Friday's Girl Read online

  ‘No lady should discuss Mr Ruskin’s essays at a reception, Mrs Todd, they are far too sensational.’

  Edith smiled mischievously at Alfred, knowing at once that he must be a fellow spirit.

  Celandine could not help feeling amused when she saw that the introduction she had effected had made such an impact on Edith, not to mention on Alfred himself. It was probably farfetched, but for a few seconds at least she had actually imagined that Alfred had lost colour when he saw Edith coming into the room. Certainly, many minutes later, he was still standing by the side of the vision Edith made in her old-fashioned blue silk and muslin ball gown, her glorious auburn hair glinting in the light of the dozens of candles that Aunt Biddy had insisted upon lighting long before the guests started arriving – with the result that they were now creating a heat which must be making the gentlemen envy their wives their low-cut dresses.

  Once Russo had shouted the last of the guests into the room, he took it upon himself to announce dinner.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, tea is served!’ he bellowed.

  This was almost the last straw for the already flustered Aunt Biddy. She had to take out her fan and wave it frantically, moving quickly between the guests.

  ‘Please take no notice of Russo,’ she kept saying. ‘Take no notice of him, he actually means dinner, of course he does. We may live in Cornwall, but we do dine at eight along with the London fashionables, really we do. We dine at eight, and we have dinner not tea. Gracious, we are not so old-fashioned not to dine at eight, really we are not.’

  The guests, immediately feeling for her concern, and realising that their appetites were quite ready to be appeased, quickly moved in to dinner.

  And what a dinner! It was a meal of seven or eight courses which, while being served at a fashionable hour, was served in a reassuring and sturdily old-fashioned manner by young girls from the town dressed in the traditional Cornish style with lace-edged aprons and stiff starched headdresses.

  Aunt Biddy liked to eat and what was more she knew how everyone else liked to eat, if they were able, with the result that she had composed the menu herself, starting with such dishes as pigeons in jelly and oyster pies, and going on to turkey and lamb, and chicken and tongue, cabinet pudding and wine jelly, peaches and grapes, and any amount of Cornish cream to accompany the fruits and the puddings. And that was all before the magnificent wedding cake was wheeled in to cheers from all those in the room.

  The musicians arrived at ten o’clock and the guests were encouraged to retire to the larger room where chairs had been placed along the walls and dancing began as the servants cleared the dining room in preparation for supper – consisting of small sandwiches, ham croquettes and tiny chicken pies, not to mention cut meats rolled into neat shapes and corner dishes of lobster and crab salads, and potatoes kept hot over dishes of boiling water. Fruit jellies and small cream puddings stood at the back and side laid à la française.

  ‘You will dance with me, won’t you? You will dance first with me, and no one else?’

  Edith, who had been temporarily separated from her party and was trying gamely to make headway with an old, deaf sea captain from the town, turned, half hoping that it was Napier’s voice she was hearing above the din of the musicians tuning up, the sound of the guests’ voices laughing and talking, and the distant sea heard dimly through the windows whenever there was a lull in the conversation, such as when grace had been said by the parson.

  ‘I should love to have a dance with you,’ she agreed at once, concealing her disappointment that it was not Napier but Alfred Talisman who was asking her. She excused herself from her table, escaping from the old sea dog with some relief, and moved into the middle of the room.

  Edith had always loved to dance. In the dear old days at the Stag, when her mother was still alive, Mama had used to play the piano for her daughter to dance with other young friends under the instruction of a dancing teacher. Later, when her father remarried and Edith joined the maids’ dormitories in the attic rooms, in the long summer evenings when it was difficult for the young girls to sleep they all delighted in copying what they had seen their elders and betters do whenever there was a celebration at the old inn. Edith’s ability to dance gained her considerable popularity among all the other maids, since she had a particularly fine eye for the details of a dance pattern.

  ‘I am so much the better for that!’ Edith smiled with delight at Alfred after the first two dances. ‘You are the perfect partner, Mr Talisman.’

  Alfred turned reluctantly as he felt a tap on his shoulder, and saw Napier standing at his elbow.

  ‘It would be a courtesy, Mr Talisman, if you would allow me to dance with my wife—’

  ‘I am sorry, Napier.’ Edith glanced down at her dance card, which had been rapidly filled up in the short pause between the first and second dances by men who could not wait to boast that they had danced with the belle of the evening. ‘I have not a dance free until’ – she looked at the names on her card – ‘until the seventh.’

  Alfred smiled privately at the expression on Napier’s face.

  ‘My dear fellow, don’t look so shocked. Your wife is the most popular young woman at the party. You will have to sit it out with the rest of us until it is your turn.’

  Napier frowned. ‘But I have precedence over everyone else. Edith is my wife.’

  ‘Not at a dance, she isn’t,’ Alfred said affably. ‘Etiquette is that you must give way to those on her dance card, old chap. Just a fact, but a fact it is. And this one I think is mine to claim.’

  Napier drew himself up. ‘Alfred, I hardly think—’

  But Alfred had led Edith away, and there was nothing much that Napier could do but sit down and watch and wait.

  As it happened, Celandine and Sheridan had also elected to sit out and watch the rest of the party, and it was with some amusement that they sat beside a silent Napier watching him watching Edith dancing.

  ‘I fear I have been overshadowed by Edith this evening,’ Celandine murmured to Sheridan and Alfred, pretending to look put out, while fanning herself with one of Aunt Biddy’s many hand-painted Spanish fans.

  The truth was that the gas lighting would have made the rooms warm enough, but with Aunt Biddy’s insistence on lighting the candelabra they had become excessively hot, even though the windows were open. Indeed, the air was so still that the curtains hardly moved, despite there being white tops to the waves far out to sea on the distant horizon.

  Sheridan took Celandine’s hand and kissed it. ‘No one could overshadow you in my eyes, my sweet, particularly not in my eyes, particularly not since you are wearing your wedding dress. But certainly I will admit that young Edith Todd is turning all heads tonight. No wonder there are so many people lining up to claim a dance with her.’

  ‘And they will boast of it for months, for there are not that many beauties in Cornwall.’ Celandine nodded towards Alfred and Edith, who were dancing together again.

  Napier stood up and left them, returning as the music finished, at last to claim his dance with Edith just as Celandine lowered her fan and turned her attention back to the dance floor.

  ‘Do look, Sherry: wonder of all wonders, Napier is now dancing with Edith. It is his turn at last.’

  They watched with interest as their friends danced, both noting that Napier for once seemed to be paying attention to Edith.

  ‘Nothing like a little competition,’ Celandine remarked, feeling rather pleased.

  ‘Which Alfred seems quietly adept at providing,’ Sheridan remarked drily. ‘Now I am going to find our hostess and dance with her.’ Sheridan turned to see Alfred standing nearby.

  ‘And I am going outside to smoke a quiet cigarette and contemplate the beautiful moon,’ Alfred announced. ‘That after all is what bachelors are meant to do, are they not?’

  ‘Not all bachelors. Some of them try to find a nice girl to marry.’ Sheridan leaned forward and touched Celandine on the arm. ‘Will you be all right on your own for
a little while?’

  ‘I will be perfectly all right, in every way.’ Celandine smiled, and then seeing Captain Black making a beeline towards her she half closed her eyes, already knowing her fate. ‘Although if I spy what I think I spy coming towards me, I shall not be alone for long, alas.’

  Celandine had now turned the old sea dog away three times, so a fourth refusal was out of the question. Without Sheridan to whisk her back on to the dance floor she would have to agree to partner the old chap in the next dance.

  ‘My dear lady, as I have already stated some few times,’ Captain Black began, ‘it would do me the greatest honour if you could partner me in this—’

  ‘Of course.’ Celandine sprang to her feet, smiling, her heart sinking as she noticed that the old dear had such an importance of a stomach, and such large feet, she was sure he was going to put at least one of them through her wedding dress, and that was before he tried to hold her, despite his well-fed protrusion.

  Outside, Alfred sauntered down to the water’s edge for a quiet smoke, and leaning against one of the friendly old boats that had already become part of the scenery to him he lit a cigarette. It tasted delicious in the open air, and he enjoyed it so much that not content with leaning against the beached vessel he daringly climbed into it and made himself comfortable against the sides, feet propped up, cigarette glowing in the darkness.

  It was not long before he heard voices coming towards him on the evening air, voices that were raised above a whisper but kept lower than a normal conversational level, voices that he recognised, saying things that he knew he should not be hearing, that he was certainly not supposed to hear, but unfortunately he could hear because in the still of the summer night, with the seagulls quietened and the sea like a mill pond, even the inhalation of a cigarette sounded loud.

  ‘You are my wife, Edith,’ Napier was saying, a little too insistently.

  ‘I am perfectly aware of that, Napier. It is just a little difficult for me to remember it when there are other men around.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that since I am not, and have never been, your wife in the true sense of the word, I cannot help but be pleased with the attentions of other men. It is just a fact, Napier: if a wife is neglected she will inevitably become flattered by others.’

  ‘I do not think you should feel flattered by others, Edith. It is not seemly for a married woman to have her head turned.’

  ‘Perhaps not, Napier, but the truth is that if your husband takes no interest in you, you will take interest in others. Now I must go in. I have to dance with Colonel Head; I promised him the waltz. Lady Alicia – his wife, you know – says he dances quite beautifully!’

  Celandine had changed partners and was no longer dancing with the well-upholstered sea captain but with Napier. At least Celandine was meant to be dancing with Napier, but from the way Napier kept looking round for Edith, Celandine felt she might as well not be dancing with anyone at all.

  ‘Gracious, Mr Todd, sir, will you please try to pay a little more attention?’ she murmured in a lightly teasing voice. ‘You just trod on my dance shoe.’

  For a second Napier looked contrite. ‘I am so sorry, Celandine, really I truly am.’

  ‘You look severely troubled. Why not tell me your problem and I will try to help you, because it will be a great deal less painful than having my toes assassinated.’

  ‘I can’t see Edith anywhere. She was outside with me taking some air, and now—’

  Celandine’s eyes took on a sphinx-like expression, which happily Napier did not notice. ‘If you wanted to dance with Edith, Napier, it might have been wise to ask her, and not me, surely?’

  ‘I tell you I have not seen my wife since we came back into the house from the garden. We had an exchange of words, which we have never had before. She is usually so gentle.’

  Napier looked so genuinely puzzled at the notion that anyone could disagree with him that Celandine found herself almost feeling sorry for him. Almost, but not quite.

  ‘You can make it up to her later, I should have thought,’ she said lightly. ‘After all, you will still be taking her home with you, surely?’

  There was a short silence during which Napier’s handsome face seemed set and he actually appeared to be considering leaving his wife behind.

  ‘Yes, of course I will be taking her home, which is why it would be a good notion to find her, I should have thought.’

  ‘Have you considered that she might be in the supper room?’ Celandine suggested, adopting the kind of voice you might use to a child. ‘As soon as you came back in from the garden, Colonel Head took her on to the dance floor while you went to replenish your glass, but immediately the waltz was over Alfred claimed her again. Perhaps he took her in to supper?’

  ‘Edith having supper with Alfred? Well, there will be little harm to that, I should have thought. Except—’ Napier stopped, frowning. ‘Except she might be stupid enough to believe him if he makes sheep’s eyes at her – she is so young for her age, even now.’

  ‘Edith,’ Celandine stated, ‘is not stupid. I grant you she is young, but being stupid and being young are two very different things, Napier.’

  ‘No, really, Edith is stupid, most especially about her health and suchlike matters. I know, believe you me, I do.’

  They continued dancing in an increasingly forlorn manner, while Celandine found herself struggling not to tell Napier that it was he who was stupid, and Napier found himself struggling with a new anxiety about his wife.

  ‘I hope Edith has not been foolish enough to go for another walk, not on her own, and not along the seashore. She is only recently out of her sick bed—’

  ‘Ow! Please mind where you put your feet, Mr Todd, sir!’

  Napier looked contrite, and Celandine relieved, as the dance at last came to an end and Sheridan came over to claim her, at which point Napier left them.

  Sheridan stared after him. ‘I fear there might be going to be trouble between Alfred and Napier, Celandine. Alfred has hardly left Edith’s side. For one so reticent he can make his feelings rather too plain.’

  Celandine, trying not to laugh at the un-doubted success of her plan, nodded her head towards the disappearing figure of Napier, rapidly weaving his way through the other guests and out towards the garden, the harbour and the seashore. ‘Napier has gone in search of Edith in the garden. Silly fool thinks she has taken herself off for a walk along the seashore again. Let him look; I happen to know that Alfred and Edith have just gone into the supper room.’

  Sheridan sighed. ‘I fear there is going to be trouble.’

  Celandine’s expression was enigmatic. She would not tell Sheridan, who she was well aware could be over-sensitive in some ways, and not quite sensitive enough in others – she could not tell him that she had only that morning suggested to Alfred that he pay attention to young Edith, for the sake of her marriage, to make Napier jealous. It would not be the kind of thing that Sheridan would understand.

  It had been a good plan, and by intention a worthy plan, and one that was already working quite beautifully, except that she now thought that Alfred might have actually succeeded in convincing himself that he had really fallen in love with Edith. Certainly, watching him, Celandine was sure that from the moment Edith had caught Alfred’s eye there had ceased to be anyone else in the room for him, but then that had been the case for most of the men at the party.

  As she watched Napier disappearing into the night to try to find his wife, Celandine could not help thinking with some relish that Napier’s anxiety as to her whereabouts could only be healthy for poor Edith’s marriage.

  ‘Six pennies, or even six shillings, for your thoughts, Mrs Montague Robertson.’

  ‘You will need to lay out a great deal more money than that, Sherry. Now, how much for yours?’

  It was Sheridan’s turn to look enigmatic. He could not tell Celandine his thoughts; she would be too shocked. Instead, he took her by the hand, and led her
on to the dance floor.

  ‘I am a very lucky man,’ he told her, holding her tight and determined to change the subject, and as Celandine looked up into his eyes she thought that after all she did not really need to guess his thoughts.

  ‘Don’t let’s stop dancing,’ she confided, the look in her eyes softening. ‘After all, it is our night of celebration, and I do not think I have ever been happier, and nor do I think that I really deserve to be this happy, do you know that? But there you are, it must be borne!’

  This, as it was meant to do, distracted Sheridan. It also distracted Celandine, so much so that she found it was not until after returning home, and a night of sumptuous love, that her thoughts once more reverted to Edith, by which time, although she did not know it, there was very little she could do to help Edith, whose life had taken yet another irrevocable turn.

  Chapter Seven

  Edith opened her eyes slowly, feeling the cool of Mrs Harvey’s linen sheets against her naked body. She turned, and seeing the second half of the bed beside her empty, she smiled.

  At last it had happened. Napier had loved her, passionately and completely, and she had loved him loving her. She propped up several of what she now thought of as his pillows behind her and thought not just about their lovemaking, but about the evening which had preceded it.

  Napier had suddenly appeared, looking . . . well, as she had never seen him look before.

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded, taking her by the elbow and trying to guide her away from Alfred and out of the supper room.

  ‘Napier, I had rather not be handled like a parcel.’ Fortified by more than one glass of Aunt Biddy’s wine cup, Edith determinedly backed away from him, intent on showing him that he could not take her away from her supper. ‘I have been in here, taking supper with everyone else.’

  She glanced around the room, embarrassed by Napier’s overt attentions, and trying not to see the look in Alfred’s eyes as her husband threatened to make her do as he wished, rather than let her finish her supper.