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Turning around, Vicky hurried towards the door, just as it flew open to admit her husband Stephen.
A smile struck his face when he saw her. ‘How beautiful you look, Vicky!’ he exclaimed, coming into the room, closing the door. He paused to kiss her, held her away from him, smiling broadly, nodding his approval.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said, smiling back at him.
‘You’re dressed rather early, aren’t you, my dear?’
Vicky shook her head. ‘Not really, I do have a few things to check with Cook, and Fuller. Also, a short while ago Ned telephoned. He asked to come a bit earlier, before everyone else. He wants to talk to us, so I said it would be all right.’
‘What does he want to talk to us about?’ Stephen asked curiously.
‘Grace Rose.’
‘What about her?’
‘Apparently some years ago, after he had taken over as head of Deravenels and was making money, he set up a trust for her. It will not be hers until she is twenty-one, but he wishes to bring the relevant documents tonight. He thinks we should now hold them for her until she comes of age.’
‘How odd. Why?’
‘He didn’t actually explain everything, Stephen darling, but he did mention that he was putting many of his affairs in order between now and the end of the year.’
‘I see. Well, then, I’d better get a move on, darling, change my shirt and suit, dandy myself up for your dinner party.’
‘Our dinner party, Stephen,’ she corrected. ‘Ned said it would only take fifteen minutes or so. He suggested Grace Rose could entertain Jane whilst we have our discussion in the library.’
‘I know Grace Rose will enjoy that, but will Jane?’
‘What on earth do you mean?’ Vicky frowned in puzzlement, staring at her husband questioningly.
‘Grace Rose has become amazingly forthright lately. Whilst she is not in any way rude, in fact she’s extremely polite and well-mannered, I do find she really does speak her mind these days. Or hadn’t you noticed?’
‘Yes, of course I have,’ Vicky responded. ‘On the other hand, she makes her somewhat startling comments so casually and with such panache, such good humour, I’m quite certain no one takes offence.’ Hurrying to the door, she added over her shoulder, ‘But I must go down. I have to make sure everything is in order. Don’t be too long, will you?’ She glanced at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece and pointed out, ‘It’s already ten past six, and Ned and Jane will be arriving at six-thirty. The other guests are due at seven.’
‘Who else is coming, by the way?’ he asked swiftly. ‘Just refresh my memory again. You never did give me a final list, as you normally do.’
‘Oh sorry, so sorry, Stephen. Yes, well, it’s only family, really. There’s Ned and Jane, and us, that makes five, plus Fenella, Amos, and my brother.’
‘Isn’t Kathleen coming with Will?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. He telephoned me this morning. She’s fighting an awful cold apparently, and he said they both thought she ought to stay at home. She doesn’t want to spread germs. So I agreed. What else could I do? Anyway, a lovely flower arrangement and a note of apology arrived this afternoon from Kathleen. She’s a sweet woman, very thoughtful.’
‘Yes, she is. It’s all this blasted rain we’re having, if you want my opinion,’ Stephen grumbled. ‘It’s been raining cats and dogs for days. No wonder people are catching colds, becoming ill.’
Vicky burst out laughing. ‘Let’s not complain about the English weather, my sweet! The war is OVER. That’s quite something to be happy about, isn’t it? To hell with the weather, I say.’
He chuckled, and headed over to his dressing room. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll be down,’ he muttered as he disappeared through the doorway.
Smiling to herself, thinking how awful her life would have been without him, Vicky closed the bedroom door behind her and went downstairs. She wanted to check on Fuller, to make sure he had taken the champagne to the library; she had selected Krug, knowing it was Ned’s preferred brand these days.
Dear Ned. He had always been her favourite and one of her dearest friends. They had known each other for donkey’s years, and had become very close as time had passed. He was her brother Will’s best friend, and she fully understood why these two had bonded years before.
She had helped Ned to get through his grief and despair after his mistress Lily had been killed in that horrendous accident. Well, she added to herself, that was no accident, it was cold-blooded murder. Margot Grant, Edward’s bitter enemy, in his fight for control of Deravenels all those years ago. She had had Lily Overton murdered. And she had gone scot-free, had never been made to pay for it. No, she had been made to pay, actually. In the worst way. The Frenchwoman had lost everyone and everything. God’s will, no doubt.
A shiver ran through Vicky and goose flesh sprang up on her arms and the back of her neck. She had been in the landau with Lily that fateful day in Hyde Park, had been thrown out with her and could have easily been killed herself.
Lily … her best friend, so beautiful, and far too young to die. And the unborn baby killed, too, Ned’s child which she was carrying. Vicky knew she would never forget the sight of Lily laying there on the grass, the pale blue silk of her dress covered in bright red blood. That image was indelibly printed on her mind; it never faded.
Pausing on the staircase, Vicky took a deep breath and endeavoured to throw off these dire memories of that most miserable day, and then she went on down slowly, calming her thoughts before their guests began to arrive.
Almost at once she bumped into Fuller in the downstairs hall. ‘Good evening, Madam,’ he said, inclining his head. ‘I’m just about to put the grog in the library.’
‘Thank you,’ she answered, noting that he was holding a silver bucket full of ice. ‘Everything else is in hand, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘All the fires going?’
‘Oh yes, Madam, all shipshape. We’re ready to set sail.’
‘Thank you, Fuller,’ she murmured and walked along the corridor towards the kitchen, shaking her head. Before joining them last year Fuller had been head butler in the house of a former admiral in the Royal Navy, now deceased, and he tended to speak in somewhat nautical terms. She and Grace Rose found it amusing, but at times it irritated Stephen: only the other day he had complained that he felt as if he were living on a damned battleship!
Her answer had been to quickly point out that Fuller just happened to be an excellent butler, the best they had had in years.
Opening the kitchen door, Vicky put her head around it and asked, ‘Do you need me for anything, Mrs Johnson?’
The cook turned swiftly, holding a ladle in her hand and it hovered in mid-air for a moment. Putting it down, she said, ‘Evening, mum. No, there’re no problems. All’s well ’ere, we’re shipshape, and on time. Dinner will be ready at eight bells, as you requested.’ Cook compressed her mouth hard, swallowing her sudden laughter. She steadied herself and blurted out, ‘Seems I’m pickin’ up Fuller’s jargon, mum, sorry, ever so sorry, mum.’
Trying to keep a straight face herself, Vicky answered, ‘Just make sure the mulligatawny soup is very hot. You know Mr Forth likes the soup to be scalding.’
‘Yes, mum, and everything else! I knows he prefers his ’ot food ’ot, and so he should, mum.’
Laughing, Vicky made her way to the drawing room and went in. It was her favourite room in the house, and she glanced around, admiring it for a moment. The walls were covered in pale-yellow silk, and yellow-and-cream striped taffeta draperies hung at the windows, billowed out like ball-gowns, the way she liked them to be.
Against the pale-yellow backdrop there was a mélange of bright colours, mainly clear blues and reds in the upholstery fabrics on the various antique French chairs and large comfortable sofas. The fire was blazing, the porcelain lamps shaded in cream silk offered a welcoming glow, and there were bowls of fresh flowers everywhere. Perfect, she thought. The room looks just perfect.
The ringing of the doorbell made Vicky start, and as she hurried across the antique Aubusson carpet she heard Fuller’s footsteps echoing in the marble hall. She hoped he wouldn’t say welcome aboard, as he had been known to do sometimes. On the other hand, if he did, she knew that Edward would simply chuckle.
THIRTEEN (#)
Grace Rose had been given the task of entertaining Mrs Shaw while her parents and Uncle Ned had some sort of business meeting in the library.
She was glad they had asked her to keep Jane Shaw company because she really liked her. There was something about her that was intriguing and special; also, Grace Rose knew that Jane Shaw liked her in return, and there was a certain ease between them.
That this woman was truly lovely to look at was obvious; that she was charming, kind and extremely intelligent a bonus, Grace Rose thought, impressed by her knowledge of art and sculpture, her willingness to answer questions whenever Grace Rose asked. Jane knew a great deal about certain artists and their work, most especially the French Impressionists and Post-Impressionists, and she was happy to share.
The two of them were seated in the yellow drawing room, chatting generalities. At one moment, Grace Rose couldn’t help thinking that Jane Shaw looked perfect in this perfect room tonight. She was wearing a most elegant and fashionable sapphire-blue velvet dress, and sapphire earrings which exactly echoed the particular blue in some of the fabrics her mother had chosen for the room. She ought to be painted in here, Grace Rose thought, and it should be called Portraitin Blue.
After another brief discussion about a recent art exhibition at a well-known gallery in Chelsea, with Jane doing most of the talking, they fell silent. But it was a compatible silence, not awkward at all; the two of them were comfortable with each other and had been since they had first met some years before.
Looking across at Grace Rose, Jane took the lead again, and murmured, ‘I hear you love your studies, and your uncle told me you are extremely dedicated and disciplined. He thinks that’s admirable, and so do I.’ Settling back in the French bergère, Jane took a sip of champagne and then smiled warmly at the younger woman.
Grace Rose nodded, her face full of eagerness. ‘I’ve always loved school, Mrs Shaw, and I’m really happy today because it will soon be possible for me to live at Oxford with a friend of Mother’s, and attend courses at the University.’
‘That’s wonderful! Congratulations! History is your subject, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. At this moment I’m particularly interested in France, and in French kings.’
‘What an extraordinary coincidence. I’ve always been partial to French history, and although the English are not supposed to like Napoleon Bonaparte, I must confess I’ve always had a sneaking admiration for him. In many ways he was a genius.’
‘And probably the greatest general the world has ever known,’ Grace Rose remarked.
‘Except when he invaded Russia,’ Jane pointed out, eyeing her young companion acutely.
‘That’s true … but it was mostly the weather that scuttled him,’ Grace Rose replied. ‘I was thinking in terms of strategy when I said he was the greatest.’
‘I understand, and many agree with you. But tell me, which particular king intrigues you the most?’
‘To be honest, I’m more taken with the mistresses of kings. You see, that’s what I’m studying at the moment. Mistresses. I find them fascinating –’ Grace Rose broke off, remembering that Jane Shaw was Uncle Ned’s mistress. She chastised herself silently for having embarked on such a controversial subject. ‘Oh, dear, I’m so … s-s-sorry,’ she stammered, looking chagrined, and then flushed in embarrassment.
Jane couldn’t help laughing when she saw the woebegone expression on her face, and reaching out she patted her arm, said very softly, ‘Don’t apologize, my dear, I know you know that I am Uncle Ned’s mistress.’
‘Yes,’ Grace Rose replied, nodding. ‘The whole world knows –’ She broke off again, looking even more flustered than ever, and cleared her throat.
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Shaw, I keep saying the wrong thing. I don’t mean to give offence.’
‘And you haven’t, I promise. Tell me why you love mistresses so much that you want to study them?’
Suddenly feeling undeterred, realizing Jane was obviously interested to hear her opinion, she rushed on. ‘Those I’ve been reading about are all extraordinary women. They played such enormous roles in history. Most were influential in politics and government, whilst caring about their kings, and what they did says so much about the times they lived in. We learn from them. Their relationships were usually about power. In most instances, I think.’
‘Absolutely!’ Jane exclaimed. ‘And money. And position. As well as social ascendency, and, in another sense, social acceptance and supremacy.’
‘I love mistresses, I mean as a subject,’ Grace Rose continued. ‘They’re much more interesting to read about than most of the queens. Frequently, the king cared more for his mistress than his wife.’
Struck by the girl’s openness, and an unusual honesty that was quite breathtaking, Jane began to chuckle, her expression amused. After a moment, she asked, ‘And which mistress are you concentrating on at the moment, Grace Rose?’
‘Diane de Poitiers, the mistress of Henri II of France. She met him when he was a little boy, only twelve. This was just after he had come back to France, after being held in captivity by the Spaniards. He was a hostage, along with his brother, while his father went free. He was depressed and shy at the time, and she befriended him. Actually, she became his protectress, and was very kind to him, a steady influence. She mothered him quite a lot, too. I believe that she made him feel safe and secure. That was important to him, I think.’
‘Yes, you’re right, it probably was.’
‘Diane seduced him when he was seventeen,’ Grace Rose announced. ‘She was twenty years older than he was, but he never left her. She was his mistress for his entire life. He died before she did, but when he was alive he doted on her, much more than on his queen.’
‘Ah yes, the famous Catherine de Medici. A woman scorned at the outset of her marriage. Henri II was too preoccupied with Diane, I do believe, to be bothered with his wife.’
‘You seem to know quite a lot about Diane, Mrs Shaw.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Jane answered and a small smile flickered at the corners of her mouth, her eyes twinkling with amusement.
Grace Rose felt her own mouth twitch and she began to laugh softly. And Jane Shaw laughed with her. And it was at that moment that these two women bonded forever. The mistress and the illegitimate daughter. Outsiders, in a certain sense, and yet so close to this most dominant man in their lives, closer than most others whom he knew and cared about.
Grace Rose shifted slightly on the sofa, and remarked, ‘Then you must know that Henri II gave Diane the crown jewels. Just imagine that. And also that most palatial of châteaux, Chenonceaux.’
‘I did know that, yes. And I’m also aware that she held her power for almost thirty years. Yet she was wonderfully kind to the king’s whole family, to the queen when she was desperately ill, and Diane virtually brought up the royal children.’
‘And those children happened only because Diane persuaded the king to visit his wife’s bed, pointing out that he needed an heir.’
‘My goodness, Grace Rose, you’ve done your research well. Diane is your favourite, is she?’
‘Yes, but there’s one other mistress whom I admire, and would have liked to have known.’
‘And who may I ask is that?’
‘Agnès Sorel,’ Grace Rose told her. ‘She was the mistress of Charles VII in 1444. He was so smitten with Agnès that he made her his official mistress. By that I mean he created an actual official position, and for the first time in French history. Maîtresse en titre –’
‘And who is the maîtresse en titre?’ Edward asked from the doorway, striding into the room, a look of considerable amusement on his face. Although the two women did not know it, he had been standing there listening to them for several minutes.
Grace swung her hand, and exclaimed, ‘Oh, goodness! Uncle Ned! I was just explaining to Mrs Shaw that I am currently studying mistresses.’ Once again she instantly became flustered, and hurried on, ‘What I mean is – er – er French mistresses, I mean the mistresses of kings –’
‘But only French kings apparently. Are you not interested in English kings and their mistresses?’ He chuckled. ‘Too dull, I suspect, the English, eh?’
‘Oh, no, not at all. I know a lot about English kings. There was Charles II and Nell Gwynne, and –’
‘Yes, my dear, I know, I was just teasing you.’ He walked over to the sofa, stood behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders affectionately, whilst looking across at Jane quizzically.
Jane smiled at him. ‘I was thoroughly enjoying our discussion,’ she murmured with warmth and genuine sincerity. ‘Grace Rose is going to be a marvellous historian, Ned. She has all the right instincts. She’s obviously not afraid of research, and she has a nose for sniffing out the truth, I think. None of us were around to witness events hundreds of years ago, so historians have to weigh the written evidence, go with their instincts.’
‘I have always been impressed,’ he murmured, obviously pleased by Jane’s comments. He remained standing where he was, for a moment lost in his thoughts.
Jane caught her breath; seeing them together like that in such close and intimate proximity was tremendously revealing. There was no doubt whose daughter she was – that red-gold hair and the brilliant blue eyes. And they both had the same pink and cream complexion. Yes, Grace Rose was Ned’s spitting image and the vividness, the vibrancy of their looks was startling.
I want to make her my friend, Jane thought all of a sudden. And I will be her friend, protective of her if that is necessary. And that way, no matter what happens, I will always have a little bit of Ned.
Vicky said, from the doorway, ‘Everyone seems to be arriving at once! Come along, Grace Rose, I hear Fenella and Amos in the foyer.’
‘Go along,’ Edward said, standing away from Grace Rose. ‘Go and greet your old friends.’
‘Oh yes, I will!’ she cried and jumped up.
Edward watched her go, and then he turned to Jane. He walked over to her, pulled her to her feet, kissed her on the cheek, led her to the fireplace. ‘She takes one’s breath away with her bluntness, I’m afraid. I hope she didn’t say the wrong thing, or embarrass you?’
‘Of course not. Frankly, I found her refreshing.’ Jane hesitated, and then murmured in a low voice, ‘I would like to get to know her better, Ned.’
‘Then you shall,’ he promised.
‘There isn’t anything wrong, is there? I mean you’re not ill are you, Ned?’ Vicky asked sotto voce, looking at him intently.
He was seated on her right at the circular dinner table, and he glanced at her swiftly. ‘Of course not. I’m in perfect health. Why do you ask?’
‘Because you decided to give us those documents tonight. It was so unexpected, Ned, out of the blue. I can’t help, well … worrying, wondering if things are all right with you.’
He leaned to her and said quietly, ‘I suppose the war and the flu pandemic have affected me a little, in the sense that they’ve made me realize I’m mortal like everyone else. When one is very young, one thinks that life is endless, that we’ll all live forever. But, sadly, that’s not true. We’re all vulnerable.’
Now Ned flashed her his most brilliant smile. ‘I’m truly not ill, Vicky, dear. I don’t intend to keel over for donkey’s years, and I promise you there’s only one reason I’ve given you and Stephen the documents. And that’s because you should have them in your possession as her parents. That’s all there is to it. Also, I’ve been rather efficient lately, and these last few weeks I’ve been putting a lot of my other personal business in order.’
