Justine Elyot (16 page)

‘Tell me the truth about my mother,’ she demanded, after disengaging him from a cluster of guests. ‘The truth. All of it.’

‘Oh, Edie …’

‘Is she still alive?’

‘I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this …’

Yes. She was still alive. And, what was more, she was famous, and married to an aristocrat. She couldn’t make her father tell her much more about the circumstances of her birth, but she gathered that Ruby Redford had given the baby over to him, explaining that she was better off that way. Theatrical life was not for a baby, and Ruby had a career to consider and a scandal to avoid. ‘These things happen.’

Enraged by her father’s years of silence on the matter, Edie had packed her bags and stomped off to stay with her friends the McCullens, in their chaotic but friendly tenement in Holborn.

It was there that the plan had been hatched. They had been so optimistic, so entranced with their cleverness, so sure it would effect a wonderful reconciliation between mother and daughter, as well as striking a blow for the workers, though they were vaguer on how that element would come into play.

But lying in her bed that night, thinking about Charles on the floor below, Edie did not feel clever at all.

She only felt even more out of her depth than ever.

* * *

Distant thunder still rolled around the house when Edie woke from fitful sleep the next morning. Dreams both erotic and disturbing broke into elusive fragments. She needed a glass of water urgently.

Sipping at it, she revisited the night’s events and tried to predict how they would affect the day. Was it all lost with Charles? The thought was an unwelcome wrench, a churn of the stomach. But why should it be? If he would leave both her and Lady Deverell alone, then surely she had the result she wanted?

She dressed hurriedly, yawning, and went to take her station in Lady Deverell’s chambers.

‘Good morning, my lady,’ she said, nervous at addressing the sleepy face on its silken pillow. She had the most absurd presentiment that Lady Deverell
knew
– knew everything, about Charles, about her, about their relationship. Keeping a cool head was going to be difficult today.

‘Mm, is it morning already?’

Lady Deverell turned her face away and pulled the covers higher.

‘If you’d like to sleep later –’

‘No, no, don’t go. My bath. I’ll be ready directly.’

It was only then that Edie realised Lord Deverell was not in the bed with her. Perhaps her dread of his ‘bedroom face’ had been misplaced?

But, once Lady Deverell was bathed and dressed, she confirmed that Lord Deverell had indeed come to her room.

‘I thought I might find him here,’ confided Edie, trying her level best to drag a comb through her mistress’s luxuriant locks.

‘Oh, he never stays. He snores, you see. I send him packing. The sheets will need to be changed, if you don’t mind seeing to it.’

‘Oh – of course.’

‘I know it should be a housemaid’s job but it feels too … intimate, somehow. I prefer to have my lady’s maid do it. That way, only two of us know the truth of the matter, rather than the whole house.’

‘Well, three, really,’ said Edie unthinkingly, but this seemed to displease Lady Deverell, who pursed her lips.

And when Charles visits, nobody can gossip about how the sheets needed washing, even though Lord Deverell was away. Edie thought Lady Deverell’s preciousness was more about practising deception with ease than about fine scruples. Did she blame her? Should she?

She found it easier to blame Charles.

The thought of him made her wrench the comb a little too forcefully, so that it snagged in her mistress’s hair.

‘Ouch! Watch it!’

The door opened and, before she could turn around, Edie saw Charles in the dressing-table mirror. He wasn’t dressed and looked rumpled and louche, his dressing gown untied at the waist, his dark hair standing straight up. There were shadows under his eyes and somehow they made him look even more desirable.

Edie’s fingers shook as they closed around the comb.

‘I thought you were out,’ said Lady Deverell, a satisfied cat-with-the-cream smile on her face.

‘Town was a bore. Came back early. Good God, girl, what are you doing?’

He took the comb from Edie, brushing against her hand in the process. She stepped back sharply, a shock flashing through her.

‘Don’t you know how to brush this incredible hair?’

‘Charlie, you mustn’t. You shouldn’t even be in here, you bad boy. What if Hugh comes in?’

But Lady Deverell’s reproaches were idle enough and she bent her head back, deriving pleasure from his skill with the comb. He put it aside and began to use the hairbrush instead, teasing the auburn mane into submission.

‘You see, Edie,’ he said, lifting his hooded eyes towards her in the mirror. ‘Gently does it. No need for force.’

She was transfixed, unable to speak, finding the simple action of his brushing Her Ladyship’s hair unbearably erotic. She wanted him to brush
her
hair, to touch her skin, to lay her down, to finish what he started last night.

His hand reached forward to gather Lady Deverell’s hair into his fist, but before he could, she sniffed abruptly and frowned. She seized his hand and put his fingers to her nose, then she slapped his wrist so hard that Edie flinched.

‘Alley cat,’ she snarled. ‘Get out of here.’

Edie saw her cheeks flood with crimson, horribly aware that what Lady Deverell had scented on her lover’s fingers was
her
.

‘She said much the same thing,’ drawled Charles, moving away at his own unhurried pace, with a glance over his shoulder at Edie. ‘Seems my luck’s out.’

Thankfully, Lady Deverell was beyond paying any attention to Edie’s blushing confusion. She threw the brush after Charles, hitting the door as he shut it, then bunched her fists and banged them on the dressing-table.

‘The bastard,’ she said in a choking voice. ‘The utter swine. I don’t know why I …’ She buried her face in her arms and remained like that for a long time while Edie sat on the windowsill, waiting for strength to return to her limbs.

Was this a message to her? A sign that he relinquished his hold on Lady Deverell, for her sake? Or was it simple clumsy coincidence that he had not bothered to wash his hands and been found out?

Lady Deverell raised her head and directed teary eyes at the mirror, looking towards Edie’s perch.

‘You know what the really pathetic thing is?’ she said. ‘The thing that makes me hate myself and hate him more than anything? I’ll forgive him. I’ll spend a few days picturing him with whichever tart he’s had his way with and … then I’ll want him so badly I’ll swallow my pride and go back to him.’ She shut her eyes and seemed to be trying to keep some outburst of emotion at bay for a moment. Without opening them again, she said, ‘Don’t fall in love, Edie. Don’t ever fall in love.’

She could think of a number of responses to this, but none of them would improve Lady Deverell’s mood, so she held her tongue.

After a few moments, Lady Deverell appeared to make an effort to shake her head clear of her jealous rage and sorrow and smiled, rather thinly, at Edie.

‘Do come away from the window. I don’t bite. I’m sorry. It’s just that sometimes I feel so lonely here …’

Edie rushed over to her and seized the brush, ready to complete her task.

‘Oh, don’t be lonely. You have me. You’ll always have me,’ she said, cursing her impulsiveness a moment later when Lady Deverell cast her a curious glance.

‘Always? Do you really think so?’

‘Well … perhaps.’ Trying to deflect attention from her awkward outburst, she took up a section of hair and pulled the brush through it over and over with compulsive rapidity.

‘I say, you don’t have a pash, do you? On me? You wouldn’t be the first …’

‘Oh, gosh, nothing of the sort. Really, I spoke without thinking. Please, don’t mind me.’

‘There was an exquisite little creature who played Hermia to my Helena once. She was always finding excuses to embrace and touch and kiss. Eventually she confessed that she loved me to distraction. It was terribly awkward. Lovely girl, but … You aren’t that way inclined?’

‘No.’

‘And you don’t have a sweetheart?’

‘No.’

‘Why ever not? Pretty thing like you should have a sweetheart.’

‘I thought I wasn’t to fall in love, my lady.’

Lady Deverell laughed. ‘Yes, that’s right. I can’t have it both ways, can I? But I suppose some men aren’t bastards. If only one could meet them.’

Papa isn’t a bastard. You met him.

‘Well,’ said Edie with an attempt at briskness, ‘I suppose if one must spend one’s life looking after a person, it had better be a person like you. Husbands cannot wear such glorious gowns and I suppose they want laundry done and potatoes peeled and so forth. I think my life here far superior to that.’

‘You’re a sensible girl, when you want to be,’ said Lady Deverell approvingly. ‘Oh, dash it, I can’t face breakfast if he’s going to be down there. Would you go and ask for an egg to be brought up, and coffee?’

‘Of course, my lady. But your hair?’

‘We’ll see to it later.’

***

Edie half-expected Charles to leap out at her from every corner as she made her way to the kitchens; but he was nowhere to be found. Instead, she was intercepted on the back staircase by Ted Kempe, in full uniform.

‘Hello, stranger,’ he said, tipping his cap and standing back against the wall to let her pass. ‘How’s things up there above stairs?’

‘Lovely, thank you,’ she said, eyeing her escape route. ‘How are you?’

‘Still pretty cut up about the other day, as it goes. Charlie Deverell was up to something, and I think it might have started with E.’

‘Oh, don’t, I have nothing to do with him.’

‘See that you don’t, love. He’s poison. Listen, what about a rematch?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your next afternoon off. See if we can get as far as the picture palace this time?’

‘Oh, I don’t know… Her Ladyship hasn’t said anything about afternoons off … I suppose I still get one.’

‘Course you do. Or there’s a dance up in Kingsreach next week for the bank holiday – a few of us are going, if you fancy it.’

‘I’ll see.’

‘I hope you can. Save a space for me on your dance card, won’t you?’

He winked and made haste up the stairs, leaving Edie to her task.

***

When she returned to Lady Deverell’s chambers with the breakfast, she broached the subject of her afternoon off.

‘You get every afternoon off as it is,’ said Lady Deverell, cracking the top of her egg with her teaspoon. ‘Good heavens, girl. What more do you want?’

‘But would I be free to leave the house?’

‘If I told you I wasn’t going to need you, yes.’

‘And if I said I had business in town on one particular afternoon – could you undertake not to need me then?’

‘I really couldn’t say. What business might you have in town anyway?’

‘Oh … nothing. It was merely a hypothetical question.’

‘Merely a hypothetical question? Where did you learn these expressions, Edie?’

‘From my father.’ She paused, waiting for Lady Deverell to ask about him. She did not. ‘Besides,’ she said, ‘I’ve been invited to a dance. Would it be out of the question to attend?’

‘Who invited you?’

‘Kempe, the chauffeur.’

Lady Deverell laughed, a spoonful of egg halfway to her mouth.

‘Oh, he’s the housemaids’ favourite, isn’t he? Lovely, strapping young man – I can see why. And you have an eye for him, do you?’

‘He asked me, so it seems only polite …’

‘Only polite? You’d go to a dance with him because it would be bad manners not to? Oh dear, Edie. You aren’t a creature of passion, are you?’

You don’t know what I am
.

‘What do you think?’ she urged. ‘Could I go?’

‘When is it?’

‘I’m not sure. Some time over the bank holiday weekend.’

Lady Deverell took a long time to chew and swallow her piece of egg white.

‘I’m not sure it’s convenient,’ she said. ‘We have a party staying here over that weekend. There will be lots of changes of clothes, driving out into the country, tennis and so on. I might need you rather a lot.’

‘I suppose it’s in the evening.’

‘I suppose it is. Well, I can’t promise anything. We’ll have to see.’

‘It isn’t important,’ said Edie, who was in two minds about whether going with Ted was a good idea anyway. ‘I’m not much of a dancer.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ exclaimed Lady Deverell. ‘Dancing is such a pleasure. If you like, I can teach you a few steps.’

‘Oh, really, it’s not necessary.’

‘Nonsense, I’d enjoy it. We’ll get Mary to play for us and take a few turns around the ballroom later. What fun. It will cheer me up. Don’t be shy – you’ll be helping me, honestly.’

***

Edie’s reservations had not quite melted away by the time Lady Deverell had persuaded Mary to take her place at the piano in one of the quieter back drawing rooms.

‘You must know the foxtrot,’ she enthused. ‘Such a fashionable dance, very popular in London. You really do not know it?’

Edie had watched, but never participated. She shook her head apologetically.

‘Mary, let’s try a slow one, shall we? Really, Edie, it’s not unlike a waltz but in four-four instead of three-four. Surely you know how to waltz?’

Edie showed, while Mary played with an impressive level of competence, exactly how inexperienced a dancer she was. Lady Deverell seemed to greatly enjoy having such a blank slate for a pupil, for she laughed almost the whole way through the dance, throwing her head back and seeming to have entirely forgotten her annoyance with her perfidious stepson.

Edie could not help joining in the giggles, even though she tutted at herself every time she tripped over Lady Deverell’s dainty foot or turned so awkwardly that she almost brought the pair of them over.

‘Did you ever see such a dancer?’ cried Lady Deverell to her stepdaughter. ‘Really, she reminds me of a young faun, on her legs for the first time, staggering all over the floor.’

Mary smiled tightly.