my foot!’ Mary interrupted, forgetting herself completely. ‘I see all the letters that come into this house and Miss Sutton’s have a Marseilles or a Nice postmark on them so why, will you tell me, don’t Alice’s?’
‘That’s enough!’ Cook snapped, aware the conversation had gone too far. ‘What Upstairs does and where their letters come from is none of our business and we’d all do well to remember it if we want to keep our positions in these hard times. And not one word of what’s been said in my kitchen is to go beyond these four walls – do I make myself clear?’ She fixed Mary with one of her gimlet glances. ‘We’re all getting as bad as Will Stubbs,’ she added as a final reminder.
‘There’ll be none hear anything from me!’ Mary countered archly. ‘Never a word passes my lips when I’m in Will’s company. I hope I know my place here and have always given satisfaction, Mrs Shaw!’
‘That you have, Mary; that you have – so don’t spoil it!’
Whereupon her ladyship’s cook rose from her chair, indicating that morning break was over. ‘Now let’s all of us be about our business. If we’re intended to know, we’ll be told when Miss Julia gets home, Tuesday. If not, then we keeps our eyes down and our mouths shut tight!’
All the same, she pondered, there were things that didn’t add up, postmarks on letters apart. Just why had Alice stayed away so long? And who was Daisy?
Clementina Sutton was in a tizzy of delight. Not only had the first visiting card she left at the house in Cheyne Walk been accepted by a servant dressed in black from top to toe, but the next day – the very next day, mark you – a card had been delivered by the black-bearded Cossack which indicated, if Russian etiquette ran parallel with English, that Clementina was now free to call. Hadn’t the Countess added the time – 10.30 – in small, neat letters in the bottom, left-hand corner, and tomorrow’s date?
The Countess. Just to think of it made Clementina glow. Merely to look at the deckle-edged card bearing what could only be the family crest embossed in gold and the name Olga Maria, Countess Petrovska beneath it, gave her immense pleasure.
She knew little of the family next door, save that they had fled St Petersburg where the Russian revolution started, though now those Bolsheviks were calling the city Petrograd, if you please! Mind, the Bolsheviks appeared to have gained the upper hand, so were entitled to call it what they wished. The last of the British troops sent to help restore the Czar to his throne had long ago left and heaven help anyone who had the misfortune to fall foul of the men – and women – who waved their triumphant red banners. Shot, like as not, just as the Czar and his family had been.
But it couldn’t happen here, Clementina insisted nervously, even though men were joining trade unions as never before and threats of strikes were always present. But they wouldn’t strike. For every man who withdrew his labour there were ten only too grateful to take his place. She dismissed the British working man from her mind, thinking instead of tomorrow’s call. Investigating the pedigree of refugee Russians and whether the daughter of the house was in the market for a husband might prove interesting. It could turn out to be an extremely enlightening talk.
Talk? But what if the family next door spoke no English; used French as their international language as diplomats did? She would not only feel a fool, but be shown to be one! Then she comforted herself with the thought that any foreigner of any consequence spoke English and if the Russians did not, then they were not worth wasting her time on – which would be a pity, because the daughter of a countess was exactly what she had set her heart upon, for Elliot.
She sighed deeply, then began to search her wardrobe for something suitable to wear, regretting having brought so few clothes with her. And this town house, though small, she resolved, must be brought into full working order and before so very much longer, too. Elliot had dillied and dallied far too long. Now he would be given to understand that he had a twelve-month in which to get himself wed – or else!
She closed the wardrobe door firmly. Nothing there; nothing half good enough in which to call upon a countess. Best take a stroll through the Burlington Arcade and along Bond Street – buy new …
Julia felt a warm glow of homecoming the moment the station taxi entered the carriage drive that swept up to the steps of the old house. For more than three hundred years Rowangarth had stood there, blessing Suttons on their way; welcoming them back.
‘I’ve missed you both!’ She kissed her mother’s cheek, then swept the small, pyjama-clad boy into her arms, closing her eyes, hugging him to her, amazed he should feel so solid, so robust against Daisy’s newborn fragility. ‘It’s good to be back, though it was such a joy being with Alice again. I wanted to bring her home with me.’
‘Come inside, do. It feels quite cold out here.’ Helen Sutton shivered. ‘I promised Drew he should stay up to welcome you, though he’s been fighting sleep this past half-hour.’
‘Then I shall take you upstairs at once, my darling, and tuck you in,’ Julia smiled, kissing him again. ‘Have you had your supper?’
‘Mm. Mummy not go away again?’
‘No, Drew. Next time, you shall come with me. We’ll go for a lovely long ride on a puffing train – now what do you say to that?’
He regarded her solemnly through large grey eyes – Andrew’s eyes – stuck a thumb in his mouth, then laid his head on her shoulder. Almost before she had tucked the bedclothes around him, he was asleep.
‘Now, give me all the news,’ Helen smiled as they sat at dinner. ‘How was Anne Lavinia?’
‘She seemed fine. I gave her your love, as you asked.’ Best not spoil tonight with vague suspicions about her health. ‘She’ll be back in France, by now. I think it was business brought her home. Figgis has retired now, remember. There’s no one in the house, so maybe she thought she’d better check up on things – pick up bills. And she popped in on her doctor. Nothing wrong. Just a quick check-up,’ Julia hastened, feeling better for having mentioned it, albeit briefly. ‘It was good to see Alice again. She and Tom are very happy – and as for little Daisy! Five weeks old and a beauty already. I could have stolen her to be Drew’s sister!’
‘She is Drew’s sister,’ Helen reminded, fork poised. ‘Had you forgotten?’
‘No.’ Nor was she likely to. ‘The christening was lovely. Quiet, but lovely. Alice sent you a piece of cake, by the way.’
‘And Morgan – I almost forgot the old softie. Is he all right?’
‘Morgan’s fine. I’m glad Alice took him with her. He’s never looked so fit – thinner, because he gets a lot more exercise.’
‘And no titbits from Cook,’ Helen supplied.
‘Absolutely not. His coat shines, now. He shares brick kennels with Tom’s two labradors, though he’s really Alice’s dog. When Tom is at work, she lets Morgan out and he sits beside Daisy’s pram, on guard.’
‘Good. Giles would have been pleased …’ Helen paused, reluctant to ask the question uppermost in her mind. ‘About Alice – did you feel – I mean …’
‘Did I ask her about well – what we talked about – and yes, I did. I put it to her, then left it at that; didn’t want her to feel I was pressurizing her to come home. Where Tom is – that’s really her home, now. But I don’t want to lose her. The war took so much from me and she is one of the people I have left who understands. She was with me the day I met Andrew …’ Her eyes took on a remembering look, then she tilted her chin, and smiled. ‘When I left, Tom drove me to the station. He told me they’d talked about it – about Alice visiting us, I mean; said there was no reason at all why she shouldn’t stay with us. And he agreed with me that people should know that he and Alice are married.’
‘Then what are we to tell them?’ Helen frowned. ‘That he wasn’t killed, but taken prisoner …?’
‘Exactly