In Distant Fields (12 page)

The Duke knew this of his wife and although he would have dearly liked to have her join him three times a week in the hunting field, imagining as he often did just how beautiful his Circe would have looked turned out to within an inch on a spanking dappled grey gelding, nevertheless he contented himself with the fantasy rather than the reality. This year, however, his sense of unease was such that he wanted her to stay at home with him, if only so that he could catch a glimpse of her moving through the routine of his life.

‘I was thinking,' he announced suddenly, before Circe had time to think of packing up her portmanteaux, of making sure of her London clothes, hats trimmed, furs cleaned. ‘I was thinking, dearest, that it would be a very pretty idea if you were to mount a musical entertainment here this year.'

Circe, who was busy noting that since Kitty's departure Partita had been wearing an expression of unadulterated gloom, looked round at her husband with sudden interest.

‘A musical entertainment, John? But how original of you to think of such a thing. A musical entertainment – say a play with music?'

‘You could do it so well, my sweet,' the Duke went on, not quite looking Circe in the eye. ‘You know how musical you are, and it would be
capital fun to see all our friends on stage, don't you think?'

Circe started to look excited. ‘So many of them
are
so musical, and so many love the theatre.'

‘Exactly my thoughts, my dear, and it would keep all the maids and the rest busy, sewing costumes and I know not what. Such a grey time of year otherwise, this time of year, so grey.'

Circe stood up and went down the library to where her three daughters were seated, dutifully sewing.

‘Papa has had such a capital idea. We are to put on a musical here at Bauders, for the entertainment of the neighbourhood and for everyone who wants to take a part. Isn't that a splendid idea?' she asked of each of them, but paying most particular attention to Partita, whose face by now had become a study in misery.

‘I was thinking about
The Pirates of Penzance
,' the Duke announced, coming across to join them. ‘One of my favourites, you know. I would, I would be a Pirate King,' he murmured.

‘
The Pirates of Penzance
!' Partita exclaimed, her depression lifting at once as she flung down her stitching. ‘I love
The Pirates of Penzance
.' She started to hum ‘Take a Pair of Sparkling Eyes'.

‘That's
The Gondoliers
.'

‘Oh, yes, so it is.' Partita went on humming the tune nevertheless.

Circe moved away, her mind already filled with the thought of the excitements ahead.

‘We have the Great Hall here; it will make a most splendid theatre. We can have the estate carpenters build us a platform, and the orchestra can be on hand for full rehearsals. We must send to London for the musical parts at once.'

Partita stood up to follow her down the room.

‘But, Mamma, what about school—'

Before she could go on, Wavell entered the library with a telegram, which he presented to the Duchess on a silver salver.

‘This is not for me, Wavell,' Circe remarked, on seeing the name on the envelope. ‘This is for Miss Rolfe.'

‘Miss Rolfe has left for London, Your Grace.'

‘Then – then I dare say – I dare say that I must open it
in loco
.'

Circe went to Partita as soon as she had read the message: ‘Order your immediate return. Papa.'

‘What does this mean, Tita? Do you know what this means?'

Partita stared at the telegram, feeling suddenly ashamed that she had always thought it such an adventure to have a notorious father. Kitty must be very brave to live with such a man. But why would he be ordering her home as if she was a flunkey?

‘It must be something horrid for her father to send such a telegram,' Circe said, looking troubled.

‘Something really horrid,' Partita agreed.

They stared at each other.

‘We will soon know, when we return to London.' Circe folded the telegram, and then stopped. ‘But of course. We won't
be
returning to London now, will we, John?'

‘What's that, my dear?'

Circe went up to her husband. ‘If we are to do a musical here, we won't be returning to London, will we?'

‘It might be difficult,' the Duke agreed, looking both kindly and vague at the same time.

Circe frowned. ‘Partita will have to go back to being schooled here. We will have to find someone new for her.'

Overhearing this, Partita started to protest.

‘Now, darling,' Circe told her firmly, ‘don't be foolish. Do admit we will have the most tremendous fun here helping stage
The Pirates of Penzance
.' The Duchess lowered her voice so that the Duke would not hear. ‘More fun, I am sure, than you would ever be having in London at Miss Woffington's Academy, which you were already finding a little on the dull side – so many spelling bees your head span, you said.'

‘But what about Kitty?'

‘Kitty can come here. I am sure she is musical, and even if she is not, she can help with everything and when that is at an end, well, she can stay on, or do as she wishes. Never mind about her father and the telegram, it is of no matter. I will explain everything to her mother.'

The Duchess patted Partita on the arm and moved swiftly away from her. She did not like
her children arguing with her. Not that Partita was arguing, but she was fussing her.

‘I will write to her mother at once.'

Kitty stared at her father, unable quite to take in what she had just heard him say.

‘What was that you said?'

‘I said – your mother has
bolted
,' Evelyn stated for a second time. ‘She has run off somewhere and with someone. When I find her I shall wring her neck like a chicken, that I promise you.'

‘I don't understand, Papa,' Kitty said blankly, sinking down into a chair while trying to collect her thoughts. The idea that her mother might have run off with another man was a nightmare. Her mother was a pillar of strength, virtuous to a degree. She would not do such a thing. Kitty's eyes strayed to the decanter at her father's elbow.

‘I was at Biddlethorpe for Christmas and the New Year and so on; now on my return in the New Year what did I find? I found a note. Like something in the music halls.
Here's the very note
–
this is what she wrote
.' He waved a letter in his daughter's direction before continuing. ‘Left it on the mantelpiece your mother did – hadn't even the courage to tell me face to face.'

Kitty took the letter, wondering whether her father was really stupid, or just drunk, or both? He must know that if her mother had dared to tell him face to face that she was leaving him after nearly twenty years of marriage, she would have been carrying the bruises for months.

‘You'll see from that note you're to contact some solicitor or other,' Evelyn Rolfe said, pouring himself another large whisky. ‘Don't know what the hell's going to become of you, but that's not my business. No doubt the solicitor has instructions or some such because this is all your mother's doing and I dare say you've long had wind of it.'

‘No. I can quite truthfully say that this is as great a shock to me as it is to you.'

Kitty put out a hand to the back of a nearby chair, feeling all at once sick and faint. As she did so, she dimly heard her father saying, ‘I doubt that you are shocked. Mothers and daughters. You two were thick as thieves.' His tone was sarcastic.

‘I knew absolutely nothing about this whatsoever, I promise you,' Kitty stated absently as she read the letter and discovered that she was to proceed to notify some solicitor or another at his offices in the Strand, as soon as she returned home.

‘As I said, I have no idea what is to become of you. Never had any intention – never had the slightest idea what to do with you at the best of times, let alone the worst of times. So it's up to your mother to sort all this out,' Evelyn concluded, draining his glass, throwing his finished cigar into the fire and standing up. ‘When the divorce papers are through I shall be selling this house so perhaps much the best thing is for you to find some employment or other. You certainly will not be returning to that ridiculous forcing
house for young ladies, whatever it's called – Miss Willington or Wolfit, or whatever it is, that is for certain. If you need me for anything leave a message at White's.'

‘I take it I may continue living here for the present?' Kitty asked a little formally, wishing she had the courage to pick the poker up and hit him.

‘Do what you wish. I shall be using the house from time to time, until other arrangements are to hand, so do as you please. A lot will depend on what your mother has in mind for you. As I said, Katherine, you are entirely her business. I didn't want you in the first place.'

Later that day Kitty arrived at the offices of Collingwood, Skells and Rathbone. The doubtless worthy firm of solicitors were housed in cramped offices in an alleyway off the Strand.

‘Whom may I say it is?' demanded a clerk, wiping his beaked nose slowly on a large handkerchief, which he promptly pushed into a shiny trouser pocket.

‘Miss Rolfe,' Kitty told him quietly.

Eventually he returned.

‘Follow me, Miss Wolfe.'

‘Rolfe.'

‘Just as you wish.'

He pushed open a door at the end of a short dark corridor and Kitty walked through it straight into her mother's arms.

‘I am sorry, dearest. I had to ask Mr Collingwood
to write to you so that I could be here to explain. I could not let your father know of my whereabouts.'

For a second it looked as if they might both give way to tears, but finally Violet held Kitty away from her for a second, and then walked to the window of the office. Kitty found she was watching her mother as if she was watching someone she had never known. Part of her was admiring and appreciative of her courage, and yet another part of her was ashamed. How could her mother run off with another man? And who was the other man?

‘Dr Charles and I …' Violet began, knowing that Kitty was waiting to know, wanting to find out, more than anything, whom it could be that had given her mother the courage to leave her father.

Kitty went to say something and then stopped. She could not imagine anyone less suitable, to her mind, than Dr Charles. Her mother hated even a mention of disease, was terrified of germs, and although kindly enough if you were ill, most reluctant to visit the sick room.

‘Dr Charles? Dr
Charles
?'

‘Yes, Kitty, Dr Charles.'

Richard Charles had looked after Kitty since she was born. He was like an uncle, certainly like a member of their family. It was almost horrible to think of her mother and her doctor together, kissing and fondling each other, perhaps even lying in each other's arms.

Violet turned away, not wanting to see her daughter's shock.

‘He is such a decent, honourable man, Kitty, so different from Evelyn.'

They both knew how different, but still Kitty found herself at a loss for words, for now not only did she have to digest the fact that her mother had left her father for another man, but that the man in question was their
doctor
. Doctors were meant to be like vicars: they were sacred, full of kindly wisdom, practically without sin. It seemed to be such a breach of trust that all the time he had been attending them whenever their health required, he had obviously been availing himself of the chance to become acquainted ever more intimately with her mother.

‘Richard will be here any minute,' Violet went on. ‘He will explain.'

Kitty wanted to run out of the office, but not back to her father – that would indeed be from the frying pan into the fire – anywhere, back to Bauders, perhaps, back to a life that she knew was decent and honourable, not complicated and hitter-making. The last thing she wanted was for her mother to put out her arms to her again.

‘No, Mamma.' She turned away from her mother. ‘I can't go to you, really I can't. I have to have time to think.' She turned back to her. ‘And where is Mr Collingwood, or Mr Skells, or whatever they are called, or even the other one? Where are they, may I ask?'

Violet straightened herself. It was not like Kitty to be so vehement.

‘They very kindly lent us this office, Kitty. They are very kind men, truly they are. Mr Skells is so kind, why he could almost be a vicar,' she added quietly.

It was with some relief that the sound of feet approaching in the corridor outside put an end to their really rather futile conversation.

‘I think I can guess at what you are thinking, Miss Rolfe,' Dr Charles said, sitting her down in a large comfortable leather chair in the corner of the office while he pulled up an ordinary wooden one to sit before her in his accustomed style. ‘But I must stress that from the outset of my acquaintance with your mother, right until this present moment, there has never been the slightest impropriety. Our feelings for each other were never stated, not until the New Year, when I had to attend your mother suffering a fit of nerves at the prospect of your father's return. It was then that I felt it imperative that I make my long-held feelings clear to your mother.'

‘I see.'

Kitty still couldn't, of course. She still felt that Dr Charles should stay as he was to her – a doctor, not her mother's lover.

‘What will happen now?'

Violet turned at the window. ‘What will happen now, Kitty, is that I will call in Mr Rathbone and he will discuss everything with you.'

‘I will leave you at this point.'

Kitty watched Dr Charles picking up his hat. She had watched Dr Charles picking up his hat just like that for so many years, but now she was watching him in a different way. She was not sure that she liked the way Dr Charles picked up his hat. It was perhaps a little prissy, a little bit too like a valet would pick up a hat, a little bit too like a professional person, not like her father would pick up
his
hat. But her father was a drunken bully. He had betrayed her mother and squandered her money; he had behaved like a cad.