I leaned over the edge of the bridge, my elbows pressed to the warm golden stone, and watched the river current as it parted and flowed around the limestone piers in a swirl of liquid movement. The swish of the water, birdsong, and the rustle of the leaves as the wind rushed through the trees were the only sounds. I pushed away from the bridge’s parapet. On the other side of the bridge, the road twisted away through the trees, but I set off diagonally through the woods, a shortcut that would bring me to Parkview more quickly.
The gate in the wall that enclosed Parkview’s grounds on this side was well hidden and covered in ivy, but I went to it unerringly. I pushed back a few strands of trailing ivy, then poked two fingers into a cleft in the masonry of the wall. My fingertips brushed against solid metal, and I extracted the heavy key. I unlocked the gate, replaced the key, and slipped through the gate into the dense wood. A little while later I emerged from the thicket of oaks and stepped onto the drive.
I paused to take in the elegant lines of the Georgian mansion with its portico, pediment, and divided staircase. The graceful lines of the building hadn’t changed, but the grounds looked rough around the edges. The lawn around the house had been cut, but where I stood farther away, weeds poked through the gravel, and the shrubbery sprouted pointy new growth that needed to be trimmed.
In the distance, a disappearing figure in tweed and a flat cap climbed up one of the rolling hills and entered a grove of trees, two dogs trotting along beside him. I squinted but couldn’t make out who it was. It could be Uncle Leo, who liked to walk the grounds to keep an eye on things. Or it could be Peter, who walked the grounds in an effort to exhaust himself so he could sleep. It seemed he was trying to outpace his memories from the war.
As I neared the house, the front door opened and a blonde figure glided down one side of the pair of curving staircases and met me, arms outstretched. My cousin Gwen hadn’t embraced bobbed hair. She still parted her fair hair in the middle of her forehead and smoothed it back into a knot at the nape of her neck, but her fluttery cream-colored linen dress with a dropped sash was the latest style.
She gripped my hands and squeezed. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. I’d never ignore a telegram from you.”
Tall and lean, with brown eyes and a gentle manner, she was one of the most restful people I knew, but today her eyes were troubled. “I’m so glad you’re here. It’s too late, but at least you’re here.”
“Too late? What’s wrong?”
“It’s Violet.”
“Isn’t it always?” I said jokingly. Five years younger than Gwen and me, Violet had always been the one scampering along behind us, wanting to be involved, pestering us to do exactly what we were doing.
Gwen said, “She’s always been a handful, but this is worse than usual.”
“Yoo-hoo! Olive, over here.” I turned. A figure in pink waved frantically from the edge of the terrace at the side of the house. “Olive, you must come up now. I have wonderful news.”
Gwen shouted back, “Give her a moment, Violet. Olive hasn’t even been to her room.”
“But this can’t wait,” Violet said.
I waved a hand at Gwen. “It’s all right. I’ll go along now. We both know we won’t get a minute’s peace until I do.”
“That’s true, and I’m sure Violet will demonstrate exactly what’s wrong.”
We rounded the corner of the house and climbed the steps. As we emerged onto the terrace, Violet pounced on us, tucking a blue croquet mallet under her right arm and extending her left hand, fingers splayed. “I’m engaged.” The square-cut diamond caught the bright sunlight and refracted it.
“Violet,” Gwen said, “you haven’t even said hello.”
Violet tossed her head, and her short curls quivered against her flushed cheeks. Violet had the same shade of bright blonde hair as Gwen, but that’s where the similarities ended. Violet was shorter and rounder than her sister, all bounce and energy.
“I can’t help it. It’s just too, too exciting. Come on, you can meet him. He’s here now.” She grabbed my wrist and propelled me across the flagstones to the other side of the terrace where another flight of steps led down into the expansive gardens at the back of the house. Beyond the banks of flowers, a game of croquet had been set up on a stretch of the flat green lawn. A dark-haired young man in tennis whites was toeing a red croquet ball, inching it closer to a wicket.
“Alfred!” Violet said. “Come meet Olive.”
As we crossed the grass, Violet tucked her arm around my elbow and leaned close. “Isn’t he handsome? He’s simply the sweetest man ever. I never have to ask him to fetch me a drink when we’re at a party. He always has one for me, just when I want it. He’s a divine dancer too. And he has a lovely motor.”
“Well, those are all the top attributes one would want in a husband,” I said.
Gwen snorted, and Violet scowled at her. Alfred crossed the grass and met us, a wide smile on his face, which displayed perfectly even teeth that showed up brightly against his suntanned face. Violet released my arm and shifted to Alfred’s side as she introduced me.
“Congratulations to you both,” I said, aware that Gwen’s frown was a counterpoint to Alfred’s cheery expression.
He wrapped an arm around Violet and squeezed her in a side hug. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”
Violet looked at me. “Isn’t he a dear?” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “We’re going to be married in August,” she said, her gaze locked with Alfred’s.
Gwen crossed her arms over her chest. “Nothing’s been decided yet.”
Violet pouted. “Daddy’s being such a fuddy-duddy. But I’ll bring him around.” She pressed into Alfred’s side.
Gwen said, “I thought you two were playing a game of croquet.”
Violet planted a hand on Alfred’s chest and pushed him away. “We are. And I’m going to trounce you.” She twirled her mallet and ran toward the wickets.
“Care to join us, ladies?” Alfred waved his red mallet toward the discarded mallets on the terrace. “Plenty of room for more players.”
“No,” Gwen said instantly. “I’m sure Olive would like to have some tea first.”
I didn’t think it was possible for Alfred’s smile to get any bigger, but he exposed a few more teeth. “Perhaps we can play a game of doubles later.”
“I’m afraid I feel a headache coming on. I’d better spend some time in the shade.” Gwen marched back to the terrace and up the stairs.
I hurried to keep up with her. “Are you feeling unwell?”
She looked a little shamefaced. “My headache isn’t a literal one. It’s figurative.” She shot a glance at Alfred as we sat at a table in the shade where tea had been laid out.
“Well, he’s certainly handsome,” I said.
Gwen rang for a maid, who took my hat, gloves, and handbag away to my room, then Gwen poured me a cup of tea. “I’m afraid that’s his only qualification. I know it’s the only one that matters to Violet.”
“You forget, he also has a very nice motor and is a divine dancer.”
Gwen laughed and handed me a cup of tea. I took it even though I’d already had tea that afternoon. After weeks of my stomach rumbling and growling with hunger, I wasn’t about to refuse a drop of tea or a bite of food. I settled into the wrought iron chair and sipped my tea, feeling cosseted. I truly appreciated the rarefied atmosphere of Parkview, probably for the first time in my life.
On the lawn, Alfred was holding Violet’s hand as she balanced on one foot to adjust the strap of her shoe. I said, “He seems to be solicitous of Violet.”
Gwen watched them, then asked, “What do you think of Alfred? What’s your first impression?”
“He smiles too much.”
“I knew I could count on you. You’re good at grasping the meat of the thing.”
I grimaced. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“It is a compliment,” Gwen said. “I asked you here hoping you could convince Violet to slow down, to rethink this engagement. You know how she admires you. But it’s too late now. She’s sent off the announcements to the newspapers.”
“I don’t think anyone could influence Violet to do anything she doesn’t want to. She seems to be set on Alfred.”
“Yes, that’s the problem. If Mum and I try to talk her out of it, you know she’ll dig in her heels.”
Aunt Caroline came up through the garden and climbed the steps to the terrace. She held her box of paints in one hand and a canvas shiny with wet oils in the other. “Oh, hello, Olive. We’re so glad you could come. Careful, dear. The paint is still wet.” She held the canvas away as I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
“It’s lovely of you to have me.”
She propped the painting up against the stone balustrade at the edge of the terrace, then set her box of paints on the table and dropped into a chair. The painting was a combination of blobs and splashes in bright colors. It might be the shrubbery maze . . . or possibly a turtle. I wasn’t quite sure, and I knew better than to ask Aunt Caroline.
Aunt Caroline and Father were brother and sister, but if they stood side by side, there was no physical resemblance. Father was dark and on the weedy side, while Aunt Caroline was tall and fair with beautiful skin that she’d passed on to her daughters. Violet had inherited her voluptuous figure. The only thing Aunt Caroline and Father had in common was their ability to delve so deeply into their pursuits that they became absentminded and tended to view the goings-on around them with a hazy, confused air. Many a time, I had taken Father his tea in the afternoon, and he had looked up with the same expression that was on Aunt Caroline’s face right now. “Tea?” she said. “I can’t believe it’s so late.”
Gwen handed her a cup. “It is.”
The croquet game continued on the lawn. The thwack of a mallet hitting a croquet ball carried through the air, and Violet’s blue ball sailed across the lawn to the far side. She smacked Alfred’s arm with her palm. “Beast!”
Alfred’s reply floated up to the terrace. “Darling, you know I always play to win.”
Aunt Caroline put her teacup down with a crack, her gaze sharp and focused. “I don’t trust that young man.”
One difference between Father and Aunt Caroline was that she occasionally emerged from her self-absorbed fog and came out with a statement of striking clarity. “Who is Alfred Eton? That’s what I want to know,” Aunt Caroline said. “He’s made a few blunders—it makes me wonder.”
Gwen asked, “What do you mean, Mum?”
“Did you see him when Violet introduced him? He didn’t wait for me to put my hand out. He put his hand out first.”
“Oh, Mum,” Gwen said. “Don’t be so old-fashioned. He was probably nervous.”
“And he didn’t let Violet precede him last night when everyone came down for dinner.”
“Things are much more informal now,” Gwen said. “You’re making too much of it.”
Aunt Caroline said, “Well, his behavior is ill-mannered. And that’s to say nothing of his friends. That photographer—that Sebastian Blakely—he’s not what I consider good company.”
“Sebastian is Alfred’s godfather,” Gwen explained to me.
“And, more importantly, who are his people?” Aunt Caroline picked up a macaron, looked at it, and put it on her plate. “In my day, we courted at home, not out. We knew the families people came from. Alfred is so vague. All this about India. Just because he grew up on another continent doesn’t mean he can’t be specific.”
“His father was in the civil service,” Gwen said. “I did manage to get that out of him.”
Aunt Caroline leaned over her teacup. “But does he have any prospects? As far as I can tell, he doesn’t, except assisting that society photographer. And that’s certainly not something you can establish a household on.”
Aunt Caroline swiveled toward me. “What I want to do is hire a detective, but your Uncle Leo won’t hear of it. He says you young people have to live your own lives and we should stay out of it. But I’m not going to let my daughter marry someone I don’t know.”
I tilted my head. “Even if Uncle Leo won’t hear of it, I find it hard to believe that you wouldn’t have done something on your own.”
Aunt Caroline exchanged a glance with Gwen, then gave me a smile. “You always were perceptive, Olive. Yes, I have made inquiries, but really, I have no idea how to go about it. My friend Antonia told me it will cost at least several hundred pounds to hire a detective.”
I glanced across the china and silver spread on the table and the elegant lines of the house soaring above us. “But that shouldn’t be a problem?” Parkview might look a little scruffy in certain areas, but surely there weren’t deep financial problems here?
“Oh no, dear. I can pay it out of my household accounts.”
At this statement, I smiled at Gwen. We both knew it would be Gwen who paid the money out of the household accounts, not my aunt.
“I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to find someone like that,” Aunt Caroline continued. “I don’t want to associate with that type of person—you know, someone not of our class. However, this situation with that rather oily young man must be dealt with.”
I had consumed a slice of cake and several of the small sandwiches. I felt full and content, but as Aunt Caroline’s determination penetrated my tranquil state, my heartbeat sped up. I sat up. “I’ll do it.”