Langdown Manor (16 page)

There it was again. I hadn't been mistaken – someone was tapping on my door. I huddled down in bed. Let them tap away. I wasn't opening my door in the middle of the night!

Tap tap tap. I didn't expect callers at this time of night.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

It was louder now.

Why wouldn't they go away? Then I froze. Someone was turning the door knob.

‘Jess, it's me – Ivy.'

‘Ivy?' I exclaimed. ‘Don't you know what the time is?'

The door opened a crack. Ivy's head peered round. ‘Jess, can I come in?'

‘Ivy, it's one o'clock!' I was weary. I'd been up late waiting for Miss P to come home. It had been past twelve before the carriage rolled up. Then I'd had to help her get undressed. Only then could I think about getting to bed myself.

‘I've something to tell you.'

‘Can't it wait?'

‘Please, Jess. I've got to talk to someone.'

And I would do. I was everyone's friend when it suited them. Thanks, Ivy.

Ivy opened the door fully, and tiptoed in. She was wearing her hat and coat.

That woke me up properly.

‘Ivy, where have you been?' I gasped.

‘I've been out.'

I remembered that I hadn't seen her since supper but then I saw less of the lower servants in the evening since I'd been banished upstairs.

‘And you've only just got back?'

Ivy nodded.

‘But it's past one!'

She shrugged.

‘How did you get back in?' I said.

‘How do you think?' Ivy said. ‘I broke a downstairs window and climbed in.' She saw my expression. She rolled her eyes. ‘Honestly, Jess. I'm not that stupid. George drove me back. He's got his own latchkey.'

‘George?' I said stupidly.

‘Yes, him.'

‘Mr George? His lordship's son?'

‘Who do you think?'

‘Ivy, you don't know what you're doing!'

‘You sound like me mam,' Ivy complained. ‘Mind if I sit down?' she said, sitting down on the bed before I could answer.

I gave a deep sigh. ‘All right then, let's hear it.'

‘I've been to the theatre.'

‘What?'

‘To the theatre. I told you, Jess, he's got friends. And…' She gave me a huge smile, ‘I've got an audition. Day after tomorrow for a part in a musical. It's on at the Gaiety. Jess, I'll be understudying the lead.' I saw a dreamy look come into her eyes.

‘
If
you get the part,' I thought I'd better remind her. I still didn't think the stage was respectable, but I was impressed.

‘I'll get it all right. Watch!' Ivy got off the bed, raised her skirts with both hands and did some high kicks. Her boots clattered on the wooden floor like thunder.

I grabbed her arm. ‘Sit down, and be quiet, for goodness' sake. You'll wake up Mrs Barlow!'

Ivy lowered her skirts and sat down again. ‘What do you think?'

‘Very good,' I said grudgingly. ‘But no more night flits, Ivy, it's too risky.'

‘Well,' Ivy smoothed down her skirts and stood up. ‘The audition's in the afternoon so you needn't worry. Honestly, Jess, you really are worse than me mam.'

She was very confident.

‘If you get the job, will you hand in your notice?'

‘'Course.' She looked surprised that I'd even mentioned it.

‘You've got somewhere to live, have you?'

‘It's all arranged. Jess, stop fretting!' She got up and tiptoed to the door.

‘I'll try,' I said.

‘Nighty-night, Jess.'

The door closed softly. I lay back, pillowing my head on my arms. I glanced over at the clock on the table before turning down the light. Half past one! In a few hours' time Ivy would have to get up to light the range and sweep the kitchen
. If
she woke in time. I had a later start. At seven, after one of the housemaids had brought me a cup of tea, I'd get myself up and look over Miss P's gowns. She'd torn the hem of her favourite one, dancing. She'd said the boys were clumsy and I'd seen a faraway look come into her eyes. I'd seen a letter lying on the dressing table. She saw that I'd seen and picked it up and held it to her. From her father in India, no doubt. But she hadn't said and I didn't want to pry. We were on good terms, Miss P and I – she'd even told me she was pleased it was me looking after her, but sometimes I wondered. I felt that she was hiding something. I felt that she was on her guard. But I didn't mind. It suited me. I didn't want to be in her confidence. When we got back to Langdown, that new lady's maid would take over and it would be downstairs again for me. It couldn't come soon enough. I wondered if Ivy would be coming back with me. I didn't trust Mr George and his promises. But if that acting job was genuine and Ivy got the part, we'd soon be needing a new scullery maid, too. I felt sad – really sad. I'd miss her. In just a few months, she had brought a lot of fun into our lives, and now I couldn't imagine Langdown without her.

‘My lady.' Barrett bowed as he held out the silver salver. Nearly every day it was piled high with invitations to balls, parties and teas – and calling cards. Some of these Aunt dropped straight into the waste-paper basket. Others were laid on one side and would be returned.

Aunt picked up the last card. She turned it over and considered it. She let it go, and I watched as it fluttered away into the basket, sharing the fate of one or two others received that morning. I looked at the pile Aunt had to answer. Amongst them must be the card from Mrs Lightfoot. Aunt was to expect her card today. Marjorie had promised it in a note she had already sent me.

I was too eager to wait for Aunt to enlighten me. I cleared my throat. Though my social success had made Aunt look more favourably upon me, I wasn't sure how to put what I wanted to say. ‘Aunt,' I said, ‘have you had a card from Mrs Lightfoot? I met her daughter at our presentation,' I explained. ‘She told me that her mother would send round her card.'

There! What could be more proper than that?

I was surprised to see a smile flicker across Arabella's thin lips. Arabella had been sulking all morning. She had disliked all the attention I'd had at dinner yesterday and had come down late to breakfast. Ferdy and Flo had been among the dinner guests. Ferdy was as awkward as ever. But Flo had encouraged him to talk to me, which had infuriated Arabella. But what had upset her even more was that she could see that I did not care whether he talked to me or not.

Aunt rifled through the cards on the table. ‘What did you say her name was, my dear?'

‘Mrs Lightfoot,' I said.

‘Ah yes,' said Aunt. ‘I did receive that card. But I cannot receive that lady. She is unsuitable, quite unsuitable. I cannot accept her daughter as an acquaintance for you.'

I could not believe my ears.

‘But how can she be unsuitable? She was presented at Court and her family knows the King!' I exclaimed. I appealed to Arabella, whose attention had been roused by the exchange. ‘Marjorie told me she had met you,' I said. In vain. Ice not blood ran through Arabella's veins. I'd have had more success appealing to a statue. She fixed me with those cold grey eyes. ‘We may have met, but we are not acquainted.' She gave me a pitying look.
It is a shame that you do not understand the difference.

‘I should hope not!' said Aunt tartly.

‘But why?' I asked again.

‘They are not suitable people for you to mix with. My dear, I owe it to your mother to protect you from unsuitable acquaintances.'

Why must she drag in Mother? It wasn't fair; Mother was not able to give an opinion.

‘She is invited to the same balls as us. If they don't object, why should you?' I said stubbornly. Marjorie was the first girl I'd met who I could imagine becoming a true friend and I wasn't going to give up easily.

‘I cannot be responsible for other ladies' decisions about their guest lists,' Aunt said firmly.

‘But—'

Aunt put up a hand. ‘I do not intend to discuss the matter further, Penelope.' She rose from her chair and swept from the room. How like Aunt to leave the room when she didn't know what to say.

But if Marjorie was unsuitable, I fumed, staring after Aunt's departing back, why wasn't David, or her precious son George? In society it seemed there was one rule for women, another for men. But I had no intention of letting the acquaintance drop. I would find a way to meet Marjorie, with or without Aunt's permission.

In the meantime I still had my letter to Fred to post. After I had got his I'd been in a dream, composing my reply in my mind. But when I'd sat down to write it I'd found it harder than I had expected.
‘Dearest Fred, I think of you all the time, I dream of you every night, and … and…'
I'd screwed up that latest attempt into a ball and tossed it into the fire. I couldn't say that! Attempt after attempt had followed it into the fire. I couldn't throw the scraps of torn-up paper into the waste-paper basket in case someone found them and tried to piece them together, though I could only think of one person mean enough to do that, and Arabella had never yet dared come into my room. I'd have known if she had. The perfume she wore left a trail everywhere she went.

Now I had another letter to write – to Marjorie. In a fury, I scribbled,
‘Dear Marjorie, Aunt is too mean to let me meet you. She is afraid that I might enjoy myself. But…'
I threw it away, disconsolately, resting my head on my hand. Surely I could find a way for us to meet. I was never alone, but… But we
can
meet, I thought suddenly. At least we could try. I had to return to the dressmaker for the final fitting for a new walking suit. Baxter was to accompany me. Baxter had never met Marjorie. But in any case we could pretend we'd met by chance. Baxter would never know. I pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards me and wrote:
‘We are so busy that Aunt is afraid we won't have time to fit in any more engagements before we return to the country, but on Wednesday I have a fitting for a new suit at Harrods. If you can, meet me there, at three o'clock. I will only be accompanied by my maid. Please try, it may be our only opportunity to meet before I leave town.'

There! I thought, smiling as I folded it up. I scribbled the address on the envelope. Then I rang for Baxter. ‘Baxter,' I said, giving her the letter. ‘Please make sure this is posted this afternoon.' I knew I could trust her to make sure it was delivered, and that she would ask no questions.

As I climbed into the carriage on Wednesday afternoon I wondered if Marjorie would be there, and what she'd say if she was. Would she have read the truth between the lines of my letter? Why, I wondered, did Aunt object to my friendship with Marjorie Lightfoot? What could her mother possibly have done to offend her? As the carriage rattled and bounced over the cobblestones I rested my gloved hand on the window ledge. A pink car careered past honking its horn impatiently. I glanced out. I knew only one car that shade of pink. George raised a hand and waved. I raised mine in return. He must have recognized the arms on the carriage, I thought. George had been a little stiff with me since my coming-out dance and maybe his salute was a sign that I was forgiven. The car pulled in to the kerb. A girl ran up to climb in. George leaned across and opened the door. It was then I realized that it was the girl, not me, who George had waved at. She looked very young, and I gave a gasp as he leaned across and kissed her. She rested her head on his shoulder as the car revved into life. As it moved away from the kerb, too fast, I remembered the afternoon I'd sat beside George in the car and how we'd nearly collided with the family carriage. He was as reckless a driver now as he'd been then. I'd never get into that car with him again, but then I felt sure he'd never ask me.

I looked over at Baxter. She couldn't have noticed. Her eyes were closed and she was leaning back against the cushions. Her face looked slightly green. ‘Are you all right?' I asked.

She opened her eyes. ‘It's the carriage, Miss Polly. It sways about that much.'

‘I don't like it either,' I said. ‘Oh, Baxter, I am looking forward to being in the country again.' I looked back out of the window. Wind had brought down what remained of the blossom, and the trees were now in full leaf. I yearned to be on horseback, to feel the country air blow across my face. The air smelt so much sweeter there. And…

I looked up to see that Baxter was watching me attentively. I felt myself blush, as if everything I was thinking was written on my face.

‘Really, miss,' she said. ‘You don't like London then?'

‘It's been fun,' I said. ‘But it doesn't feel like home.'

My letter to Fred was in my pocket. My plan was to post it in the nearest pillar box. But I had to do it when Baxter wasn't looking. That wasn't going to be easy. The carriage stopped and the footman came to the door to help me down. There was a pillar box a few feet away from where the carriage had parked but Baxter was practically hanging on to my skirts. The city made her nervous.

‘Baxter,' I said desperately. ‘I think I may have left my … a … a package in the carriage. Would you kindly go back and look for me?'

‘Yes, miss.'

No time to lose. I fairly leapt for the pillar box and shoved in the letter. I'd just enough time before Baxter stepped back down from the carriage. She looked puzzled. ‘I couldn't see any package, miss.'

‘How odd,' I said. I pretended to search inside my handbag. ‘No – oh, I must have made a mistake.' I kept my head down; my cheeks were burning.

‘Polly!'

A hand waved at me. I saw Marjorie dart across the street towards me. Behind her trotted her maid, her arms full of bundles and boxes.

‘Isn't this a surprise!' she exclaimed as she reached me.

‘Isn't it!' We were both trying not to giggle.

‘I don't need to ask what you've been doing,' I said, nodding at the hatboxes and bundles.

‘We leave town, too, soon – and I've been doing some last-minute shopping before my banishment. To the country,' she added.

‘I'm actually looking forward to leaving,' I said.

Marjorie linked her arm through mine. ‘Maybe you are looking forward to seeing someone there again? I saw you post a letter,' she added in a low voice.

I felt myself blush.

‘I'm sorry. It's wrong of me to pry. So,' she went on, ‘your aunt objects to our friendship?' Her frankness made me blush again. ‘It's all right, Polly,' she said. ‘It was a sweet letter, but when no card arrived for Mother, I knew.'

I squeezed her arm. ‘Aunt has an odd idea of who is suitable company for me.'

‘Suitable young ladies and eligible young men,' Marjorie sighed. ‘Why are they all so dull! You haven't forgotten my advice, have you?' she said. ‘Safety in numbers.'

I shook my head. ‘But I hope that when I am back in the country, I'll shake them off.'

‘They are hard to shake off,' Marjorie said. ‘Besides, there's the rest of the season to get through.' We reached the imposing front door of the shop. A doorman held open the door and we walked up the carpeted stairs. ‘Royal Ascot. Glorious Goodwood. Will you be going?' she asked me.

I shrugged. Aunt hadn't said.

‘Then the shoots begin again. At least that's more fun. But I'll miss London.'

‘I thought you disliked the season as much as I do,' I said.

‘Not that, but…' She bent her head and whispered: ‘Promise you won't tell if I tell you a big big secret?'

‘Of course not. You can trust me.'

Marjorie looked contrite. ‘I'm sorry – but I have to be awfully careful. I've been longing to tell you, you can't think.' She gave me a smile and whispered: ‘I've joined the suffragettes.'

‘What!'

‘So you've heard of them. I wasn't sure you'd know who they were,' Marjorie said, ‘having lived in India all your life.'

‘I hadn't – until David Moore told me about them. He said I should join them! But I think he was joking.'

‘He's a bad boy, David,' said Marjorie. ‘Watch out for him. But your cousin George is worse.'

‘We passed him just now in the carriage,' I said. ‘He was in his pink car. I saw him kiss a girl!'

‘That sounds like George. He's a charmer, but heartless.'

We sat down while Baxter went to tell the assistant I'd arrived for my fitting. I pulled my chair close to Marjorie's. I was longing to hear how she'd come to join the suffragettes. ‘Tell me all,' I said.

‘No one in the family knows,' said Marjorie. ‘I've managed to get to a meeting or two, but I don't feel I've won my spurs yet, and I won't until I've taken part in one of the rallies. Have you heard about them?' I shook my head. All I knew was the little David had told me. ‘The suffragettes meet at Caxton Hall in Westminster and march to Parliament. The aim is to deliver a petition to the Prime Minister explaining why we feel we should have the right to vote. The difficulty is getting to the House. The police do their best to stop us. Some of the women get arrested and sent to prison.'

‘Prison!' I exclaimed horrified.

Some of the shoppers turned round to stare at me.

‘Keep your voice down,' Marjorie murmured. ‘Yes, it is marvellous publicity for the cause.'

I stared at her. ‘You mean they actually
try
to get themselves arrested?'

Marjorie nodded. I just stared at her.

‘I don't want to marry in my first season,' she explained. ‘I want to feel I've lived first. I want to make something of myself.'

She looked at me. ‘Why don't you join us?'

I shook my head. ‘It's too difficult. I'm well guarded. Besides I'll be back in the country next week.'

But until then
… I pushed the thought away at once. It was impossible.