MAUDIE
By Karen Mason
Published by Karen Mason at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 Karen Mason
All Rights Reserved
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Cover by zeiasdesign. Photograph by Gabor Major
April 2009
Julia got off the train at Euston and found it hard to suppress the smile that wanted to break out over her face. A simple text message from her boss, reading 'It's On' was enough to cause this uncontrollable happiness, and she wanted to share her joy with everyone who mattered to her.
Walking the length of the long platform (she never travelled first class - she considered it far too crass), she noticed a few of her fellow passengers doing a double take as they passed her. Some, because they recognised her; others simply because she was a tall, beautiful young woman wearing an enigmatic smile - it was enough to draw people in.
Julia Newbury was the Secretary of State for Media and Culture, and was something of a star. As typical with the British media; when she'd been elected as a 'Blair Babe' aged just twenty-nine, more attention had been paid to the fact that she was a willowy beauty with a famous mother and grandmother, than any of her policies. But as many attractive women discover in life, it had been easier to go with it than fight it, and she’d given in and used her looks to her advantage. Now, all that hard work was going to pay off. In three months time she was going to be the Labour Party's first ever female Prime Minister. But it had to remain top secret, and she hadn’t even been able to tell Kate, her mother, who had been an MP for over thirty years - although that was probably for the best, Kate had a terribly big mouth and had a habit of blurting everything out.
Waiting at the end of the platform was Marcus, Julia’s PA. He sometimes came with her to Liverpool when she visited her constituency, but this week he'd been snowed under, fielding all the questions from the press who’d got wind that Alistair Mitchell, the Prime Minister, was ill and planning on handing the reigns to the 'throne' to one of his favourite ministers. Julia giggled at Marcus, standing there awkwardly, like a teenager being forced to wear his dad’s pin-stripe suit. He always looked harassed, no matter how busy he was; but he looked really pissed off today; and there was something in his eyes that told Julia he blamed her for it. It was a sight she saw often enough in the eyes of her two teenage sons.
‘What's the matter with you?’ she laughed as she joined him, passing him her overnight bag. ‘I'm not late or anything.’
‘Anne Currie told me to come and meet you,’ Marcus said, still no humour in his face. ‘I've got to take you straight to her office.’
‘What? It's half past six. The kids will be expecting me. Then I’m meeting with that researcher from Channel Four.’
‘It's non-negotiable Julia. Come on, I've a taxi waiting outside.’
Marcus didn't want to talk as they walked out of the station. He strode ahead, Julia's legs stumbling as she tried to keep up with him. Anne Currie was the head of ACD Media, the company that dealt with most of the Party’s public relations. Anne had been instrumental in guiding Julia in her early days, steering her away from merely being seen as political ‘totty’ and actually being recognised for her ideas and clout. But on normal day-to-day things, Julia usually consulted with someone from Anne’s team, not the lady herself; and she had no idea why she wanted to see her now.
Even in the cab to Westminster, Marcus refused to say what was so urgent. Instead he just scrolled through his Blackberry, reeling off a list of the various engagements Julia had been invited to, or the important calls she had missed whilst in Liverpool.
When they arrived at the office opposite Downing Street, Marcus tersely announced that he had to go back to Portcullis House to get on with some work and that he would see her tomorrow. Left stranded and bewildered, Julia entered the building and a sudden wave of paranoia and fear swept over her. Instinct told her why Anne Currie had summoned her here. There could be no other issue that would be so pressing and potentially so damaging.
She went into the anonymous looking building, feeling as self conscious as she had when her mother had taken her to an abortion clinic when she was seventeen and had got accidentally pregnant. She smiled nervously at Hannah, the receptionist, and made her way up to Anne’s office on the first floor. As soon as Anne spotted her through the window in the door, she ended her phone call and stood up to let Julia into the small, cluttered office. Anne looked grave, but she always did; she had one of those rather dour, well-boned faces that looked permanently miserable. It usually hid a cheerful manner, but there was none of this today. She just beckoned at the chair opposite her desk and told Julia to sit down, shutting the door behind her.
‘Is this about Pavel?’ Julia blurted out, not even having planned to say it.
‘Pavel Nowak?’ Anne sighed, sitting down.
‘Yes.’
‘What were you thinking Julia? A Polish builder?’
‘So adultery would have been okay if it had been Tilly’s riding instructor...or Prince Andrew or someone?’
‘Don’t get hysterical. You’ve been in this game as long as I have Julia. You know that immigration is a touchy subject. How are you going to explain this to your constituents?’
‘Who told you?’
‘Next week Alistair is going to name you as the next Prime Minister. If this comes out, you can kiss that goodbye.’
‘Can’t you get an injunction? Who told you Anne? Who else knows?’
Anne unlocked her top drawer and from it fetched a brown envelope. She pulled out a collection of photographs and passed them to Julia. She almost couldn’t look at them, scared they’d be seedy shots, taken by a zoom lens through a hotel window. She was quite shocked and almost disappointed when she saw the first photo was a rather tame shot of her and Pavel, walking on Wandsworth Common with Kitty, her golden Labrador. Despite everything, she still felt a rush of desire when she looked at Pavel. He was laughing at whatever she was saying, those deep creases forming in his cheeks, those blue eyes twinkling with mischief. The look of love was clear on Julia’s face, and she was taken with how young she looked without make up, her dark blonde hair whipping across her forehead. In the next photo Pavel was reaching up and pushing her hair from her eyes.
‘These pictures just show two friends taking a dog for a walk,’ she protested. ‘There’s no law against that.’
Anne said nothing and let Julia carry on flicking through the pictures. The next set was of her and Pavel entering the Metropolitan Hotel in Wimbledon. It was a small, family run hotel they’d used; not realising that across the road someone had been watching them from a car, photographing them entering. The next photo captured Pavel leaving, tucking his shirt in. The one afterwards was of Julia exiting the hotel, without make-up, her hair wet from showering. Julia had seen more incriminating photographs before, but they were still pretty damning.
‘Well?’ Anne said.
‘Who sent these to you?’
‘Carrie Mavers at The News of the World. Luckily she’s an old friend of mine and owes me a favour. She’s given us this chance to defend ourselves and get an injunction. If they’d gone to anyone else, they would have published straight away.’
‘And who sent them to her?’
‘A private detective.’
‘Well someone must have hired him to get dirt on me. I can only think it’s Richard. He was my main rival for the job.’
‘Let me deal with the ‘who did what’. At this moment Spencer Henderson are on the case, getting an injunction. We’re going for a super, so the press can’t even print that there is a story being done on you. No one will know anything. What you need to do is get your house in order and make contingency plans in case we can’t stop it.’
‘What can I do?’
‘Are you still seeing him?’
‘Not really.’
‘What does not really mean?’
‘Yes I am.’
‘Well you’ve got to stop it immediately. If any journalists approach you, refer them to me. Even if we get an injunction, it can’t stop foreign websites from publishing the photos.’
‘This is a nightmare.’
‘What were you planning on doing Julia? Were you still going to see him once you were PM? Did you plan to skip Prime Minister’s Questions so you could hop off to a hotel and have sex?’
‘I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!’ Julia cried. ‘It was a moment of madness. Haven’t you ever had one? Haven’t you ever met someone who made you feel so reckless, so alive that you can only think in that moment? Someone who makes you feel as though you’d die if you never saw them again?’
‘Not since my crush on a boy called Damian Francis at Cambridge, no,’ Anne replied haughtily. ‘You’ve got to get a grip Julia. You could lose your career, your husband and your kids over this man. Is he worth it?’
Julia paused. Nothing was worth losing her kids for - she couldn’t live without them. But the other two….well, sometimes she’d happily give both of them up.
‘No, of course not,’ she said quietly.
‘Now, this isn’t the end of the world. I’m going to enlist the help of Wilson and MacCready; they’re a team of private investigators who specialise in this sort of thing. I’m going to try and find out who hired the private detective. You need to end this stupid affair Julia, and you also quite possibly need to think about coming clean to Dan.’
‘He’s in New York until Sunday.’
‘Well hopefully he won’t come home to find his wife splashed all over the papers. You’ve worked so hard to get where you are Julia. Your grandmother caused a scandal; your mother had you by a boy half her age and caused a scandal. Kate’s never made it past the back-benches, but you’re the golden girl who’s come so far. Don’t blow it by making people think you come from a family of weak links.’
Julia left the office with her head spinning, convinced that people were watching her, scared that someone had been taking photographs of her and her family. What if they were stalking the children too? Will, Ed and Tilly were innocent, and she couldn’t bear it if they become victims of her weakness. Desperate to get home, she caught a cab back to Wandsworth Common, and was grateful when the driver didn’t bombard her with the usual inane questions; like when the next election was going to be held; what was Alistair Mitchell really like etc etc. Julia closed the partition and took out the phone she used for her private calls. Her hands shook as she scrolled through the numbers until she got to Pavel’s name. When he answered, she could hear the sounds of a pub in the background – he had obviously finished work for the day and was blowing his money on alcohol. As usual.
‘Hey my beautiful Julia,’ he said, his heavily accented voice slurred. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘Who have you been fucking talking to?’ she snapped quietly. ‘I’ve just been to see my press officer and she’s confronted me with a pile of photographs of you and me walking Kitty, and even worse, going into the Metropolitan.’
‘Hey honey, I haven’t said anything. Who’s been taking these photographs?’
‘I don’t know, but if we don’t get an injunction they’ll be all over the papers by Sunday.’
‘Do you want me to come and see you?’
‘No!’ she snapped. ‘No, just keep away from me Pavel. It’s over. I don’t want to see you any more.’
She ended the call and threw the phone back into her bag. It took all her strength not to cry out loud and just keep her sobbing to herself. If the cabby looked in his rear- view mirror and saw a senior politician weeping like a teenage girl, he would no doubt run straight to the press. But the thought of never seeing Pavel again tore at her heart and made her feel as though she would never breathe again. She loved him with every fibre of her being; and had she been a ‘normal’ woman, she would have taken her children and run off with him ages ago. Instead she had a duty to the public and like many people before her, had chosen duty over love.
She got home and found the house in chaos. The boys were in the living room, screaming at each other as they played a game on the Wii, while Kitty barked in chorus. So engrossed were they that they didn’t even notice their mother come in. Rebecca, the nanny called from upstairs that she was bathing Tilly and that there was someone waiting for Julia in the study. Julia groaned inwardly, guessing it was Emma, the girl from Channel Four who was working on the programme Julia had reluctantly agreed to take part in. She took a deep breath, checked her reflection in the hall mirror to make sure her eyes didn’t look too puffy, and went into the study. Sitting at her desk was a young woman with bright red hair, reading ‘The City Girl’- a book written by Julia’s grandmother Maud.
‘Are you Emma?’ Julia asked.
The young woman put down the book and stood up, wiping her hands on her jeans.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The nanny said it was okay to wait in here.’
‘I’m so sorry I’m late, I had to go in and see my press officer.’
‘No worries. I know what it’s like.’
The sound of her teenage sons and dog was audible through the study walls and Julia knew she had no choice but to take the young researcher elsewhere.
‘Shall we go out into my library?’ she asked. ‘It’s quieter in there.’
‘Okay,’ Emma said. ‘Lead the way.’
Julia led Emma through the kitchen and into the garden, to the little library that had been built from the Anderson shelter that had stood there for seventy years. Emma worked for Crucial Media, a production company that made programmes for Channel Four. The channel’s latest project was the Irish Potato Famine, and one of the shows commissioned, traced the modern day descendants of people affected by the Famine. Julia was one of them, and the show, which was very similar to BBC’s ‘Who Do You Think You Are’, would trace her family tree, back to her great-great-great grandfather who was an Irish farmer. Emma was here to find out some more about Julia’s family, so they could get on with making the programme.
‘What a cute little building,’ Emma said as they entered the library. It was all Julia had ever wanted. The study was for the whole family, but this was her grown up version of a tree-house - her own space where she could keep her books and have somewhere to think. But now all it did was serve to remind her what an idiot she’d been. If Pavel hadn’t come here to build the thing, she wouldn’t be in the mess she was in now.
They entered the library and Emma commented on how cosy it was. Julia smiled sweetly and explained how Dan had had it done as a birthday present to her. Every wall had shelves on, and every shelf was filled with books. There were two armchairs, a DAB radio that was designed to look like an old fashioned wireless, and even a little en-suite bathroom. It was quite lovely, but now so bittersweet.
Julia offered Emma a cup of coffee and she declined; she just took her note pad from her pocket and sat on one of the armchairs. Julia sat opposite and wondered what sort of questions she was going to be asked - she felt so on edge and scared of everything at the moment.
‘Thanks for meeting me so late in the day Julia,’ Emma said. ‘I’m working with three other people as well so it’s a bit chaotic.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Julia replied. ‘How have you got on with tracing my family tree?’
‘Well I’ve found a distant cousin living in Chicago. Apparently your great uncle emigrated to America during the Famine. I’m mainly concentrating on your great-grandfather’s side of the family – the O’Shea’s. Your mother is only half Irish isn’t she?’
‘Yes, my grandfather Julian was English. His mother’s family owned land in Ireland but there was no Irish blood; and they lost of a lot of their power during the Civil War.’
‘Well we’re not going to focus too much on the scandals in your family, but of course it can’t help but be touched upon. After all, our history is what makes us the people we are. Your grandmother was the daughter of a parlour- maid, who married into the aristocracy and yet run off with an Irish poet. Your mother was the sexy older actress who had an affair with a teenage boy and got pregnant by him. It would be fascinating to find out if there are any scandals further back in your family.’
‘Well I haven’t caused any scandal have I?’ Julia said, using that smile she adopted when being questioned by a particularly difficult journalist. ‘My life’s quite boring. School; Cambridge; a career in law; husband; three kids; politics. That’s it.’
‘But people are still fascinated by you. When I told my mum I was working with you, all she could say was that she remembered when Kate Ryder got pregnant for you and all the scandal it caused.’
‘That was forty years ago,’ Julia said. ‘Is it important now?’
‘Of course not no. But how did your grandmother marry into the aristocracy? It was hardly common in those days.’
‘Much has been made of my grandmother being the daughter of a parlour-maid, and while she was, she was hardly raised in poverty. Patience Worthing, the woman my great-grandmother worked for had two sons, and when Maud was born she was so taken with her, she practically adopted her. My grandmother had a governess and everything. But of course she wasn’t entitled to a coming out party and wasn’t introduced to any suitable young men. The family legend is that when Maud was working as a school teacher in Liverpool, she came out of school one day and found my grandfather slumped drunk in the street. He’d had his leg blown off at Passchendaele and his stock had diminished somehow because of it, so he was allowed to marry a commoner. Maud was beautiful and well-mannered and was considered good enough.’
‘A bit like of a fairy tale,’ Emma smiled.
‘Yes, but it didn’t end happily did it?’
‘I guess not. Well, we’ll do all we can to find out about the rest of your family. It should make an interesting programme.’
Julia let the girl interview her, telling all she knew about the O’Shea family, but her mind was elsewhere. She wondered what was going to happen now. What if Anne Currie couldn’t secure an injunction? Her whole life would be torn apart. Not only would she lose any chance of becoming Prime Minister she would also lose her husband, and possibly her children. Ed and Will were at an age when they were likely to take their father’s side. Emma’s words rang in her ears. What was it about her family that was drawn to reckless behaviour? Both Maud and Kate had jeopardised all they’d achieved just for the sake of passion. Had it been born into her too? Was she somehow cursed? And just what sort of disaster was she lurching towards?
BOOK ONE
‘MAUDIE’
Chapter One
February 1933
Celia Barrie was quite possibly the most annoying person Maudie had ever met. These monthly afternoon teas in the drawing room of Redlands were supposed to be a chance for the women of the 'Cheshire Set' to mix and discuss up and coming social events, and arrange whatever charity functions they were involved in. Celia, however, used them as nothing more than an excuse to hold court, boasting of the dinner party she’d recently held that had been attended by none other than Nancy Mitford and her intended, the Rt Hon Peter Rodd. In all fairness, it was the ambition of many a young woman of a certain class, to actually meet one of the Mitfords, and while Celia's story had started off as quite interesting, on it's third re-telling, it was starting to grate. All of the women here were far too polite to tell her to shut up, but glanced at one another, wishing one of them was brave enough to actually say it.
As hostess, it was up to Maudie to conduct the proceedings, but she was otherwise engaged, too busy staring out the window, idly looking at the grounds, thinking how bleak everything looked with that dull, February mist covering it. The snow had cleared, but the plants were now ruined, and the brickwork on the perimeter wall was starting to crack. Even the grass had lost its lustre and she longed for spring to come, when things would start coming back to life.
Maudie wondered if she climbed to the top of the house, she’d be able to see Liverpool. It was only twenty miles away, and old Mrs Addenbrook, who worked in kitchen, reckoned that when she started here at Redlands back in 1885, if she went up onto the roof, she was able to see the sailing ships heading out of the Mersey. Maudie didn't know if this was true or not - she was afraid of heights and had never tried; but her home city was featuring heavily in her thoughts today. She'd sent a letter to her mother this morning, telling her it was okay for her cousin Daisy to hold her wedding reception here at Redlands. With Julian down in London, and Agnes visiting family in Ireland, she'd not run the decision past anyone and dreaded the response she was going to get from her husband and mother-in-law when they returned.
Suddenly, she was awoken from her reverie by a voice.
‘Do you think you could help me with that Maudie?’
Snapping from her trance, she saw Ethel Dunmore was looking at her, her big blue eyes blinking expectantly from behind her bottle top glasses, her saucer and cup held in mid-air.
‘I'm sorry?’ Maudie asked.
‘I was rather hoping you'd help me choose a selection of outfits to take to the Duke of Cumberland's. We do all so rate your fashion choices Maudie.’
‘Yes of course,’ she smiled. ‘It would be a pleasure. When are you going?’
‘Oh you really are a Dolly Daydream aren't you?’ Celia berated, looking around the room for support. ‘Ethel's just spent the past five minutes talking about it. They're going there for Easter.’
‘I thought maybe we could go shopping in London Maudie,’ Ethel suggested. ‘We could go to Harrods and perhaps stay at The Ritz. I would rather like to go and see Private Lives as well, Noel Coward is so terribly cheeky.’
‘That sounds wonderful,’ Maudie smiled politely, although the thought of being marooned in London with the terminally dull Mrs Dunmore did not exactly fill her with inspiration. ‘Although of course I'll have to check with Julian first.’
The women started chattering about something else, and Maudie found herself drifting off once more, wishing they would all go away. When she'd first married Julian and entered the social scene, she'd found her peers' fascination with her good looks quite flattering, and had played upon it. She always made sure she had fashion magazines sent over from France, so she could instruct her dress-maker of the latest trends, and make her friends envious when she wore clothes and hairstyles they'd never seen before. The rather pasty, in-bred Cheshire wives were fascinated by her black hair, olive skin and ebony eyes. Of course they never spoke of the real reason she looked so exotic - to admit that one of their circle was the daughter of Irish peasants was anathema to them. They preferred just to treat her like a glamorous trophy, something to show off at parties - after all, no one would really know that she was common, she'd been brought up to be such a lady.
She laughed at how all her so-called friends had copied her hairstyle. She'd let the neat bob she'd sported in the twenties grow a little, and with extra length, her natural waves had taken shape, and to finish it off, she'd had a very short fringe cut in. Julian had said she now looked like Joan of Arc, but Maudie didn't care. She took pleasure in watching as gradually one by one, her friends would turn up, sporting some variation. They were all so pathetic; and while she enjoyed being a 'star', among them, sometimes she longed to do something interesting and worthwhile, rather than sit around drinking coffee and talking about other equally pathetic women and their boring lives.
There was a knock on the door and Lucy, the youngest housemaid entered, doing a little courtesy to Maudie and her friends.
‘Mrs Gilbert-Wood is here to see you ma'am,’ she said politely, doing all she could to soften her Scouse accent.
‘Send her in Lucy,’ Maudie said. ‘And fetch us some more coffee, thank you.’
She looked around and saw her friends visibly bristling at the prospect of spending time in the company of Grace Gilbert-Wood. Unlike them, Grace refused to bow to convention. She eschewed the boring social duties and instead, despite having a huge personal fortune and a husband who was almost as rich, chose to throw herself into various causes - some of which were unsavoury to the good ladies of Cheshire. Maudie had known Grace all her life and adored her - she embodied the spirit she once thought she had, but had got lost along the way.
The drawing room door opened and Grace strode in. She had obviously come from tinkering with Isabella, her little aeroplane, as her grey slacks were splattered with engine oil, as was one of the cuffs of her Aran sweater.
‘Hello ladies,’ she chuckled, in that big, booming voice of hers. ‘How is everyone?’
There were lots of mumbled 'fine thank yous' and theatrical looking at watches before Celia picked up her bag.
‘I think it's time I was heading off, I've a lunch appointment in Chester.’
There was a chorus of 'me toos' from the likes of Ethel Dunmore, Judith Rutland, and Edwina Forbes-Campbell. Trying not to laugh, Maudie rang for Holmes, the butler, to fetch the ladies', coats and respective drivers, who would all be gathered in the Lodge, drinking tea and playing cards while they waited for their employers to leave. Grace sat down next to Maudie and watched the nice ladies leave, and as each one did, commented on her appearance, saying how pretty she looked in that dress, or asking if she'd taken a lover because she was glowing. Grace knew the rumours that circulated about her, and how uncomfortable it made the other women when she spoke in this manner, so she did it all the more, just to annoy them.
Once they were all gone, Maudie sighed in relief and flopped back on Agnes' beloved French tapestry sofa.
‘Thanks for rescuing me,’ she said. ‘I thought I was about to die of boredom.’
‘Ethel was looking quite saucy,’ Grace laughed. ‘What's got her gander up?’
‘She's going to the Duke of Cumberland's for Easter and she wants me to help her choose a wardrobe. She thinks I'm going to transform her into Greta Garbo!’
‘Well, I come here also requiring your services,’ Grace said, pushing a lock of her wild, blonde hair off her face and smearing oil all over her forehead in the process. ‘I was wondering if you fancied coming to Liverpool next Thursday.’
‘Oh yes, what for?’
‘I've made a new acquaintance, a girl called Connie Thwaite. She's a total aristo, but is squandering the family’s fortune by fighting good causes. Her latest is the exorbitant rents set by private landlords in the poorest area of Liverpool. She's giving a talk at Askew Hall on Thursday and I said I'd go along. You know what Ronnie's like when I wander off on my own; so I was wondering if you could come with me and pretend you have family to see or something.’
‘Well it’s fortunate for you that I have been asked by my mother to hold my cousin Daisy’s wedding reception here, and I wrote to her this morning and said I would. Maybe I could visit Daisy to discuss details.’
Grace’s big, blue eyes opened wide, her lantern jaw dropping open with shock.
‘You’ve told one of your Liverpool cousins that she can hold her wedding reception here at Redlands? Are you mad?’
‘Cousin Daisy is a little more respectable. Her father is a clerk at the Council, and she went to grammar school. I wouldn’t dream of inviting one of the more unsavoury relatives - Agnes would kill me. As it is she won’t be very happy. Sometimes she likes to think that I really was related to your Aunt Patience, and she hates it when she has to face up to reality.’
‘Well I certainly forget,’ Grace laughed. ‘I’m always thinking we’re real cousins.’
‘So, this Connie, how did you meet her?’
‘At a soup kitchen in Toxteth. I was doing an overnight run there, feeding the down and outs, and Connie was there too. We just hit it off. You want to get a lover Maudie. Julian must bore you to tears.’
‘It’s easier for you, your female friends don’t cause any embarrassment. How would I explain going to the theatre with some hulking brute? Besides, there’s Kate to think of. I don’t want to cause any scandal for her.’
‘Oh nonsense, she’s three years old, she won’t know a thing. One day Robbie and Steve will grow up and find out their mother was a raging Tom, but I don’t let that stop me. Children have to learn from an early age that parents aren’t perfect and they shouldn’t expect us to be.’
***
As the only son of Sir Walter and Lady Ryder, Julian was the natural heir to Redlands. So, when Walter died in 1922, the house had become his, which technically made Maudie - his wife, the lady of the house. After years of being in charge, Agnes suddenly became the Dowager, little more than lodger in her son’s home; and she never ceased to remind Maudie that this place had once been all hers. The staff were still petrified of her, and if there was a dispute between her and the younger Mrs Ryder, they would always take Agnes’ side. Maudie had every right to hold Daisy's reception here, but the thought of telling her mother-in-law terrified her.
Her chance came later that week when Agnes arrived back from Ireland. Once upon a time her family had owned half of Waterford, but had lost great chunks of their estate in the Civil War. But they still had Massenden, a large house in Kilcohan, and Agnes liked to go there for the winter months because the weather was more favourable. She always returned to Redlands in late February, because she started entertaining once the better weather came.
In a matter of days, Spring had seemed to arrive, and the mist that had enveloped Redlands for so long, evaporated, and suddenly the greenery started to spring to life. Maudie longed to breathe some fresh air, so decided to relieve Jane, the stable hand, of her duties and instead walked Kate and her pony around the grounds.
Maudie had never wanted her daughter to have a pony, feeling that three was too young for a little girl to be in charge of an animal. But Agnes had put her foot down, insisting that she had ridden from the age of two, and as usual Julian had taken his mother’s side, persuading his wife to let Kate have a small pony. Her third birthday present had been Corky, a beige pony that was small enough for her to fit on. Normally Jane would take Kate out on it, holding onto the reigns while the little girl balanced on the saddle, laughing as Corky made her wriggle about. But today Maudie was in charge, delighting in watching her daughter’s joy. Kate was such a beautiful child, she had Maudie’s dark hair, but Julian’s pale colouring. Her eyes were sapphire blue - like her father’s, which Grace reckoned was very unusual given that children normally inherited brown eyes. Kate was also very cheeky, and when she laughed, it was so hearty; and in temper she showed a wilfulness neither of her parents could ever express.
When Fearghal, Agnes’ Irish wolfhound came out of the house and started barking, Maudie’s heart sank. She knew this meant he had heard the engine of his mistress’ car and was coming out to greet her. Maudie turned around and spotted Agnes’ Sedan coming up the drive - Fearghal running towards it.
‘Is that Grandmother?’ Kate asked.
‘Yes,’ Maudie sighed. ‘Your Grandmother is home.’
Maudie carried on walking Kate around, all the time keeping one eye on the house. Every member of staff seemed to come out to help Agnes with her luggage. She always took so much with her, but never carried more than a handbag herself. She emerged from her carriage, resplendent in her mink coat and matching hat, that snooty look on her face as people scurried around after her.
‘Can I say hello to grandmother?’ Kate asked.
‘Later on darling, I’m sure she’ll want to rest before speaking to any of us.’
Once everyone had gone back inside, Maudie took Kate and Corky back to the stables and entered the house by the side entrance, avoiding Agnes - who was probably relaxing in the drawing room; or on the telephone to some friend or the other, conveying all the boring details of her trip to Ireland. Maudie took Kate up to the nursery, kissing her goodbye and handing her over to Mary, the nanny, so she could bathe her and put her into a dress ready for lunch. Maudie then went down to her study to catch up with her paperwork and hang out the time before she was summoned to Agnes’ drawing room to be grilled about what had happened in her absence.
Maudie loved the view from the study. It reminded her of being a child, back at Fielding House, when Emma, her governess, would sit with her, teaching her about all the various trees in the wild garden that the study overlooked. In the summer it was filled with butterflies and bluebells, and Maudie would love to run through it, laughing as Emma tried to catch her. The study here at Redlands had once overlooked a plain patch of grass that Walter and his brothers had used as makeshift cricket ground as children. But by the time Maudie moved in, it had become unloved and unkempt. So, in the hope that one day she would have her own little girl to run through it, Maudie insisted that Greaves, the gardener, scatter bluebell, poppy and long grass seeds so it resembled her special place. After nine years of marriage, she finally gave birth to Kate on her thirtieth birthday, and that was the first year the garden became full of wild flowers. This summer, she wanted Kate to run through it with Puggle, her little Jack Russell, and have the same fun she'd had.
Her paperwork seemed to grow larger every week. For every invitation she could accept, there were ten she had to turn down. Some women, like Celia Barrie, made socialising their career, but Maudie couldn't stand it. She knew for some, she was no more than a piece of exotica - a novelty item on Julian's arm. The guttersnipe with the foreign looks who’d been 'adopted' by Patience Worthing; her mother's employer, who had longed for a little girl of her own and who turned her into a lady. Well, Maudie had better things to do than act as a circus freak for the good ladies of Northern England. She preferred to work with the various charities she supported, attending fetes and fundraising events.
Then there was her book. Not even Julian knew about that. In the rare evenings they were alone together, he thought his wife was merely writing in a journal, keeping a log of what had happened during that day. Little did he know that since childhood Maudie had written stories. Emma had encouraged it, often showing the tales she'd written to Patience, who kept them in a scrapbook. For two years now Maudie had been working on her first novel. It was a tale of a Liverpool parlour-maid who gets mistaken for a lady and stows away on a steamship going to Australia, where she starts a new life. Maudie knew little of Australia, except for the letters she would occasionally receive from her cousin Jimmy, who had emigrated to Sydney ten years ago. But he painted such a vivid picture of this strange land, with constant sunshine, strange animals and insects, and yet whole groups of émigrés who behaved as though they were still in England, Maudie often felt as though she was there with him.
She was working on her book when there was a knock on the door. She told the person to come in and quickly closed the book, folding up the leaf of her Davenport desk and locking it. Lucy came in, giving her usual courtesy.
‘Lady Agnes requests your company in the drawing room ma'am,’ she said.
‘Thank you Lucy, could you tell her I'll be with her in a minute?’
‘Yes ma'am.’ Lucy nodded once more and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Maudie braced herself for her meeting with Agnes. She stood up and on looking down, saw that her shoes were covered in mud from where she'd been walking with Kate and the pony. She quickly kicked them off and slipped on the pair of ballet pumps that were in front of the fire. They hardly went with the dress she was wearing, but Agnes would be far more approving of them than dirty shoes mucking up her carpet.
Agnes had her own drawing room in the East wing of the house. The only person allowed in there without an invitation, was Julian. Maudie could never wander in there un-announced, and Kate was strictly forbidden. It contained many of the treasures that had been taken from Massenden when the Civil War came. Generations of Crawford family artefacts could not fall into the hands of Irish Republicans, and had been shipped over to England the moment there was the whisper of unrest. The various nik-naks, pieces of china and ornaments now cluttered Agnes' room and made it look like a mausoleum. Maudie found her mother-in-law in the midst of it, watering the peace lily that stood by the window. Agnes always insisted on watering her own plants, feeling the staff were too stupid to understand botany, and would end up killing them.
‘Sit down,’ Agnes ordered, without bothering to turn around. ‘Pour me a cup of tea will you?’
She always did that. Always made Maudie pour the tea, instead of letting Lucy or one of the other maids do it. Maudie was sure it was to remind her of where she'd come from - that it had only been Patience Worthing's kindness that had prevented her from becoming a scullery maid herself.
Doing as she was told, Maudie sat upon the chaise lounge and poured two cups of tea from the china tea pot, decorated with vivid purple lavender flowers. Maudie always thought it looked cheap, like something one of her aunts would buy at Old Swan Market. But apparently it was worth a lot of money.
Agnes finished the watering, and rang the bell for a maid to come and take the watering can away. She sat opposite Maudie on the sofa, observing her with distaste. That contemptuous look never leaving her mean, narrow eyes.
‘I hope everything has been running to my satisfaction,’ she barked and Maudie bristled. She was the lady of the house, what business was it of Agnes how things ran?
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Julian is in London until the weekend. I do believe he's trying to buy the Kenworth Hotel.’
‘I do know what he's doing!’ Agnes snapped. ‘He writes to his mama every week. Which is more than could be said of you. I could have come home and found my house had burnt down for all the correspondence you send.’
‘I didn't want to trouble you in Ireland,’ Maudie replied, biting her tongue once more. ‘You were on holiday. There have been no major catastrophes here, so I thought it best to leave you be.’
‘I visited a very fine school in Williamstown - Lady Evangeline's. A cousin of mine attended. I put Catherine's name down for it.’
‘She's three!’ Maudie exclaimed. ‘What if I don't want her going to school in Ireland?’
‘I think you'll find my family's money will be paying for your daughter's education. Besides, she relies far too much on you. I saw you when I arrived home, walking her around the fields like some sort of stable hand. With Catherine away at school, you can concentrate on providing my son with an heir.’
‘It took me nine years to conceive Kate. If I take that time again, I'll be over forty. Far too old to think about having another child.’
Agnes pulled an expression of distaste, raising her hand and halting Maudie mid-flow.
‘Please, we will not have talk like that in this house. I have agreed for Catherine to go to Lady Evangeline's when she is five, and that is the end of the matter. If you do not provide Julian with an heir by that time, you will be thirty-five and we will send you to a doctor.’
‘Well thank you for planning my life for me Agnes,’ Maudie snapped. ‘I realise I am so incapable of doing it myself.’
‘There is no need to take that tone with me. I am only trying to help you. You are not of our class Maud, you do not know the right way to go about things. As your mother-in-law, I see it as my role to help you.’
‘And I'm very grateful, but I'd prefer it if you let me and Julian make decisions about Kate. I've also made a few decisions about Redlands, and one of them is that I am going to allow my cousin to hold her wedding reception here.’
Agnes almost dropped her cup, and had to put it onto the table to prevent herself from doing so.
‘I beg your pardon?’ she uttered.
‘My cousin Daisy is marrying a very nice young man. He's a captain in the Royal Navy.’
‘Where would a cousin of yours meet a Navy captain?’
‘Cousin Daisy works as a receptionist at the Adelphi Hotel. Tim was staying there and they got chatting. They're marrying on May the eighteenth at St Botolphs in New Brighton. Then they’re coming here for the reception.’
‘You really expect me to allow your riff raff relatives to invade Redlands? Do you think I'm insane?’
‘No, but I know that I'm the lady of the house, and what I decide goes. Those riff raff relatives are also Kate's relatives, and Julian's by marriage, and they're entitled to come here if they wish.’
‘Well, I want a full guest list. I'm not having anyone with a criminal record attending, and no one Irish.’
‘You're Irish.’
‘I'm English. Our family lived in Ireland, that's all.’
‘I am going to Liverpool with Grace next Thursday, and I will be visiting Daisy and her family and I will, as you wish, obtain a full list of intended guests. But I warn you, I will be making the final decisions on who comes and who doesn't, and that is the end of the matter.’
Buoyed by her defiance and shocked at her sudden willingness to argue with Agnes, Maudie ended the conversation by standing up.
‘Now if you'll excuse me, I think I will take my lunch in the nursery with my daughter and Mary.’
Chapter Two
Julian was nursing yet another hangover, and he was making things awkward for Maudie as she prepared for her trip to Liverpool. She could have got the staff to collect her things together, but she preferred to pack her own hand luggage, never liking strangers handling her personal possessions. Julian lay upon the bed, propped up against the pillows, still in his pyjamas, The Times laid across his lap, passing comment on everything she packed. He winced every time he reached over to get his cup from the beside cabinet, but Maudie had no sympathy for him. He'd had some of the boys over the night before, and their card game had got a little rowdy, resulting in Julian falling off his chair and bruising his arm. There was always some sort of accident when Julian got drunk, and Maudie was hoping for the day when he would learn his lesson.
‘I don't like you travelling alone with that damn fool Grace,’ he said, angrily turning the page of the newspaper. ‘You know full well what people think of her. I don't want them thinking them same of you.’
Maudie smiled sweetly and sat upon the bed next to her husband, brushing a lock of his unruly blonde hair from his forehead. It was always best to be nice to Julian when she was doing something he didn't approve of - he had always been so easy to manipulate.
‘People just get the wrong impression of Grace because she wears trousers and likes cars and aeroplanes,’ she said. ‘It's not her fault she's very tall and rather ungainly. I expect she'd like nothing more than to be petite like me.’
‘Well I want you back by Sunday. The Hendersons are coming over for lunch.’
‘Of course.’
Maudie got off the bed and carried on with her packing, glancing in the mirror at her husband, wondering where that cheerful young man had gone. It seemed that when they'd met in 1921, the relief of not dying at Passchendaele was still flooding through his veins, and he took life with gusto; shocking his parents by marrying the daughter of a parlour maid; taking her on trips to Paris and London to live the high-life; not letting the fact that he had no left leg below the knee stop him from doing anything he liked. But life had slowly gotten to Julian. Like millions of others, he was becoming bitter at the fact that he’d been left crippled in the Great War, and yet no one had ever thanked him. The sacrifice of so many men had done no real good it seemed. The Empire was slowly crumbling; and over in Germany, that mad little man with the moustache looked to be causing trouble. Julian had become cynical and angry, and he never smiled any more. Which Maudie thought was a shame, because when she'd met him she'd thought his smile had been one of his best features. Julian had one of those handsome, and yet comic faces; and with his big blue eyes, and that wide, boyish grin, he didn't suit misery. The last time Maudie remembered seeing him smile was when he'd held Kate after she'd been born, and that was three years ago.
There was the sound of an engine and a car horn tooted. Maudie looked out of the window, down onto the gravel drive, where Grace had pulled up in her Morgan F4 - the funny little three wheeled car.
‘She's here!’ Maudie exclaimed excitedly. Grace looked up, and waved. She looked so comical in the hat she normally wore for flying, the goggles still attached to it and wrapped around her forehead. Maudie indicated that she would be five minutes, and came away from the window.
‘That Morgan's a death trap,’ Julian grumbled. ‘Can't one of the drivers take you? You could meet her up there.’
‘I'll be fine,’ Maudie smiled, picking up her vanity case and kissing her husband upon the cheek. ‘I'll see you on Sunday.’
She left the room and found Mary and Kate in the doorway of the nursery. Kate looked so pretty in the green velvet dress Maudie's mother had bought her for Christmas. She gave Maudie her most beaming smile, and Maudie felt that constricting terror in her chest. She couldn't bear the thought that in just two years, her little girl would be wrenched from her and taken across the sea to Ireland - to a school filled with bigger girls and angry teachers.
‘You promise to be a good girl for Mary,’ she said, kneeling down by her daughter and stroking back her dark hair. Kate nodded and came forward, kissing Maudie upon the cheek.
‘Will you bring me a present Mama?’ she asked.
‘Yes, what would you like?’
‘A black dolly.’
‘Catherine don't ask such things of your mother!’ Mary snapped.
‘That's okay,’ Maudie laughed. ‘It's because Janice Chilcote brought one to the tea party the other week. Do you remember?’
‘Even so, Kate should be grateful for what she gets.’
Maudie took Kate's hands and kissed her little, chubby fingers.
‘I promise to find a black dolly for you,’ she said. ‘Now be good for Papa and Grandmother.’
She kissed Kate's cheek, pulling her close and kissing her hair, and leaving before she scooped her daughter up and took her with her, running away forever.
Outside, the staff were trying to fit Maudie's case in, along with Grace's things, into the car. The boot was quite small and the back of the little three wheeled car was starting to dip down. Maudie laughed and climbed in beside Grace, her legs feeling squashed and making her wonder how her tall friend coped with such a small car.
‘Are you sure you don't want one of the drivers to follow behind with our bags?’ she asked, glancing round at Peters - one of the young general helps, trying to squash her case in.
‘Stop fussing, it'll be fine,’ Grace replied impatiently. ‘There's some rope in there,’ she shouted to Peters. ‘Just tie it up.’
Ten minutes later, and they were finally ready to go. Maudie was shocked at how easily the car handled, given its load. She so wished Julian would allow her to have a car; but he thought women driving was immoral - except for Grace, and she was more like a man anyway.
‘So, where are we staying?’ she asked.
‘The Adelphi. My folks on father's side own a suite there. Although I'll probably be spending most of my time at Connie's.’
‘Does she live alone?’
‘No, with her sister. But she's an actress and appearing in a play in London, so Connie gets the run of the place to herself. It's only in West Derby, so I won't be far.’
Maudie wondered what she was going to do with herself for the next few days. Grace was going to be spending a lot of time with her girlfriend, which meant either Maudie would have to visit her Liverpool relatives - many of whom had little time for her, they she had nothing in common with her. Or she would have to remain in her hotel room. Fortunately she had brought her book with her (largely because she didn't trust Agnes not to go through her things while she was away). So she could at least enjoy the peace and quiet, and get on with her writing.
An hour and a half later they pulled up outside the grand Adelphi Hotel, close to Lime Street Station. The doorman summoned various members of staff to help the ladies with their luggage, and park Grace's car, and Grace made Maudie laugh as her voice would take on a far more feminine, pompous tone when she was addressing those beneath her. She was an appalling snob at times and it was funny to think she was going to be attending some sort of socialist meeting this evening.
Grace strode into the grand, Art Deco lobby, followed by the minions desperate to please her. Maudie stumbled behind, a little embarrassed to be associated with Grace when she was in this mood.
Passing reception, she immediately recognised her Cousin Daisy - her bobbed, bright red hair making her stand out a mile. By all accounts, Captain Timothy Maxwell was quite dashing and Maudie wondered what he saw in her dowdy, little cousin. Men like that normally wanted a trophy upon their arm. Even Julian, who was injured and whose worth had dropped a little because of it, had still chosen to marry Maudie - who although brought no class, certainly possessed great beauty.
She wandered over to the reception desk and Grace noticed her do it.
‘No need to book in!’ she called, one of these men will do it for us.
‘I just want to talk to Daisy,’ Maudie said, but Grace was already gone. Maudie laughed and went up to the desk, where her cousin was stamping some invoices.
‘Hello Maudie,’ Daisy said quietly. Her Liverpool accent wasn't as strong as some of the family - a grammar school education, and working at this hotel had ironed out the brasher aspects of it. But it was still evident where she came from, unlike Maudie who just sounded as though she had been born into the upper classes.
‘Hello Daisy. You must excuse Grace, she's a little bombastic.’
‘I know, I remember her from Kate's christening.’
‘Of course, you were there. Anyway, what time do you break for lunch?’
‘In about half an hour.’
‘Would you like to meet? We can talk about the wedding.’
‘Sure,’ she smiled, her mousy little face brightening. ‘We'll go to the Lyon's Corner House.’
The suite that Grace's father's family owned, took up nearly a whole corner of the upper floor of the hotel. It was like an apartment contained within a hotel, decorated with opulent wallpapers and silk bedspreads. Maudie's room was huge, with a king size bed, a desk at which she could do her writing, and a not so glamorous view of the trains coming in and out of Lime Street. Liverpool was so grimy, she couldn't imagine ever living here.
She changed into a modest tea dress, wrapping her woollen coat around herself, and went out to meet Daisy. They went to the Lyon's Corner House across the road, and found it filled with the type of Liverpool women who had moved out to places like New Brighton and Birkenhead, and fancied themselves posher than those across the river. Their heads turned when a woman who was so clearly a proper member of the upper classes walked in, and the usual whispers echoed around the room. It used to make Maudie feel awkward, now she just brushed it off, like she imagined a film star would.
Daisy and Maudie found a corner table and gave their orders. They made small talk, largely about Kate; Maudie omitting the fact that Agnes had enrolled her into a school hundreds of miles away. Talk then turned to the wedding, and Maudie felt so embarrassed at asking her cousin who she planned to invite.
‘My family,’ she said. ‘Is there a problem with that?’
‘Agnes is rather worried about the catering arrangements, so insists I keep the numbers low.’
Daisy laughed and sipped her tea.
‘In other words she's worried I'm going to invite the rougher elements?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Don't worry, I won't be inviting anyone who'll cause trouble. I want to create the right impression myself don't forget. Tim's father is a bank manager down in Surrey.’
‘Will you be moving down there?’
‘Yes, Tim's buying a house in Croydon.’
‘Sounds wonderful. Well, you're the first one of us to venture south so I wish you well Cousin Daisy. You're a pioneer.’
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