Daughters of Castle Deverill (11 page)

Bridie and Elaine were immediately struck by the lights. It looked like the entire building had been covered in stars, which shone so brightly they almost eclipsed the full moon that glowed like
a large silver dollar above the towering ornate chimneys. The central piece of the circular entrance was an impressive gilded staircase that swept up in two curving flights meeting on a landing in
front of a wide arched window before parting again. A dazzling crystal chandelier hung above Bridie’s head and she couldn’t help but remember Castle Deverill and the preparations for
the Summer Ball, when the servants would help take down the chandeliers in the ballroom and lay out every little piece of glass on a vast cloth on the floor in order to polish them until they shone
like diamonds.

At the far end of the ballroom a jazz band of black musicians led by Fletcher Henderson was positioned on a stage and their energizing music echoed off the walls. The floor was already crowded
with fashionable people drinking champagne from crystal flutes and cocktails from slim-stemmed glasses. There were Martinis and cosmopolitans and cherries on sticks, and no one gave a thought to
Prohibition; if anything, it made the party all the more exiting. Some of the revellers had already begun to dance. Women with feathers and headbands, strings of beads and pearls, fringes and
tassels, short dresses, short hair and short attention spans were like exotic birds among the men in bow ties and slicked-back hair. Laughter and conversation rose above the sound of brass and drum
and Bridie and Elaine threw themselves into the thick of it. It seemed to Bridie that Elaine knew everyone, but it soon transpired that most people had already heard of the infamous Mrs Lockwood.
It wasn’t long before they had glasses of champagne and a crowd around them of admiring suitors all vying for a dance.

‘Look, darling, there’s Noel Coward talking to Gertrude Lawrence and Constance Carpenter. I wonder what they’re plotting?’ said Elaine, gazing at the famous English
playwright and actresses with curiosity. ‘Wouldn’t you just love to be able to eavesdrop on their conversation?’

‘I only have eyes for the luscious Mrs Lockwood,’ said a young man who had introduced himself as Frank Linden.

Bridie gave him a quizzical smile. ‘You’re presumptuous,’ she said tartly.

‘How so? Is it so wrong to tell a woman she’s a doll?’ he replied. He watched her blush then added, ‘Dance with me?’

She let her eyes wander over the dancers. Everyone looked as if they were having the most wonderful time. ‘All right,’ she replied, handing Elaine her empty champagne flute.

Frank took her hand and threaded through the crowd into the middle of the throng just as the band started to play ‘Yes, Sir, That’s My Baby’. A roar went up and a great surge
of people flooded the dance floor. Bridie was good at dancing. Ever since she had been swung around the kitchen by her father in Ballinakelly she had loved moving to music. There was nothing more
exciting than jazz and she danced energetically while Frank gazed at her with admiration.

Dinner was a banquet of mouth-watering dishes, each one more beautifully presented than the last. Bridie drank more champagne, she had lost count of just how many times her glass had been
refilled, and sat down to eat at a round table with Frank, Elaine and a small group of Elaine’s friends. She noticed that Elaine was tipsier than usual, flirting outrageously with a young man
in a white tuxedo called Donald Shaw, patting his chest with a limp hand and laughing her throaty laugh at everything he said. Her headband had slipped on one side, almost over her left eye, and
her kohl had smudged a little, giving her a decadent look. Bridie was glad Mr Williams was not present to witness it. But she was too drunk on excitement and dizzy with champagne bubbles to worry
about Elaine.

It was very hot in the ballroom. The music vibrated in her ears, the alcohol made her drowsy and the sheer delight of being part of such a fashionable crowd gave her a heady sense of
omnipotence. So when Frank Linden took her by the hand and led her up the stairs to find a quiet room where they would not be disturbed, she happily obliged. In the darkness of one of the guest
bedrooms he pressed her against the wall and kissed her. It felt good to receive the attentions of a man again and she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back. She closed her eyes and
felt the room pleasantly spin.

When she opened them again she was lying on the bed in her underwear and Frank Linden’s hand was beneath her slip and caressing her breast. She was too sleepy to do anything about it and
besides, the sensual feeling it gave her made her writhe in pleasure like a cat. A low moan escaped her throat and Frank, taking that as a sign of encouragement, slid his hand onto her inner thigh
where it lingered for a moment, tentatively teasing. As Bridie didn’t protest, rather her staggered breath and soft sighs left him in no doubt that she was willing, he slowly and gently moved
his hand north, until it glided over her skin, under her silk panties, and on up her thigh until it could go no further. Bridie widened her legs with abandon. Her moaning grew into gasps and sighs
as she allowed the delicious warmth to spread into her belly.

When she awoke, Frank was lying asleep beside her. She could hear the music coming from downstairs, but it was slow and mellow, and a woman was singing. She climbed off the bed without waking
him and fumbled about for her clothes. Once she was dressed she turned the brass doorknob as quietly as she could and slipped into the corridor. As she stepped onto the landing, Elaine was sitting
on the top stair, smoking a cigarette. Bridie sat down beside her. ‘You all right?’ she asked.

‘Does petting count as infidelity?’ Elaine asked in a dull voice.

‘I think Mr Williams would count it.’

‘Then I’ve just broken one of the Ten Commandments.’ She turned to Bridie and her big blue eyes shone. ‘Didn’t I say a girl needs a little adventure from time to
time?’

‘I think we should go home now,’ said Bridie.

‘You’re right. I’ve had enough adventure for one night.’ Elaine narrowed her eyes. ‘Where’s Frank?’

‘Asleep.’

Elaine gasped. ‘You didn’t!’

‘I have no one to betray,’ Bridie retorted with a shrug. ‘Adventures are essential for a young widow like me, are they not?’

‘Are you going to see him again?’

Bridie shrugged. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Just a bit of fun.’

‘Yes, tonight I discovered how a girl can have fun without . . . complications.’ She wished she had known
that
when she had been a maid at Castle
Deverill.

Elaine smiled drunkenly. ‘I could have told you that, Bridget.’

‘Are you good to drive?’ Bridie asked, knowing that she wasn’t.

Elaine grabbed the banister and pulled herself onto her feet. ‘Never been better,’ she giggled.

The two women linked arms and began to slowly and unsteadily descend the grand staircase. ‘God bless America,’ said Bridie, for she truly believed that America had given her a second
chance.

Elaine squeezed her friend’s arm. ‘God bless
us
,’ she said.

Celia and Archie spent Christmas with Sir Digby and Lady Deverill at Deverill Rising, their sumptuous Georgian home in Wiltshire, which Digby had bought and renovated at vast
expense with the first fortune he had made in the South African diamond mines. Originally the house had been called Upton Manor, but that wasn’t nearly grand enough for the brash and newly
rich Digby Deverill. Memories of summers at Castle Deverill inspired him to give his home a name which would last through history and give a sense of dynasty and substance. Therefore he swiftly
renamed it Deverill Rising, endowing it with the gravitas of his new status and the weight of his historical name. Their son George would have inherited it had his life not been so cruelly cut
short in the Great War. This saddened Digby and scoured the gloss from his vision. However, ebullient and always optimistic, Digby endeavoured to look for the positive. He filled it with friends at
every opportunity and wondered whether a grandson might one day cherish it as he did.

Joining them for the festivities were Celia’s older twin sisters, Leona and Vivien, who came with their husbands, Bruce and Tarquin, and their small children. Due to the seven-year age gap
between them Celia had never been close to her siblings. The twins were both blonde and pretty, with long, aristocratic noses, shallow blue eyes and bland, unremarkable characters. Little could
rouse them from passivity. However, ever since Celia had bought the castle and provoked their jealousy, they had shown surprising passion. Neither could believe that flighty Celia, who had shocked
London society by bolting from her wedding with the best man, could have snatched the Deverill family seat for herself. It was an outrageous thing to have done and something which infuriated both
girls, who lived relatively modestly with their Army husbands. What upset them even more was that their father, in spite of everything Celia had put him through, was inordinately proud of her.

Digby had initially been horrified by Celia’s news, but his daughter’s excitement and Archie’s pride at having made the purchase possible softened his rancour and assuaged
Beatrice’s reservations. Archie, intent on impressing his father-in-law, told him of the architect’s adventurous plans, which, Archie emphasized, included many of his own ideas. Digby
requested to meet this Mr Leclaire at the earliest convenience, for he wanted to make sure that his erratic daughter wasn’t being overambitious. It was one thing to restore a castle to its
former glory, but quite another to build a palace that wasn’t there to begin with. ‘I will come to Ireland with you in the new year,’ he declared, his enthusiasm growing at the
thought of involving himself. ‘It’ll be good to see Bertie. Tell me, my dear, how is my cousin?’

Celia, riding on the crest of a wonderful wave, was pink in the face with happiness. ‘Oh Daddy, I’d love you to meet Mr Leclaire. He’s full of ideas. Really, he understands
exactly what we want. Everything he suggests I tell him I want it yesterday! It’s hilarious. He thinks I’m marvellous.’

‘You behave as if you have a bottomless pit of money,’ said Leona sourly.

Celia ignored Leona. ‘You’ll adore him, Papa. We all do. He’s a great character!’

‘And Cousin Bertie?’ prompted her mother gently.

Celia sighed. ‘He’s as well as can be expected, I suppose,’ she replied, reluctant to divert the conversation away from herself. ‘Maud has told him that she never wants
to return to Ireland and I gather from Harry that she is in the process of buying a house in Chester Square. They will continue to lead separate lives for I doubt Bertie will ever leave the Hunting
Lodge. I told him he can stay there for as long as he wants. It’s his home, after all. But he’s thrilled I’m rebuilding the castle. Just thrilled. Isn’t he,
Archie?’

‘He’s very interested in our plans,’ Archie agreed.

‘I imagine he’s putting on a brave face,’ said Vivien. ‘I mean how can he possibly enjoy watching someone else rebuilding his home?’

‘Celia is hardly “someone else”,’ said Archie.

‘Of course he’s delighted,’ Digby interjected.

‘I’m so pleased,’ said Beatrice. ‘I was worried it would create a rift within the family.’

‘Oh no, far from it, Mama,’ Celia gushed. ‘Everyone is so happy. Kitty especially! Our children will grow up together playing in all the places we used to play. It’ll be
a riot, history repeating itself. We’re going to get into the Irish way of life, aren’t we, Archie? Hunting and racing. Archie’s going to take the dogs out to shoot snipe just
like Cousin Hubert used to do. Oh, it’s going to be such fun!’ She clapped her hands together without giving another thought to poor Bertie, sinking sorrowfully into his bottles of
whiskey.

‘I hope you install some heating. As far as I remember, Castle Deverill was uncomfortable, cold and damp,’ said Leona.

‘Oh yes, it was terribly damp,’ Vivien agreed. ‘I wore a fur coat in bed to keep warm.’

‘It’s going to have the very best of everything,’ said Celia firmly.

‘Shame you can’t spend all that money on improving the weather,’ said Leona with a chuckle.

Vivien laughed with her. ‘Goodness, it rains all the time in Ireland, doesn’t it?’

‘It rains all the time in England too,’ said Celia, giving her sisters a withering look. ‘But I always remember the summers in Ballinakelly as being sunny and warm. You know,
Archie and I are going to host the Castle Deverill Summer Ball. It’ll be just like it used to be. The candlelight, the music, the dancing, and everyone will say that no one throws a party
quite like Mrs Mayberry. Isn’t that right, Archie darling?’

Archie Mayberry smiled indulgently at his wife. Buying the castle for Celia had made him feel like a man again and restored him in the eyes of his friends and family. After her bolt from the
wedding he worried that her parents might blame him for being too dull to keep her. He feared that he might never regain their esteem and it vexed him that he had been humiliated in front of his
friends, but nothing makes people forgive and forget a scandal more surely than money. Digby’s bribe, for that is, in essence, what it was, had enabled him not only to pull his family back
from the brink of bankruptcy, but to look his own reflection straight in the eye. It was ironic, too, that he had managed to repay his father-in-law’s generosity by purchasing the Deverill
family seat. Digby Deverill, genial and urbane as he was, was inscrutable in the way that powerful men often are, but from the look on his face, Archie could tell that he had earned his
father-in-law’s acceptance, which had been his intention all along. As for respect, he hoped he would one day earn that too.

Kitty and Robert had spent Christmas at the White House. Kitty’s father, Bertie, had come for Christmas lunch with Elspeth and Peter and the Shrubs. Although Elspeth was
seven years older than Kitty the two sisters had grown close ever since Elspeth had married Peter MacCartain and moved into his dank castle a short walk from Castle Deverill, nearly five years
before. Little Jack had played with his three cousins and opened his presents with glee. Hazel and Laurel had fussed over the children while Robert and Peter had stood by the fire watching them
with amusement. Bertie had put on a good show, not wanting to dampen the festivities, but Kitty could tell that he was deeply depressed. She wondered whether it was the castle he mourned, or his
mother Adeline, or perhaps even Grace. She didn’t imagine it was Maud.