They strolled toward the study and Papa’s voice boomed out into the hallway. “I don’t trust the damned Germans. They’re up to something, I can feel it.” He was on his soap box again.
“Papa.” They entered the room and Wilhelmina paused, her back straightening as she smiled at the man their father railed at. “Cousin Ernest. How nice of you to join us. Isn’t it, Gertrude?”
“Indeed it is. Hello, Cousin Ernest. Papa.” She offered her cheek for a perfunctory peck from her cousin before taking a seat. Wilhelmina smiled and kissed her father’s cheek before approaching Ernest. Once she’d greeted him, she followed Gertrude and sat on the couch facing the fire. Conversation paused when Carter approached them with a tray and offered pre-dinner drinks.
“Thank you.” Wilhelmina lifted her glass. “What should we toast to? Papa, any war news on the horizon with the war that deserves recognition this evening?”
“I hardly think that’s an appropriate topic for you ladies to drink to.” He lifted his glass and took a sip. “Not the way the war is going. I can see it’s only going to be a matter of time before London takes the brunt of that Hun’s bad temper and we’ll get dragged in more and more.”
Ernest seemed shocked at the idea. “Surely not. I thought Winston Churchill had that frightful little man under control.”
“One would hope so, but I have my doubts. Although it is early days yet, he is coping better than Chamberlain did, that has to account for something, I suppose.” He scowled before downing the last of his sherry. With a distasteful humph, he put the empty glass on the small table next to his chair. “So long as he keeps them away from us, I shall sleep happy. Shall we go in to dinner? I hardly think we’ll impress cook if we let her meal ruin and goodness knows it’s getting harder and harder to get decent staff these days what with everyone rushing off to join the blasted war effort.”
The girls headed into the dining room ahead of the men. The long table was set at one end, leaving a large expanse of glossy timber bare. Seemed a shame to hold a proper dinner without Mama, so they hadn’t bothered. She’d always been the life of the party, whereas Papa had been the quieter of the two, content to sit and watch his lovely wife flit from one guest to the next ensuring everyone had a perfect evening.
My very own social butterfly, he’d often called her. Born on the estate, Amelia Foxborough had met the dashing young Jacob Wallace at her coming-out ball in Sydney in 1915 when he was stationed nearby. An officer who’d been on leave recuperating from an injury, he’d been invited along with other young soldiers and introduced as eligible dance partners when the lack of young men was noticeable. The fact that he came with very little money to his name made no difference to the awestruck young Amelia. She was smitten from the first moment their eyes had connected and couldn’t be swayed by either of her parents, who’d hoped for a better match for their only child.
His subsequent return to the war and her anxious wait for his return had only strengthened her love for him.
“Always marry for love, not money.” It was her catchcry to her daughters in a progressive world where a woman could choose whom she wished to marry, more so now than when she wed her husband. Had her mother been happy toward the end of her life with the man she’d chosen? Gertrude couldn’t be sure because of the way Papa had refused to discuss her once she was laid to rest. Perhaps his heart was too broken and she was being harsh in her criticism of him. People tended to deal with grief in many different ways.
Once seated and the dinner had been served, Wilhelmina started talking of her upcoming trip. “I would like to take Gertrude with me when I go to Sydney, Papa. It’s high time she was useful and lord knows I could certainly use the help.” She focused on him with a winning smile. “With the work I do here on the estate and Mama’s charities, it hardly leaves me time to find a suitable husband.”
A delicate but pointed barb at their father and his desire for Wilhelmina to marry well and produce the next in line. A move Wilz thought barbaric considering his humble beginnings and his introduction to the family as their mother’s penniless suitor. It was underhanded to use that excuse to get their own way, but if it worked, why not. Not a sound came from Ernest.
Papa frowned and glanced at his youngest daughter. “I fail to see how she can be of any use.”
Wilhelmina laughed. “Oh, dear Papa, if you only knew how much Mama had to contend with in Sydney. I seriously doubt I can do her justice with the added workload since the war broke out. Why, just last week I received a letter from Lady Ellen Bridges suggesting we hold a gala ball for the Red Cross to raise money enough to set up a hospital in Randwick. She is of the opinion that it’s the perfect spot to house returning soldiers from France, and considering the number of wounded, I can hardly deny her the help. I do think we need to look further for more appropriate buildings. It’s worth considering even if I know that I will be the one doing most of the work as per usual.” She took a sip of her wine. “Seriously though, if more of those ladies came up with constructive help rather than sitting around sipping tea, pretending to contribute to
