Chapter Four

1911

June had run into July, and then August, and fortunately — fortunately — Laurie had been spared the purgatory of seeing that Viola woman again. Although within those weeks, he’d had the joy of meeting his niece, Marigold, for the first time when she’d been brought to Pencradoc. Indeed, that was where he was heading today. Brunswick Square, in Bloomsbury, London, to see Elsie, Louis and Marigold.

Although Laurie was glad he hadn’t seen Viola since the incident in Bodmin, he had a lot of time for Pearl and Ernie — especially knowing how close Pearl and Elsie were. Holly Andrews, wife of the successful novelist Noel Andrews, made up the triumvirate of friends. ‘Thick as thieves,’ Isolde said with a sniff now and again, when she was having a particularly jealous moment.

Once, when Elsie had been within earshot of Isolde’s remarks, Elsie had cackled evilly and responded, ‘Darling sister. The Unholy Trinity. Or the three witches from Macbeth . Pick one of those references, sweet Isolde, pick one.’

Laurie grinned to himself remembering that one. Elsie didn’t help herself — she was constantly dressed in black and had a habit of throwing herself around dramatically and couldn’t help but hold all the attention in every room. He sometimes wondered how two sisters had turned out so differently. Then he had to remind himself that they were only half-sisters; Elsie’s real father, Ellory, the previous Duke of Trecarrow — the one before Uncle Jago had inherited the title — had died before Elsie was born. The rest of them: himself, Isolde, Medora, Clem, Enyon and Arthur shared the same parents, Zennor and Ruan Teague. Ruan was an incredibly talented artist and sometimes Laurie wondered how Elsie had those talents as well — but he was well aware of the rumours surrounding the family and Lady Elsie Pencradoc’s true parentage, so he never dwelled on it too much.

His other sisters were quite handy with a watercolour palette themselves. Isolde’s paintings were always more controlled and prettier than Medora’s. Medora, modelling herself on her adored eldest sister, Elsie, was a lot looser and freer in her artwork. Elsie — and Ruan — agreed that at some point Medora would come into her own style, but she needed to do some growing up first. Medora, though, was already twenty, so Laurie, at the grand old age of twenty-three, wondered when that would actually happen.

But, here he was. In front of the tall, Georgian building in Bloomsbury Elsie had called home for the last few years. The garden square laid out neatly opposite was verdant, but Laurie knew that in a few weeks those trees would start changing colour and dropping leaves and autumn would be here.

He could see two figures in the square, a tall, fair-haired man and a small girl. The child was haring around the square, red ribbons flying free, her dark curls streaming out behind her as she yelled and whooped loudly.

Louis and Marigold. Of course. Laurie smiled again when he saw them and diverted to the square to greet them.

‘May I join in?’ he shouted as he approached the gate and Marigold spun around to see who had arrived.

‘Unca Laurie!’ She started running towards him instead, her arms outstretched and flailing like the sails of a windmill. Laurie caught her as she hurled herself into his arms and he started to swing her around. ‘Faster!’ she cried. ‘Faster, Unca Laurie!’ Obligingly, he spun her around a few more times until she was shrieking with laughter.

Then he placed her gently on the ground where she promptly fell over and declared the sky was moving too fast.

Louis came over and held his hand out to greet Laurie.

‘Oh, I’m not spinning you around,’ said Laurie with a laugh. ‘Good to see you though.’

‘I’m entirely disappointed,’ replied Louis. ‘Was it a good journey?’

‘Not too bad, rather hot.’

‘Yes, those trains leave something to be desired. But regardless, it’s good to see you. We’ve been for a walk and then someone decided they had energy to burn off and swore there were pirates in the park, so we had to come and look for them.’

‘Pirates,’ muttered Marigold, but she made no effort to move and lay at the men’s feet.

‘Is Elsie around? She can’t be at the Slade today, can she?’

‘No. And much as she loves going there, she’s enjoying her summer break. She’s got a friend visiting at the moment, so that was another reason I took Marigold out for a breath of fresh air. Let them chatter in peace.’

Laurie nodded. He knew Elsie’s good friend, Fabian Austen, often called round to see the little family. Ruan Teague, Laurie’s father, had somewhat taken Fabian under his wing as a protégé and Fabian was in the midst of painting a series of portraits for the Teagues. He was meant to start with Zennor, but she had stepped aside until last, understanding how excited her daughters would be to have their portraits done first. After all, she was married to a world-famous portrait artist and Ruan had done dozens of pictures of Zennor throughout their lives together.

Isolde bore it stoically, her portrait in its final stages portraying a rather aloof yet incredibly beautiful young lady. Medora was twittering in excitement and had been wasting daydreams over how Fabian might fall for her, the way Teague had fallen for Zennor the first time he’d painted her. Elsie had to take Medora to one side and quietly advise her that it was highly unlikely, if not impossible, that Fabian would fall for Medora — or any woman he painted, for that matter. It had taken a little while for that to sink in, but Medora had eventually realised that she was never going to change Fabian’s nature, and she determined to enjoy the experience regardless and turned her daydreams into someone else falling for her portrait instead.

That, the family could live with. And Fabian, God bless him, remained blissfully unaware of Medora’s original fantasy.

If not Fabian, Elsie’s visitor might be Lily Valentine, a family friend who had been closest to Elsie out of all of them. It would be nice to see Lily, Laurie thought, with her quiet Irish accent and her incredible tales of the stage when she’d been an actress so many years ago, before she’d married Edwin and had her children. Lily sometimes had Marigold stay at her house as well, so she was very special to all the family really. She had, he understood, been a great support to Elsie when she’d been pregnant with Marigold and had been absolutely invaluable to his sister over the little girl’s first three years as well.

‘I hope Elsie doesn’t mind me intruding, then,’ Laurie said to Louis. ‘She is expecting me, I suppose?’

‘Of course she is. The door is, I believe, unlocked, awaiting our return as well. Marigold, are you ready to go inside and see Mama again?’

‘No, Papa. I think there may be a pirate there .’ The child sat up and pointed to a copse. Then she scrambled to her feet and ran off towards it.

Laurie laughed. ‘Have fun, Papa.’ He waved at Louis as he jogged away after his small daughter. Marigold was delightful, but it was clear she had inherited more than her mother’s dark hair and heart-shaped face. She’d inherited her exuberance and zest for life too, and my word, was that child energetic. Laurie had had to peel her off the Pencradoc Grand Staircase more than once as she’d scrambled up and decided she’d slide down it “just so .”

He swore the child was like a limpet, clinging on so tightly to that banister with her knees and hands . . .

He walked across the road, pondering the layout in Elsie’s house, wondering if Marigold tried to slide down their banister as well. Elsie’s stairs were much more winding than Pencradoc’s and he could see the attraction, he really could.

They’d all slid down those Pencradoc stairs at some stage, even serious Isolde. It was like a rite of passage, presided over, always, by Elsie. ‘It’s awfully easy!’ she’d yell from the bottom. Laurie was inevitably the one at the top who had to push the children down. Elsie would catch them at the other end.

Mostly.

Laurie sometimes wondered who had pushed him or caught him the first time he’d done it? Maybe one of his Wheal Mount cousins, daughters of Uncle Jago and Aunt Alys, as Elsie held them in thrall too. The families had been one big mass of children growing up between the two properties, with Jago taking on the title of Duke of Trecarrow from his deceased brother.

Whatever, he held happy memories of growing up at Pencradoc and did a lot of work with his Uncle Jago to help out on the estate. One of his favourite areas was the garden room, where he’d sit with a notebook and pen and write his poems and stories, serenaded by the fountain in the centre of it, warmed by the heaters in there, whatever the weather outside . . .

But here he was in London, at Elsie’s front door. Louis had told him it was open and a gentle push confirmed that.

‘Elsie!’ He stepped inside the black-and-white-tiled hallway, coloured light pouring in from the big stained-glass windows. ‘Are you around? It’s me.’

‘In here!’ came his sister’s cheerful voice from a room on the right. As he might have expected, she was in her favourite room, a room full of soft furniture, warm fires in winter, and scattered with art equipment, cameras, sketches, books and photographs — whatever, basically, she was working on at the moment. And knowing Elsie it could be one, two or several more projects. ‘Hold on, I’ll pop out and get you!’

The door burst open and Elsie came running out, barefoot, dressed in flowing black as usual. Her dress was, even he could see, a dress out of time. Rather than the tall, slim silhouettes the streets were filled with, Elsie’s dress would not have looked out of place thirty years ago at a society ball. It was off the shoulder, full-skirted and covered in lace. It suited her, though.

‘Laurie! Oh, it’s so good to see you.’ She threw her arms around him.

‘Vile sibling.’ He smiled as he said it. It was part of their oddly affectionate shorthand. ‘You look particularly pale and vampiric today.’

‘Liar,’ she said. ‘I am always this colour. You, on the other hand, should be pale and vampiric, but you actually look hot, bothered and even more vile than usual. But come on — come and meet Viola.’

Laurie hesitated. Viola? No. It couldn’t be. Could it? Oh, God, he hoped not. It wasn’t that common a name, in his experience. But no — absolutely not . . .

Elsie took his hand, pushed open the door and stood back, gently urging him forward. His heart pounding, dreading what he might find within that delightful, airy room, he stepped inside.

Then . . .

‘Oh, jeepers! Not you !’ said that Viola, staring at Laurie, her face changing from open and welcoming to hostile and defensive in a heartbeat.

‘Good God. Spare me this !’ Laurie drew to a swift halt. ‘ Not you!’

The pair of them glared at one another for what seemed like a lifetime.

‘I say — anything I need to know?’ asked Elsie, half amused. ‘Anything at all?’

* * *

Viola was horrified. There was no other word for it. Utterly horrified.

She waited for Laurie to speak, but, as far as she could tell, he was just going to stand there and glare at her as if she was Medusa and had turned him to stone.

She guessed it was up to her to speak, then. ‘Mr Teague and I have already met,’ she said rather stiffly. Elsie looked from one to the other, amusement definitely written all over her face.

‘May I ask — how?’ Elsie asked.

Laurie lifted his hand and pointed to Viola, then ran it through his hair. He shook his head. ‘In Cornwall.’ He glowered at Viola. ‘We were outside the same shop in Bodmin. She walked into me and dropped her parcels. I tried to help and she was, quite frankly, awful.’

‘Disagree!’ said Viola. ‘Laurie was not looking where he was going. He quite definitely walked into me and not only did I drop the parcels, I also ended up sitting in a damned puddle of mud. And he wasn’t helpful at all. He was the single most unhelpful person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. I swear he broke one of the gifts I had—’

‘And I disagree with that.’ Laurie fired back. ‘The package that was apparently broken , was actually a jigsaw. Ernie told me.’

Viola shot a look at Elsie, feeling her cheeks heat up. That was the truth, but still . . . ‘All right, maybe it wasn’t broken, but it could have been broken . . .’

It sounded rather pathetic out loud and she had the grace to lower her eyes, then flick them back up. Laurie just looked confused, then angry, then she saw his mouth open to speak again.

‘But it was not broken,’ he repeated, very slowly, as if he was speaking to a rather stupid child.

‘No. But it could have been. And — and !’ She remembered something and pointed her finger at him. ‘The marbles were definitely broken.’

‘They were not broken. The packaging unravelled. They fell on the ground. I tried to help you pick them up!’

‘I say!’ Elsie finally chipped in and physically placed herself between Viola and Laurie. ‘Is this any way to behave when there could be a small child quite possibly walking into this room at any moment ?’

Viola bit back a retort and angrily took a sip of tea. Elsie was correct, of course. Sure, she had issues with that dreadful man, but it wasn’t right to be stashing it up with him in Elsie’s parlour. It was just too bad that he’d walked right in here when she was visiting . . .

‘Beg pardon.’ Laurie spoke stiffly. ‘I just — hoped — it was Fabian or Lily here. When Edwin said a friend. I mean . . .’ He indicated Viola. Viola knew exactly what he meant.

‘I am too Elsie’s friend. Does not mean I have to be your friend . . .’

‘Enough!’ Elsie was actually laughing now. She threw herself back into her seat and put her bare feet smartly on the table in front of her, crossed neatly at the ankles. Viola thought Elsie might take hold of her teacup again, but instead she scrabbled around and picked up a sketchbook and a stick of charcoal. The charcoal started moving swiftly over the paper, which was, Viola now knew, not exactly a nervous habit of Elsie’s — it was more that her mind and her creativity never seemed to rest, and it was simply as much of a habit for Elsie to sketch her friends as they sat in front of her, as it was for anyone else to rub their nose.

‘So, I take it you two have met before?’ Elsie smiled at Laurie. ‘Please. Sit down, vilest sibling.’

Laurie hesitated, then went to the furthest chair from Viola. Viola, despite not wanting to be anywhere near him, was quietly indignant that he had made that choice. She took another sip of tea, trying to focus on something that wasn’t that pale young man sitting stiffly in the chair. She was sure a muscle was twitching in his jaw as he tried not to say anything else. He had the hump all right — but even so . . .

How ignorant !

‘Tell me,’ continued Elsie, a mischievous look in her eyes. ‘How do you really know each other?’

‘Don’t pretend you don’t know,’ said Laurie. ‘It’s true that she walked into me—’ Viola yelped indignantly — ‘and I’m rather certain that Pearl and Ernie already told you that story.’

‘Mmm. Perhaps.’ Elsie clearly wasn’t giving anything else away. ‘But whatever the story is, it’s jolly good that you bumped into each other here today. There’s nothing nicer than having a lovely chat over a cup of tea and meeting new people. Or maybe not-so-new people. Is there?’

Viola saw Laurie narrow his eyes and shake his head in his sister’s direction. She was inclined to agree with the man, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. However, she couldn’t actually bring herself to respond to Elsie and lie and agree with her, so she had yet another sip of the tea.

Tea was an acquired taste to her American sensibilities. She much preferred coffee, but when in Rome, and all that . . .

Elsie didn’t seem to care that neither of her guests had agreed with her and blithely chattered on about this and that. Viola found her mind drifting a little and thought about what, in her mind, would be nicer than tea with Laurie Teague. Lots of things, really. She looked at him, not really seeing him, and thought that dancing somewhere like Paris would be much more preferable. She’d commented to Sam when they had been there how she quite wanted to dance at the Moulin Rouge. He’d laughed at her then and said for one thing she was too short, and for another, did she know the reputations of the girls that had danced there in the past?

Viola did, but she didn’t pay it much attention. It just seemed like it would be quite fun, she’d told Sam.

A noise at the door dragged her attention back to the present. For a brief moment she focussed back on Laurie, and he was staring at her with much the same expression as she felt was displayed on her face. She raised her chin and looked away from him. Not interested in you , was what she wanted to portray, and she hoped he understood.

At the door stood a tiny Marigold-shaped whirlwind, along with her father. ‘Aunt Viola!’ the little girl shouted and threw herself at Viola, scrambling onto her lap. Viola just managed to put the cup and saucer down on a small table next to her before Marigold demanded her attention. ‘I thought you’d gone home !’ She took Viola’s chin in her hands and placed a large kiss on Viola’s lips.

‘No, sweetie, I’m still here,’ said Viola, her arms automatically going around the little girl to make sure she didn’t slip off Viola’s sateen frock and slide onto the floor.

‘Yes, and so is Unca Laurie. We saw him out there . We saw him first.’ Marigold pointed at the window that faced onto the square. ‘We saw him first.’ Then she shuffled and wriggled around so Viola had to let go of her, then, deliberately it seemed, used Viola’s long, shiny skirt as a slide. Marigold ended up sitting on the ground. Then she laughed, scrambled to her feet and raced over to Laurie, where she clambered all over him and kissed him too. ‘I think I may very much like a buttered crumpet,’ she told him.

Laurie ruffled her hair and moved her around so she sat on his lap, holding her quite naturally and comfortably. Marigold proceeded to push his nose and his cheeks with her chubby fingers and he pulled faces at her and made noises like a duck, and Marigold shrieked with laughter. Viola wondered how such an uncouth and annoying man knew how to amuse such a little girl, and then remembered that he had several brothers and sisters and cousins, so he’d probably grown up with small people everywhere. Viola was the youngest of three and hadn’t done that. The only experience she had, really, was Pearl’s brood, and even in the short time she’d been at Pearl and Ernie’s, she had somehow acquired a reputation of being Fun Aunt Viola.

She loved it, she really did, but was nowhere near wanting to settle down and do that sort of thing herself.

Louis followed Marigold in and dropped a kiss on Elsie’s hair. Elsie raised her hand and touched his cheek, without even looking away from her daughter and her brother. It was like she knew exactly where his cheek would be, like it was a well-played-out, entirely natural thing to do.

Which, of course, it probably was, even though she left a smudge of charcoal on his face. He didn’t seem to mind.

‘Oh, Viola?’ Elsie suddenly asked. ‘Did you write back to that boy who was so desperately in love with you?’

‘Ugh.’ Viola pulled a face, the uncomfortable memories surfacing. ‘I did. I let him down gently. Or I guess I hope I did. I don’t want to hear from him again.’

‘Viola met a boy in Paris,’ Elsie said to Louis. ‘She had one dance with him, at the Printania Music Gardens, and he fell in love with her. So romantic.’

‘It took me weeks to shake him off!’ said Viola, one eye on Marigold, hoping that she didn’t say anything out of turn in front of the tot. ‘His name was émile. Said he was a poet or a musician — or an artist.’ She shrugged. ‘Could have been any or all of those occupations. He kept changing it when I looked unimpressed with the latest one he came up with.’

‘If you were that unimpressed with him,’ said Laurie, in a muffled voice. ‘Why did you give him your address?’

‘Excuse me?’ Viola frowned. ‘That’s none of your business.’

‘Just asking.’ Laurie shrugged and removed Marigold’s fingers from his mouth.

But she couldn’t help it — she found she needed to justify herself. ‘My brother, Sam, got to know him as well and gave him the address we’re at over here. Not that it’s any of your business. Sam liked him. Said he seemed as if he adored me and would promise me the world.’ She pulled a face again. Viola was not the sort of woman to put up with any soft soap. émile had been awfully sweet, really, but she knew she’d soon become bored of him following her around with his puppy-dog eyes. Friendship was as much as she was willing to offer him and if he wasn’t happy with that, well . . . it was better to cut their losses right now.

‘Poor fool,’ muttered Laurie.

‘Adoration is overrated,’ said Elsie cheerfully. ‘I mean I know Louis adores me and I adore him, but . . .’

Louis laughed and ruffled her hair. ‘But we know when to stop adoring one another and when to answer one another back,’ he said.

‘Correct.’ Elsie nodded enthusiastically. Then she cast her eyes over the assembled company. ‘ Very correct,’ she repeated quietly, and a small, secret smile played around her lips. Viola wasn’t entirely sure she liked where Elsie’s thought process was going — because Viola’s suspicions were written all over Elsie’s pretty face . . .

There was only one thing she could say.

‘Ugh.’

Elsie was not going to play matchmaker between her, Viola Arthur, and that awful man, Laurie Teague — Elsie’s very definitely “vile sibling”.

‘Well.’ Viola stood up and brushed some stray blades of grass — and more dried mud, it seemed, transferred from Marigold’s feet — from her skirt. ‘I must be going. Goodbye for now, Marigold. It was wunnerful to see you.’

Marigold giggled and blew her a kiss. ‘Wunnerful,’ she parroted.

Then Elsie stood up, and Louis was, of course, already on his feet, but Laurie, with Marigold clutched firmly on his lap, remained seated. He did make an awkward move to begin to stand up — more out of innate manners than a particular desire to stand and acknowledge Viola, she knew — but she turned smartly on her heel and began to walk off towards the door before he could fully struggle to his feet.

Ugh. If she never saw that man again, it would be too soon.