Daisychain Summer

My dear Julia,

It was lovely our being together after such a long time. Those few days were so good and just like it used to be. We must not let it go so long again. Seeing you made me realize how much I have missed Rowangarth.

I have thought about it a lot – talked to Tom about it, too, and he agrees that I must visit Reuben, though before I do I hope you will tell them all about the way it is now – about Tom not being killed and our getting married – prepare them beforehand.

There is something else, too, more important. We talked about it after you left. Drew is rightfully a Sutton. Rowangarth will belong to him one day and he belongs to Rowangarth. He is yours, and I think the time has come for me to give him up completely. Not meaning that I must never see him again, but I want you to adopt him, and even though you look upon him as your son, my dearest friend, I would wish her ladyship to do it so he may keep his Sutton name.

I accept that legally Drew is mine, but things change. I am no longer Lady Sutton and Drew must be brought up by his own kind. Will you think seriously about it?

‘There’s more, of course, but that’s the bare bones of it. Just think – Drew, ours. I think Alice could well be right …’

‘Adopt him? Oh!’ Helen let go her indrawn breath in a startled gasp. ‘I would like to – I think I always wanted to, truth known – but I never dared ask for fear of losing him.’

‘But Alice would never have taken him away from us. Just as she says in the letter, Drew is a Sutton and belongs here. I think we should think seriously about it – make an appointment with Carvers.

‘Alice means it kindly. She doesn’t want rid of Drew; she just wants what is best for him and for us. Shall I ring them up now – ask when’s best for us to see them? Do you want me to come with you?’

‘Don’t fuss me, child! This is a serious matter. We must look at it from all angles.’

‘But what is there to look at?’ Julia buttered and jammed a slice of toast, cutting it into small slices, arranging it on Drew’s plate. ‘All you would be doing is assuming responsibility for Giles’s son until he comes of age. Legally signed and sealed – that’s all it would amount to. For the rest, there would be no change. Alice left Drew in our care. He has been ours, I suppose, from the day he was born.’

‘You are right – and I do want Drew. It was a surprise to me, that’s all, yet you seem not one bit put out, Julia. Did you talk about it with Alice when you were there?’

‘Not a word. All we talked about was that perhaps she would visit Rowangarth – and now she’ll have to, won’t she? There’ll be papers to be signed, though there shouldn’t be a lot of legal fuss, especially if we are all in agreement. Which Carver do you want to see – old, middle, or young?’

‘I feel I should see the old gentleman. I wouldn’t like to upset him.’ Carver, Carver and Carver – father, son and lately, grandson, had dealt with Rowangarth’s affairs since before ever she and John were married, Helen pondered. ‘I have heard, though, that the young Mr Carver is very astute and wide-awake.’

‘Well, middle-Carver is more the financial side of the partnership, so I’ll tell their clerk you would like to see the old man but would take it kindly if you could meet the grandson, too. You haven’t met him, have you?’

‘Not yet.’ Helen shook her head. Giles had always taken care of legal matters after John died – when Robert had returned to India, that was.

‘Then you’ll get two for the price of one, that way. I’ll ring them now.’ She wiped strawberry jam from Drew’s chin. ‘When do you want to go? Friday? That would give us plenty of time to have a good long talk about it.’ And still come to the same conclusion. Of course her mother must adopt Drew. She pushed back her chair noisily and made for the telephone.

‘That’s it, then. Eleven on Friday will suit them nicely,’ Julia beamed, returning to the table again. ‘And Drew and I will come with you.’

‘Julia, dear, you mustn’t rush things so.’ Helen had not yet recovered from the suddenness of it. ‘We must think very carefully …’

‘Of course we will – and there’s no one more careful than Carver-the-old. But you know that what Alice suggests makes good sense – and there’s the other matter,’ she rushed on. ‘Alice wants it made known that she and Tom are married and I think it’s something we should do at once, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do, though it will be like letting her go, sort of. I care so much for her. Having her was such a comfort. And when she had Drew – oh, it would have been such a good day, had Giles not died.’

‘But he left us Drew. And he was very ill – you know he was, dearest – and often in pain from his wounds. Don’t let’s be too sad?’

‘You are right. This is a good day and we will start it by giving Miss Clitherow Alice’s news.’

‘I agree. Best she should be the first to know. But let’s both tell her? Then I’ll go to the kitchen and tell them exactly the same story – and let them know how glad about it we both are.’

‘Tell the same story? Don’t you think that sounds as if we are being a little underhanded?’

‘Telling lies about Tom having been a prisoner of war and Alice leaving Rowangarth to be with Aunt Sutton, you mean, when all the time she was with Tom in Hampshire? Yes, it is underhanded, but sometimes you have to stretch the truth a little.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Helen sighed, comforted. ‘But first you must tell Reuben. He’s known about Alice and Tom all along – it’s only right we should put him in the picture. And don’t you think Miss Clitherow should be the one to tell staff about it?’

‘No, I don’t.’ Julia’s reply allowed for no compromise. ‘It’s such lovely news that I want to be the one to tell them. Besides, Miss Clitherow might tell it her way. She never quite approved of Alice becoming Lady Sutton.’

‘But she did, Julia! She was extremely correct about it and insisted that Alice was given the respect due to her.’

‘She overdid it. Alice didn’t know where she stood. All right – so she had been your sewing-maid, then came back from France mistress of this house, though she never once exerted her authority. She was still Alice, and staff should not have been barred, entirely, from showing her kindness. And it was Miss Clitherow at the bottom of it!’

‘Did Alice complain? I never once thought she wasn’t happy.’

‘She was happy as she could be. But she and Giles didn’t live a normal married life – we both know it – yet for all that, she nursed him and cared fondly for him – and she gave Rowangarth a son.

‘But I want to tell staff about Alice and Tom. When Miss Clitherow has been told I shall go downstairs at once and take Drew with me if he isn’t asleep. I’ll have tea with them – like I used to.’

She called back staff teatime, with bread and jam and cake and sometimes, on special days, cherry scones. So long ago. So much water under so many bridges. So much heartache.

‘I remember. Cook spoiled you, just as she spoils Drew. You were always her favourite. And you are right. I’ll leave it to you to tell staff.’

‘Fine! I’ll put Drew in his pushchair and walk to the village. I intended calling on Reuben, anyway, to tell him about the christening and take his piece of cake. Now I’ll be able to tell him that Alice plans to visit. He’ll be so pleased.’

‘But not a word about the adoption, mind!’

‘Of course not.’ Not until they had seen the Carvers, old and young, and the legalities were set in motion. ‘Do you know, dearest, for all I was glad to be home again, I still had a sad feeling, leaving Alice. But now I’m so glad. Drew will be ours completely and Alice and Daisy will soon be coming to stay.’ She lifted the small boy from his high chair, throwing him into the air so he laughed with delight and demanded more. ‘Come on, young Sutton – let’s get you cleaned up. There isn’t a child anywhere who can get himself so sticky at breakfast! You’ve even got jam in your ear! Say ’bye to grandmother!’

Child on hip, she slammed out of the room, almost like the Julia of old, Helen thought. Almost …

Clementina Sutton, feeling quite splendid in a rose-red calf-length silk costume and toning bell-shaped hat, brought the knocker down three times, then took a deep breath.

It was all most exciting. She had never before met a Russian, much less been received by a countess who had one thing above all in her favour. She, Clementina, did not have the cut crystal voice of a true aristocrat – she knew it. Even her expensive schooling had not entirely removed her Yorkshire accent. No! She had never had that, exactly; more undertones of northness, perhaps. Yet she still had to pause, she admitted, before saying butter, government, and good luck. It was the way with northern vowels. They could give one away, no matter how very rich one might be. But the countess, being foreign, would have no ear for English dialects. It would be quite relaxing to sip tea from a samovar and not have to watch every word she said.

The door was opened by the same black-clad servant, who took the offered card, indicating with a graceful movement of her hand that the caller was to sit. Then she walked down the hall to announce the visitor. And she didn’t walk, Clementina pondered; rather she placed one foot before the other with the haughty, considered precision of a ballet dancer so that her long, full skirt swirled as she moved. Far more pleasing, Clementina thought nastily, than the pompous plodding of the flat feet of Pendenys’ butler.

‘Plis?’ Again the delicate movement of the hand, the indication she was to be followed.

A middle-aged woman, also dressed in black – even her beads and eardrops were of jet – rose to her feet, her hand extended.

‘Olga Maria Petrovska,’ she said softly, inclining her head.

‘Clementina Sutton of Pendenys,’ came the prompt reply. ‘It is kind of you to receive me.’

‘Please to sit down. Tea will be brought – or coffee?’

‘Tea is most satisfactory. You will realize that I live next door to you – when in London, of course.’ She spoke carefully, slowly, shaping her mouth like a mill girl in her eagerness to be understood.

‘Ah, yes. Karl – he is our coachman and houseman – keeps me informed of what happens in the world outside. I am little interested in it at the moment. I am in mourning. I rarely receive visitors.’

‘I am sorry. Might I ask for whom?’ The woman’s English was good – very good – for a foreigner. ‘That dreadful war – will we ever forget it?’