In Distant Fields (6 page)

Once the candlestick by her bed had been blown out and a great carpet of darkness seemed to have been thrown over her bedroom, Kitty lay feeling only relief at having somehow got through the evening without making a fool of herself.

Her most trying time had come after dinner, when the ladies had retired to the great red and gold withdrawing room. There, as cherubs and gods and goddesses frolicked on the painted ceiling above them, the crimson hangings moved in the night breeze, and the ladies tried to pretend they were not freezing, Kitty knew that the Duchess's many female friends and relations would set about scrutinising, not just herself, but all the young girls present. A too-loud laugh, an ugly gesture, a doubtful comment, too forward a manner would be duly noted and put in their little black books. So now as she lay in bed listening to the nightwatchman tolling the bell
and calling out the hour, while far away in the vast park the unmistakable cry of a vixen rang out, she remembered with gratitude that the Duchess had kissed her goodnight. For a girl like Kitty, a young woman with no means and, perhaps worse, a notorious father, the Duchess kissing her publicly as if she was a relative meant a great deal.

‘You must be congratulated, Kitty. You have won all hearts tonight, and, believe me, that is not easy,' the Duchess had whispered as she kissed her young guest.

But now it was Christmas morning when everyone of the same faith as the Duke – family, servants, tenants and friends – was expected to attend Matins in the private church on the estate. The Duke and Duchess customarily entered from a side door to seat themselves to the right of the altar directly under the pulpit, much to the Reverend Mr Bletchworth's discomfort, while their friends, with their children, occupied the front rows and the other guests sat behind them, and so on, right to the back pews, which were filled with the farm labourers and their families, everyone dressed in their Christmas best.

Kitty was placed in the family pew, between Partita and Allegra. Partita had, of course, made sure to wear a particularly fetching hat made up of feathers dyed to match her coat and gloves, while Kitty was demurely attired in a long fur-trimmed coat, a small fur-trimmed bonnet, and a matching muff, all once the property of her
mother, but now altered to fit her. On entering the church and taking their seats, Kitty as much as Partita and her sisters attracted the attention of the men in the congregation, which was hardly surprising since many of them were attending church for the first time that year, and so feeling badly in need of entertainment.

The vicar climbed into the pulpit, full of the inevitable clerical feelings of gratitude that, for once, his church was full to brimming. He placed his notes in front of him at precisely the same time that the Duke placed his half-hunter pocket watch on the pew in front of himself.

‘May I begin by welcoming everyone?' the vicar began.

‘He can begin whichever way he chooses,' the Duke remarked. ‘Just hope it's none of that Old Testament nonsense again.'

The Duke hoped in vain, and was soon giving every appearance of being fast asleep, while Kitty did her dutiful best to follow the sermon, which unfortunately very soon went right over her head, being all too full of biblical references and scholarly asides, and having nothing to do with the life that she saw around her. She started to allow her thoughts to wander. What must it be like to be a Knowle and part of such a grand historic family with tombs of marble and statues of ancestors littering your own church? What must it be like to worship all your life at Bauders, and never know what it was to have to scrimp and save?

At last the service was over and the Duke and Duchess, followed by family and friends, proceeded out of the church.

Kitty stood aside to the back as the family immediately lined up to greet the farmers and their families, the tenants and their children, not to mention all the servants.

‘There'll be no one wanting for a goose or a hen on t'table while His Grace is alive,' she heard Jossy say with some satisfaction to his son Ben, as he waited in line to shake the gloved hands of the ducal pair. ‘His Grace always makes sure we're all provided for at Christmas,' he affirmed proudly to no one in particular.

‘You say that every year, Father,' Ben reminded him.

‘So I do, Ben, so I do, and so I always shall. Just as well to remind ourselves that we are more fortunate than t'rest of t'world, and that is t'truth. You'd never have got into that regiment of yours without—'

‘Yes, Father, I know. Without His Grace we'd all have t'bottom out of our trousers,' Ben agreed, mimicking his father's accent while at the same time turning to his older brother, Tully, and winking.

‘I'll have enough o' that cheek of yours, Ben Tuttle.'

‘Happy Christmas, Jossy.'

As the old head lad passed her, Kitty held out her hand to him.

‘Thank you, miss,' Jossy replied, whipping off
his cap. ‘Allow me to present my sons, Ben and Tully, if I might. Tully, Ben – this is Miss Rolfe, a friend of Lady Tita's.' He paused. ‘She's from London.'

Tully and Ben were as tall and open-faced as their father, and they now turned identical bright blue eyes on Kitty as they too whipped off their caps and extended large hands, which Kitty shook. Ben smiled cheekily at Kitty while Tully's eyes soon slid from Kitty's face to Bridie who, having waited outside the church during the service, was now stamping her feet to keep them warm.

‘Come away with 'ee, lads,' Jossy said, turning to them both and frowning. ‘Stay in line. We're next off.'

The boys replaced their caps, but as they did so Tully made sure to keep his eyes on Bridie, whose dimpled face had caught his eye. There was no doubt that things, courting in particular, might have been a great deal easier had his mother lived, but she, poor woman, had died giving birth to Ben, so the boys had been brought up by their father and grandfather. The two men had been kind and attentive, but there was no real female influence in the house. All the years of their growing they had wanted for female company and the softening influence that mothers and sisters could bring to a household, which was possibly the reason that Tully was still glancing back at Kitty's maid as he stepped forward to shake the Duke and Duchess by the
hand, only to be nudged to immediate attention by his father.

‘Happy Christmas to you, Jossy,' the Duchess said. ‘And to you,' she turned to Tully. ‘Oh, and Ben. The army let you out for Christmas, did they, Ben?'

Ben stared into the Duchess's still beautiful face, which he had loved since he was a small boy.

‘Yes, Your Grace, and a fine time I will make of these days, you can be sure.'

‘Of course you will, Ben, of course you will. Happy Christmas to you, Ben.'

‘Thank you, Your Grace.'

‘And a Happy Christmas to you all.'

‘That's for surviving the sermon, Jossy,' the Duke muttered as he pressed a gold coin into Jossy's hand. ‘Valour in the face of insuperable odds.'

It was the same joke every year, but Jossy never minded.

‘I thought it was a lovely service,' the Duchess said to the next in line. ‘The singing was better than ever.'

‘Sooner they ban sermons the better,' the Duke informed his cellar man a minute or two later as he shook his hand. ‘All be able to get to table a dashed sight quicker, eh, Trump?' He turned back to his butler. ‘I say, Wavell, if this cold spell continues, I dare swear we might be skating on the lake tomorrow.'

‘I took the liberty of testing the ice only
yesterday, Your Grace,' Wavell murmured as he passed yet more sovereigns to the Duke to hand out. ‘And I would say that you are going to be proved right.'

‘Nothing like a skating party, Wavell, mark my words, nothing quite like it.'

Soon after the church party, family and servants made their way back to the house, some choosing to walk in order to sharpen their appetites and others availing themselves of the carriages and traps laid on by Jossy. The cavalcade of beautifully turned-out horses, smartly painted carriages and finely dressed pedestrians made a colourful sight against the landscape of the great parkland.

‘It's almost like a scene from long ago,' Kitty murmured to Partita, looking back at the line upon line of tenants and farmers climbing into their own horse-drawn vehicles, the ribbons on the women's old-fashioned bonnets and their cloaks moving in the slight breeze.

‘Don't you believe it!' Partita laughed. ‘Long ago they were all so drunk at Christmas-time the vicar would never have let them in the church. That was what the arch of the lich-gate was for – for them to shelter under.' She turned back and pointed towards the old building. ‘They were all in the habit of getting so drunk that that was as far as they were allowed, even to get married!'

Christmas luncheon at Bauders was a brilliant occasion, the orchestra playing throughout the feast, and tea being served in the Great Hall
for everyone from the estate, all of whom were waited on by the family.

Every now and then, at odd moments throughout the day, Kitty found her mind straying to her mother. At best, Violet might be asked to luncheon by her artistic cousins who lived in bohemian isolation on the edge of Holland Park. There would be peacock feathers in large vases, and a permanent smell of oil paint, and a roast capon and small home-made presents, but no gold, no orchestra, no liveried servants, and certainly no real gold animals tumbling from the crackers.

In the evening the ladies changed into their best gowns and the men into white tie and tails. There was a running buffet for those who were still hungry, then a riot of games from clumps to blind man's buff, all of which were played with high energy and with much delight. Finally, as Birdie called the midnight hour, everyone made their happy but utterly exhausted way to their beds.

‘Gracious, you are asleep already, aren't you?' an apparently shocked Partita exclaimed, making her slippered and candlelit way to Kitty's bedside.

‘I'm awake now, Partita,' Kitty replied, sitting up quickly.

‘I really should go back to my own bed,' Partita murmured, nevertheless climbing in beside Kitty. ‘Brrrr,' she went on with chattering teeth. ‘This is
the coldest I can remember. The lake really must be freezing, so I dare say we shall have a skating party tomorrow.'

‘I love skating.'

‘Good, then you will stay until the ice melts, won't you?'

‘I would stay for ever if I could. But I must think of Mamma – and Bridie. She cannot spare Bridie for ever.'

‘You can send Bridie home,' Partita said with just a hint of impatience. ‘We can share a maid. As for your mother, do you want me to ask Mamma if your mamma may be invited?'

‘No. Thank you.'

There was a small silence.

‘Is your mamma like mine, does she not like the country so much as she should?' Partita finally asked.

‘No, she doesn't,' Kitty agreed. ‘No, she is – well, very much a town person. She likes the exhibitions and the museums, and taking tea at Fontenoys.'

Another small silence followed as they both stared into the darkness.

‘If we were to send Bridie back to London …' Partita began again.

‘Perhaps it would not be so bad for me to stay on?' Kitty conceded.

‘Of course you will. Now for some gossip.'

But it seemed gossip was in short supply, because it was only a matter of minutes later that both girls were fast asleep.

*    *    *

Long before the housemaids could be heard clanking up the stairs with their water buckets, the Duke had decided the ground was too hard to risk his horses, so those gentlemen in the house party who had prepared to go hunting now took their guns to join the large shoot that was preparing to leave. Once they were gone, the Duke and Duchess turned their minds to organising a skating party for the afternoon. Everything was to be made ready: braziers and flares to be lit around the perimeter, plenty of hot food and drink at hand, while pages were sent out on ponies to issue invitations to the neighbourhood.

‘Can't remember when the lake was last frozen so solid,' said the Duke. ‘I really cannot. Must ask Wavell – oh, there you are.'

‘The last time the lake was sufficiently frozen to permit skating was the January of 1908, Your Grace,' Wavell offered. ‘The fifteenth, if my memory serves me.'

‘You should be on the halls, Wavell,' the Duke replied. ‘As some sort of memory man. You're infallible, really you are.'

‘You are aware that tonight is the servants' ball, of course, Your Grace.'

‘That I had remembered, thank you, Wavell. Haven't yet entirely lost the old memory marbles.'

‘It is just that everyone will need time to prepare, Your Grace.'

‘Well aware of that as well, thank you, Wavell.
Usual arrangements, of course. Long as there's plenty of grub for the lake party you won't hear me grumbling, I do assure you.'

‘Thank you, Your Grace.'

Wavell went away satisfied that, as always on the evening of Boxing Day, the ball that the Duke and Duchess hosted would take place.

‘It's just like an ordinary ball, except that we dance with the servants – or rather, they dance with us,' Partita explained as they took a late and lazy breakfast in Partita's room in front of a roaring fire and to a background noise of distant gunfire as the shoot got under way. ‘Papa always opens the proceedings with Mrs Coggle, the head housekeeper, followed by Mamma and Wavell, who is a very neat dancer.' Partita stood up and went to the window. ‘We could go skating now, if you would like. We could be the first. Come on.'

Well muffled up against the bitter wind, the two young women hurried happily out into the parkland.

‘Awful thing is, they get stuck in the ice.' Partita nodded towards some bewildered-looking ducks and swans, as the girls sat on a frozen bench to put on their skates. ‘Papa won't have it. Sends Jossy out on a ladder to pull the wretched birds out. Ice cracked one year and Papa thought he'd lost his head lad. That would not have done, I can tell you.'