The Daisy Club

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Authors: Charlotte Bingham

BOOK: The Daisy Club
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This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781409080947
  
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
61–63 Uxbridge Road, London W5 5SA
A Random House Group Company
First published in Great Britain
in 2009 by Bantam Press
an imprint of Transworld Publishers
Copyright © Charlotte Bingham 2009
Charlotte Bingham has asserted her right under the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact,
any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9780593061480
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Addresses for Random House Group Ltd companies outside the UK can be found at:
www.randomhouse.co.uk
The Random House Group Ltd Reg. No. 954009
The Random House Group Ltd supports The Forest Stewardship
Council (FSC), the leading international forest-certification organization.
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Typeset in 11/14½pt New Baskerville by
Kestrel Data, Exeter, Devon
Printed in the UK by
CPI Mackays, Chatham, ME5 8TD.
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Also by the Author

CORONET AMONG THE WEEDS

LUCINDA

CORONET AMONG THE GRASS

THE BUSINESS

IN SUNSHINE OR IN SHADOW

STARDUST

NANNY

CHANGE OF HEART

GRAND AFFAIR

LOVE SONG

THE KISSING GARDEN

THE BLUE NOTE

SUMMERTIME

DISTANT MUSIC

THE MAGIC HOUR

FRIDAY'S GIRL

OUT OF THE BLUE

IN DISTANT FIELDS

THE WHITE MARRIAGE

GOODNIGHT SWEETHEART

THE ENCHANTED

THE LAND OF SUMMER

THE DAISY CLUB

 

The Belgravia series

BELGRAVIA

COUNTRY LIFE

AT HOME

BY INVITATION

 

The Nightingale series

TO HEAR A NIGHTINGALE

THE NIGHTINGALE SINGS

 

The Debutantes series

DEBUTANTES

THE SEASON

 

The Eden series

DAUGHTERS OF EDEN

THE HOUSE OF FLOWERS

 

The Bexham trilogy

THE CHESTNUT TREE

THE WIND OFF THE SEA

THE MOON AT MIDNIGHT

Novels with Terence Brady

VICTORIA

VICTORIA AND COMPANY

ROSE'S STORY

YES HONESTLY

 

Television Drama Series with Terence Brady

TAKE THREE GIRLS

UPSTAIRS DOWNSTAIRS

THOMAS AND SARAH

NANNY

FOREVER GREEN

 

Television Comedy Series with Terence Brady

NO HONESTLY

YES HONESTLY

PIG IN THE MIDDLE

OH MADELINE! (USA)

FATHER MATTHEW'S DAUGHTER

 

Television Plays with Terence Brady

MAKING THE PLAY

SUCH A SMALL WORLD

ONE OF THE FAMILY

 

Films with Terence Brady

LOVE WITH A PERFECT STRANGER

MAGIC MOMENT

 

Stage Plays with Terence Brady

I WISH I WISH

THE SHELL SEEKERS

(adaptation from the novel by Rosamunde Pilcher)

BELOW STAIRS

 

For more information on Charlotte Bingham and her books,

see her website at www.charlottebingham.com

This book is dedicated to those joyous, life-enhancing beings who value friendship and loyalty. May their shadows never grow less and flowers grow beneath their feet.

Charlotte Bingham

THE DAISY CLUB

BANTAM PRESS
LONDON • TORONTO • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND • JOHANNESBURG

THIS NOVEL BEGINS IN ENGLAND
IN THE AUTUMN OF 1938
Prologue
The sea can still be heard in the distance, and the wind of course, howling; sometimes in despair at what had happened in that much loved place, sometimes murmuring quietly, perhaps whispering about the past, stories and secrets that only those who had been there would know. Occasionally a door can be heard banging, not noisily so much as a little hopelessly, an intermittent sound, as if it is calling to someone to come and shut it, as a child might call in the dark of the night: ‘
Is anyone there?
'
There is no one there. There are no eyes looking or ears listening behind their brave stone walls, although there is some flowered material at one window, and one still has a faded blue front door, and another some broken flower pots beside the back door, and further along there are the heads of flowers among the swaying grass, perhaps sown there long ago, in the hope of better times to come.
Now it seems that with the warmer weather that optimism might not be misplaced, that the wind from the sea, having moved to a soft warming zephyr, is at last welcoming; and the wild flowers in the meadows, having overtaken the last signs of spring, are bending their heads towards the calm of the barely moving blue sea that lies between the two cliffs ahead.
Someone appears at the foot of the meadows, standing at first quite still, seemingly immovable, framed by the view, perhaps watching intently, then all of a sudden he waves and beckons to the figures he can begin to see arriving above him, figures which appear at first only as dots of colour among the long grass, until at last they become people, laughing and talking, the men in jerseys and jackets struggling with rugs and picnic baskets, the women walking ahead of them, their headscarves fluttering in the warm breeze.
Once they arrive by his side it rapidly becomes apparent that this is to be a joyous day of laughter and chatter, as picnic rugs are spread out, and food and drink produced from a mix of old-fashioned leather picnic sets, and straw baskets made pale by time and use. A day full of gaiety, but gradually lessening in volume as the talk subsides, and finally only one voice is heard – and with it comes the certainty of victory.
PART ONE
Chapter One
The silence in the dining room was such that a piece of thistledown falling on to the carpet would have created a stir. Finally, and at last, a maid moved away from the sideboard, her tight-laced walking shoes squeaking as she moved over the dark polished floorboards. Daisy waited for her to refill Aunt Maude's elegant flowered breakfast teacup.
‘You're going over to the Court this morning, did you say?'
‘Yes, Aunt Maude, to help with the sandbagging.'
Aunt Maude gave a small sigh, and frowned.
‘
Sand
bagging—' She followed this word with yet another silence. ‘
Sand
bagging. It does not seem possible, after all we have already been through, that there is more to come.'
Daisy tried not to look or sound excited.
‘And then a gas lecture, I think, or is it an ARP lecture, something like that,' Daisy went on, still far too cheerfully, she realised, far too late.
‘Hmm.'
Aunt Maude's ‘hmm' was any other human being's ‘humph', except in her case it had a more than adequate dose of bitterness added to it, not unlike the bitter aloes with which she had once insisted that Daisy's fingers should be painted before she went to sleep at night.
The front of Daisy's knees started to hurt, as they always did at mealtimes at Twistleton Hall. She thought with envy of the jolly times she knew the rest of her friends would be having at breakfast at Twistleton Court, only a few miles away. It had always been the same, Daisy locked up in the grandeur of the Hall, surrounded by portraits of the family ancestors, suits of armour and, not least, the ghosts of Aunt Maude's four brothers, three of whom had been lost in the Great War, while Freddie and the rest of them enjoyed jolly times with Freddie's Aunt Jessica.
‘Does Jessica Valentyne still have those ridiculous servants of hers, do you know?'
The front of Daisy's knees stopped aching, and she started to cross and uncross her legs beneath the heavy linen breakfast cloth, twisting them into tortuous shapes, and untwisting them again. It just so happened that Freddie's Aunt Jessica was one of Daisy's heroines, and with good reason, for a certain Miss Warmington had persuaded Aunt Maude Beresford to let Jessica Valentyne take Daisy on when she opened the Court as a finishing school. Up until then it had been governesses, governesses, and more governesses.
Being all alone with a governess had become Daisy's nightmare, resenting, as she had, the slowness of their brains as they waded on through dull subject after dull subject. The whole week of solitary schooling would only be relieved by the arrival of Miss Warmington to take English and History, both of which she somehow managed to persuade Aunt Maude were better taken in the open air, or as Miss Warmington briskly called it, ‘on the hoof'.
‘Why do angels fly, Daisy?'

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