‘BLOODY POACHERS,’ SAID LAURA UNDER her breath.
We were sitting in the library, a healthy fire burning in the grate.
‘Do you think that’s who it was, then?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ Laura replied. ‘Must have been. Jennings knows we like to walk through the woods. He wouldn’t leave traps lying around. Poachers are always sneaking onto our land. We have a terrible problem with them.’
‘Jennings doesn’t need to set traps. He knows how to use a shotgun,’ Emmeline said, her eyes not leaving the book she was reading. She had one leg curled beneath the other, the fabric of her muslin dress ruffled up around her.
Laura threw Emmeline a harsh glance. ‘I don’t how you can read at a time like this.’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Emmeline said, turning a page. ‘You heard what the doctor said.’
‘Yes . . . but still.’
Laura, on seeing us enter the house, had called immediately for the doctor. We’d placed Violet on the Chesterfield in the library, her foot elevated on a stack of towels. Emmeline had summoned Ethel to light a fire, and we’d tried to keep Violet warm with blankets as we waited, with some anxiety, for the local doctor to arrive.
The doctor untied my scarf and poked and prodded at Violet’s ankle as she yelped and squirmed, then pronounced Violet’s injury to be a flesh wound and perhaps ‘a bit of a sprain’, but nothing worse; no broken bones.
‘You were lucky,’ he told Violet.
‘It was Gillian who pulled the wire free,’ Laura said. ‘She used her scarf. And she carried Piff all the way from the woods to the stables.’
The doctor had looked up at me. ‘Well, Gillian, you certainly thought on your feet.’
‘Oh, it was nothing.’ I blushed.
Although I wouldn’t have wished Violet’s accident to happen, I had to admit it was nice to finally be noticed by Emmeline and Laura. They both seemed suitably impressed by my heroic actions. Even Emmeline, glancing at my scarf around Violet’s ankle had said, ‘Good thinking, Gillian.’
The doctor, before he left, had instructed Ethel on how to change the gauze bandage and had given Emmeline something for Violet, ‘for the shock’ he said, recommending she rest as much as possible over the coming days.
Now, after taking the prescribed pills from the doctor, Violet lay asleep on the Chesterfield, a cushion beneath her head, her ankle elevated. Emmeline’s jackdaw was perched on the bust of Milton on the mantelpiece. A huge portrait of Lord Claybourne’s father – a stern-looking Victorian – loomed over us.
‘I bet it was Frank Marks,’ Laura whispered. ‘Putting traps down.’
‘He’ll deny it,’ said Emmeline flatly. ‘And I think he uses ferrets for rabbiting, anyway.’
Laura sighed. ‘Still, maybe Father will have a word this time. I wish he’d tell Frank not to use the park as a cut-through, not to use it at all. He swans about as if he owns the place.’
‘I don’t like it any more than you do,’ Emmeline said. ‘But Frank’s always been here and that’s the way it is.’ She turned to me. ‘His mother worked for us, you see. And I suppose Father must have known Frank about the place when they were both boys.’ She glanced at the fire. ‘Really, though, given everything, you’d think Father would hate Frank Marks. But no, he gave Frank the cottage to live in as soon as Frank got out of prison.’
‘Father’s soft,’ said Laura. ‘That’s always been his problem.’
‘Did Frank Marks really go to prison?’ I asked, surprised.
‘During the war,’ said Emmeline. ‘Frank was a conscientious objector. He was lucky he wasn’t shot. A lot of the villagers don’t speak to him.’
‘But the war was years ago,’ I said.
Emmeline smiled. ‘Emotions still run deep around here, Gillian. Many women lost husbands and sons.’
The jackdaw flew over to the sofa and Emmeline reached out and stroked him gently with one finger.
Laura had been frowning at the fire but then she shifted her gaze to me. ‘Your poor scarf, Gillian.’
The scarf, bloody and tattered, still lay on the pile of blood-soaked towels.
‘It wasn’t a very special one,’ I said.
Laura shook her head. ‘We can ask Mary to wash it of course, but I’m afraid it won’t be quite the same.’
‘It was very quick thinking of you, Gillian.’ Emmeline had placed her bookmark in her book.
‘Anyone would have done it,’ I said modestly.
‘But I’m afraid Laura’s right,’ Emmeline continued. ‘You’ve probably lost that scarf. I don’t think soaking it will do much good, either.’
‘We’ll have to get you another one,’ Laura said, turning to me, her face animated in the firelight.
Violet stirred.
‘Keep your voice down, Lolly. You’ll wake her.’
‘Sorry,’ Laura whispered. ‘But we should. Why don’t we go tomorrow? We’ll take the train to Oxford and choose a new one. It’ll be fun.’
I felt I should protest but, at the same time, the idea of going out with Emmeline and Laura appealed hugely to me. To spend time with them, even time without Violet; I felt I would like that very much. I shot Violet a guilty glance.
‘You’ll have to count me out, I’m afraid,’ Emmeline said.
Laura rolled her eyes. ‘I’m sure your incestuous Greek plays and Austrian mind doctors will still be there after one day. Emmeline has gone mad for psychoanalysis,’ she explained to me. ‘It’s all the rage at the moment. She’s reading everything by that Austrian chap. Before too long, she’ll be analysing us all.’
Emmeline smiled wryly. ‘Actually, I’ve got an essay to write on Plato’s presentation of Socrates.’
Laura sighed, then turned to me and smiled. ‘So it will just be you and me then, Gilly,’ she said.
I felt my heart warm; only Violet called me Gilly.
* * *
Going shopping with Laura was something of a revelation. Well, the sleeves are a little long now but it ought to last two winters, was the sort of thing Aunt Ada would say to me when we went shopping for the essential items that would ‘see me through’. Shops were not to be lingered in. Clothes were purely practical.
Laura, by contrast, was not in any hurry. She chatted to the sales assistants about current trends in fashion and what had been featured in what magazine. She held scarf after scarf up to my face before finally deciding on the one which best suited my complexion and brought out the colour of my eyes. ‘Clothes have to do something for you, Gilly.’
The scarf was a foamy turquoise blue cashmere, softer than anything I had ever owned. Laura draped it elegantly over my neck and declared it was ‘absolutely perfect’, causing the sales assistant to rush over to the desk and begin cutting ribbon and paper to wrap it in. I walked out of the shop, my head high, carrying a branded paper bag.
The day was dismal and cold but we didn’t let it spoil our jovial mood. By early afternoon we had visited a great many shops. ‘The overpriced shops’, Aunt Ada would have called them. But Laura went into them all, and it seemed we still weren’t done.
In a small, fashionable boutique, she reached for a dress and held it against me. ‘Well, this would suit you very much, Gilly.’
The dress was dark green with a tiny print of white leaves and red berries. Pretty and seasonal, it had a contrasting, velvet yoke, and a matching trim. I reached out to touch the soft fabric at the neck.
‘Why don’t you try it on?’ Laura asked.
‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’
Laura lowered her voice. ‘The brown frock you wear to dinner, Gilly, it’s the only one you brought with you, isn’t it?’
I nodded, embarrassed. ‘I didn’t get time to pack,’ I murmured.
This was not true. The brown buttoned dress was my best, the only dress I owned aside from my school pinafore. Neither my father nor Aunt Ada would have thought it necessary for me to own anything more than what I had: an outfit for Sundays which doubled as travelling wear, two blouses and two cardigans, my games kit, practical flannel undergarments, two nightdresses and sturdy shoes. A dress to be worn for dinner at a large country house would not have featured on Aunt Ada’s twice yearly shopping list (she sent the bill to my father).
Laura nodded as if she suspected as much. I could see she understood that I did not have a wardrobe of expensive dresses waiting for me somewhere, that I had not simply been careless and forgotten to pack them all. She turned to the sales assistant who was hovering discreetly somewhere behind us and told her I would be trying the frock on.
I glanced at the price tag and balked.
Laura took the dress from me, tucking the tag back into the collar. ‘No one ever looks good in cheap clothes, darling. One must have nice things. Go on.’ She gestured to the fitting room.
Of course Laura bought me the dress. ‘Consider it a Christmas present,’ she said.
Before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around her, inhaling her floral perfume. ‘Thank you.’
Laura looked surprised. I drew back and she patted my shoulder. ‘It’s nothing, Gilly,’ she said, clearly amused by my show of affection. ‘Just a little gift, that’s all.’
On our way out of the shop, Laura stopped to admire a plum-coloured hat sitting on top of a display chest next to a pair of matching gloves, gently stroking its brim then picking it up. ‘Ooh, this is a lovely hat.’
‘You’re welcome to try it on if you like, miss,’ the assistant said eagerly.
Laura removed her own hat then put the plum on, standing before the shop’s mirror just as I had done in my dress. ‘It is sweet, but I’m not sure it’s really my colour.’
‘I might have it in blue,’ the assistant said. ‘If you’ll wait a moment.’
The assistant scuttled off out the back and Laura replaced the hat. She glanced in the direction of the open doorway the assistant had gone through, then slipped the matching gloves into her pocket.
I blinked in surprise, then quickly lowered my eyes as the assistant returned with a blue hat identical to the plum, unwrapping it and handing it triumphantly to Laura.
‘Oh, no, I don’t think it’s quite right,’ Laura said, turning her neck and checking her reflection in the mirror. She took the hat off and smiled genially. ‘But thank you anyway.’
As we walked along the street, my heart was racing. I kept expecting someone to come after us. Laura had a fixed, euphoric expression on her face.
Once we were around the corner, she burst out laughing.
‘Oh, isn’t it a thrill, Gilly.’
I laughed too. I could see what she meant. It did feel exciting to be reckless, even though I felt sick to my stomach.
Laura took the plum gloves from her pocket and admired them before dropping them into one of our shopping bags. ‘Goodness, it’s after two,’ she said, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘Let’s get tea, Gilly. We’ll go to The Randolph, shall we? It’s really the only place to go in Oxford.’
I had never had afternoon tea in a hotel before and felt like royalty. The way the waiter swept the napkins over our laps and poured the tea, the elegant cake stand full of tiny pastries and cucumber sandwiches, the pretty china plates, it was all wonderful. There was a bar with expensive-looking liquors, huge leafy plants in alcoves, high ceilings, decadent lights and the prettiest wallpaper: tropical birds and flowers. A man with a waxed and twirled moustache was playing the piano in the corner and the music was gentle and soporific.
The waiter seemed to know Laura. ‘Can I get you anything else, Miss Claybourne?’ or ‘I hope everything is to your satisfaction, Miss Claybourne?’ he asked, sidling up to our table, his back as straight as a board, a napkin folded over one arm. Imagine, I thought, walking into a place like this and the staff knowing your name. I wished I had Laura’s confidence, the confidence to know that if you walked into a hotel bar or a fancy shop you were going to get immediately served, to dress in such beautiful clothes, and to walk around as if you had a perfect right to everything life had to offer. Even taking things that didn’t belong to you and you didn’t need.
‘I suppose you eat out with your father when he comes to England,’ Laura said, adding another drop of milk to her tea.
‘Oh, yes,’ I lied, casting my eyes down. My father never came to England and Aunt Ada never ventured further than the Lyons Corner House.
Laura was looking around for the waiter. ‘I think I’ll get a G & T. Of course you can have one if you like.’
‘Oh, no thank you,’ I said quickly, not having much experience or taste for alcohol. On the rare occasions Aunt Ada had allowed me a drop of sherry before dinner, I’d felt woozy, and I wasn’t sure that was the sensation I wanted right now.
The waiter nodded as Laura put her order in. The hotel lounge had acquired several more customers. I could hear the clinking of glasses, low chatter, the soft music coming from the piano.
Laura leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, a thin silver bracelet sliding down her wrist and clinking against her teacup. ‘So tell me, Gilly, what is Violet like at school? I simply can’t imagine it. I think we all expected her home after a week or two. I can’t believe she’s managed a term.’ She chuckled.
I swallowed a mouthful of tea, pleased to be asked something I could comment on. ‘I don’t think Violet enjoys school.’
‘I should think she’s quite unsuited to it. All those girls. All that chatting.’
I hesitated, wondering how much I could say to Laura about Violet’s lack of social skills, her nervousness and strange compulsions. ‘I think she finds school overwhelming at times,’ I said finally. ‘She doesn’t have any other friends.’
Laura nodded as if she had been expecting as much and I felt a tiny stab of betrayal. I reminded myself that Laura was Violet’s sister and naturally concerned about how Violet was fairing at school, probably more so as she had never been to one herself.
‘Well, it was always going to difficult for her,’ said Laura. ‘Violet is confident enough in her own little world, and I know she puts on the bravado at times, but she’s really quite sensitive. She doesn’t mix well. We had a rather insulated childhood at Thornleigh, you see. We only had each other and our games for company.’
‘Elvore,’ I said.
Laura smiled. ‘Emmeline created Elvore. After reading about the Brontes’ Gondal. Do you know, I think Emmeline actually managed to convince Violet that Elvore was real?’
‘I think she might still believe it’s real.’
Laura laughed. ‘That’s Piff all over. When Emmi told her Father Christmas didn’t actually exist, she cried for a week. I don’t think she’s ever got over it. She went straight to Mummy and Mummy said, “I’m afraid it’s true, darling.” Poor Piff felt awfully betrayed.’ Laura’s gin arrived and she took a large sip. ‘It’s still hard to believe Violet is the one who gets to be properly schooled. Emmeline used to beg Mummy to let her go. Poor Emmi. She was awfully frustrated by our hopeless governesses and longed for a proper education. She couldn’t believe it when Mummy announced Violet was going to school, although we all knew why it was.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
Laura smiled sadly. ‘I think Mummy wanted Piff out of her hair for a while. It’s an important time for Emmi and me. Coming out. All the social events and the entertaining. Violet, well . . . she can be unpredictable in company. She does odd things, and she gets upset easily, as I’m sure you’ve seen.’
I thought of Violet in the art room, collapsing into tears over her drawing.
‘It drives Mummy mad,’ Laura went on. ‘All Violet’s fidgeting. She’s always on edge, isn’t she? Always frightened of things. The only fear one should ever really have is a fear of being dull, don’t you think, Gilly?’
I nodded solemnly.
‘Of course, Emmeline has always been Mummy’s favourite. Even as a small child, Emmi was so clever and refined. She could talk easily to adults, and she was so perceptive. Nowadays, it’s Mummy who looks to Emmeline for advice.’ Laura paused. ‘You see, Gilly, between us, Mummy’s father was only a shopkeeper. He owned a department store in the north of England. Oh, he had a bit of money, but absolutely no breeding. I know Mummy’s upbringing makes her feel dreadfully inferior at times. She overcompensates. She’s obsessed with appearances. Apart from their disagreements over Oxford, Emmeline is really the perfect daughter for Mummy, full of ease and grace, sharp as a pin, but Violet is problematic.’
‘I don’t think Violet means to be difficult,’ I said, trying, half-heartedly, to defend her.
‘Oh, I know,’ said Laura, rattling the ice around in her glass, ‘but it’s been hard for Mummy. When Piff was little, Mummy said it was unnatural for a girl to run around dressed like a boy, to not be able to sit still for five minutes, to be so anxious. Piff embarrasses Mummy.’ Laura lowered her voice. ‘You must admit, Gilly, Violet can be peculiar. All her little habits . . . Counting on her fingers and muttering to herself and checking everything a thousand times.’
‘Her rituals.’
Laura sighed. ‘At one time Mummy wanted to call the doctor in to have Violet examined but Daddy wouldn’t hear of it. That’s always been our way, I suppose. Keep it all in the family.’ She leaned forward. ‘Great-aunt Verity once told me that when Father came home from the war he was completely shattered.’ She lowered her voice. ‘You know, mentally.’
Of course I had heard of shell shock, and it was common knowledge that a great many men were not the same as they had been before the war, my own father most certainly being among them.
‘Well, Aunt Verity wanted to get Daddy help,’ Laura said. ‘Send him off to one of those convalescence homes for soldiers or something like that, but my grandmother wouldn’t have it. She hired a nurse to tend to him. Prescribed long, brisk walks, plenty of fishing and a double whisky before bed.’ Laura shrugged. ‘Perhaps she was right. Father did get better in the end.’
‘He seems well,’ I said, trying to sound reassuring. I had a vision of Thornleigh falling down around Lord Claybourne in great chucks of brick and plaster, and him standing in the middle of it all steadily cleaning his glasses with a handkerchief, shaking his head and saying, Oh, dear, what a mess this is.
Laura sighed. ‘Daddy is mostly fine, but he buries his head in the sand if there’s even the tiniest hint of a problem.’
‘What about you?’ I asked.
Laura smiled. ‘Oh, I just go along with things. Here, do you want this last little sandwich?’
Before I could say anything she dropped a cress and mustard sandwich onto my plate.
‘Violet told me things are tricky at Thornleigh,’ I said in what I thought was a diplomatic and sympathetic way.
Laura leaned back and touched the pearls at her throat. ‘Things certainly aren’t what they were back when my parents were young. A few years ago Daddy said we ought perhaps to rent Thornleigh to Americans. Lots of people are doing it. Emmi says they’ll rent any old English house if you tell them Cromwell once watered his horse at the lake, or Queen Victoria stopped over for tea or something. But Mummy can’t abide the thought of some overenthusiastic American ripping out the panelling, throwing away the tapestries, only using the house at alternate weekends for parties and installing a cocktail bar in the lounge hall. Although that doesn’t sound so bad . . . But you see, Gilly, the park, the land, the house: they’re a part of us, of our family. They have been for hundreds of years. And where would we go? Can you imagine us all? Squashed into some little apartment on the Continent, eating spiced sausage or goodness knows what.’
She looked so horrified, I almost laughed. But I could see how much of a wrench it would be for the Claybournes to give up Thornleigh.
‘Thank goodness we put Daddy off the idea. But there are so many costs to running a place like Thornleigh. We rack up debts and then the tradesmen are reluctant to come out. A great disappointment to Mummy, of course. She does so enjoy flirting with the tradespeople.’ Laura smiled wickedly.
I had never known anyone talk about their mother in such a frank way and felt embarrassed at the thought of Lady Claybourne giggling with a handyman.
‘And poor Daddy,’ said Laura. ‘He keeps selling fields to pay the servants’ wages.’
‘Couldn’t you perhaps make do without them?’ I suggested.
‘What, the servants?’ Laura looked aghast. ‘Goodness, no, darling. We couldn’t do without Mrs Frith and the maids. Daddy would never let Jennings go. Jennings is really the only person who listens to Daddy’s suggestions and pays him any attention. And Higgins has been at Thornleigh for as long as anyone can remember. He’s a part of the furniture. He slithers around Thornleigh like an old reptile, getting into all the cracks. But, anyway, we needn’t worry too much about money,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Not anymore.’
I must have given her a puzzled look as she smiled again. ‘Not now Cadwallander is on the scene of course.’
‘Cadwallander?’
‘Oh, I thought Violet might have told you. Mummy hopes he’ll propose when he comes back in the spring. He’s out in Africa for the winter. Shooting rhino or whatever it is men like him do out there. Marriage has been on the cards for a few months now. He came down to stay with us in the autumn—’ Laura’s second drink arrived on a silver tray and she thanked the waiter. ‘He was dreadful at tennis,’ she continued. ‘Emmeline thrashed him and Mummy was cross but Cadwallander was very jolly about it.’
I furrowed my eyebrows, the word ‘propose’ gathering momentum in my mind. ‘Do you mean, you and him. . .?’
Laura laughed. ‘Oh, goodness, no, darling. Not me. He’s far too old for me. He’s far too old for Emmi, really, but you know . . .’ She gave a small shrug of her shoulders.
I couldn’t hide my surprise. So this Cadwallander (I wasn’t sure if this was a first name or a surname) was planning to propose to Emmeline? It was difficult to imagine Emmeline married. She seemed so focused on her studies, so fiercely independent.
‘But do you think Emmeline will say yes. If Cadwallander does propose, I mean?’
Laura took a large sip of her gin. ‘Of course she’ll say yes.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘It’s the only way, you see. Cadwallander, well he’s . . . very rich. He’s recently inherited Chaseley House. Do you know it?’
I shook my head.
‘Well, it’s huge. Tons of land. They’ve other houses too. A place in Scotland, I think. And he’s a viscount, which Mummy is thrilled about. She thinks it’s a perfect match.’
‘Oh.’ I paused to consider this. So this was what Violet had meant when she’d said Emmeline wouldn’t let Thornleigh be lost.
‘Is Cadwallander his first name?’
Laura laughed. ‘It’s Hugh. But we all call him Cadwallander. Viscount Cadwallander is such a mouthful, although I suppose we’ll have to start calling him Hugh. At least Emmi will.’ She reached forward and took a small fruit scone from the cake stand, sliced it in half with her knife. ‘Oh, have some of this, will you, Gilly.’ She nudged the bigger half onto my plate and reached for the butter. ‘Emmeline is desperate to hang on to Thornleigh. We’ve got a second cousin in London, Sebastian – an utterly urban creature – who will eventually inherit the title. Luckily for us, he’s already said he has absolutely no interest in the house. He visited once a few years ago and got rather a shock when he found a bat in his wardrobe. Daddy tried to get him to take an interest in the estate and took him to visit the tenant farmer, but poor Sebastian couldn’t understand a word the man said. He told me the farmer’s damp children pawed at his boating blazer. Yes, the entire visit thoroughly traumatised him. He was appalled at the thought of inheriting Thornleigh and all its problems and told Daddy if he was in his position he would most certainly get rid of it. Sebastian has plenty of money and property already and so Thornleigh will most likely be given over to Emmeline and Cadwallander.’
‘But would Emmeline really marry just to keep Thornleigh?’
Laura daintily buttered her scone. ‘Of course she would. She loves Thornleigh more than any of us. She hardly leaves it. She loves the woods and the house. She couldn’t bear it if it were lost. I mean, it’s old England, isn’t it?’
I nodded, agreeing that it would be ghastly if Thornleigh had to be sold. I added a blob of cream and jam to my half a scone and took a small bite. Laura had finished her second drink now and was waving our over-attentive waiter down for a third.
‘But is he nice?’ I asked.
‘Who?’ She turned back to me.
‘Mr, um, Viscount Cadwallander.’
Laura smiled. ‘He’s all right, I suppose. A bit wet, if you ask me.’
‘Is he very much older than Emmeline?’
Laura dug her knife into the jam. ‘About forty or so, I think.’
I put my scone down. In my eyes, Emmeline was much more an adult than a child but still, to me, forty was very old, almost double Emmeline’s age.
‘Does Emmeline love him?’ I asked.
Laura considered the question. ‘I don’t know about love, Gilly, but I expect they’ll get along well enough. Last time he was at Thornleigh he was falling over himself to please her. It was quite funny, really, especially as Emmi mostly ignored him.’ Laura pushed her plate away, evidently done with the scone. She hadn’t eaten much at all, just nibbled at things. I wondered if she worried about her figure the way her mother did.
Something behind me must have caught Laura’s eye as she smiled, then began frantically waving.
I turned, following her gaze. A young, light-haired man, wearing a Fair Isle jumper and a mustard-coloured tie, was striding quickly towards us, an umbrella hooked into the crook of his elbow.
‘Hullo, Laura. I thought it was you!’