”I thought I did … till now.” She sighed and helped herself to more bacon.
“It won’t be a young lady the Countess has to launch, it will be an elephant,” said Philip with brotherly candour, for there was no doubt that she was putting on weight. I think her nervousness made her eat more than otherwise she would have done.
I left them at the table but Philip caught me up.
“Perhaps today,” he said. “The late afternoon and we’ll get there about half past six. You’ll enjoy it. Ask your grandmother.”
When I told Grand’mere she seemed very pleased.
“I like him,” she said. “He’s the best of the bunch.”
Since she was so pleased I could look forward to the evening with even greater pleasure.
Philip was an expert with the oars. He said he liked rowing and had had plenty of practice at the University, so we could trust ourselves with him.
“I shall be in London a great deal now,” he told us. “This morning I have been to Spitalfields. There is a lot to be learned.”
Grand’mere said: “Your brother does not share your enthusiasm.”
“True,” agreed Philip. “In a way I’m rather pleased. I fancy it will give me a freer hand. I should hate interference.”
“He will be a sort of sleeping partner,” I said.
“Even the most prosperous business cannot afford sleeping partners,” stated Grand’mere. “It is necessary for all to do their share.”
”I don’t think he has the feeling for silk … or for business. Charles ought to go into Parliament… or law or something.”
“I am sure you will be successful,” I told him.
His brow clouded a little. “Do you know,” he said, “I think my father’s stroke was brought about through anxiety.”
“I think that could be very likely,” agreed Grand’mere.
“Do you mean he was worried about business?” I asked.
Philip nodded. “Things are not quite what they should be. I wouldn’t say this to anyone else, but you have always understood, Lenore, and as for you, Madame Cleremont, you are part of the business. No, certainly things are not what they should be.”
“I gathered that from your father some time ago,” said Grand’mere.
“It’s these foreign imports,” Philip explained. “Sales of our silks have declined and they go on declining.”
“Do you think there should be a duty on foreign goods?” I asked.
He was thoughtful. “It would be useful, of course. We could then price our materials higher. We would not have to compete so rigorously. But whether one believes in free trade or not is a big question. One has to ask oneself whether one would wish for it on other commodities. It would hardly be fair to expect a tariff on what suits us. Do we want it on silk because we are limping along?”
“What we need,” put in Grand’mere, “is to find some new style of weaving … something that produces a beautiful material … better in every way from what we have already.”
“A secret method,” I suggested.
“Exactly!” cried Philip, his eyes shining. “A secret method of producing something which has never been produced before with no one else knowing how it is done.”
“Wouldn’t they soon discover?” I asked.
“They might, but they would not be allowed to use it. There is such a thing as a patent. It prevents people by law from stealing someone else’s invention.”
“What a good thing!”
“First we have to find the invention,” said Philip ruefully. “Oh, here we are.”
We tied up the boat and climbed the stairs to the footpath.
“Greenwich has always appealed to me,” said Philip, “because it was one of the headquarters used by the Huguenot refugees. I always wonder whether my ancestors came here before they went to Spitalfields. They even have their own chapel here. I don’t think it is in existence now. And here is the Crown and Sceptre.”
The inn had bow windows to enable those seated there to get a good view of the river.
“They are noted for their whitebait,” said Philip, “so we must have that. Do you like whitebait, Madame Cleremont?”
“It depends,” replied Grand’mere. “It has to be freshly caught, I believe.”
“You can rely on that here.”
The innkeeper’s wife came up to talk to us. She knew Philip so obviously he was a frequent visitor. He would like to think of his ancestors coming here all those years ago.
”I was assuring my friends that the whitebait would be fresh,” he said.
“Why, bless you,” said the woman. “This morning it was swimming in the sea.”
“And you have the secret of cooking them just as they should be.”
“Oh, it is no secret. It is the only way to serve whitebait to my mind. I remember my mother throwing them into a layer of flour, all spread out on a cloth and shaking them to make sure they were all covered. Then they are thrown into a cauldron of boiling fat … just for a minute or so … then drain ‘em off and they’re ready to eat. Now you must be quick or they’ll lose their crispness. Served up with a sprinkling of lemon and a dash of cayenne pepper and they’re a real treat. And they should be washed down with the right liquid … say, some punch or iced champagne.”
“Which shall it be?” asked Philip.
We settled for the iced champagne.
Over this, Philip said:’ ‘My brother and I are going to France shortly. My father is hoping that our connections in Villers-Mure will let us work there for a short while. He is sure that we have a great deal to learn … discover how other people do things … get new ideas for the business.” He looked at Grand’mere. “It is your old home. What do you think? Is it a good idea?”
“It’s always useful to find out how people do things in other countries,” said Grand’mere.
“I wish we could produce right from the very start. I’ve often thought we should set up in India or China, which is the right sort of environment. In some parts of China I believe the silkworm is reared out of doors. That would surely get the best results. As it is we have to import our raw materials.”
”Even in Villers-Mure they have to have artificial heat for the mulberries,” said Grand’mere. “It is really cheaper to have the materials brought into the country and concentrate on the weaving.”
“Of course you are right,” said Philip. He turned to me. “Are we boring you with all this talk, Lenore?”
“Not in the least.”
“Lenore is interested in silk and I think she has a special feeling for the finished product,” said Grand’mere.
“I expect you will be coming up to town quite a lot now.”
”Why?” asked Grand’mere.
“Well, Julia will be here.”
“She will not need us,” I said. “She will be involved in social activities.”
“For which Lenore does not qualify,” added Grand’mere.
“Oh, Lenore is too young as yet.”
“I shall soon be sixteen,” I said.
“You seem older, doesn’t she, Madame Cleremont? So much more sensible than Julia.”
“This is my upbringing,” said Grand’mere. “Lenore is not in Julia’s position. There will be no bringing out for her.”
“I am glad of that,” said Philip earnestly.
“Why?” asked Grand’mere sharply.
“I don’t think it would suit Lenore … to be paraded. It’s all right for Julia … not Lenore.”
“You think Lenore is not one of the family and therefore …”
“I am thankful that she is not one of the family.”
He took my hand and pressed it and I saw Grand’mere’s eyes were shining. “I think,” she said, “that you and I feel that there is something rather … how do you say? … special about my granddaughter.”
“You and I seem to be in agreement about almost everything, Madame Cleremont.”