Daisy (9 page)

“Oh, I dunno,” said Lord Trenton, sinking into the armchair opposite, which gave a loud protesting creak. “Some of ’em ain’t so bad. Saw you at the Chatterton gel’s ball. Now there’s a beauty.”

“Miss Chatterton is certainly very pleasant to look at,” remarked the Duke dryly. “But much too young. I haven’t gone in for cradle snatching yet.”

“Well, you probably wouldn’t have the chance anyway,” remarked his friend cheerfully. “She’s gone off with young Bryce-Cuddestone for the day and you know what that means?”

The Duke sat up in his chair. “No, I don’t know what that means. Pray tell me.”

“Well, it’s like this. Freddie Bryce-Cuddestone’s got this terrifying mother. He dotes on the ratbag. Kept takin’ likely girls to the house and the old harridan would make sure Freddie never saw ’em again. Right? But Freddie’s still pursuin’ the ladies an’ he’s livin’ in London an’ the old rumty-too can’t get her hands on him and bully him like she used to. So she ups and tells him that the debs he’s bringing around are too
fast
and modern. But
if
he found a sort of sweet old-fashioned gel that she could have the trainin’ of… well, she’d ring the marriage bells herself !”

“I am sure Miss Chatterton cannot be
forced
into marriage in this day and age.”

“Oh, no? You obviously haven’t met Freddie’s ma. I called round at the Nottenstones to pay my respects and found out where she’d gone
and
that a message had come from Henley to say she was stayin’ on a visit and to send her clothes.”

The Duke shrugged with irritation. “And you think she’s being kept prisoner? All she has to do is just walk out.”

Lord Trenton hitched his chair closer.

“Look at it this way. If you was a shy gel and some matron insists you stay and you’ve never been to Henley so it could be Naples as far as you’re concerned, and you ain’t got any idea of how to get out of it… well…”

“Why don’t you go and rescue her?”

“Can’t,” said Harry Trenton, getting to his feet. “I’m squiring my sister to the opera tonight. Damned lot of caterwauling. But I promised. Toodle-oo.” He heaved his massive figure out of the chair and disappeared into the fog.

The Duke of Oxenden rattled his newspaper impatiently and turned to a report of the war in South Africa. He remembered Daisy’s fragile appearance and timid air and swore under his breath.

Dinner at the mansion in Henley was a gloomy affair—for Daisy at least. Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestone had been dosed with laudanum and her snores reverberated overhead like distant thunder. Daisy had enough good sense to gather that Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestone’s tantrums were of frequent occurrence and to turn a stony face to Freddie’s emotional blackmailing. Freddie was implying that since Daisy had put the mater at death’s door, the least she could do to make amends was to marry him.

Daisy reflected that she had never been subjected to such expert bullying before. Her clothes had arrived and yet no one had told her she was expected to stay. She could only be thankful that Freddie’s puppylike amorous sallies had, for the moment, been kept at bay by the length of the dining table.

The trifle had been removed and Daisy rose to her feet to leave Freddie to his port. But to her horror he rose also, taking the decanter with him. Since there was only the two of them, he said blithely, they should be cozy together in the drawing room. He offered Daisy his arm but she affected not to notice it and moved in front of him across the hall. She refused to acknowledge the arrival of her trunks and had dined in her traveling dress.

This was an England she had never dreamed of
, reflected Daisy bitterly,
where innocent people starved to death on the roads and this particular flower of English manhood seemed hell-bent on seduction
. She looked wildly about her for some sort of weapon but everything in the chilly, overstuffed room seemed to weigh a ton.

Both jumped nervously as the doorbell clanged noisily into the Henley night. Freddie crossed quickly to the door of the drawing room and waylaid the cadaverous butler. “I say, Smeekers, whoever that is, tell ’em we ain’t at home.”

“Very good, sir,” remarked Smeekers with a slow smile. He opened the door and Daisy faintly heard the sound of a familiar voice raised in question and then Smeekers’s firm and distinct reply, “I am afraid Miss Chatterton is not at home, Your Grace.”

“Oh, yes I am,” yelled Daisy, galvanized into action. She sprang past the openmouthed Freddie and hurled herself into the hallway.

Looking like an elegant and friendly demon, the Duke of Oxenden lounged in the doorway. He wore a high silk hat rakishly on the side of his head and a long beaver coat and his yellow eyes gleamed with mischief. “Ah, Miss Chatterton. I have been sent by the Countess to escort you home. You have a heavy day of social engagements tomorrow, she begs me to remind you.”

“Oh, th—thank you,” stammered Daisy. “Your Grace, they sent for my trunks.”

“In that case we’ll simply send ’em back,” he said languidly. “Come along like a good girl.”

“I say,” said Freddie sulkily. “There’s no need for Daisy to rush off in the middle of the night in all this fog. Dangerous, what!”

“There are more serious dangers around than mere fog,” said the Duke looking coldly at Freddie, who blushed. “Here, you,” to the butler, “get Miss Chatterton’s trunks corded up and put in my carriage.”

To Daisy’s bewildered eyes the world had miraculously righted itself. In no time at all her trunks had been strapped on the back of the Duke’s carriage and she was making her farewells.

She sat in silence as the horses clopped down the drive, aware of the Duke’s eyes on her.

“Well, Daisy,” he said at length. “Aren’t you going to thank me for rescuing you?”

Pride was about to make Daisy say petulantly that she hadn’t wanted to be rescued, but escaping from the Bryce-Cuddestone household was such a relief that she found herself bursting out with the story of her horrible day and the dead bodies beside the road.

He listened sympathetically until she finally finished her account in a hearty burst of tears. “I am afraid there are a lot of people like the Bryce-Cuddestones around. They turn their eyes away from poverty and misery and say that it is all the fault of the poor themselves to ease any pangs of conscience they may feel. Or they get up elaborate charities complete with crested paper and hundreds of overpaid officials so that by the time
they
are paid off, there’s precious little for the poor.”

“If I could donate something from my allowance…” said Daisy. “I am sure my father would not mind.”

The Duke regarded her in silence and then said after a few minutes, “Well, I see no reason why not. I shall give you the name and direction of a vicar in the East End. He does a great deal of
real
charitable work. Your money will not be wasted, I assure you. Now, we shall stop in Henley at the police station and I shall report the matter of your dead bodies.”

Daisy blinked back her tears and thanked him profusely. She decided she had been mistaken in him. He was not hard and cold after all. After they had left the police station she began to chatter merrily and, being a good mimic, soon had him laughing over the tantrums of Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestone.

“You see, my dear,” he said at last. “It all bears out what I was telling you. True love does not exist and it seems to me as if your search for it is only going to cost you endless agonies. I am prepared to cancel the bet.”

“Never!” said Daisy warmly. “I shall prove it to you yet, Your Grace.”

“Toby,” he reminded her gently.

“Your Grace,” snapped Daisy petulantly and then settled back in the carriage and pretended to go to sleep. For some reason she could not fathom, she was almost as angry with the Duke as she had been with Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestone.

“Very well then,” said the light mocking voice. “But don’t expect me to rescue you next time….”

The unchristian fog fled before a light breeze and sparkling sunshine on Sunday morning, leaving its sooty residue in the nooks and crannies of the great city.

London slumbered on under a pale summer sky and only the sparrows were up and about, chirping cheekily on the elegant windowsills of the West End like so many Cockney urchins come to poke fun at the sleepy aristocracy. Daisy lazily opened her eyes and wondered if she had been wise to make any engagements for the day at all. Mrs. Bryce-Cuddestones seemed to be lurking in every corner of fashionable London, ready to drag her off to their gloomy homes and force her to marry one of their downtrodden offspring.

But Lady Mary Trenton had invited her for tea and she was to stay on for dinner. Lady Mary, the coal heaver’s sister, was a sturdy, jolly, harmless girl. The most she might suffer from was boredom. Daisy rang the bell and blinked at the strange maid who answered. It was Amy’s day off so there was no way of picking up any useful servants’ gossip about the Trenton household.

Daisy passed most of her day buried in the Earl’s sparse library, lost in the world of Mrs. Henry Wood’s novels.

What agonies the heroines had to endure. What smooth villains twirling their mustaches lay in wait for innocent damsels. But virtue triumphed in the end… in most cases.

Woe befell the woman who strayed! She lost her children or had to spend the rest of her life in obscure watering places on the Continent, suitably veiled. Daisy reflected cynically that the present society seemed to get away with murder when it came to liaisons and seductions.

But her love was waiting for her just around the corner. She was sure of it. And what better time to meet him than on this sparkling day.

The Trentons had a large Nash town house in Regent’s Park. The other guests seemed to be mostly young people, many of whom were already familiar to Daisy. They seemed to laugh a lot and treat everything as a mad kind of joke. Daisy sat down at the tea table in the garden in all the glory of her new tea gown—and leapt to her feet as her seat let out a loud raspberry. Everyone cheered and clapped. A bladder had been placed under her cushion, explained Mary Trenton. Such a gloriously
vulgar
noise. The Trentons like most of London society loved practical jokes and as Daisy nearly broke her teeth on a wooden angel cake, she wondered if she would survive the day.

She became aware of a tall man watching her intently across the room. He had been talking to Lord Trenton and now stood staring at Daisy with such intensity that she blushed and dropped her eyes.

Lord Trenton led him forward to be introduced. He had a square, handsome tanned face, broad shoulders, and was impeccably dressed in a scarlet blazer and white flannels.

He was introduced as a Captain Richard Brothers who was home on leave from India. He had merry, laughing eyes and an endearing smile. Daisy began to feel her heart beating quickly as she smiled up at him.

He pulled up a chair beside her. He neither shouted at her as if she were deaf, nor did he immediately start questioning her about a lot of people she had never heard of, but began to entertain her with thumbnail sketches of the company and then went on smoothly to describe his adventures in India. “It’s a great country,” he told the dazzled Daisy. “And don’t you listen to any of those fools who say it’s no place for a lady. Why, the ladies have a marvelous time. Not enough of them, you see. Even the plainest girl has several subalterns at her feet. As for you—we’d all be fighting duels.”

He described the blazing stars of the tropical nights, the exotic flowers, the sparkling social life, until Daisy felt ready to rush off and jump on the next boat.

As tea was finished, they were both very pleased with each other. Daisy, because she had never been in the company of such a handsome, brave man. Why, he made the Earl seem positively effeminate!

Captain Brothers was just as enchanted with Daisy. Lord Trenton had described Daisy, in a spirit of schoolboyish mischief, as “London’s latest heiress,” being well aware that the Captain was a notorious fortune hunter. Lord Trenton was not an unkind man and he determined to set the Captain right as soon as possible—and then forgot about it.

The company retired to their rooms to dress for the evening’s pleasures. Daisy felt so happy she could hardly breathe. The Trentons were very fond of amateur theatricals and had asked her to recite something from
Romeo and Juliet
. At last she could play Juliet!

Mary Trenton had said it was not necessary to wear a costume. Her evening gown would do. She would be a very Edwardian Juliet in blue silk and a bustle, but she knew the role by heart and was sure she would do well. And the Captain with the merry eyes would be watching her!

A makeshift stage had been set up in the ballroom at the back of the house. Daisy waited nervously behind the curtains and had a sudden stab of panic. She had chosen the speech Juliet makes before she takes Friar Lawrence’s drug. Clutching a bottle of smelling salts to act as a phial, she heard Lord Trenton’s jolly voice announcing her. The curtain parted, the candles in the footlights flickered and waved, and then Daisy was quite alone facing her audience.

In a firm clear voice she started to recite, “Farewell. God knows when we shall meet again…” and then lost herself in the beauty of the words. She had reached the middle of the speech—“How if when I am laid into the tomb,/I wake before the time that Romeo/Come to redeem me—” when she became horribly aware that her audience was rolling around with laughter.

Her voice faltered and then went on. She had always considered the line “And madly play with my forefathers’ joints” slightly ridiculous if taken out of context, but surely it could not merit the gales of noisy mirth. Tears of laughter were running down Lord Trenton’s face and he was forcibly holding back Captain Brothers who was trying to leap onto the platform.

Daisy turned slowly around. Two clowns from the Hippodrome, hired specially for the evening, were cavorting behind her as they had been all along. With two spots of color on her cheeks, Daisy swept from the platform and straight out of the house. She had money with her—having learned her lesson at the Bryce-Cuddestones—and flagged down a passing four-wheeler, ignoring the noisy cries of the guests who had chased after her onto the pavement. “Can’t you take a joke? I say, no need to scamper off like that…” followed her down the road.