Three weeks later May and her parents were on their way to Stemhalton, the Marquis of Andover’s country seat in Norfolk. The London Season had ended and the round of summer visits begun. May missed her sessions at the Bath Club, but otherwise she felt relief at finishing the never-ending round of calls and tea parties, of dances and receptions, interleaved with stately strolls beside Rotten Row or in the Park. And all the time there had been the constant preoccupation with dress standing immobile, transfixed by pins, at Konski’s; inspecting a long procession of hats at Paquin’s; and day after day, the continual changes of costume.
As she gazed out of the compartment window at the golden fields and green woodland of East Anglia May became aware of a certain stiffness in the low-toned conversation between her parents.
‘Had I known that Lady Hindlesham was to be among the guests I would have pleaded an alternative engagement.’
‘Come now, Julia, Hindlesham’s a good chap, y’know.’
‘I have no objection to meeting Lord Hindlesham.’ Her voice lowered still further and May only caught the words ‘Cussons’ and, a little later, ‘openly known’.
Lord Clarence spoke more loudly, ‘I’m sure my mother knows what she’s about.’ He glanced at May. ‘We won’t discuss it further.’
Lady Clarence subsided into a thin-lipped silence, while her husband applied himself to his ‘Morning Post’.
‘Stemhalton Market, Stemhalton Market.’
May jumped down from the railway carriage and looked around her at the familiar brightly painted station buildings with their sentinel rows of hollyhocks. At the rear of the train Bella and Fenton, and Makins, Lord Clarence’s valet, were standing over a pile of luggage, directing the energies of a couple of porters. May turned towards the barrier and saw her uncle’s Coachman, advancing with a beaming smile.
‘Hello, Saunders, what a beautiful day; are we the only people on the train?’
‘Good afternoon, Miss May; yes, the other guests mostly came on the two forty-five, and one of the gentlemen, a Mr Cussons, why, he motored over!’
‘Goodness, that was adventurous of him.’ May spoke calmly, but she felt her heart miss a beat. She had not seen Harry Cussons since the night of Lady Hindlesham’s ball, but she remembered his strong features and commanding manner.
Lofthouse, the Marquis’ butler, met them at the door; he had been with the family for years and was an old friend of May’s. She felt the familiar lift of excitement as she crossed the spacious hall and entered the drawing room. Her childhood holidays at Stemhalton had always seemed golden times, especially when she and Emily had been packed off with just old Nanny, leaving their parents behind. Aunt Dora had exercised only minimal supervision from her sofa and the four children had ranged at will over the estate, May and Emily tagging along behind their older cousins, determined not to be left out. It had been worth the penalty of a scolding from Nanny, ‘Your frock, Miss May, what have you done! And it’s all stained with green at the back!’ Later, even the governesses had seemed to relax a little at Stemhalton, although May well remembered the formidable Miss Worth, who had insisted on all rents and tears being summarily mended by the one who’d done the rending. Still, it had been a small price to pay for weeks of near freedom. May felt very old as she sighed for the lost days of youth, but she rapidly brightened when she spotted a pair of well-tailored shoulders outside on the terrace – so it was that Mr Cussons!
‘Good afternoon, Grandmamma.’ She bent to kiss the scented cheek. ‘Hello Archie, don’t scoff all the cake, leave some for me.’
‘You should be as fat as a pig, the amount you eat!’
May made a face at her cousin.
‘Nineteen inches, and that’s without my corset,’ she replied complacently.
‘Stop squabbling, children.’ Their grandmother’s tone was goodnatured but firm. ‘What would your mother say if she heard you speaking of undergarments at the tea table – and to a gentleman!’
‘It’s not a gentleman, it’s Archie.’ But May sat down and obediently began to play the young lady.
Harry Cussons had not come in from the terrace by the time Lady Clarence sent May upstairs for her obligatory quiet hour before dinner. May roamed restlessly round the light airy bedroom, missing Emily; then rang for Bella too early. Stemhalton had been built long before the days of bathrooms, and although two cavernous apartments had since been converted these were generally reserved for the gentlemen, so two housemaids struggled in with the hip bath and large cans of hot water, and arranged the screens around the rug in front of the fireplace. Splashing in the water on a warm August evening was pleasant enough, but May remembered shivering in the icy draughts of December when the roaring fire barely warmed even the area in front of it.
This evening May took more interest than usual in her toilette. She gazed critically at her reflection in the long glass, contrasting herself unfavourably with the remembered elegance of Lady Hindlesham. The frills which crossed over on her bosom, and were themselves ornamented with ribbons and tiny tulle roses, seemed over-ornate and fussy; she turned away, tugging impatiently at the spangled tulle of the heavily flounced overskirt.
‘I’m so bored with pale colours, Bella: nothing but pastel shades. I’d love a dress in a deep, dark blue, or olive – or black, even!’
‘When you are married you will be able to choose whatever colour you like,’ Bella said placidly.
May sighed, then thought of Emily. Only the previous week she had said a final goodbye to her sister, after the young couple’s fleeting visit to Allingham Place; but she felt that Emily had been taken from her earlier, at the wedding ceremony: she belonged to William now, and had looked pale and drawn and dependent. The whispered confidence, ‘If all goes well you will be an aunt next year, May, in early January,’ had only seemed to emphasise the gulf.
May felt a shiver of excitement as she swept down the wide staircase in the wake of her step-mother, but when they entered the outer drawing room a quick glance showed her that Harry Cussons was already holding court amidst a flock of elegantly clad women, among whom she saw the distinctive long neck and raven-black hair of Della Hindlesham; so she knew that Lady Clarence would remain firmly at the other end of the room.
When the company began to move towards the dining room Mr Cussons glanced over the heads of his entourage, and for a moment smiled in May’s direction; then he was lost to view in the shifting crowd.
At the dinner table May was interested to discover that one of her neighbours was Lord Hindlesham. As they were introduced she looked with some curiosity at the husband of the famous beauty; he was certainly no match for his wife in looks, being a small, slight man with a rather wizened face and the dark, sad eyes of an organ grinder’s monkey. Yet as the meal progressed she warmed to him: he proved a witty and informative companion, and they soon discovered a shared enthusiasm for food; he confided in May that one of his reasons for accepting Lady Andover’s invitation had been the well-known skill of Chef.
‘I remember a capital dinner I had in Arlington Street, back in June. The ortolans, my dear,’ leaning forward confidentially, ‘were out of this world – pure poetry!’
May warmed to him even further.
‘You must visit the kitchens while you are here, Lord Hindlesham: Chef loves the appreciation of a truly informed palate. Perhaps you would care to accompany me tomorrow?’
‘With pleasure, my dear Miss Winton, with great pleasure.’ He glanced along the table to where his wife was chasing a fragment of turbot round her plate while courting Harry Cussons’ sallies, then leant forward and whispered, ‘Della bants, you know – she is terrified of becoming heavy! I tell her to eat up; when you’re middle-aged, I say, like we two, a little heaviness is quite forgivable – but she seems almost annoyed by my advice.’ And Lord Hindlesham’s monkey face crinkled up into a mischievous grin, as he gave the ghost of a wink in May’s direction. ‘But, my dear, we were discussing the relative merits of oysters. I respect your preference for your Colchester native, but do you not feel that those from Falmouth have just that touch more lightness of flavour?’
After dinner the gentlemen seemed to May to spend an unusually long time over their port and cigars; then, when they did arrive, Lady Andover arranged the tables for bridge, while Archie called on the younger members of the party to join him in a spirited game of charades. May had to accept that Harry Cussons, being well into his thirties, was inevitably a bridge player, and although she enjoyed the dressing up and general quick-wittedness needed to satisfy Archie’s artistic ambitions, she nevertheless did feel that just a few minutes’ conversation with Mr Cussons would have been pleasant.
On the stroke of twelve Lady Clarence appeared in the outer drawing room to summon May, so breaking up the party. As they ascended the staircase May spoke in a casual tone to her step-mother.
‘The tall, fair-haired gentleman, Step-mamma, was that not Mr Cussons, who Saunders said drove himself here by motor car?’
‘So I believe, May.’ Lady Clarence’s reply was cool. ‘We did exchange a few words, since I knew his mother, Lady Violet.’
Lady Clarence seemed disinclined to pursue the subject further, so May said no more.