“Well, Maisie, I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere but a guest room tonight. From here I can see that the avenue down to the main road is barely passable now. In fact, you should bring your motor around to the stable yard and get it under cover.”
“But I must—”
“Please don’t argue. We never allow guests to leave impaired by wine or weather. Now at least Piers can impress you with his 1929 elderflower!”
“NOLLY’S ABSOLUTELY RIGHT, you simply cannot expect to drive as far as Chelstone in this weather—it’s probably even worse over toward Tonbridge anyway. No, you must stay, mustn’t she, Emsy, Piers?” Georgina looked at her mother and father while her sister poured glasses of sherry from the tray just brought into the room by Mrs. Gower.
Maisie acquiesced. “Thank you for your hospitality. I do have to ask a favor, though—I’ve left my bag at my father’s house and I should really telephone him so that he won’t worry about me.”
“Of course, my dear. Nolly, do show Maisie the telephone. Let’s just hope the lines aren’t down, you never know. The good news is that, according to Jenkins, who came to the door just after you left, this little lot should clear with ease tomorrow morning. He said—his words—that it was the light fluffy stuff, not the hard stuff, so he’ll be over with Jack and Ben to clear the avenue first thing.”
“Not the tractor?”
“No, the horses.”
“That silly man!” Nolly cursed as she led Maisie to the telephone in the entrance hall.
Having assured her father that she was safe with friends, Maisie moved the MG to a spare stall in the stable block. Originally built to house fifteen horses, the stables were now home to four hunters, with other stalls kept for storage and for horses belonging to the paying guests welcomed by Nolly Grant. Returning to the house, she was shown to a guest room by Georgina.
“Good, the fire’s been lit, and Mrs. Gower has laid out fresh towels for you. Here, let me show you, there’s a bathroom next door. It’s a bit old, you could do a lap or two in the bathtub. I’ll bring along some nightclothes for you, and a dress for dinner, though it may be a bit big. Nolly likes to keep up appearances and as much as she annoys me, she’s stuck down here, so I just go along with it. We never did that sort of thing when we were growing up, so she was always embarrassed to bring friends home. Shame really.” Georgina smiled, waving as she left the room. “Drinks in about half an hour, then we’ll have dinner. I think it’s roast duck this evening.”
Maisie looked around the room. The wooden paneling must have once been dark brown, varnished then waxed to a glorious shine. Now it was painted in different colors, a checkerboard of green and yellow with a blue border. In each yellow square, someone had painted a geometric interpretation of a butterfly, a moth or a bee on the flower. Above the blue picture rail, a golden spider’s web ran up to and across the ceiling, with the center of the web at exactly the point at which the light fixture had been added.
“Caught in the Bassington-Hope web!” Maisie smiled to herself as she contemplated the serendipitous assignment of guest room. She walked through to the bathroom, which was mercifully plain, she thought, painted in white, with white tiles surrounding the ancient claw-footed bath and covering the floor. A dark oak chair was situated in one corner and a matching towel rail in another. As she leaned over to turn on the taps, however, she noticed that both pieces of furniture had likely been made to match the room, for the chair had a butterfly carved as if it had just landed on the back, and the towel rail bore a wooden spider climbing along one side. Returning to the bedroom, a closer inspection of the counterpane revealed a patchwork design of garden insects, with needlepoint cushions on the window seat crafted to match. As the bath filled with piping-hot water, Maisie turned to see a poem painted on the back of the door. It was a simple verse, a child’s poem. No doubt the room was the work of Georgina and Nick together, the furniture had been made by Piers, with the counterpane and cushions designed by Emma. Was every room in this house an exhibition of the Bassington-Hopes’ artistry? And if so, how did Nolly feel about being excluded from the hive of activity, for thus far Maisie had seen no evidence of her involvement.
Maisie found Piers to be most solicitous toward his wife and daughters, formally crooking his left elbow for Emma to rest her hand and be escorted into the dining room, then stepping aside for his daughters and Maisie to enter first. He led Emma to one end of the table, made sure she was comfortable, then waited for the women to be seated before taking his place opposite his wife. Emma was wearing a deep-red velvet gown with a black shawl around her shoulders. Her gray hair had been brushed back, but remained loose, neither braided nor coiled.
“Now you’ll be treated to Daddy’s wines!” Georgina reached for her table-napkin, then turned to Piers. “What are we having this evening to grace the duck, Daddy?”
Piers smiled. “Last year’s damson.”
“Fruity with an oakish balance,” added Georgina.
“Utter tosh!” Nolly reached for her glass, as Gower, now dressed in formal attire, served a rich blood-red wine from a crystal decanter. “Not the wine, of course, Daddy, but Georgina’s description, as usual trimmed with lace!”
“Girls, please! Let’s not bicker in front of our guest.”
“Hear, hear, Em, hear, hear.” Piers raised an eyebrow in mock annoyance, then reached out to place a hand on the hand of each daughter. “They may be grown women, Maisie, but together they can be like cats!”
“And when Nick was here, why—”
Maisie looked from Emma to Piers. The head of the Bassington-Hope household had released his daughters’ hands, and now looked down, shaking his head.
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have.” Emma shook her head, admonishing herself. “It was the wrong moment, with us all together here, and with company.”
“If you would excuse me—” Piers placed his table-napkin next to his still-full glass and left the room.
Nolly pushed back her chair, as if to follow her father.
“Noelle!” Emma used her elder daughter’s Chistian name, which, Maisie noticed, caused her to turn immediately. “Let your father have a moment. We all feel grief, and we never know when it might catch us. For Piers, it is as a father for his son, and none of us know how deeply that might touch the heart.”
“Emsy’s right, you know, Nolly, you always think you can—”
“Enough, Georgina. Enough!” Emma turned to Maisie and smiled. “Now then, Maisie, I understand that you are good friends with Lady Rowan Compton. Did you know we were presented at court in the same year?”
Maisie held her wineglass by the stem and leaned aside as Mrs. Gower served pea soup from the tureen. She smiled at her hostess. “What a coincidence! No, I didn’t know. I bet she was quite a firebrand in her day.”
“My goodness, yes. In fact, I think that’s why I quite admired her, you know. After all, neither of us really enjoyed that sort of thing, though one was terribly honored to be presented to Her Majesty. Of course, she went off and married Julian Compton—he was considered quite the catch—when, according to my mother, her mother feared that she might take up with that funny man, what was his name?” She tapped the table, trying to remember.
“Maurice Blanche?” offered Maisie.
“Yes, that’s the one. Of course, he’s very famous now, isn’t he?”
Maisie nodded.
“And I—thank heavens,” continued Emma, “found an artist who saw the world from eyes like mine, and who also had a name, much to my parents’ delight.”
“Talking about how fortunate you were to bag me, eh, Emsy?”
“Darling, yes I am!” Emma Bassington-Hope’s eyes glistened as her husband entered the room once again, taking his place at the head of the table.