Читать книгу Daisychain Summer - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 9

‘I think you should read this letter. It’s from Alice, and it’s about Drew.’

‘It’s nothing –’ Helen Sutton’s head jerked sharply upwards, eyes questioning.

‘It’s nothing wrong,’ Julia smiled comfortingly. ‘Read it.’

‘My spectacles.’ Still a little alarmed, Helen reached into the pockets of her cardigan. ‘I must have left them upstairs. Read it for me?’

‘Only if you drink your coffee, and relax. It isn’t anything awful. Listen …’

My dear Julia,

It was lovely our being together after such a long time. Those few days were so good and just like it used to be. We must not let it go so long again. Seeing you made me realize how much I have missed Rowangarth.

I have thought about it a lot – talked to Tom about it, too, and he agrees that I must visit Reuben, though before I do I hope you will tell them all about the way it is now – about Tom not being killed and our getting married – prepare them beforehand.

There is something else, too, more important. We talked about it after you left. Drew is rightfully a Sutton. Rowangarth will belong to him one day and he belongs to Rowangarth. He is yours, and I think the time has come for me to give him up completely. Not meaning that I must never see him again, but I want you to adopt him, and even though you look upon him as your son, my dearest friend, I would wish her ladyship to do it so he may keep his Sutton name.

I accept that legally Drew is mine, but things change. I am no longer Lady Sutton and Drew must be brought up by his own kind. Will you think seriously about it?

‘There’s more, of course, but that’s the bare bones of it. Just think – Drew, ours. I think Alice could well be right …’

‘Adopt him? Oh!’ Helen let go her indrawn breath in a startled gasp. ‘I would like to – I think I always wanted to, truth known – but I never dared ask for fear of losing him.’

‘But Alice would never have taken him away from us. Just as she says in the letter, Drew is a Sutton and belongs here. I think we should think seriously about it – make an appointment with Carvers.

‘Alice means it kindly. She doesn’t want rid of Drew; she just wants what is best for him and for us. Shall I ring them up now – ask when’s best for us to see them? Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Don’t fuss me, child! This is a serious matter. We must look at it from all angles.’

‘But what is there to look at?’ Julia buttered and jammed a slice of toast, cutting it into small slices, arranging it on Drew’s plate. ‘All you would be doing is assuming responsibility for Giles’s son until he comes of age. Legally signed and sealed – that’s all it would amount to. For the rest, there would be no change. Alice left Drew in our care. He has been ours, I suppose, from the day he was born.’

‘You are right – and I do want Drew. It was a surprise to me, that’s all, yet you seem not one bit put out, Julia. Did you talk about it with Alice when you were there?’

‘Not a word. All we talked about was that perhaps she would visit Rowangarth – and now she’ll have to, won’t she? There’ll be papers to be signed, though there shouldn’t be a lot of legal fuss, especially if we are all in agreement. Which Carver do you want to see – old, middle, or young?’

‘I feel I should see the old gentleman. I wouldn’t like to upset him.’ Carver, Carver and Carver – father, son and lately, grandson, had dealt with Rowangarth’s affairs since before ever she and John were married, Helen pondered. ‘I have heard, though, that the young Mr Carver is very astute and wide-awake.’

‘Well, middle-Carver is more the financial side of the partnership, so I’ll tell their clerk you would like to see the old man but would take it kindly if you could meet the grandson, too. You haven’t met him, have you?’

‘Not yet.’ Helen shook her head. Giles had always taken care of legal matters after John died – when Robert had returned to India, that was.

‘Then you’ll get two for the price of one, that way. I’ll ring them now.’ She wiped strawberry jam from Drew’s chin. ‘When do you want to go? Friday? That would give us plenty of time to have a good long talk about it.’ And still come to the same conclusion. Of course her mother must adopt Drew. She pushed back her chair noisily and made for the telephone.

‘That’s it, then. Eleven on Friday will suit them nicely,’ Julia beamed, returning to the table again. ‘And Drew and I will come with you.’

‘Julia, dear, you mustn’t rush things so.’ Helen had not yet recovered from the suddenness of it. ‘We must think very carefully …’

‘Of course we will – and there’s no one more careful than Carver-the-old. But you know that what Alice suggests makes good sense – and there’s the other matter,’ she rushed on. ‘Alice wants it made known that she and Tom are married and I think it’s something we should do at once, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do, though it will be like letting her go, sort of. I care so much for her. Having her was such a comfort. And when she had Drew – oh, it would have been such a good day, had Giles not died.’

‘But he left us Drew. And he was very ill – you know he was, dearest – and often in pain from his wounds. Don’t let’s be too sad?’

‘You are right. This is a good day and we will start it by giving Miss Clitherow Alice’s news.’

‘I agree. Best she should be the first to know. But let’s both tell her? Then I’ll go to the kitchen and tell them exactly the same story – and let them know how glad about it we both are.’

‘Tell the same story? Don’t you think that sounds as if we are being a little underhanded?’

‘Telling lies about Tom having been a prisoner of war and Alice leaving Rowangarth to be with Aunt Sutton, you mean, when all the time she was with Tom in Hampshire? Yes, it is underhanded, but sometimes you have to stretch the truth a little.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Helen sighed, comforted. ‘But first you must tell Reuben. He’s known about Alice and Tom all along – it’s only right we should put him in the picture. And don’t you think Miss Clitherow should be the one to tell staff about it?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Julia’s reply allowed for no compromise. ‘It’s such lovely news that I want to be the one to tell them. Besides, Miss Clitherow might tell it her way. She never quite approved of Alice becoming Lady Sutton.’

‘But she did, Julia! She was extremely correct about it and insisted that Alice was given the respect due to her.’

‘She overdid it. Alice didn’t know where she stood. All right – so she had been your sewing-maid, then came back from France mistress of this house, though she never once exerted her authority. She was still Alice, and staff should not have been barred, entirely, from showing her kindness. And it was Miss Clitherow at the bottom of it!’

‘Did Alice complain? I never once thought she wasn’t happy.’

‘She was happy as she could be. But she and Giles didn’t live a normal married life – we both know it – yet for all that, she nursed him and cared fondly for him – and she gave Rowangarth a son.

‘But I want to tell staff about Alice and Tom. When Miss Clitherow has been told I shall go downstairs at once and take Drew with me if he isn’t asleep. I’ll have tea with them – like I used to.’

She called back staff teatime, with bread and jam and cake and sometimes, on special days, cherry scones. So long ago. So much water under so many bridges. So much heartache.

‘I remember. Cook spoiled you, just as she spoils Drew. You were always her favourite. And you are right. I’ll leave it to you to tell staff.’

‘Fine! I’ll put Drew in his pushchair and walk to the village. I intended calling on Reuben, anyway, to tell him about the christening and take his piece of cake. Now I’ll be able to tell him that Alice plans to visit. He’ll be so pleased.’

‘But not a word about the adoption, mind!’

‘Of course not.’ Not until they had seen the Carvers, old and young, and the legalities were set in motion. ‘Do you know, dearest, for all I was glad to be home again, I still had a sad feeling, leaving Alice. But now I’m so glad. Drew will be ours completely and Alice and Daisy will soon be coming to stay.’ She lifted the small boy from his high chair, throwing him into the air so he laughed with delight and demanded more. ‘Come on, young Sutton – let’s get you cleaned up. There isn’t a child anywhere who can get himself so sticky at breakfast! You’ve even got jam in your ear! Say ’bye to grandmother!’

Child on hip, she slammed out of the room, almost like the Julia of old, Helen thought. Almost …

Clementina Sutton, feeling quite splendid in a rose-red calf-length silk costume and toning bell-shaped hat, brought the knocker down three times, then took a deep breath.

It was all most exciting. She had never before met a Russian, much less been received by a countess who had one thing above all in her favour. She, Clementina, did not have the cut crystal voice of a true aristocrat – she knew it. Even her expensive schooling had not entirely removed her Yorkshire accent. No! She had never had that, exactly; more undertones of northness, perhaps. Yet she still had to pause, she admitted, before saying butter, government, and good luck. It was the way with northern vowels. They could give one away, no matter how very rich one might be. But the countess, being foreign, would have no ear for English dialects. It would be quite relaxing to sip tea from a samovar and not have to watch every word she said.

The door was opened by the same black-clad servant, who took the offered card, indicating with a graceful movement of her hand that the caller was to sit. Then she walked down the hall to announce the visitor. And she didn’t walk, Clementina pondered; rather she placed one foot before the other with the haughty, considered precision of a ballet dancer so that her long, full skirt swirled as she moved. Far more pleasing, Clementina thought nastily, than the pompous plodding of the flat feet of Pendenys’ butler.

‘Plis?’ Again the delicate movement of the hand, the indication she was to be followed.

A middle-aged woman, also dressed in black – even her beads and eardrops were of jet – rose to her feet, her hand extended.

‘Olga Maria Petrovska,’ she said softly, inclining her head.

‘Clementina Sutton of Pendenys,’ came the prompt reply. ‘It is kind of you to receive me.’

‘Please to sit down. Tea will be brought – or coffee?’

‘Tea is most satisfactory. You will realize that I live next door to you – when in London, of course.’ She spoke carefully, slowly, shaping her mouth like a mill girl in her eagerness to be understood.

‘Ah, yes. Karl – he is our coachman and houseman – keeps me informed of what happens in the world outside. I am little interested in it at the moment. I am in mourning. I rarely receive visitors.’

‘I am sorry. Might I ask for whom?’ The woman’s English was good – very good – for a foreigner. ‘That dreadful war – will we ever forget it?’

‘The war – yes. But for me my bête noire is the uprising, the Bolsheviks. My husband and elder son were killed by the rabble; Igor is still in Russia – though I would beg you not to speak of it outside this house. They have their spies everywhere. And I mourn for my country, also.’

‘But they will be defeated and punished, those terrible people. You will go home to Russia …’

‘No. Perhaps Igor and Anna, but not me.’

‘Your children?’ Clementina was enjoying herself immensely.

‘Igor is my younger boy; Anna my only daughter. Basil, our firstborn, died at his father’s side, defending our home. Igor tries to – to find things we left behind us,’ she hesitated, ‘but please not to talk of it until he is safely back?’

‘Not a word,’ Clementina breathed. ‘I have sons of my own. You have my sympathy and understanding …’

The door opened without sound and the servant in black placed a tray on the table at the countess’s side. Then, dropping a deep, graceful curtsey, she left on feet that seemed scarcely to touch the floor.

‘Please – something we have done wrongly?’ The countess challenged her caller’s inquisitive, roaming eyes.

‘N-no. Foolish of me, but I had expected a samovar. And your furniture …’ she faltered.

‘You expected us to be very Russian? You thought to see oriental carpets, silk hangings and rare paintings? And it surprises you that I use so English a teapot?’

‘I didn’t know what to expect,’ Clementina said with complete candour. ‘I had thought that –’

‘That you would have wealthy people living next to you? Then you are much to be disappointed. Our homes – the winter town house and the one in the country we used each summer, are gone. We could not bring them with us, nor our estates and possessions. To arrive here with our lives was itself a miracle, thanks be to Our Blessed Lady.’ She crossed herself and nodded to the – what was it? Clementina frowned. Some sort of religious picture?

‘A holy icon,’ supplied the countess. ‘Once, it hung over my bed. Always, in summer, we left Petersburg for the country – so much cooler. And when we heard of the trouble in the city, we stayed there, even though winter was near – Anna and I, that was …

‘My husband and our sons returned to Petersburg at once – the mobs were looting, we were told. They got out what valuables they could from the town house and left them with me in the country – until the revolutionaries were defeated and it was safe for us to go back. But they were not defeated. We dare not return to Petersburg.’ She passed a cup with hands that shook.

‘And then?’ Clementina breathed.

‘Igor stayed behind to take care of Anna and me. My husband and elder son returned to St Petersburg to do what they could. Basil and Igor were in the army during the war, at the Military Academy. They were too young to be sent to the Eastern Front – Basil might have lived, had he been there.’

‘And your younger son? Why did you not insist he left Russia with you?’

‘Because he is a man – or almost a man – and his Czar needed him. Besides, there were – things – still to be found; hidden things. Anna and I brought what items of value we could with us – and Our Blessed Lady. It was She got us to safety. I pray to Her each night for Igor’s life – that he may soon find us here. This house – he knows of it …’ She stopped, abruptly, breathing deeply, lifting her shoulders, ashamed she had let down her guard before a complete stranger. ‘Do you think it will rain today?’

‘That is very English of you,’ Clementina smiled. ‘And might I say how well you speak our language? I thought –’

‘That I would speak only Russian? I have French, also. Our children had an English governess and spoke only English in the schoolroom. But I am so angry with those Bolsheviks that I took a vow that only English should be spoken – except on saints’ days – until there is a Romanov on the throne once more.’

‘Dear lady – forgive me – but the Czar is dead; his heir, too.’

‘I fear so. But there are Romanovs still alive; the Grand Duke Michael – the Czar’s brother – what has happened to him we do not know. We only know that our Czar, God rest him, was murdered.’ She bowed her head and crossed herself piously. ‘But I speak too much which I ask will not be repeated by you. For the sake of my son, I ask it.’

Once, in the Imperial days, she doubted she would have received any woman without first checking her pedigree most thoroughly. Indeed, in St Petersburg, their circle of acceptable friends had been select and small. Now, even though she was as nothing in a strange country, she should not let her standards drop. It was just, she sighed inside her, that she was lonely and homesick for Russia and afraid, still, that those who had in even the smallest way served the Czar would be hunted down no matter where they might be.

‘Not a word shall pass my lips,’ Clementina breathed, eyes wide, heart bumping.

‘So, Mrs Clementina Sutton of Pendenys – now you shall tell me about your children …’

The countess had, Clementina was to think later, deftly changed the subject and not one more word about her refugee neighbours had she gleaned. Yet the countess had indicated that though in mourning she would return the call, Clementina thought with satisfaction, and meantime she had deduced that the lady was a widow; that her elder son had been killed and that her younger son was somewhere in Russia, still – St Petersburg, perhaps? – looking for things, though what he sought was still a mystery. Nor had she met Anna.

Anna, had her parents’ title been English, would have been Lady Anna, she frowned. In England, of course, a countess would be the wife of an earl and she was as sure as she could be that Russian aristocracy sported no earls. Maybe though, the husband had been a count? She shook her head. It was all very confusing – and there was something else that might well put a different complexion on things. Anna Petrovsky could already be promised!

She removed her costume and placed it carefully on a hanger. It had been a mistake, she admitted; a very expensive mistake and entirely the wrong colour in which to impress someone who must surely detest anything red.

When the countess returned her call she would be more careful and dress more suitably. And when that happened, surely Anna – Lady Anna – would accompany her mother? She did so want to meet her; decide whether she was wasting her time in patronizing the family next door. It might well be, she was forced to admit, that she would have to cast her net wider in her quest for a wife for Elliot, though she hoped not. After all, it was not essential her son’s wife should have money; what she must have, though, was breeding. Breeding such as Helen had. No amount of money would buy it – a fact of life she had learned the painful way – and no amount of poverty could disguise it. But only let the girl next door be in the market for a wealthy husband, she pleaded silently, and the search was over – and Elliot’s womanizing too, did he but know it!

‘Well now, Miss Julia, and what have you come to tell us?’

Cook placed two cushions on the kitchen chair, then perched Drew on top of them. Ever since this morning, when Miss Julia had begged afternoon tea in the kitchen in exchange for some very, very good news, Cook had been on tenterhooks.

‘Like I promised – good news; cherry scone news.’ Julia drew her chair up to the table. ‘And no, Mrs Shaw, Drew may not have all those cakes’. Deftly she removed an iced bun from his plate, returning it to the tin, ‘even though I know you made them especially for him.’

Eyes bright, she waited until cups had been filled and passed round and Mrs Shaw had nodded that tea might begin before she said. ‘It’s about Alice.’

‘She’s well again? Her ladyship is coming home?’ Tilda gasped.

‘Yes – and no. She is very well, but she is no longer her ladyship and she won’t be coming to Rowangarth just yet. She has her very own home, now. That is where I have been – acting godmother to her little baby. Alice has married again …’

‘Oh, my word!’ Cook dropped her knife with a clatter, gazing stunned around the table. At Mary, who’d suspected, hadn’t she, where Miss Julia had been; at Tilda’s bright pink cheeks and at Jinny Dobb, whom Julia had said should be asked. There was no pleased surprise on Jin’s face, Cook thought. Jin, the sly old thing, merely looked – sly. Her face was without emotion – if you could ignore the I-know-something-you-don’t-know look in her pale blue eyes, that was. ‘Married?’

‘A year last July, Mrs Shaw.’

‘So when she left …?’ At last, Mary found her voice.

‘When she left us she wasn’t going to Aunt Sutton. I’m sorry if you were deceived, but Alice felt that people she knew and cared for might not take too kindly to her leaving her little boy behind.’

‘But she did leave him behind, for all that!’ Tilda Tewk had a way of putting things that was rarely the embodiment of tact.

‘Yes, but not for the reason you might think. Alice had a choice – and she made it!’

Julia took a deep breath. This was not as easy as she had thought. Miss Clitherow had taken the news calmly; below stairs, it would seem, they had not the same control of their curiosity – nor their emotions.

‘You mean, she had the choice between this little lad, here, and – and …’

‘And should we be talking like this in front of him?’ Mary whispered, sliding her eyes to the small boy.

‘It’s all right. He doesn’t understand. The cherry on his bun is of far more interest to him, at the moment,’ Julia smiled. ‘And Alice wasn’t an uncaring mother. She put Drew’s interests first; best he should grow up with his inheritance, she felt, and mother and I agreed with her.’

‘But where did she go, if it wasn’t to Miss Sutton?’ Tilda demanded. ‘Was it to him – the man she’s married to?’

‘To him,’ Julia said softly. ‘We wanted her to, once we knew he was not –’

‘Dead?’ For the first time, Jinny Dobb spoke. ‘That Tom Dwerryhouse hadn’t been killed, after all?’

‘That Tom was alive,’ Julia nodded. ‘The Army thought him dead, but he’d been taken prisoner.’ The lie slipped out easily.

‘And them Germans had locked him up and never told no one about it?’ Cook choked.

‘It happened a lot.’ All at once Julia felt relief that the news was to be accepted with no more than a modicum of surprise. ‘When it happened, things were in a turmoil at the Front. The Germans and Austrians were getting the better of us and things were in a bad way. No news of any kind was getting through. But how did you guess, Jin? Did you see it in the bottom of your teacup?’

‘Something like that, Miss.’ Slowly, she smiled.

‘But married …’ Cook took her apron corners, ballooning it out, ready to weep into it as she always did, when overcome.

‘And a mother,’ Tilda gasped, her romantic heart thumping deliciously. ‘What did she have, Miss Julia?’

‘A little girl. Daisy Julia Dwerryhouse. She’s very beautiful. I took my camera with me. As soon as the reel has been developed, you shall see Alice and Daisy – and Tom.’

‘Then she’s had two beautiful bairns,’ Cook pronounced, taking another bun from the tin, placing it defiantly on Drew’s plate. ‘And this lovely little lad here has a sister!’

‘A half-sister. Alice asked especially that I should tell you all about her remarriage. I hope you’ll all be happy for her. Mother and I are. We are hoping she will come and stay with us as soon as Daisy can make the journey.’

There, now! She had done it! Not only had she broken the news about Tom, but she had also let it be known that the Suttons – the Rowangarth Suttons, that was – were delighted about it. How the Pendenys Suttons would react to the news remained to be seen. To Nathan, it would come as no shock at all; to Elliot, it might have entirely different repercussions.

Determinedly, she pushed Pendenys to the back of her mind. Drew was Giles’s son; was even Sutton-fair, even though Elliot was dark as a gypsy.

‘Where is she, Miss?’ Tilda’s voice broke into her broodings. ‘I want to write – tell her how pleased I am.’

‘Alice would like that. I know she misses you all. She’s in Hampshire, but I’ll write down her address for you. And might I have another scone, Mrs Shaw? There is no one can bake cherry specials like you!’

Cook obliged, beaming, spreading the butter thickly. ‘But oh, my word; Alice Hawthorn wed and to her Tom, and a little babbie an’ all!’

‘It’s like a story in a love book, isn’t it?’ Tilda breathed. ‘One with a happy ending …’ Tilda, who read every love story ever published, was an authority on happy endings. ‘I’ll write to Alice tonight.’

‘Us all will,’ Cook nodded. ‘And send a present for her little lass.’

‘Good. Well, best be off!’ Julia made to lift Drew into her arms, but Cook was quick to ask,

‘Leave him with us, Miss Julia? He does so enjoy playing with my button box. Just like Sir Giles did …’

‘Very well. But make sure he doesn’t put buttons in his mouth, and don’t dare,’ Julia gazed pointedly at the cake tin, ‘give him another iced bun – not even if he says pretty-please for it!’

‘And I’d best be getting back to the bothy.’ Jin rose to her feet. ‘Thank you kindly for having me, Mrs Shaw,’ she murmured, following Julia out.

‘You knew, Jin Dobb.’ Julia closed the kitchen door behind her. ‘Alice told me you knew about Tom right from the start, yet you never breathed a word – not even to me. How ever did you manage to do it?’

‘Easy, Miss Julia. For one thing, I promised Alice I’d never tell I’d seen him, and for another – well, scrubbing woman in the bothy I may be, but it was nice, all them months, knowing summat that lot in the kitchen didn’t know! And Miss – it was a sin and a shame there couldn’t have been another come back from the dead …’

‘It wasn’t to be, Jin. And I’ve got Drew.’ She took a long, unsteady breath. ‘Alice left me the child …’

‘That she did. And take heart, Miss. I saw happiness in Alice’s hand and there’s happiness to come for you, an’ all. I know it.’

‘How can you know, Jinny Dobb?’ Julia’s words were harsh with bitterness. ‘You’ve never read my hand.’

‘No more have I. But it’s all around you, like a glow. No one can see it but Jin, and Jin Dobb isn’t often wrong!’

‘It isn’t possible. I couldn’t. Not again!’ She didn’t want to be happy with any man but Andrew.

‘Not love again? With respect, Miss, there’s first love and there’s last love and love of all shapes and sizes in between, so don’t shut your heart to it, when you chance on it …’

‘But I won’t chance on it, so don’t ever say such a thing again!’

‘I won’t.’ She’d said what she had to say – now let it rest.

But Miss Julia would encounter love – when her heart was good and ready, that was; oh my word, yes! What she would make of it might be altogether another thing, but love again she would. One day …