Daisychain Summer

‘A sister, you mean? But he has one, and when Alice visits they’ll have the time of their young lives.’

‘But Alice will be with us quite soon – especially now that the Carvers want to see her. Daisy will hardly be big enough to have a rough and tumble with Drew.’

‘Perhaps not just yet – but Alice will come to see us often, I hope. And when they are both old enough to understand, we shall tell them they are –’ She left the sentence in mid-air.’

‘We’ll have to be careful,’ Julia frowned. ‘But the sooner they know, the better. It would be awful if they were never told, then fell in love.’

‘Julia!’ Helen laughed. ‘That kind of thing only happens in storybooks – not in real life. And even if you and I were determined they should never know, there would be some busybody think it their duty to tell them.’

It was Helen’s turn, now, to reassure her daughter. And soon, Drew would be theirs entirely and Alice would visit often. She had loved Alice deeply; would ever be grateful for Drew – for the little boy who laughed with delight as the engine driver let go three important hoots at the approaches to Holdenby station.

‘He does so love trains. I suppose he’ll want to drive an engine, when he grows up.’

‘Most small boys do, mother. But Drew will grow up to care for Rowangarth and those who work for it – and Shillong, too. And to make a happy marriage, I hope, and have sons.’

‘He isn’t two, yet.’ Helen put out a protective arm as the train began its slowing in a series of small jerks. ‘And at nearly two, hardly anything is more important than a ride on a train. This has been a good day, hasn’t it?’ She looked for her handbag, gathered the parcels from the seat beside her. ‘And there is Will, in the yard.’

Will, thought Julia; waiting with the carriage and pair. They really ought to have a motor. It was so unlike her mother to forbid one to her. Everyone had motors, these days. Why must Julia MacMalcolm not be permitted to drive?

‘Come on, young Sutton!’ She scooped Drew into her arms. ‘Say goodbye to the train.’ And why shouldn’t she drive? Why, just because Pa had been killed in a driving accident, should motors be taboo at Rowangarth? ‘And come and say hullo to the horses.’

Their homecoming was robbed of its usual pleasure. Immediately she saw the expression on the face of the housekeeper who waited at the top of the stone steps, Julia knew that something was wrong.

‘Milady – this came, two hours ago. I took the liberty of ringing the solicitors, but they said you had left and didn’t know which train you’d be coming back on.’

Julia held out her hand for the small, yellow envelope that could still send fear tearing through her, even though the war was long over. Tight-lipped, she ripped open the telegram.

‘It’s signed Bossart. That’s the name of the farmer Aunt Sutton stays with. Mlle Sutton injured. Please come with haste. What’s happened, mother?’

‘Injured. A motor!’

‘No. She rarely drove, in France. Doesn’t like the wrong side of the road. Probably an accident horse-riding.’

‘Then the best way to find out is to go at once. I can get the overnight train to London. With luck, I could be with her by tomorrow evening.’ Helen frowned. Her fear was real, her distress obvious.

‘Mother – first have a cup of tea, then we’ll talk,’ Julia soothed. ‘Take a deep breath. It might not be as bad as it sounds. Perhaps Monsieur Bossart was being overcautious.’

‘I shall go tonight, for all that!’

‘Then I shall come with you. Do you think we could take Drew?’

‘Certainly not! You must stay here. Anne Lavinia would want you to.’

‘Then let me at least see you safely onto the boat train?’

‘Julia! I am not quite in my dotage. I’ll manage. And let us hope you are right. Monsieur Bossart might be overreacting. I can get the last train from Holdenby and still be in good time for the York sleeper to King’s Cross. When we have had our tea, I want you to ring up York; make a reservation for me. I shall manage well enough but oh, poor Anne Lavinia.’

Aunt Sutton, to most. Her husband’s sister, Helen thought sadly. Forthright, outspoken, unmarried. A woman who cared more for horses than for most human beings. Julia had always been her favourite; Julia, so like her aunt in many ways.

Poor, poor Aunt. Julia stirred her tea thoughtfully. She had visited her doctor when in London, but this appeared to be an accident, not an illness. She wished there was some way she could be with her.

‘Mother – why don’t I go to France, instead? You could take care of Drew, then.’

‘No. I shall go.’ Her voice was firm. ‘John would wish it to be me who is with her – if it is serious, that is. And like you say, I think I shall find her not as ill as Monsieur implies. She’ll be all right. She’s a very strong-minded lady. Whatever it is, she’ll pull through!’

‘If that’s what you want. I’ll phone Reservations, then I’ll ring Pendenys. They ought to be told, and mother – why doesn’t Uncle Edward go with you? After all, he’s her brother and more nearly related than you.’

‘I agree. So stupid to forget such a thing. By all means he must come. But don’t suggest it when you ring, Julia. If he feels he should be with me, he’ll say so at once. Be tactful.

‘And now I must ask Miss Clitherow to give me a hand with my case. Don’t want to pack too much – travel as light as possible …’

God – let everything be all right? Julia lifted her eyes to the ceiling. She’s such an old love … Picking up the phone, she asked the operator for York station.

6 (#ulink_fe75d781-c0ea-5b02-b3d9-5f9fdb0a480f)

‘It’s Mr Edward, milady,’ Mary announced. ‘With the motor.’

‘At last!’ Already, Helen was gathering up her cape and travelling bag, eager to be away. ‘Now be sure to take good care of Drew, and yourself …’

‘I’ll be sure,’ Julia soothed, following her mother to the door at which Edward Sutton waited. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. Just have a safe journey and give my best love to Aunt Sutton, when you get there.’

She was relieved her uncle was going to France – had offered to go at once, without being asked. Now she would worry less, even though her mother was capable of making the journey alone – a considerable achievement, come to think of it, when not so very long ago a lady wouldn’t even have visited the shops alone.

‘My dear!’ Raising his hat, Edward Sutton kissed his sister-in-law’s cheek. ‘Tell me – are we going to arrive to a ticking-off, when we get there, for panicking? Shall we find it’s nothing more than a broken arm?’

‘No, uncle,’ Julia said softly, firmly. ‘I think Monsieur sent the telegram without aunt knowing. Had her injuries been slight she wouldn’t have allowed it, be sure of that. You know what a tough lady she is!’

‘Then the sooner we are there, the better!’

‘Oh!’ Helen’s eyes lit, surprised, on the young man in the back of the car. ‘Is Elliot coming, too?’

‘Elliot is summoned to London,’ Edward smiled wryly, ‘though for the life of me I don’t know why. Doubtless Clemmy has her reasons.’

‘Doubtless.’ Helen’s relief showed in her expression, her voice. ‘And I’m so grateful you’ll be with me, Edward. The journey there I could have coped with; what I might find when I get there is altogether different. Have you told Clemmy?’

‘I have. Sadly, she is not able to go with us. A previous engagement, I believe, though she would come at once should Anne Lavinia’s condition warrant it.’

‘Of course,’ Julia murmured. And please God Aunt Sutton was sitting up and taking nourishment, when they arrived. ‘Let me take your bag, mother, and get you settled in the motor. You’ll be in York in good time for the sleeper. Good evening, Elliot,’ she murmured, opening the door. ‘I thought – just for a moment – that you too were going to France.’

‘Sadly, Julia, I am needed at Cheyne Walk and one’s own Mama –’ he shrugged, his cousin’s vinegar-tipped words washing over him.

‘One’s own Mama must be obeyed,’ Julia nodded, eyes mocking. ‘I do hope you find Aunt Clemmy in good spirits,’ she added obliquely, stepping aside as the chauffeur closed the door. ‘Take care, dearest,’ she smiled. ‘And try not to worry too much?’

She stood until the car was lost round the sweeping bend of the drive then turned sadly, shivering in spite of the warmth of the evening, wishing she were going with them.

Dearest Aunt Sutton, get well soon. I love you very, very much, you grumpy old love …

Walking quickly up the steps she bolted the door behind her, taking the stairs two at a time, eager to be with Drew, draw comfort from the love she felt for him. Drew, the natural son of Elliot who had lolled, bored, in the softly-cushioned car. Could he know that the child he had fathered so brutally lay asleep upstairs – a fine, Sutton-fair boy who would one day be master of Rowangarth?