‘But I shall see you tomorrow?’
When he hesitated she burst out, ‘I must. I must see you, Greg. If you don’t come and see me I can’t be responsible for what I might do.’
It wasn’t the first time she had threatened him, but now her threats merely irritated rather than alarmed him. After all, she had even more to lose from their affair being exposed than he did.
Later, as he drove home, he reflected enviously on Amber’s imminent departure for London. What he wouldn’t give for the opportunity to spend several months there, especially now.
Amber was in disgrace, of course. It was over two weeks since her birthday and her grandmother was still treating her coldly, speaking to her only when she had to.
‘Do you think that Grandmother loved Barrant de Vries, Greg?’ Amber asked her cousin.
It was after luncheon and they were in the billiard room, Amber sitting cross-legged in the window seat whilst Greg chalked a cue before leaning over the table and carefully aiming it at one of the balls.
‘How the devil should I know?’ he responded.
If her grandmother had loved Barrant de Vries, why did she hate him so much now, Amber wondered. If she had loved him then it was a very different kind of love from the love her parents had had for one another.
‘Grandmother still isn’t talking to me. Oh, Greg, I wish I didn’t have to be presented.’ Amber shivered.
‘Come on.’ Greg tried to jolly her out of her misery. ‘It might not be as bad as you imagine. I thought you girls liked wearing pretty frocks and going to balls. You wouldn’t catch me turning down the chance to have some fun in London, I can tell you that.’ His eyes lit up. ‘There’s the Kit-Cat Club, and the Embassy and the Slipper. Places where a chap can really enjoy himself. Perhaps I should have a word with Grandmother, see if she’ll let me go with you, then I can scare off all your unwanted admirers.’ He put on a mock ferocious face.
Amber giggled.
‘Look, I’ll tell you what. I’ve got to drive over to Fitton Hall later; you can come with me, if you’d like. It will cheer you up a bit.’
Greg was so very kind. She was lucky to have such a thoughtful cousin.
‘I thought Grandmother said at breakfast that Lord Fitton Legh was in London on business,’ Amber reminded him.
‘Did she? I don’t remember, but anyway, it doesn’t matter if he isn’t there. I’m only returning some books to Lady Fitton Legh on Grandmother’s behalf.’
Amber nodded. She looked forward to seeing Caroline Fitton Legh again. It had caused quite a stir locally when Lord Fitton Legh had married an American heiress twenty years his junior, and not much older than Amber herself was now.
Blanche was on the same charity committee as Caroline Fitton Legh and the Dowager Marchioness of Cholmondeley.
The Dowager Marchioness had invited Amber to a children’s party the previous Christmas. Amber remembered that there had been a good deal of gossip at the party amongst the adults, accompanied by arched eyebrows and the words ‘pas devant les enfants’ used about the fact that the Duke of Westminster had invited Gabrielle Chanel, whose clothes her grandmother loved so much, to stay at Eaton Hall. Amber had innocently asked Greg later why the adults hadn’t thought it appropriate for them to know about Mademoiselle Chanel’s visit to Eaton Hall, to which Greg had laughed and then shocked Amber by telling her, ‘Because she’s the duke’s mistress, silly.’
It wasn’t the scandalous behaviour of the Duke of Westminster that occupied Amber’s thoughts now though, so much as the Fitton Legh marriage. Had Caroline’s parents wanted her to marry someone with a title? Was that why she had married Lord Fitton Legh, who was so much older than she? Amber gave a small shiver. Was that what was going to happen to her?
Amber hurried downstairs. Under her cream silk jacket she was wearing her ‘best’ chocolate-brown afternoon frock. The December sunshine picked out the pattern of small cream diamonds on the fabric. Although her dress was new it was still very schoolgirlish in design, with its high square neckline banded in cream silk, its skirt short and pleated. Her brown patent shoes matched her handbag, and had low heels and a Mary Jane strap across the front. Her cream cloche hat was decorated with a brown petersham ribbon and a single chocolate-brown silk flower. Amber had pulled it low down over her curls and slightly to one side, copying the way the models sketched in Vogue wore theirs. Cream leather gloves completed her outfit.
When Amber reached the hallway she found that Greg was already there, striding up and down impatiently as he waited for her.
Like her he had changed his clothes, and was now wearing a tweed suit with the Oxford bag-style trousers, so wide that only the toes of his brown leather brogues were visible. He was carrying his hat and his thick fair hair was firmly slicked back instead of flopping in his eyes in its normal manner. He looked very handsome.
‘Ready, old thing?’
Amber nodded, placing her hand on the crooked arm he extended for her with a teasing grin, whilst Wilson, her grandmother’s butler, gestured to one of the maids to open the door for them. It made her feel so grown up and proud to be going out with Greg to pay an afternoon call.
Greg’s bright red roadster, the Bugatti he had coaxed their grandmother into buying for him when he had come down from Oxford, was parked on the gravel outside.
While Fitton Hall lay to the east of Macclesfield, in the lee of the Derbyshire hills, Denham Place lay to the west. The two fine houses were separated not just by the town of Macclesfield itself but also by the pretty village of Alderley Edge, where the railway had originally ended and where all the wealthy railway barons lived. There was a short cut that would have taken them down a narrow winding country lane often busy with farm vehicles, but Greg was driving them the longer way round, along the better roads, and as they drove past Stanley Hall and then up the hill from Alderley to the Edge itself, Amber held her breath a little. There were so many stories about the Edge and its magical properties. It was said that no bird was ever heard to sing there, and by some that the wizard Merlin had lived deep in the caves beneath and that he slept there still, guarding King Arthur’s sword.
As they approached Macclesfield, Amber touched Greg’s arm.
‘Can we go past the mill, Greg, please?’
‘I don’t know what you see in that dull place,’ he complained.
Denby Mill had been built in the neo-Palladian style, which had been very popular amongst mill owners of the time. Several mills in the town were built in the same style but Denby Mill was by far the largest, and the most profitable.
Amber’s mother had explained to her that the reason for their family’s success was that their ancestor had married an heiress, whose father had been a wealthy Liverpool ship owner. With his wife’s money he had not only built himself a new mill, he had also invested in the construction of railways and canals.
Blanche Pickford had inherited a second fortune through a bachelor uncle on her mother’s side of the family to add to the fortune she had received on her father’s death.
Amber’s mother had also told her that it was through his wife’s family that their ancestor had become interested in the Far East, explaining that he had copied onto his silk a design from a painting that had come originally from China, and this had become their famous Denby Mill ‘Chinese Silk’ fabric, which was first shown at the Great Exhibition, and which Queen Victoria herself had admired.
Like others in his position Josiah Denby, their ancestor, had used some of his wealth philanthropically to help the poor of the town, setting in place a tradition that had