For what had been frequently referred to in the newspapers as ‘the society wedding of the year’, despite it being still only January, the excitement amongst the waiting crowds that lined the way to St Margaret’s, Westminster, was palpable. A union between an heir to a fortune and a great beauty was enough to feed the diary columns and over-the-fence gossip for months. Sashaying down the path to the church door were the young men and women, as well as the elderly statesmen and dowagers of the country’s aristocratic families, dressed in their very best silks, furs and diamonds.
Amongst them, in a rather less expensive outfit but feeling relief that the anticipatory nerves appeared to be over, was Louisa Cannon. She had found the build-up to the event quite terrifying, partly because the wedding marked a significant change in her life too. But for the moment, she was content to find a place beside the comforting presence of Nanny Blor, in one of the furthest rows at the back. It wasn’t long before Louisa was commiserating with her at the absence of the bridesmaids Decca and Debo (the family names for Jessica and Deborah), Diana’s two youngest sisters of twelve and nine years old, who had developed scarlet fever seemingly overnight. ‘Least, that’s what the doctor said,’ sniffed Nanny Blor, ‘but he’s not our usual one, of course, being in London. I think it’s whooping cough myself.’
‘Whatever it is, they must have been so sorry not to be here,’ whispered Louisa. ‘I know Miss Diana was very unhappy not to have them with her.’ She and Nanny Blor had arrived a good hour early ahead of the ceremony and happily discussed each of the Mitford children and the goings-on of Swinbrook village.
‘Inconsolable, the poor loves,’ nodded Nanny Blor. (Her real name was Laura Dicks but she had been ‘Nanny Blor’ since Nancy had christened her as such almost fifteen years before, and nobody in the family could think of her as someone who had a life outside the Mitfords, let alone another name.) There were three men in morning suits shuffling by the door and coughing. Louisa thought she’d got a second look from one of them, and touched her new hat when he did so. It had cost her almost half of last week’s wages but she’d needed the pep it gave her. Besides, after today she had no more rent to pay, nor even meagre meals to buy.
As they had talked, the church filled up with the clotted cream of England’s society, ready to witness Diana as she was walked down the aisle by her father, Lord Redesdale. They were followed by eleven bridesmaids, including Nancy. Louisa spotted Unity, the next sister along at four years younger than Diana, if her complete opposite in looks, with straight, straw-like hair that stuck out awkwardly. She was tugging at her dress and throwing black looks at anyone she thought might be staring at her. Pamela, the sister who was between Nancy and Diana, was not one of the eleven in gold-tissue dresses; instead, she sat beside their brother Tom and their mother Lady Redesdale, in the front pew. Louisa hadn’t been at all sure that she, herself, should be at the service but Nancy and Diana had kindly insisted, and then there had been the question of her new appointment.
Two weeks before Christmas, Louisa had received a note from Diana, asking her to come around to the house at Rutland Gate the following day for tea. It hadn’t been easy to get let out of work at the shop early – she’d told a small fib about a sore tooth – but Louisa had the sense that the summons wasn’t just for amusement. And there was the fact that in spite of having quit her job with the Mitfords a few years before, she could never quite resist a request from them of any sort.
‘Darling Lou-Lou,’ Diana had begun, once she had poured out the tea, surprising Louisa with her mature manner and use of Nancy’s own nickname for her. ‘Everyone has at last agreed that Bryan and I can marry, so we’re going to do it as soon as possible and afterwards we’re going to set up in a little house, a sort of dolls’ house really, in Buckingham Street. We’ve agreed that we want to do things the way we like to, and so rather than start with awful new servants that we don’t know at all, we’re bringing our favourites.’
Louisa had listened to this with a very full cup of tea balancing on her knees, and she had had to force herself to concentrate on what Diana was saying, rather than on the light blue rug that she was threatening to ruin.
‘Bryan, that is, Mr Guinness, is bringing a parlourmaid from his parents’ house, and Farve has agreed I can have Turner, from Swinbrook.’
‘Turner?’
‘Oh, he must have started after you left. He’s a dear thing. The chauffeur. But the point is, Louisa, I’d like you to come, too.’
‘Me?’ Must she be reduced to one-word questions? She felt quite stupid.
‘Yes. As a sort of lady’s maid. That is to say, I don’t really need a lady’s maid, the idea of one is, I agree with you, quite absurd.’ Louisa hadn’t said anything or even changed her face so far as she was aware – did she agree? Diana chattered on. ‘Nonetheless, everyone is insisting I will need someone to help me because they all think I’m still a child. To pack my clothes, for one thing, because Bryan wants to go abroad rather a lot. So do I, of course. Then there are endless parties – Bryan has so many divine friends – and we go to the theatre every night. There never seems to be quite enough time to make sure the things I want have been ironed let alone mended…’
She trailed off, smiling benignly, yet with her blue eyes firmly trained on her former nursery maid. Louisa still didn’t know how to respond. She wasn’t yet sure how she felt about this offer.
‘The point is’ – the voice was firmer now – ‘you’d be a friendly face in the house for me, and everyone is probably right. I’ve never run a house before and though it doesn’t seem terribly complicated to me, there are things it would be useful to have some assistance with. We’d pay you generously. Bry— Mr Guinness is very good in that way. What do you say, Louisa?’
Louisa, unable to think straight and bewitched by the silvery beauty of this young woman, found herself accepting – almost – on the spot. ‘What about Lady Redesdale? She may not approve. I was not exactly asked to leave her employ but…’
Diana’s face changed slightly. ‘Lady Redesdale is no longer at liberty to tell me what to do. I shall be a married woman soon, with my own house. If I decide I want to employ you then that’s my lookout.’ There was a trace of a child’s petulance, but she was, after all, only eighteen.
Louisa believed it was her duty to throw as many rocks in the path as possible. ‘I’ll have to give notice at the dress shop. It might be weeks before I can start.’
‘Then you can start on the first day of my marriage – on the thirty-first of January. It’ll be a new beginning for all of us and absolutely heavenly.’
So that was that. Once more Louisa was unto the breach of the Mitfords, and she wondered what battle she would find she had been drafted in to fight this time.