May and her parents were to dine at the Marquis of Andover’s London house. The Dowager Marchioness had acted as her elder son’s hostess since the death of his wife, four years earlier. Aunt Dora, whom May remembered only as a querulous, sofa-bound invalid in whose presence one had always to be quiet as a mouse, had died as inconveniently as she had lived – just before the onset of May’s first Season. Lady Clarence, correct as always, had cancelled all arrangements and withdrawn her daughters to black gloves and crape in the seclusion of the countryside. As a consequence of this delay, coupled with Lady Clarence’s earlier insistence that girls of seventeen should still be in the schoolroom, May had been a full nineteen years of age before she had made her curtsey to the King and embarked on that round of dances, dinner parties and calls which had marked her Coming Out. She had forgiven Aunt Dora her ill-timed demise as soon as she had realised that the result would be the joint presentation of Emily and herself: the two girls had derived great pleasure and much mutual support from each other’s company, a support which May now sorely missed.
The heat of the afternoon had barely lessened, and as the carriage drew up in Arlington Street May noticed that her step-mother’s normal high colour had drained away, leaving her face white and taut, and she swayed slightly as she rose to leave the brougham; but her back was as straight as ever as she preceded May up the wide staircase.
Despite the long summer evening, the drawing room was ablaze with artificial light which shone on the gleaming white shoulders of the women and struck sparks off their jewellery. Lady Andover greeted her son and daughter-in-law, then turned to May, who bent to kiss her scented, delicately powdered Check.
‘My dear, how lovely you look.’
‘And so do you, Grandmamma.’
May’s reply was sincere; Melicent Andover was now well past her sixtieth year but her face had not lost the deceptively fragile beauty which in her youth had captivated the then Lord Canfield, and in her maturity, so it was rumoured, the Prince of Wales himself.
Lady Andover turned to the next arrival and May’s eyes followed her, admiring the graceful economy of her movements and the smiling ease with which she inserted her guests into the appropriate groups, while simultaneously sending Cousin Bertie, with a barely perceptible gesture, to the rescue of gauche Louise Dumer standing alone and awkward by the piano, without even the wit to make a pretence of studying the music.
May found herself manoeuvred in her turn into one of those all-too-common conversational situations where she knew well that the duty of a young girl was to gaze with rapt attention, interspersed with the occasional hushed exclamation, at an elder statesman whose experience in Parliament had only confirmed him in his long-held belief in the efficacy of the monologue. Widening her eyes in simulated interest May allowed her mind to wander as ‘excise duties’, ‘amended income tax schedules’ and ‘new tariffs’ reverberated inexorably around her. She knew that Lady Andover, who normally surrounded herself with the witty and urbane, had recently conceived political ambitions for her younger grandson, and her guest list had been ruthlessly amended as a consequence. May trusted that Archie would be suitably grateful for her unwitting sacrifice on his behalf, though this seemed unlikely, since a covert survey of the drawing room under her lashes failed to reveal any sign of the would-be MP.
Sir Robert, perhaps sensing a certain lack of interest in his audience, decided to toss in a note of gallantry.
‘Still, I can’t expect a charming young lady like yourself to be concerned about dull old affairs of State, now can I?’
‘Why, Sir Robert, you make these financial matters sound quite, quite…’ The appropriate word eluded May, but she saw it did not matter, since Sir Robert, a satisfied smile on his face, was clearing his throat preparatory to a fresh onslaught. At this point May decided she had had enough; besides she had caught a glimpse of a familiar pair of shoulders over by the door.
‘Please do excuse me, Sir Robert, but I believe my grandmother is trying to attract my attention.’ With a parting smile May moved swiftly across the room.
‘Quick, engage me in animated conversation, I’m escaping from Sir Robert!’
Archie burst out laughing. ‘Gad, he’s fearsome, isn’t he? If Grandmamma wants to persuade me into politics then she’d do better to keep men like that away. But I must say, May, you were putting on a marvellous show just now, Aunt Ju would have been proud of you; you looked absolutely fascinated by the old b— bore.’
May arranged her face into an expression of vapid insipidity, and simpered prettily at her cousin.
‘Well, you know it was all for your sake, Archie.’ She paused. ‘After all, if you’re ever to reach even the back benches you’ll need all the help you can get.’
Archie bowed exaggeratedly. ‘Many thanks, sweet coz – but you really needn’t try so hard next time. Look at him, in full flight again, and obviously delighted with his audience – yet it’s only Louise Dumer doing her “I am a rabbit, you must be a stoat” act.’ Somewhat to her chagrin May noticed that this was indeed the case. Archie continued, ‘Wonder where Bertie’s wriggled off to? Grandmamma has hopes of the Dumer dollars you know. She says Louise is a very nice girl when you get to know her, and her mother can’t help being American.’
‘Oh, so Sir Robert won’t have the pleasure of her company at dinner, then, if she’s reserved for Bertie.’
Archie grinned. ‘No, I’ve had a peek at the dining plan – Sir Robert is booked for a luckier girl!’
‘No, Archie, not again!’
‘’Fraid so, and Lord Oulton’s on your other side. Still, look at it this way: when your voice is hoarse from shouting down old Oulton’s car then you can turn and rest it listening to clear Sir Robert’s views on tariff reform! Grandmamma’s got very clear ideas about the duties of Family at her dinner parties.’
May sighed. ‘If it weren’t for the thought of Chef’s wonderful food I’d be wishing I’d stayed at home with a headache.’
‘Come on, May, you never have headaches – besides there’s La Belle Hindlesham’s Ball to look forward to, now there’s a treat.’
May was just about to ask Archie why her step-mother disapproved of Lady Hindlesham when she realised that Lady Andover was deftly marshalling her guests into the order for dining; without any obvious chivying the pre-arranged pairs were formed and began to move towards the door. Sir Robert laid claim and she put her hand on his arm and took her place in the procession.
Despite the excellence of the oyster bisque, May soon felt that the meal was going to be as much of an ordeal as Archie had predicted. Sir Robert had long ago mastered the art of swallowing and talking simultaneously, while Lord Oulton, a pleasant old man whom May had met before, had great difficulty with his lip-reading at the dining table, so she was forced to swivel round in her chair and enunciate as clearly as possible every time she replied to his questions.
Meanwhile, May could not help but notice that things were a lot livelier on the other side of the table: Louise Dumer’s plain face was unusually animated as she listened to the conversational sallies of Bertie, while further down a giggly red-head was so taken by Archie’s quips that she felt it necessary to rap his knuckles with her fan; Archie hastily moved his wine glass to a safer place and winked across at May before turning back to his companion with unruffled good humour.
May suppressed a pang of envy and redoubled her efforts to communicate with her elderly neighbour, who was asking her about her activities at the Bath Club. Despite the difficulties May found herself describing her failures and triumphs with enthusiasm; Lord Oulton did seem genuinely interested, and before the arrival of the fish she had invited him to the Lady Members’ End of Season Display, an invitation which was accepted with every sign of pleasure.
He patted her hand. ‘It’s delightful to talk to a young girl whose pursuits range more widely than just parties and dances, m’dear.’
As she smiled back May felt a twinge of guilt – after all, swimming was as much of an indulgence to her as dancing was to other girls, and she might feel rather differently if she could only dance as well as she could swim; but all Madame Mantoni’s efforts had failed to turn her into more than a mediocre performer. ‘Poor little Miss May, she has no sense of rhythm; sometimes I despair of her, Lady Clarence!’ had been an all-too frequent refrain.
With the arrival of the Soles Moulées May’s attention was claimed by Sir Robert. He now chose to inform her why no right-minded individual, male or female, could possibly contemplate the enfranchisement of women.
‘Why, I’d sooner see my bassethound voting, he has more sense!’
As his laughter boomed out, spraying the surrounding air with minute particles of coconut sauce, May gritted her teeth and maintained the necessary polite smile with some difficulty. She felt that her views on the Suffrage question, which had been entirely neutral, might be due for a revision. She turned back to Lord Oulton with relief when Sir Robert’s opinion was loudly demanded by the lady on his other hand.
‘What do you feel about the Suffragist movement, Lord Oulton?’
He watched her lips carefully, then nodded. ‘I feel, Miss Winton, that since many households in this country are wholly or partially maintained by the earnings of women, then it must surely be unjust that these same women are denied the political rights of their brothers. Yes, my dear, where a woman makes a worthwhile contribution to the good of her fellows or of her country, then I personally would give her the full responsibilities of citizenship.’
May was pleased by the old man’s reply, though she reflected wryly that his criteria would leave her unenfranchised. Still, on that basis, some men would lose their right to vote as well! Look at Cousin Archie for instance – amusing flirtatious red-heads could scarcely be counted as a worthwhile contribution to society.
The dessert had been served and May was still savouring the sharp tang of a fresh orange when she saw her grandmother glance round the table. She hastily put down her fruit knife and Lady Andover then smiled at Lady Leamington, on her son’s right. At this signal the ladies rose as one and moved, in a soft rustle of skirts, to the drawing room.
Lady Clarence was already sitting down by the time May arrived, and the latter noticed again her unusual pallor: her face had a greenish tinge. May walked across and spoke softly.
‘Have you one of your headaches, Step-mamma?’
Lady Clarence’s smile was strained. ‘Just a slight twinge, my dear, nothing more. How was Lord Oulton? He appeared to take pleasure in your conversation, you must have spoken clearly.’
May flushed; she knew this was as near to paying a compliment as her step-mother would ever get. ‘We talked of the Bath Club, Step-mamma, and Women’s Suffrage – and he asked after Emily.’
‘That was thoughtful of him. Lady Oulton was a kind friend to me when I came out; he must miss her greatly. Lady Leamington, how are you? You know my daughter, I believe.’
May could not pursue the matter of her step-mother’s headache then, but when the gentlemen joined them later she approached her father and suggested that he ask her grandmother to look after May at Lady Hindlesham’s ball, and so enable Lady Clarence to return home early. Lord Clarence immediately agreed and spoke to his wife with unusual firmness; although clearly unhappy at what she saw as a dereliction of duty, Lady Clarence could scarcely refuse to deliver her step-daughter to the care of her own mother-in-law; besides, she was far from well.
May felt both guilty and pleased: Lady Andover’s idea of chaperonage was a great deal more easy-going than Lady Clarence’s; even in a crowded ballroom the latter was aware of May’s every movement, whereas Melicent Andover would be much too engrossed in her own pleasure to cast more than an occasional glance in May’s direction. The rest of the evening began to assume a more lively aspect, and May and her father, having seen Lady Clarence safely into the care of Fenton, set off again in the brougham in the light-hearted mood of a pair of children granted unexpected deliverance from the supervision of a strict governess.