Debutantes by Cora Harrison Read Free Book Online

so the chair had been moved out of the library to the bedroom. ‘Tell us all about it.’
    Violet, Daisy was glad to see, gave her a beautiful smile and began to look as happy as a girl whose future lies ahead of her. She was an imaginative person and it was easy for her to lose herself in a dream. The trouble came when she had to face reality.
    ‘Did they use the ballroom?’ asked Rose.
    ‘Of course they did! And musicians hired from London.’ Mrs Pearson sank into the still-comfortable ancient chair. The four Derrington girls arranged themselves in a row on the bed.
    ‘There was more staff then: four scullery maids to do all the fires, three parlourmaids and six chambermaids – and, of course, your mother’s lady’s maid.’ Old Mrs Pearson smiled at the memory. ‘And Mrs Beaton had a couple of useful girls to help her with the cooking – training them she was, of course.’
    ‘Of course,’ echoed Daisy, trying to visualize possibilities for useful-young-girls-to-help-in-the-kitchen from among the inhabitants of the village beyond Beech Grove Manor on the day of Violet’s party and then rejecting the idea. Even girls from the village school would want to be paid.
    ‘Of course lots and lots of visitors used to come to stay. Every room in the house filled, for sure,’ went on Mrs Pearson. ‘And all those beautiful young ladies and fine young men! And our own ladies . . . lady . . . the most beautiful and the cleverest of them all. And the sweetest by a long shot. This was before the war, of course. Everything was different then.’
    ‘We could never do that nowadays, of course. But we wondered about just having a small party for Violet’s eighteenth birthday.’ Daisy decided to take a chance and lead the conversation back to the present.
    Mrs Pearson had been shaking her head sadly but at Daisy’s last words, she stiffened. A light of battle came into her old eyes.
    ‘I don’t see why we shouldn’t,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t seem right that an eighteenth birthday shouldn’t be marked. I remember when your father was eighteen, the celebrations – nothing to when he was twenty-one, of course. They were roasting whole deer out in the park for the tenants then and the house was full of young people.’
    ‘And my Uncle Robert?’ asked Daisy. What she wanted was an account of a smaller party.
    ‘He was dead, poor fellow, before he ever reached the age of twenty-one. That nasty old Boer War.’ A tear came into the old lady’s eye. She sighed heavily and then said hastily as she got to her feet, ‘We could do a small party for you, Lady Violet. Mrs Beaton would make some nice little cakes and we could have a trifle I dare say. Custard is no problem; the hens are still laying well and, of course, there’s always cream from the Jersey cow. That would be nice. You have a little chat with Mrs Beaton and I’m sure that she’ll come up with some good ideas.’
    ‘Now for the attic!’ said Poppy as soon as Mrs Pearson had gone.
    The trunk marked with the label L ADY M ARY D ERRINGTON , B EECH G ROVE M ANOR , K ENT , E NGLAND  was still there. Daisy threw back the lid and started to pull out dresses, wraps, petticoats, and pretty gloves, stockings and shoes.
    But there was a shock.
    As each dress was shaken and held up to the light of the roof window the awful truth was revealed.
    They had all been attacked by moths.
    Thousands of tiny holes showed like pinpricks against the light and then the fabric began to split and rends appeared. Garment after garment was taken out until only an old photograph album was left at the bottom of the trunk. But it was no good – they were all ruined. A musty smell set them all coughing and sneezing.
    Poppy’s eyes met Daisy’s with dismay.
    ‘It’s us,’ she said, half laughing, half ashamed. ‘We probably left the lid open when we used to dress up years ago.’
    ‘Look, a photograph album,’ said Rose, picking out the pockmarked velvet-covered book. ‘Oh,