‘No reason why you shouldn’t.’ What was going through that tormented mind, now?
‘No, Alice – you don’t understand. The room next to the sewing-room at Rowangarth. Do you remember it?’
‘Not particularly, ’cept it was full of old furniture and bits and pieces nobody wanted. No one used it.’
‘Yes – but think! The window and the fireplace – the door, even …’
Alice shook her head, unspeaking.
‘Think. Almost the same black iron fireplace with a window on the wall to the left of it. And the door opposite it. Just like this room. I could hang Andrew’s curtains at the window. All his things, Alice – arranged just as they are here. I’d have his surgery at Rowangarth, don’t you see?’
‘No! Not his surgery! You’d be creating a shrine – hadn’t you thought?’
‘Yes, I’d thought. I thought about it even before we came here. It’s the only way I can do it, Alice – give up these lodgings, I mean. Don’t you see? I’m not being maudlin nor mawkish. I still love him every bit as much as the first day I came here. I’m going to do it, you know!’
‘Then if you’re set on it – what can I say?’ Alice took her friend’s hand, leading her to the door. ‘Let’s go, now? Before I go home, we’ll see to it, together.’ She closed the front door, locking it behind them. ‘And I know what today is. It’s his birthday, isn’t it – the last day of August. He’d have been thirty-three …’
‘Yes. That’s why I wanted to come here, today. And bless you for remembering, love.’
‘Did you think I’d forget those times – any of them?’ She linked her arm in Julia’s. ‘Now let’s get back. Between them, I’ll bet those two bairns are driving poor Sparrow mad.’
‘You’re a dear person, Alice. I couldn’t have gone there without you. You’re still my sister, aren’t you?’
‘Still your sister,’ Alice smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s get ourselves to the bus stop!’
‘Talking of buses,’ Julia murmured. ‘Or talking of the nuisance of having to wait for buses when you’ve got a car, I mean –’
‘No!’ Shocked, Alice stood stock still. ‘You don’t intend buying one? What would your mother say? You know you can’t keep a car at Rowangarth, so why think of getting one?’
‘But I already have one. Aunt Sutton’s. It’s in her garage at the end of the Mews. She drove it all the time in London, remember. I shall drive it up to Holdenby.’
‘Not with Drew beside you, you can’t! It wouldn’t be safe – not even if you tied him to the seat!’
‘Not yet. And certainly not with Drew to distract me. But that car is mine now, and I intend using it, Alice!’
‘There’ll be trouble, Julia.’
‘There will.’ Her chin tilted defiantly. ‘But Will Stubbs learned about motors in the army – he could look after it for me.’
‘You’ve been determined all along, haven’t you, to get your own motor?’
‘Yes. And if Andrew had gone into general practice, he’d have needed one, so what could mother have done about that, will you tell me?’
‘In your own home, it would have been different. But it isn’t right you should take Miss Sutton’s motor back to Rowangarth; not against her ladyship’s wishes. Don’t do it, Julia. It’ll be nothing but trouble, I know it. Your mother is set against motors and you should try to understand her feelings.’
‘And this is 1920, and I’ll be twenty-seven, soon. I endured almost three years in France. I saw things that will stay to haunt me for the rest of my life. So now that I have my own motor, I shall drive it and there is nothing either mother or you can do about it!’
So Alice, who knew Julia almost as well as she knew herself, said, ‘All right! Subject closed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you!’
‘Elliot and I,’ said Clementina Sutton firmly, ‘will be going to London, shortly.’
‘But you’ve just come back.’ Edward laid aside his newspaper. ‘Have you mentioned it to Elliot?’
‘I’ve told him. We’d have still been there, if it hadn’t been for Anne Lavinia.’
‘Yes. Sad her funeral had to interrupt your stay! But why go back there so soon? Is something happening that I don’t know about, Clemmy?’
‘Happening? But that’s just it – nothing is happening! And can I, just for once, have your attention, Edward, because this is important. It is time Elliot was wed!’ she announced dramatically.
‘I agree with you entirely. But who Would have him?’ The question slipped out without thought.
‘Have him? His own father asks who’d have him! Why, there’s half the aristocracy would have him, truth known! There’s those with no brass and daughters they want off their hands, for a start. Plenty of that sort about. And there’s young girls as’ll never get a husband, what with the shortage of young men, these days.’
‘Clemmy – please? So many families lost sons to the war. I beg you not to be so – so direct.’
‘But it’s a fact of life that it’s a buyer’s market when it comes to brides, so –’
‘So you intend to buy a wife for Elliot? And have you anyone in mind?’
‘I have, and you know it, Edward Sutton. There’s a girl next door, at Cheyne Walk. A refugee, but well connected – well, in Russia that was …’
‘I see. And talking about Russia, there was a small piece in the paper – the Czar’s brother Michael has been officially declared dead, now. Seems he was shot about the same time as the Czar – at a place called Perm. There’s a son, it seems, who might still be alive.’
‘So there’s still a Romanov? The countess will be pleased.’
‘Don’t think the son will count, m’dear. Born out of wedlock.’
‘Hm!’ There’d be weeping and wailing again in the house next door in Cheyne Walk, Clementina thought grimly. Weeping in Russian, hadn’t Lady Anna said, and crossing themselves like Papists. A peculiar lot, really. It was a sad fact, Clemmy admitted, that she still might have to cast her net wider if those Petrovskys weren’t on the breadline as she’d thought they would be. But go to London again she would, if only to sort it out, one way or the other. ‘She’s a lovely-looking girl,’ she said absently, ‘and well-bred enough for Elliot.’
‘Then I’m pleased.’ Anyone, Edward reflected, was good enough for his eldest son. It was a sad and deplorable fact. There wasn’t a father worth his salt around these parts who would want his daughter married to Elliot – his past record had seen to that. ‘And when will you leave?’
‘Tomorrow. You’ll be all right on your own.’ It was more a statement than a question.
‘Of course, my dear. And there is Nathan to keep me company, don’t forget.’ He opened his newspaper again, regretting that Nathan had not been their firstborn. But even if he had, Clemmy would have ruined him, just as she had spoiled and ruined Elliot. ‘We’ll have plenty to talk about. Just enjoy yourself, in London …’
And stay as long as you like – the pair of you!
‘Well – home tomorrow, Alice; both of us. Have you had a good time?’
They were walking in Hyde Park; Julia pushing Daisy’s pram, Drew with his hand in Alice’s.
‘It’s