Habits of the House (32 page)

Tessa cried in sympathy, and explained to her daughter that she was weeping not only because she had lost Arthur, but for the sum of all those sorrows past as well. Sometimes everything got together and came up and hit you. But Minnie wasn’t listening.

Tessa used every approach she could think of. Arthur was variously a vile seducer who had tried to take advantage, a silly young Englishman who had been sent away from his mother too young – and she had half a mind to give his mother
what for – and couldn’t Minnie try being angry for a change, instead of falling into self pity? There were more fish in the sea, they would go to Italy next week, he was not so great a catch as a duke and she had heard there were one or two of those available – Mr Eddie had told her the Duke of Alvechurch was a widower and looking – Grace interjected that he was far too old, and just a pity the young Duke of Pentridge was no longer available. Tessa observed that some women were perfectly happy just cuddling, what was Grace talking about, and Minnie stopped snuffling to say she wasn’t the cuddling type and Tessa said she could see that might be the case. Minnie started howling again.

Minnie said she didn’t give a hot hoot about titles any more; she just wanted to be settled and happy. And she had been so nearly settled and happy. If only she hadn’t blurted out the truth, if only, if only, if only… sob, sob, sob.

Now it was Grace’s turn to comfort her. There was bad blood in the Dilberne family: Miss Minnie was well out of it; the father had kept a mistress, the same one as the son’s – a startled ‘What?’ from both Tessa and her mother – everyone had known about it except the poor Countess herself. It would only have happened to Minnie in the end. Bad blood would out.

Minnie said she didn’t darn well care, a few years of happiness was worth a lifetime of misery.

‘You didn’t say that when Stanton left,’ said her mother, and Minnie howled.

Minnie was such a pretty girl, Grace said, so spirited and brave, and any decent man would be glad to have her, only it wasn’t wise to take the whalebones out of bodices, and perhaps next time she shouldn’t show herself to be so well-read and certainly be a little more discreet about her past, though times
were changing and soon virginity might cease to be a prize and experience more valued.

Minnie wept on. There would never be a next time. She would never risk heartbreak again. Grace rang down for some strong coffee and black cherry gâteau and Minnie stopped crying and wolfed the latter – it was so delicious.

Minnie said she had so looked forward to being mistress of Dilberne Court: she wanted like anything to be the lady of a stately English house, and Grace said as lady of the house she’d have to forget leisure, she’d have had her work cut out taking soup to the tenants and overseeing the gardeners. Minnie had had a close shave, if you asked Grace, and she should thank her lucky stars she was saved. Just as well she’d had the spirit to slap the Viscount’s face. Otherwise her reputation would be ruined on both sides of the Atlantic.

What do I care, said Minnie and she just loved Arthur and that was that, and she wanted to have children who would be half-her and half-him and that way they could never be parted. If only she’d gone upstairs with him when he asked her everything would be different.

‘It sure as hell’s bells would have been, Minnie,’ said her mother. ‘He’d have left you this morning instead of you leaving him last night. Nine months’ time and you’d know all about “different”!’ But at least, Tessa said, now they could get back home where people spoke how you could understand them. Billy would be over his pique and they could all be happy again. Home was home to her so long as it had Minnie in it. Grace was to go and ask Mr Eddie for tickets back home on the next liner out of Southampton, so long as it wasn’t the
Oceanic
.

Minnie, touched, flung her arms round her mother, and said, ‘I love you, Ma.’ Then she asked, ‘Can we take Grace with us?’

Tessa looked at Grace and asked, ‘How about it?’

‘I would like that very much,’ said Grace, after only a second or two’s thought.

‘Well whadd’ya know, whadd’ya know!’ said Tessa. ‘Poor Mr Eddie!’

Minnie finally dried her tears: they’d stopped running: she’d used them all up. She was finished with men for ever.

A Busy Day at the Baum’s

8 a.m. Tuesday, 5th December 1899

Over in Golders Green the Baums were beside themselves. Eric had not yet managed to get to work. The children were playing up: it was not surprising; both had dreadful coughs and colds. Their little noses were inflamed and their nostrils red-rimmed. Eric felt their ill health was his fault: some of the windows had not been fitted properly, and they were waiting to be replaced. Fog had curled in through cracks like a kind of poison gas. People did not seem to realize just how dangerous this new kind of sulphur fog was. One of the reasons he had bought land up here was that it would be out of the reach of miasma. He hated to be wrong. Worse, there were financial implications for the state of the coal industry; the domestic coal fire was the bedrock of its profitability, and now there was even talk of their being banned in London altogether – nothing seemed to be going right for him. Worse, the excavating of the Golders Green Tube Line had been cancelled again, yet another construction company having gone bust, and it might be a whole ten years before the system was up and running, and his journey to and from the office made easier. He looked back on their earlier days in Islington as a golden age when he could walk to work and he and Naomi were happy together and she was always in a good mood, and receptive and generous in bed.

He could not wish the children out of existence, but this morning they were playing up to such an extent that he almost did; the little girl refusing to dress and whining, and the little boy darting around and pinching his sister: both so noisy he could hardly think, and annoying their mother to such an extent that over breakfast the normally patient Naomi had slapped little Jonathan on his leg and little Barbara on her arm, and then burst into tears herself. He, who once had been so good with the children, now seemed almost unable to cope with them.

The postman had been and there was still no invitation to the Dilberne’s royal dinner though he had reminded his Lordship several times. It was such a small thing to ask, just a simple social invitation in return for the work he had done on his Lordship’s behalf: setting up a loan, finding enthusiasts for what was still a speculative project, establishing a new syndicate of reliable investors. It was all work, not magic out of thin air, as Dilberne seemed to suppose. He, Baum, could still pull the plug on the family any time, but he was reluctant to do it. Cassel wouldn’t like it one bit. Dilberne had increasingly powerful and influential friends. It would certainly not do Naomi’s social ambitions any good.

It was a shame that a clever women like Naomi – who had a real scientific bent and a good mind, and had done so well in her exams – though of course she could never graduate – should be confined to household duties, but there it was. She had been born to marry and have children, and there was nothing for it for the rest of her life, but she must wipe the noses of small children and believe her position in the world depended upon meeting a rascal like the Prince of Wales. It was shocking that a person like the Countess of Dilberne – who had not even been born into the aristocracy but into trade – was able to dictate his wife’s happiness.

He had not put himself out to get to work this morning because his office had rung through on the newly installed telephone line and told him that the Countess of Dilberne had summoned him to attend her. And he didn’t see why the blazes he should.

And then Naomi stopped crying and flung his arms around him and said she was sorry, she loved him, and all that mattered was that they were happy together. He felt a great surge of love for her and the children, and a great surge of anger towards the Countess of Dilberne. He would certainly go and visit her. He would get an invitation out of her if it killed him.

Before he left for the muddy walk to Hampstead Heath and the long journey down to the City on the 210 bus, the telephone bell rang again. Vine Street Police Station had been in touch with the office and wanted to know details of the Dilberne rental of Half Moon Street. Should the clerk tell them it was now shared with the Hon. Anthony Robin, or stay mum? Stay mum, said Eric, if in doubt stay mum, he would deal with the matter when he got there. This could be interesting. He had another lever to pull.

A Busy Day Below Stairs

Tuesday, 5th December 1899

Down in the kitchens the relief was general. The royal dinner was on. There was to be no sudden departure for Hampshire. Only Elsie was disappointed. Her Ladyship had seemed quite herself again when she had sent for Cook.

The latter was worried by the prospect of serving a Yorkshire pudding for royalty. Such batter-based foods could be tricky; if they were to rise the oven had to be just so and the pudding placed beneath the joint to catch the drippings. Oven space would be at a premium, what with the patties – though they could be cooked earlier – the grouse, the ducklings, the lamb and now the beef as well – a lot of juggling would be required between hot, medium and resting ovens. Cooks got good incomes but early deaths, she observed, bitterly.

Mrs Neville had snatched the letter from Pickfords from Mr Neville’s hand even as he held it in steam from the kettle, and refused to let him read it. The contents of the reply remained a mystery. Enough to know that the royal dinner was back on.

The Viscount had crept in before dawn and eaten all the bread and cheese. No one could quite make head or tail of that. He was meant to be down in the country. Reginald said the Jehu had had a soaking which had done no favours to the
upholstery but at least his Lordship had finally tried out the new condenser and it had worked.

‘What’s a condenser when it’s at home?’ Smithers asked.

‘Only what I’ve been devoting my genius to for the last three months,’ Reginald said, blessing her with a smile. Good cheer seemed to have returned to the household.

Her Ladyship had made herself look presentable and had settled into his Lordship’s office and was now sorting through his papers. Just as well, the staff decided, that someone was at last doing so; the task had been postponed for far too long. Mind you, it was understandable. His Lordship had been very busy both at the House and re-stabling the horse with the funny foreign name, Agripin, on the Roseberry estate. Mr Neville spelled it out for both Elsie and Lily, who was getting on nicely with her reading, and told them it meant ‘wild horse’ in Russian..

All felt slightly shamefaced at having steamed open a private letter – it smacked of a real disloyalty – but were grateful that Mrs Neville had saved them from the further disgrace of having read it.

A Busy Day Above Stairs

2.30 p.m. Tuesday, 5th December 1899

In the early afternoon the Countess summoned her son to her side. He found her in surprisingly fine form: composed and efficient, surrounded by papers and in his father’s office, apparently recovered from her fit of pique. There were no menus or fashion plates to hand.

She told him briskly that he must expedite his wedding to Minnie. There was no choice in the matter. The news of the engagement would be announced at the royal dinner: the wedding would be in June. She had added up his father’s debts and found they were indebted to the tune of some seventy-two thousand pounds to persons and companies, racing stables, book-keepers and gaming houses. Some of the letters she opened had not been very civil; a few threatened violence. The bank had declined more credit.

Arthur looked at his mother with wide eyes. It was all very well urging him to expedite his wedding, but how? What wedding? All was over between him and Minnie. He had called by Brown’s, and she had refused to see him. He had slipped the concierge a guinea and it made no difference, only that he now owned a piece of paper with the single world written upon it:
Hypocrite
! He could hardly deny the accusation, especially now it seemed he was to be up on a charge of keeping a brothel.

Isobel was now telling him that his father had been concentrating on political matters and new mining concerns in Africa, further north and out of reach of the war, which was why he had left financial matters unattended to. She did not doubt that matters could be cleared up very quickly, but in the absence of the Earl – she had been trying to contact him for a couple of days, but had failed – she had asked Mr Baum to call upon them.

In the absence of his father? What could she mean? Where was he? And cleared up quickly? It seemed unlikely. And why Mr Baum? What was going on?

‘Mr Baum? I didn’t think you liked him very much,’ said her son. ‘Or is it that you think he can be useful to you?’

‘I very much hope he will be,’ said Isobel. ‘Indeed, we are lost if he is not.’

‘Then I hope you sent off the invitation to Mrs Baum,’ Arthur remarked, remembering something Rosina had told him about the lawyer’s wife.

‘I did not,’ said his mother, ‘and I will not.’

Like mother, like daughter, thought Arthur. Both could be completely unreasonable. Perhaps it was Rosina’s doing that the police had turned up in Half Moon Street? It was possible, but would she have done that to her own brother? Surely not. But she was the kind to know about the new Vagrancy Act, and she did not think it proper for him to marry Minnie; she had made that clear, and this would be a good way of stopping him. Once the female descendants of Silas Batey took a moral stance they would abide by it even though it destroyed everything around. Rosina had all but killed her own grandfather by accident for the sake of a principle. But how could she have known Flora’s address? Wormed it out of Reginald, perhaps, in which case Reginald was a snake in the grass and would be lucky to keep his job.

‘I have not invited Mrs Baum,’ said his mother, ‘because I will not have guests at my dinner table simply because they are useful. It is such bad form. It is how Freddie chooses her guests, that, or because they are famous or infamous, she does not care which. Break down the normal social barriers and where will it all end? Eating at the same table with the servants?’