Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Read online

  I had been told once that I was a supreme optimist. This proved to be true. The flat was nowhere near the park. It was almost in Notting Hill. But the tall brick Victorian didn’t look too bad from the outside. Darcy rang the bell and a blowsy woman with a hard, foxy face answered it.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “We’ve come about the flat.”

  “Oh right.” She looked from Darcy to me. “You two are married, I take it. I don’t allow no hanky-panky in my place.”

  “We will be married when we move in. We’re marrying in about six weeks,” Darcy said.

  “You don’t want it for six weeks? I can’t hold it for you. Going like hotcakes, property around here.”

  “If we like it, we’ll take it now. We need time to furnish it,” Darcy said.

  “Right-oh. Come on, then, this way.” Instead of letting us in she came out of the front door and then down the steps behind the railings to a level below the street. She opened the front door and the smell hit us. Drains and unwashed bodies. The door opened straight into a living room with dark brown wallpaper. To one side was a kitchen with a small square window looking out onto a brick wall and at the back a bedroom that looked out onto a yard with dustbins. The ensemble was completed by a horror of a bathroom with a stained and rusted bathtub. I swallowed hard. Darcy glanced at me, then said, “I think it’s a little dark for us. We need more light.”

  “Suit yourselves,” she said. “Someone’s going to snap it up.”

  We waited until we were safely far away before I said, “Darcy, it was awful, wasn’t it?”

  “It was pretty grim,” he agreed.

  “Pretty grim? There wasn’t one redeeming feature.”

  “No, there wasn’t.” He sighed. “I suppose you pay extra for the neighborhood.”

  “The neighborhood? Darcy, it was on a mean little backstreet with dog poo on the pavement. And that woman—can you imagine? She’d be snooping in on us all the time.”

  He put an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry. There will be something better than this. I just thought we’d start with it because it was closer in. But I’ve an address to see in Chelsea.”

  “Chelsea’s nice,” I said. “Remember that time you were looking after a friend’s house there? Such a pretty little place and right on the river.”

  We headed for Chelsea and found that a closer description might have been Fulham. This one was on the top floor, up four flights of stairs, with a stained ceiling where the roof leaked and mold on the walls. Everything we touched felt damp. And the view was not of the river but of a gasometer.

  “Oh golly,” I said, taking Darcy’s hand. “Is this really all we can afford? I think I’d rather spend my time at the castle in Ireland than a place like this.”

  Darcy looked as crestfallen as I did. I could tell he was feeling badly about not being able to provide something better for his bride.

  “We could stretch our budget a little, I suppose. I did see an advertisement for a place in St. John’s Wood that sounded possible.”

  “Oh yes,” I said. “Let’s try St. John’s Wood.”

  We took the tube to Swiss Cottage and walked up a pleasant tree-lined street. My spirits began to perk up, especially when we stopped outside a big white block of flats. This was more like it. We were met by a very superior type of young man and he escorted us up in the lift.

  “It’s a trifle bijou, but I’m sure we will meet your needs,” he said. “Our flat dwellers are all most satisfied. We even had a titled lady here once. Lady Lockstone, is the name familiar to you? It was in all the society pages.”

  Darcy glanced at me and winked. “What happened to Lady Lockstone?” he asked.

  “Unfortunately she passed away. She was ninety-three after all.”

  We disembarked on the tenth floor. “I’m afraid the lift does not go up to the eleventh,” he said and led us up a narrow stair. “As I mentioned these apartments are a trifle bijou but for a young couple like yourselves who probably won’t have too much furniture . . .” He turned the key. It was essentially a room. Quite a decent-sized room, but it was an attic. The ceiling sloped down on one side so that we would have to be careful not to bang our heads when we got up from the sofa. Over in one corner there was a curtain around a sink and tiny stove. “The kitchen,” the superior young man said, pulling back the curtain like a magician revealing a rabbit. “So well designed and compact.”

  There was a dining area, a sofa and a bathroom so tiny that we could just squeeze between the sink and the bath to reach the loo. And . . . “Where is the bedroom?” I asked.

  “Ah.” He waved his hand like a magic wand and tugged at a string on a piece of paneled wall. This lowered into a bed. “Such a space-saving device,” he added. “Everything you need right at your fingertips.”

  “You’ll be able to reach out of bed and put on the tea and toast,” Darcy said with a straight face.

  “Will madam be bringing her maid?” he asked. “There are maids’ rooms on the floor above this one, for an extra fee, of course. And sir’s valet?”

  I looked at Darcy. Would I be bringing my maid? I had left Queenie in Ireland and wasn’t sure it would be fair to recall her, even if I wanted to. But could I exist entirely without a maid? I had tried at one stage but there were so many times when a maid was not only useful but essential—like when I needed someone to do up buttons down the back of dresses.

  “Will you want your maid?” Darcy asked. “As for me, I’ve learned to survive perfectly well without a valet, but my wife . . .”

  “I’m not sure,” I said.

  “It’s of no consequence,” the superior young man said. “You can add a maid to the lease at any time. Or a valet for that matter, should sir decide he needs one.”

  We descended again in the lift. I was feeling close to tears. I wanted to live with Darcy in our own dear little place, but not as little as this. And not damp and moldy and not in a dark basement. I wondered if I could ask Mummy to spring for a year’s rent as a wedding gift.

  “We’ll let you know,” Darcy said. We shook hands and departed.

  “Do you really think we could survive in a place that small?” I asked Darcy.

  “We’d probably murder each other within a few weeks,” he said. “Bijou indeed! The fellow had a nerve. No, there’s got to be something better out there, Georgie. I don’t want us to start married life in a place that would make you miserable.”

  “Neither do I,” I agreed. “But what are we going to do if this is all we can afford?”

  “Something will turn up,” he said. “I suppose your brother and sister-in-law wouldn’t consider letting us pay rent to use the London house when they are in Scotland?”

  “Don’t even think of it,” I said. “Fig wouldn’t even let me live there when I had nowhere else to go. And besides, I’d hate that. She’d count the spoons every time she came down to London.”

  “That’s too bad. It sits empty most of the year.”

  “I imagine a lot of houses do.”

  “I could ask around my friends—maybe one of them would consider subletting while they are away.”

  “Darcy, I don’t want someone’s charity or never knowing when they might want to come home and we’d have to get out.”

  “I agree it’s not ideal.” An idea came to him. “Perhaps your royal relatives have a grace-and-favor apartment to spare?” He grinned.

  “Not any longer,” I said. “I wouldn’t even dream of asking. Remember I’m not royal anymore.”

  We headed back to Eaton Square. By the time we turned the corner I was sunk into gloom. I hadn’t expected anything like Rannoch House or Eaton Square, but I had never imagined I’d actually be living in squalor. Eaton Square had never looked more desirable. A garden with flowering shrubs and tall shade trees in the center, sleek black motorcars with chauffeurs standing beside them. I swallowed back a tear, determined to put on a brave face for Zou Zou.

  “Better luck tomorrow, maybe?” Darcy said. Then he saw my face. “Cheer up, old thing. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “But they were all awful, Darcy.” My voice quavered. “I don’t expect to be living in a place like this. But at least I thought clean and bright and . . . happy.” Then, to my embarrassment, a tear trickled down my cheek.

  Darcy smiled and wiped the tear away. “Don’t worry. Something will show up. I promise. It’s not as if we’ll be on the streets. We do have a castle in Ireland, remember. That’s a lot better than most people who have to live in grimy backstreets all their lives.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m being silly. It’s just . . .”

  “Weddings are emotional events, I understand.” He took me into his arms, right there in Eaton Square. “You and I are going to have a wonderful life together, even if it means living in a shoe box, all right?”

  “All right,” I said, sniffing back another tear that threatened.

  He kissed the tip of my nose. “You’re adorable when you cry.”

  “No, I’m not. My face goes blotchy,” I said.

  “I think you’re adorable.” Then he kissed me properly.

  “Darcy, not here! What will people think?” I exclaimed, breaking away with some difficulty.

  “They’ll think what a charming young couple in love,” he said. “See that nursemaid over there? She’s smiling. Come on. Let’s go and tell Zou Zou about our horrors and make her laugh!”

  He took my hand and dragged me forward at a rapid pace.

  As we entered Zou Zou called out from the drawing room, “Is that you, my darlings? Tea is just about to be served. Come in and tell me all about it. Oh, and there’s a letter for you, Georgie.”

  I picked up the envelope from the salver on the hall table. It bore a lot of foreign stamps. Not Italian. Not German. I opened it, curious now. I didn’t recognize the handwriting and turned over the page to see the signature.

  Your affectionate godfather, Hubert Anstruther.

  “It’s from Sir Hubert,” I called out to Darcy. “He must have heard about our wedding and is wishing me well.”

  It was headed from a place I had never heard of in Chile. I started to read.

  My dear Georgiana,

  I understand that congratulations are in order. I have just seen the announcement of your engagement in a copy of the Times that someone brought out from London. Well done. I remember O’Mara’s father when we were at Oxford together. He rowed well. I am currently in Chile, where we have been attempting a couple of unclimbed peaks, so it looks almost impossible that I shall be able to make it back to Britain in time for your wedding.

  However, I do want to offer you an early wedding present.

  My spirits started to rise; Sir Hubert was known to be generous.

  As you know you are now my sole heir and one day will inherit Eynsleigh. I remember how happy you were as a little girl when you lived there and wondered if you’d like to recall those happy days. It pains me that the house is left unoccupied for much of the time. It should be lived in and enjoyed by a family, which I hope you will soon have. I want to picture small children running naked through the fountain like you used to do!

  I’m not sure if you have a place in mind to live or plan to settle over in Ireland, but I’d like to propose that you move into Eynsleigh right away and have time to arrange the place to your liking before your wedding day. Naturally I shall be home from time to time, more frequently as I get older, I suspect, but I’d like you to feel the place is yours. I’ll merely keep a suite of rooms in one wing: a bedroom, sitting room and study will be ample.

  It may be that you are planning a place in town but I have to point out there is a first-class train service from Haywards Heath station on the Brighton Line. You can be in town in half an hour. And of course the Bentley is at your disposal. So what do you say? I’ll notify the servants of your arrival and do so much hope that I’ll find you well ensconced there by the time I manage to return home.

  “Golly,” I said. I was tempted to say “bloody hell” but a lady never swears within the hearing of others.

  “What is it?” Darcy asked. “You’ve gone quite pink.”

  I held out the letter to him. “It’s Sir Hubert Anstruther. I’m his heir and he wants us to move into his house in Sussex right away. He says he’s hardly ever there and it should have a family in it.”

  “Well, I call that splendid,” Zou Zou said. “All your problems solved.”

  “Just a minute, Georgie,” Darcy said, looking up from the letter and frowning. “How does he think we can afford to run a big place like that?”

  “Oh crikey.” The bubble was pricked suddenly.

  Then he laughed and said, “It’s all right. There’s a postscript. Listen: There should be sufficient funds coming into the household account every month to enable you to run the place to your liking.”

  Darcy opened his arms and hugged me, swinging me around like a small child.

  “You’re going to be mistress of Eynsleigh!” he crowed.

  “It sounds frightfully Jane Austen,” Zou Zou said, “but I couldn’t be more happy for you.”

  “Neither could I,” I said. “It’s a lovely place. I was very happy when I was there. I can’t wait to show it to you, Darcy. Sir Hubert has the nicest old butler and housekeeper, and a cook who used to let me lick the spoons when she was making a cake.”

  Darcy observed my face, now flushed with excitement. “We’ll go down as soon as we’ve sorted out final details here.”

  “I’ll miss you, my children,” Zou Zou said. “And of course you are welcome to stay here at any time. But I really should be getting back to Ireland. I miss my racehorses too.”

  Darcy raised an eyebrow and I grinned.

  As I was folding up the letter again I noticed the second postscript:

  Frankly I should be happy to know that you are keeping an eye on the place. I get the feeling that all might not be as it should be at Eynsleigh.

  Chapter 8

  FINAL DAYS AT EATON SQUARE

  JUNE 22 AND 23

  I am so excited. Mistress of my own house! Imagine that. And close enough to London that I can pop up on the train and see my grandfather—strike that—my grandfather can come and see me. I don’t think I can stomach Mrs. Huggins ruling the roost at Granddad’s house. And wanting me to call her Granny or Nanny! Golly.

  Now that I was moving to the country, there were so many things to do before I went. I made a list: See Belinda about wedding dress. See Mummy about shopping. See Fig about reception. Visit church and finalize wedding. On Sunday morning I went to mass with Darcy at the church on Farm Street in Mayfair. I had expected it to be gloomy, as other Catholic churches seemed to be, but this one was gorgeous. Larger than I had expected and with a beautiful high altar and decoration. Afterward we met a priest who invited us into the rectory for coffee. He was charming and witty and didn’t seem at all overawed that Their Majesties planned to attend the ceremony.

  “If I preach a good sermon we might even convert them,” he said with a wicked smile.

  I came away happy that we had a place and a date. We went into Hyde Park, sat on a bench in leafy shade and mapped out a guest list. Mine was rather small, apart from the entire royal family and the crowned heads of Europe. I knew Darcy had a large group of friends, many of whom seemed to be female. We trimmed it down to fifty (not counting the crowned heads of Europe or the royal family).

  “We don’t really want sundry royals, do we?” Darcy asked.

  “I don’t. The queen thinks I should invite them. I have to invite the great-aunts—you know, Queen Victoria’s last surviving daughters who live at Kensington Palace. They were jolly nice to me. And the immediate family. I suppose I should invite Nicholas of Bulgaria and his wife. We were involved in their wedding, weren’t we?”

  “Oh yes. I like good old Nicholas. And his brother too.”

  “I remember that Belinda liked his brother a little too much. I don’t want to start anything there again. . . .”

  “All right. No brother. And I take it you don’t want Siegfried of Romania?” He laughed at my face.

  “Absolutely bloody not,” I said firmly.

  “Then invite Nicholas and Maria and the Windsors. That’s enough royalty for anyone’s wedding.”

  “I don’t know about my cousin David,” I said thoughtfully. “I do like him and I see quite a lot of him, one way or another, but he’ll bring her and that will make the king and queen furious.”

  “Then limit it to just the king and queen,” he said.

  “But the princesses want to be bridesmaids. So I’ll have to invite the Yorks. And I was a bridesmaid at the Kents’ wedding so I’ll have to invite them. Then David will feel odd being left out.” I looked up at Darcy. “Golly, this is getting so complicated, isn’t it? I do wish we’d managed to elope.”

  Darcy took my face in his hands. “Invite who you want, my darling. It’s your day. I want you to enjoy it.”

  Then he kissed me, right there in Hyde Park with nannies pushing prams past us and children running ahead. What’s more, I didn’t stop him this time. It felt wonderful. This is all that matters, I thought. Darcy and me.

  * * *

  ON MONDAY MORNING Darcy had business to attend to while I went to Belinda.

  She was most put out when she found I was leaving London. “What about fittings?” she asked. “And you haven’t even approved a final sketch, and we need to choose fabrics together.”

  “I can come up to town, Belinda. It’s not as if I’m going to darkest Africa. And you could come down to stay and we could have fittings and tea on the lawn and play tennis and generally have fun.”

  “That does sound enticing.” She smiled. “I’m so glad things are working out for you, Georgie. Working out for both of us, actually. Come and see the mock-up for the dresses I’ve designed for the princesses.”