisht! He’s already said it’ll be all right. I’ll travel on Sunday, though. Tom has most Sundays off, so he can see me and Daisy onto the train. There’ll be a couple of cases – nappies, and such like. But I’ll come, Julia. When I know the train times, I’ll write you. I’ll send the letter to Aunt Sutton’s – and yes, I do know the address! I’ve stayed there before, remember?’

‘I know you have. That’s why I need you with me. Bless you for coming – and say thank you to Tom, for me.’

‘Goodness, mother, I didn’t know a small boy needed so much paraphernalia!’ Julia put her head round the sitting-room door. ‘Be with you in a tick. Almost finished packing, then we’ll have a sherry. I think I’ve earned one!’

‘You could always leave him with me …’

‘Thanks, dearest, but no. He’s got to meet Daisy.’ And more important, Alice.

The door closed with a bang. Her daughter had never learned, Helen thought, the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, to enter and leave a room in a lady-like manner. Only she could hurtle into a room, setting it into chaos at once, or leave with a door-slamming that set ornaments dancing.

Thank you, God, for Julia and Drew, she had whispered inside her as she stood at her sister-in-law’s grave. Had it not been for Nathan’s kindness, she must surely have broken down and sobbed, and that would never have done. So she had listened instead to the gentle, sincere voice reading the burial service – so like Luke Parkin’s, the poor dear man – and thought about anything save that Anne Lavinia was leaving them.

Another Sutton gone; one more from the good days, she had thought with pain; days that would never come back.

Things were changing. Now, young people danced all the time; an act of defiance, almost, to convince themselves that the fighting was over and never, ever, would they go to war again. So they laughed too loudly, some of them, and smoked too much and danced foxtrots and two-steps and lately, a dance called a Tango.

And young women cut their hair defiantly short and wore tight brassieres to flatten their breasts as if it were important they should look more like willowy boys than girls. Now, picture houses flourished, with two different films each week, even though there had never been such unemployment with mills and factories going bankrupt every day of the week.

Seaside outings seemed to have become essential and charabancs set out every Sunday morning as if everyone was frantic to live a little before people who should know better started another war.

I think, when the living is vacant, that Nathan should be our next parish priest. Helen directed her thoughts to the flower-covered coffin. It would be splendid to have Nathan with us. He’d be such a good influence on Drew; Drew needs a man, Anne Lavinia – even you, who had little time for men in your life, must agree. Maybe, even, Nathan could give Drew his lessons. I don’t want to send him away to school. Not as they had sent Robert and Giles away. So many precious young years gone, but they hadn’t known, she and John, that neither of their sons had so few years left to live.

I shall miss you, dear Anne Lavinia, but I will never forget you. Not John’s sister. Two of them gone, now. Only Edward left, of the three of them.

She looked over to where Edward and Clementina stood. Clemmy was heavily veiled; always went too far, when it came to a public show of grief. Jaws clenched, Edward stared ahead. Remembering, was he; thinking back to the way it had been at Rowangarth, when they were all little?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Helen had stooped, taking a handful of Holdenby earth.

Goodbye, Anne Lavinia Sutton …

Once the train had come to a standstill, Alice laid Daisy on the seat, reaching for her cases, placing them one by one on the station platform. Then she scooped up her daughter.

‘We’re here in London and oh, it’s such a place you’d never believe it, Daisy Dwerryhouse!’

Carefully she stepped down, and then she saw them. Julia did not move nor take Alice into her arms, kiss her, say how glad she was to see her. Instead, her eyes spoke for her.

I’m sorry, they said. I know it shouldn’t have been this way, but try to understand?

A small boy held her hand. He was sturdy and he was fair. His hair was carefully parted and looked as if it had recently been combed. He hopped from one foot to the other, excited by the noise and bustle.

‘I had to bring him,’ Julia whispered. ‘I promised I would, next time I went on a train. And you’ve got to come to terms with the way it was.’ She held out her arms for Daisy. ‘Let me have her – show her to him?’

Bemused, Alice did as she asked, running her tongue round lips gone suddenly dry.

‘Drew, darling,’ Julia said softly, ‘this is my dearest friend, Mrs Dwerryhouse and this –’ she bent low so the small boy might see the child she held, ‘– is baby Daisy. Say hullo.’

‘Hullo, baby,’ he repeated obediently, then gazing up, he held out a small, gloved hand and whispered, ‘Hullo, lady.’

Alice looked down at her son; at the child of rape she had wanted never to love, and saw only a small boy, not yet two years old; saw Julia’s son.

‘Hullo, Drew,’ she said softly, bending down, cupping the small face in her hands. ‘You are so like Giles, except that you have Andrew’s eyes …’

The child pursed his mouth, frowning. Giles and Andrew were words he did not know and Mrs Dwerryhouse was a word too difficult to say. So instead he smiled brightly, pointing to the engine that still hissed steam and puffed coal smoke.

‘Puffing train,’ he said.

‘Nice puffing train,’ Alice nodded, kissing Julia warmly. ‘It’s all right, love. You’ve done well. He’s grown into a fine little boy.’

‘Let’s get a taxi.’ Julia closed her eyes briefly, relieved that the meeting of mother and son had gone better than she had dared hope, holding up a hand to call a porter. ‘Soon be at Montepelier Mews. Sparrow knew where to lay hands on a pram and cot.’

‘Sparrow? I’d forgotten …’

‘But she’s been looking after Andrew’s place for me – you knew that. I sent her the key to Aunt’s house – asked her to light fires, air the beds. She’s there, now.’ Emily Smith, who had cleaned for Andrew and devotedly washed and ironed his shirts. His cockney sparrow, he’d called her. ‘I send her wages each month – surely you remember? She still talks about Andrew as if he’ll soon walk through the door, back from Bart’s, and asking how her rheumatics are. It’s as if she wiped the war from her mind. Bless you for coming, Alice. It’s going to make going back to Little Britain so much easier.’

‘Do you have to go back?’ Come to think of it, did she have to keep up the lease on Andrew’s lodgings, act like Sparrow who tried not to admit he would never come home?

‘Yes, I do, but I’ll tell you about it when we get to Aunt’s house.’

‘Yours now, don’t forget.’

‘Not quite. Almost, though. Still a few things to be seen to before it’s legally mine. And I haven’t been in Hyde Park, yet. I was waiting for you …’

‘Then we’ll take the children there, tomorrow,’ Alice said firmly. What was Julia up to? Why the urgency of this visit? She offered her hand to Drew. ‘Come along, Drew. Take lady’s hand.’

Her eyes smiled into Julia’s. It’s all right, they said. At least my problem is solved – now let’s get you sorted out, Julia MacMalcolm!

Aunt Sutton’s little mews house behind Montpelier Place had changed little, Alice thought, since she had stayed there that enchanted May, seven years ago. Then, she had been maid and chaperon to Julia Sutton, her employer’s daughter, and never had she had such a time! It had been in nearby Hyde Park that Julia and Andrew met and –

‘Sparrow! Here they are! Here are Mrs Dwerryhouse and Daisy.’

Alice shook her head, blinking away the past, smiling at the small, thin woman who bobbed a curtsey then said, ‘Oh, the little love,’ to Daisy, who was, for once, wide awake and gazing about her with blue-eyed alertness.

‘Hullo. Am I to call you Sparrow, too?’ Alice hesitated.

‘Bless your life, mum, everybody else does! It was the doctor gived me the name and if it’s good enough for him, then who’s to say different? The kettle’s on the boil, Mrs MacMalcolm. You’ll both be wanting a drink of tea?’

Alice looked around her, remembering. The house was still pretty and white; white windows and doors, outside; white-painted woodwork inside, with white-painted furniture in a style popular at the turn of the century and Anne Lavinia Sutton had not thought to change. The house was full of greenery, then. Pots of ferns and trailing plants everywhere, though now there were none to be seen. Died from neglect, she supposed. ‘The plants?’ she ventured.

‘Mm. I shall have to buy more. I want it to be just as it was when Aunt lived here. Sparrow will see to them. She’s coming to live in, caretake the place – did I tell you?’

‘You didn’t – but it’s time for Daisy to be fed. Can I go upstairs?’

‘That you can, mum,’ Sparrow smiled. ‘The cot is made up and a warmer in it. And there’s a comfy chair for you to sit in. Anything you want, just call out. Sparrow’s here to take care of you all.’

‘She’s so pleased to be moving in here,’ Julia murmured as she watched Daisy feeding contentedly. ‘She’s a widow; her son was killed in the war, too. She’s only got the pound I send her each month for keeping an eye on 53A, and a few shillings a week pension. Hadn’t much to live on, when her rent had been paid. She’ll be a lot better off, when she lives here. Paradise, she says it will be.’

‘And will she still look after Andrew’s lodgings?’

‘No. I – I’m going to let the place go. The lease expires at the end of the year. I won’t renew it.’

‘I see. I think you’ll be doing the right thing, though it’s going to hurt, isn’t it?’

‘It’ll hurt like hell – as if I’m betraying him. That’s why I want you with me. I’m not brave enough to do it alone. You were with me the night Andrew and I met. You are a part of us. I want you to be there when I say goodbye.’

‘And I will be, though it won’t be goodbye, Julia. Just an acceptance that he’s gone. It won’t be easy. I didn’t want to let Tom go. And where is Drew?’ she demanded, eager to talk about other things.

‘Drew’s fine. He’s in the kitchen with Sparrow. He always finds someone to fuss over him. At Rowangarth he’s got Cook wrapped round his little finger – now it’s Sparrow. They’ve both got one thing in common – a cake tin filled with iced cherry buns.’ Julia was smiling again. ‘You do like him, Alice? Seeing him didn’t upset you, like it used to – bring it all back?’

‘No. I’m Alice Dwerryhouse, now. Drew is your little boy. And nothing that happened was his fault; I accept that, now. How is the adoption going?’ she murmured.

‘We-e-ll – I’ve been going to tell you about that. After a lot of thought – mostly by Carver-the-young – I think it won’t be so much an adoption as a change of legal guardian. Young Carver says it’s all that’s necessary and won’t be half so much fuss. Things are a bit behind, because of Aunt Sutton, but we’ll keep you au fait with everything. You aren’t going to change your mind?’

‘You know I won’t. Drew belongs at Rowangarth – it’s as simple as that. And one day, when they are older, we’ll tell them, won’t we?’

‘You and me both, Alice. One day …’

They took the motor bus to Newgate Street, walked up King Edward Street, then they were there, in Little Britain; in the street where Andrew’s lodgings stood beside a shop that sold stationery and newspapers, a few yards from the gates of St Bartholomew’s church.

53A, Little Britain. Julia looked at the windows, clean and shining, and the curtains; exactly the same curtains as when he had lived there.

‘It isn’t much of a street, is it?’ Alice had need to break the bleak, brooding silence.

‘No, but it was near the hospital and it was all he could afford. He was saving hard, you know, to buy his own practice. I told him I’d have money when I was twenty-one, but it made no difference, the stubborn man …’

‘I remember the day you first came here. Oh, but you had me worried, Julia. There was I, supposed to be looking after you, see you came to no harm, and there you were, insisting on going out alone – and to a man’s lodgings, an’ all!’

‘Things change, Alice. The war changed them,’ she smiled, sadly. ‘I remember how agitated you were when I told you I was going to call on Andrew. It wasn’t right, you said. And what if his wife answered the door …?’

‘Yet you came back safe and sound and in love. I could see it in your eyes.’

‘I told you it would be all right; said I wouldn’t do anything unladylike. Word of a Sutton, I said. I was shaking, though. It was such a relief when it was he who opened the door. And I remember exactly what he said.’

‘Tell me?’

‘He opened the door. I couldn’t speak, I was so ashamed at what I’d done. After all, I was running after him, wasn’t I? Then he smiled. He smiled and he said, “My dear – I hoped you would come.” And that was it, Alice. I knew there’d be no going back for either of us.’

‘And there wasn’t. Now unlock the door, love …’

The passage was dark and gloomy because all the doors leading off it had been closed. Julia stood still, listening, then tilting her chin she walked on, opening the kitchen door, standing again, waiting.

The room was clean, the table top scrubbed to whiteness. The cooking range was black and shining, a fire laid ready for a match.

‘When we were married – next morning – I couldn’t light that fire,’ Julia murmured. ‘I’d never cleaned out a grate nor laid a fire in my life. I was so angry, I wanted to weep. So we boiled a kettle on the gas ring and ate bread and jam for our breakfast.’

‘And I’ll bet he didn’t care.’

‘He didn’t. We just left everything and went to Aunt Sutton’s. She hadn’t come to our wedding, you’ll remember, so I wanted her to meet Andrew.

‘She gave us an oil painting of Rowangarth – a very old one – for a present, then announced, calm as you like, that she’d just made a new Will and I was to get everything.’

‘She liked Andrew, didn’t she?’ There was nothing for it, Alice knew, but to go along with Julia’s heartache – let her get it out of her the best way she knew how.

‘Mm. She said he had a look of Pa. Mother thought so, too. Mother adored him, right from the start.’

‘We all did. He was a fine man.’ Alice opened the parlour door and the same air of loneliness met them.

‘We never sat in this room. Not ever,’ Julia said, half to herself. ‘We were only here three days and when we weren’t out walking in London we were – well, we went to bed. Do you think that was awful?’

‘Of course I don’t, silly!’

‘His surgery.’ Julia turned her back on the parlour, gazing at the door opposite and the small brass plate bearing her husband’s name. Andrew MacMalcolm MD.

Alice opened the door wide, then stood aside.

The desk was highly polished, everything on it arranged by Sparrow with care and precision. Medical books and journals stood tidily on a shelf; a sheet was draped over a skeleton, covering it completely. Sparrow had not liked that skeleton.

‘I have all his instruments, at Rowangarth. I went to the field hospital after he was killed, took all his things away with me.’

‘Yes. You told me that day you came home to Rowangarth. I’d almost gone my full time, with Drew.’ Julia had come back from the war a sad, pale-faced wraith. There had been no comforting her, so desolate was she. It had taken the birth of a baby to wrench Julia MacMalcolm back to life. Drew had been her salvation.

‘I’m not going upstairs today, Alice – I couldn’t. Tomorrow, maybe. But I want to take the bed back to Rowangarth, and I want –’ She lifted her chin, her eyes daring Alice to defy her. ‘I want to take everything in his surgery back, too.’

‘No reason why you shouldn’t.’ What was going through that tormented mind, now?

‘No, Alice – you don’t understand. The room next to the sewing-room at Rowangarth. Do you remember it?’

‘Not particularly, ’cept it was full of old furniture and bits and pieces nobody wanted. No one used it.’

‘Yes – but think! The window and the fireplace – the door, even …’

Alice shook her head, unspeaking.

‘Think. Almost the same black iron fireplace with a window on the wall to the left of it. And the door opposite it. Just like this room. I could hang Andrew’s curtains at the window. All his things, Alice – arranged just as they are here. I’d have his surgery at Rowangarth, don’t you see?’

‘No! Not his surgery! You’d be creating a shrine – hadn’t you thought?’

‘Yes, I’d thought. I thought about it even before we came here. It’s the only way I can do it, Alice – give up these lodgings, I mean. Don’t you see? I’m not being maudlin nor mawkish. I still love him every bit as much as the first day I came here. I’m going to do it, you know!’

‘Then if you’re set on it – what can I say?’ Alice took her friend’s hand, leading her to the door. ‘Let’s go, now? Before I go home, we’ll see to it, together.’ She closed the front door, locking it behind them. ‘And I know what today is. It’s his birthday, isn’t it – the last day of August. He’d have been thirty-three …’

‘Yes. That’s why I wanted to come here, today. And bless you for remembering, love.’

‘Did you think I’d forget those times – any of them?’ She linked her arm in Julia’s. ‘Now let’s get back. Between them, I’ll bet those two bairns are driving poor Sparrow mad.’

‘You’re a dear person, Alice. I couldn’t have gone there without you. You’re still my sister, aren’t you?’

‘Still your sister,’ Alice smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s get ourselves to the bus stop!’

‘Talking of buses,’ Julia murmured. ‘Or talking of the nuisance of having to wait for buses when you’ve got a car, I mean –’

‘No!’ Shocked, Alice stood stock still. ‘You don’t intend buying one? What would your mother say? You know you can’t keep a car at Rowangarth, so why think of getting one?’

‘But I already have one. Aunt Sutton’s. It’s in her garage at the end of the Mews. She drove it all the time in London, remember. I shall drive it up to Holdenby.’

‘Not with Drew beside you, you can’t! It wouldn’t be safe – not even if you tied him to the seat!’

‘Not yet. And certainly not with Drew to distract me. But that car is mine now, and I intend using it, Alice!’

‘There’ll be trouble, Julia.’

‘There will.’ Her chin tilted defiantly. ‘But Will Stubbs learned about motors in the army – he could look after it for me.’

‘You’ve been determined all along, haven’t you, to get your own motor?’

‘Yes. And if Andrew had gone into general practice, he’d have needed one, so what could mother have done about that, will you tell me?’

‘In your own home, it would have been different. But it isn’t right you should take Miss Sutton’s motor back to Rowangarth; not against her ladyship’s wishes. Don’t do it, Julia. It’ll be nothing but trouble, I know it. Your mother is set against motors and you should try to understand her feelings.’

‘And this is 1920, and I’ll be twenty-seven, soon. I endured almost three years in France. I saw things that will stay to haunt me for the rest of my life. So now that I have my own motor, I shall drive it and there is nothing either mother or you can do about it!’

So Alice, who knew Julia almost as well as she knew herself, said, ‘All right! Subject closed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

‘Elliot and I,’ said Clementina Sutton firmly, ‘will be going to London, shortly.’

‘But you’ve just come back.’ Edward laid aside his newspaper. ‘Have you mentioned it to Elliot?’

‘I’ve told him. We’d have still been there, if it hadn’t been for Anne Lavinia.’

‘Yes. Sad her funeral had to interrupt your stay! But why go back there so soon? Is something happening that I don’t know about, Clemmy?’

‘Happening? But that’s just it – nothing is happening! And can I, just for once, have your attention, Edward, because this is important. It is time Elliot was wed!’ she announced dramatically.

‘I agree with you entirely. But who Would have him?’ The question slipped out without thought.

‘Have him? His own father asks who’d have him! Why, there’s half the aristocracy would have him, truth known! There’s those with no brass and daughters they want off their hands, for a start. Plenty of that sort about. And there’s young girls as’ll never get a husband, what with the shortage of young men, these days.’

‘Clemmy – please? So many families lost sons to the war. I beg you not to be so – so direct.’

‘But it’s a fact of life that it’s a buyer’s market when it comes to brides, so –’

‘So you intend to buy a wife for Elliot? And have you anyone in mind?’

‘I have, and you know it, Edward Sutton. There’s a girl next door, at Cheyne Walk. A refugee, but well connected – well, in Russia that was …’

‘I see. And talking about Russia, there was a small piece in the paper – the Czar’s brother Michael has been officially declared dead, now. Seems he was shot about the same time as the Czar – at a place called Perm. There’s a son, it seems, who might still be alive.’

‘So there’s still a Romanov? The countess will be pleased.’

‘Don’t think the son will count, m’dear. Born out of wedlock.’

‘Hm!’ There’d be weeping and wailing again in the house next door in Cheyne Walk, Clementina thought grimly. Weeping in Russian, hadn’t Lady Anna said, and crossing themselves like Papists. A peculiar lot, really. It was a sad fact, Clemmy admitted, that she still might have to cast her net wider if those Petrovskys weren’t on the breadline as she’d thought they would be. But go to London again she would, if only to sort it out, one way or the other. ‘She’s a lovely-looking girl,’ she said absently, ‘and well-bred enough for Elliot.’

‘Then I’m pleased.’ Anyone, Edward reflected, was good enough for his eldest son. It was a sad and deplorable fact. There wasn’t a father worth his salt around these parts who would want his daughter married to Elliot – his past record had seen to that. ‘And when will you leave?’

‘Tomorrow. You’ll be all right on your own.’ It was more a statement than a question.

‘Of course, my dear. And there is Nathan to keep me company, don’t forget.’ He opened his newspaper again, regretting that Nathan had not been their firstborn. But even if he had, Clemmy would have ruined him, just as she had spoiled and ruined Elliot. ‘We’ll have plenty to talk about. Just enjoy yourself, in London …’

And stay as long as you like – the pair of you!

‘Well – home tomorrow, Alice; both of us. Have you had a good time?’

They were walking in Hyde Park; Julia pushing Daisy’s pram, Drew with his hand in Alice’s.

‘It’s been lovely.’

No. Not all of it had been lovely, Alice thought sadly. Some of it had been awful, especially after the removal van left 53A, Andrew’s furniture inside it and Julia standing there, her face ashen, unwilling to lock the front door for the last time. She had not spoken a word, all the way back to Aunt Sutton’s house. Her face had been harsh with grief, just as it was that morning she had arrived at Rowangarth, wet and cold and half out of her mind with misery, just three weeks after the end of the war.

‘What is he like, your aunt’s solicitor?’ It was all Alice could think of to say.

‘He’s nice. Far nicer than young Carver, and he doesn’t dislike women – or if he does, he’s careful not to let it show. We’ll soon get things settled. Aunt made a watertight Will, so he’s only waiting for something from France before it’s all wrapped up.’

‘And can you afford to keep the place going?’ Alice demanded, ever practical.

‘No trouble at all. Aunt left quite a bit of money. Carefully invested, there’ll be income enough to take care of expenses. Mind, if I were to put it on the market, that house would fetch a pretty penny, or so Mark Townsend says.’

‘That’s his name?’

‘Mm. He wants me to make a Will. I’ve never made one you know and I ought to if only for Drew’s sake. Once Carvers have settled Drew’s business, then I’ll go back to London and get one drawn up, and witnessed.’

‘Can’t Rowangarth’s solicitors do it? You said that the young Carver had his wits about him.’

‘I know. But I don’t like Carver-the-young. Oh, he’s scrupulously honest, but there’s something about him I don’t like. His eyes are shifty, Alice. He never looks me in the eyes when he’s talking to me. Andrew did. Always.’

‘Andrew was different, and very special.’

They had come to the place, now; to where it had started all those years ago, near the Marble Arch gate. Emily Davison selling suffragette news-sheets for a penny and young women appearing out of nowhere it had seemed, eager to buy from her. And the police appearing out of nowhere, too, and that awful fight. Alice Hawthorn giving the big policeman an almighty shove from behind and him falling on top of Julia, knocking her unconscious.

That was when it happened. Julia had opened her eyes and fallen immediately in love with the young doctor who bent over her.

‘Give me the pram. Drew and Daisy and me will walk back, slowly. You stay here, for a while?’

Call him back to you, Julia. Say goodbye then tell yourself he has gone. Remembering the good times will be easier if only you can accept that he isn’t ever coming back.

‘We’ll wait for you at the bandstand. Take your time, love …’