During the little talk that followed, Lady Chalford poured out all her misgivings over the future of Eugenia into Poppy’s sympathetic ear. ‘You see how it is,’ she said, ‘dear Poppy. Now what should you advise me to do with the poor child?’
‘Personally I should be inclined to take her out in London,’ said Poppy. ‘Everything is so changed there, since the War, and people are by no means as strict as they were.’
‘My dear, that may well be the case in certain circles,’ said Lady Chalford stiffly. ‘Among my own friends, however, and those people with whom I should wish my granddaughter to visit, I am convinced that she would never be received. And even if, out of charity or friendship for me, people did invite her to their houses, it would still be most painful to me. What pleasure could I derive, for instance, from taking the child of a divorced woman to Court? The scandal nearly killed both my husband and myself at the time; with Eugenia making a début in London we must continually be reminded of it. To begin with, neither of us has set foot inside Malmains Palace since the last day of that terrible trial. And then consider what anxiety I should feel in chaperoning her. Eugenia is the child of a bad, wicked woman, never forget that. No, I assure you that it would be impossible for me to take her out in London. My only wish is that she may marry as soon as may be. But whom? This Mr Aspect, now, what should you say are his intentions?’
‘Oh, I’m sure he thinks of her as a child,’ said Poppy. ‘She is so young, isn’t she, and young for her age at that. I shouldn’t marry her off just yet, Lady Chalford. I think that would be a mistake if I may say so. Why don’t you entertain for her down here? Give a garden party, for instance, and perhaps a ball later on, in the autumn. There must be some nice young people in the neighbourhood?’
Lady Chalford considered for a little while and then said: ‘This seems to me, dear Poppy, a most excellent plan. I will mention it to my husband this evening, and if he agrees we will give a garden party for the child next month. Now you must promise that you will stay down here and help me, little Poppy. I have not entertained for many years, and we shall want it to be gay. Darling Aggie had the greatest talent for organizing picnics and such things; I vividly remember one enchanting expedition she arranged to a wishing-well, when I wished that I might marry that handsome Mr Howard (I was very young then). But I told my wish to Effie Cholmondely, so of course it never could come true. And then there were always the theatricals at Christmas time. How would it be if we combined something of that sort with our garden party? A pageant, for example – I am told they are tremendously popular nowadays? Then all you young people could take part in it.’
‘I think that’s a splendid idea,’ said Poppy.
‘Very well then, we’ll see what can be arranged. By the way, where is your husband, my dear?’
Poppy considered it on the whole discreet to say that her husband was delayed in London on business, but that she was expecting him to join her at the Jolly Roger in a few days’ time.
‘My friend, Marjorie Merrith, is there and her maid,’ she went on, feeling secure in the assumption that Lady Chalford was no reader of the illustrated daily Press.
‘Ah! yes,’ said Lady Chalford, ‘bring her to see me some time. Poor dear Puggie (her father) was a great friend of my darling Malmains. But, dearest child, is it not rather adventurous for you two young women to be staying quite alone in a country inn? Of course I know the Jolly Roger is a very respectable sort of place, but even so, I feel that it is hardly suitable. Would you not both prefer to move in here until your husband arrives?’
Poppy however, deciding in her own mind that freedom was preferable to comfort, made excuses which Lady Chalford accepted graciously enough. Soon after this Jasper and Eugenia appeared, having finished their tour of the house.
‘I think we should be going now,’ Poppy said.
When they had left Lady Chalford made her way to her husband’s bedroom, and shouting down his ear-trumpet informed him that Poppy was a dear child with wonderfully red lips who reminded her vividly of darling Aggie. ‘I only fear,’ she added, ‘that she may be rather unconventional in some of her habits. She evidently walked home quite alone with young Mr Aspect. I wonder whether I ought to encourage Eugenia in this friendship.’ Lord Chalford made no comment. He lay, as always, on his back, staring at the beautiful plaster ceiling high above his bed. Lady Chalford invariably consulted him before taking any decision.
‘Perhaps really,’ she went on, ‘I ought not to invite her here again, perhaps I should give up all idea of this garden party and pageant.’
She sighed, knowing quite well that to do so would be beyond her power. Now that it had once made its appearance that young gay face must often be seen at Chalford House. It had brought a happiness into her life which she had not known for
