Daisychain Summer. Elizabeth Elgin
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For the first time, Jinny Dobb spoke. ‘That Tom Dwerryhouse hadn’t been killed, after all?’
‘That Tom was alive,’ Julia nodded. ‘The Army thought him dead, but he’d been taken prisoner.’ The lie slipped out easily.
‘And them Germans had locked him up and never told no one about it?’ Cook choked.
‘It happened a lot.’ All at once Julia felt relief that the news was to be accepted with no more than a modicum of surprise. ‘When it happened, things were in a turmoil at the Front. The Germans and Austrians were getting the better of us and things were in a bad way. No news of any kind was getting through. But how did you guess, Jin? Did you see it in the bottom of your teacup?’
‘Something like that, Miss.’ Slowly, she smiled.
‘But married …’ Cook took her apron corners, ballooning it out, ready to weep into it as she always did, when overcome.
‘And a mother,’ Tilda gasped, her romantic heart thumping deliciously. ‘What did she have, Miss Julia?’
‘A little girl. Daisy Julia Dwerryhouse. She’s very beautiful. I took my camera with me. As soon as the reel has been developed, you shall see Alice and Daisy – and Tom.’
‘Then she’s had two beautiful bairns,’ Cook pronounced, taking another bun from the tin, placing it defiantly on Drew’s plate. ‘And this lovely little lad here has a sister!’
‘A half-sister. Alice asked especially that I should tell you all about her remarriage. I hope you’ll all be happy for her. Mother and I are. We are hoping she will come and stay with us as soon as Daisy can make the journey.’
There, now! She had done it! Not only had she broken the news about Tom, but she had also let it be known that the Suttons – the Rowangarth Suttons, that was – were delighted about it. How the Pendenys Suttons would react to the news remained to be seen. To Nathan, it would come as no shock at all; to Elliot, it might have entirely different repercussions.
Determinedly, she pushed Pendenys to the back of her mind. Drew was Giles’s son; was even Sutton-fair, even though Elliot was dark as a gypsy.
‘Where is she, Miss?’ Tilda’s voice broke into her broodings. ‘I want to write – tell her how pleased I am.’
‘Alice would like that. I know she misses you all. She’s in Hampshire, but I’ll write down her address for you. And might I have another scone, Mrs Shaw? There is no one can bake cherry specials like you!’
Cook obliged, beaming, spreading the butter thickly. ‘But oh, my word; Alice Hawthorn wed and to her Tom, and a little babbie an’ all!’
‘It’s like a story in a love book, isn’t it?’ Tilda breathed. ‘One with a happy ending …’ Tilda, who read every love story ever published, was an authority on happy endings. ‘I’ll write to Alice tonight.’
‘Us all will,’ Cook nodded. ‘And send a present for her little lass.’
‘Good. Well, best be off!’ Julia made to lift Drew into her arms, but Cook was quick to ask,
‘Leave him with us, Miss Julia? He does so enjoy playing with my button box. Just like Sir Giles did …’
‘Very well. But make sure he doesn’t put buttons in his mouth, and don’t dare,’ Julia gazed pointedly at the cake tin, ‘give him another iced bun – not even if he says pretty-please for it!’
‘And I’d best be getting back to the bothy.’ Jin rose to her feet. ‘Thank you kindly for having me, Mrs Shaw,’ she murmured, following Julia out.
‘You knew, Jin Dobb.’ Julia closed the kitchen door behind her. ‘Alice told me you knew about Tom right from the start, yet you never breathed a word – not even to me. How ever did you manage to do it?’
‘Easy, Miss Julia. For one thing, I promised Alice I’d never tell I’d seen him, and for another – well, scrubbing woman in the bothy I may be, but it was nice, all them months, knowing summat that lot in the kitchen didn’t know! And Miss – it was a sin and a shame there couldn’t have been another come back from the dead …’
‘It wasn’t to be, Jin. And I’ve got Drew.’ She took a long, unsteady breath. ‘Alice left me the child …’
‘That she did. And take heart, Miss. I saw happiness in Alice’s hand and there’s happiness to come for you, an’ all. I know it.’
‘How can you know, Jinny Dobb?’ Julia’s words were harsh with bitterness. ‘You’ve never read my hand.’
‘No more have I. But it’s all around you, like a glow. No one can see it but Jin, and Jin Dobb isn’t often wrong!’
‘It isn’t possible. I couldn’t. Not again!’ She didn’t want to be happy with any man but Andrew.
‘Not love again? With respect, Miss, there’s first love and there’s last love and love of all shapes and sizes in between, so don’t shut your heart to it, when you chance on it …’
‘But I won’t chance on it, so don’t ever say such a thing again!’
‘I won’t.’ She’d said what she had to say – now let it rest.
But Miss Julia would encounter love – when her heart was good and ready, that was; oh my word, yes! What she would make of it might be altogether another thing, but love again she would. One day …
Clementina Sutton had fretted and fumed alternately for the remainder of the week. How much longer she could remain in the London house waiting for the countess to return her call, she did not know. And when was she to meet Anna Petrovska? Clearly, something must be done, yet etiquette decreed she could not call again at the house next door. Correct behaviour demanded that she must now await a return visit and as yet the silly woman hadn’t even left her calling card!
How long before she must return to Pendenys? How long dare she leave Elliot alone, virtually, with no one to pull on the reins when he became bored and restless and decided to take himself off in search of pleasure!
His father didn’t care. Edward disliked his eldest son with undisguised feeling and avoided the poor boy like the plague. Trouble was, she brooded, Pendenys Place was so vast that avoidance came easily. So many rooms, inner doors, outer doors, unexpected staircases. People could go for days without meeting, if they were set on it.
It was then she had jumped moodily to her feet, lifted the lace curtain that covered the window and saw, oh, thanks be! a young woman in the garden next door who could only be Anna Petrovska.
At once she felt relief she’d had the good sense to have the fence removed; the fence she caused to be built – with good reason, mind! – when it seemed certain the people next door might be European refugees, common soldiers or gypsies.
In less than a minute she was standing at the garden wall, smiling a welcome over it, whispering, ‘Good morning, my dear – you must be Anna. I have heard so much about you.’
‘Good morning, ma’am. Are you the lady who called on Mama – Mrs Sutton of Pendenys? I am so pleased to meet you.’
She extended a delicate hand. ‘Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska,’ she smiled. ‘Anna …’
‘You have a very beautiful name.’ Genteelly Clementina touched her fingertips.
‘Ah, yes, but so long. I decided when I was a little girl that my birth-name was too awful to have to print out, so I insisted I became Anna. Vassily and Igor had short names – it was most unfair!’
The corners of her mouth lifted in an enchanting smile to show white, even teeth. She was, Clementina was