The Runaway Daughter Read online

  ‘I heard talk from Jed at the inn. He said he saw Master Clement talking to him.’

  ‘Who? Mr Arkwright.’

  ‘He’s brokering a plan. Those were Jed’s words.’

  ‘A plan?’ Martha asked. She sounded sceptical.

  ‘A plan for him to marry Miss Darton.’

  Anna felt saliva flood her mouth, as her heart pounded. She peeped through the curtains as Martha and Elspeth walked on down the stairs.

  What exactly had Elspeth heard? Surely it must be a mistake. Clement wouldn’t possibly meet Malcolm Arkwright without their father’s permission. And her, marry Mr Arkwright? He was her father’s fiercest rival. Even the mention of him sent Darius into a rage.

  She put her hand to her chest, trying to make sense of what she’d just heard. Malcolm Arkwright was well over fifty, with a pimpled, heavy face and a balding head. Although his manner was jovial, everything about him made her skin crawl.

  Then she saw a movement at the edge of the far trees and Clement came into view. He was covered in mud and she was shocked to see him on Dante – her horse. Her fury at him taking Dante without her permission momentarily interrupted her disgust about Arkwright.

  She ran downstairs and outside, just as Clement arrived at the gravel outside the front door. He was shouting, and it now became clear why. Dante had thrown him, when the fox had been in his sights, and he’d missed the kill.

  She’d never seen Clement so incensed as he dismounted her horse, which, to Anna’s eye, already seemed injured. Forcing Mark, the stablehand, to hold the reins, he started thrashing poor Dante until his flanks were bleeding.

  The horse whinnied, foam frothing at the edges of his mouth. Anna screamed and tried to run and stop Clement, but Martha grabbed her and held her back.

  ‘Leave him,’ Martha said, a warning in her voice. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’

  35

  The Crystal Ball

  Nancy’s flat was in a new block near the canal in Maida Vale and Nancy didn’t pause for breath while talking about Raymond’s extraordinary skills, as Vita hurried to keep up with her across the marble reception area and into the lift, where the boy tipped his hat and blushed. Vita tried to copy Nancy, her hips swinging with a confident allure, her heels clicking on the tiles.

  She caught sight of herself in the bevelled mirror and lifted her hand to feel her new hair. It was daringly, majestically, fantastically short. She no longer looked like a frightened child, but a confident woman. A London woman, at that. She thought momentarily of the horror Martha would feel if she could see her now, and it made her new transformation all the more pleasurable.

  When they arrived at the fourth floor, Vita grinned as she saw the lift boy peaking around the corner in order to gaze at Nancy for a few moments more.

  ‘I can see you, Freddie,’ she called back, waggling her fingers in a wave and winking at Vita, who marvelled at the way Nancy charmed everyone in her path. ‘Home, sweet home,’ she said with a flourish, unlocking the white door. She threw the keys down on an ornate marble-topped table just inside the hall, before kicking off her heels. ‘Come in.’

  ‘Is this really all yours?’ Vita asked.

  She was aware that she might be gawping, as she took in the sumptuousness of Nancy’s modern apartment. It was a large open-plan room, which had several white pillars holding up the ceiling. Over to one side there was a white grand piano, and several squashy-looking armchairs and some ornate tables with gold legs. In between the two pillars was a white marble statue of a semi-naked woman. When Vita looked more closely, she couldn’t help noticing the resemblance to Nancy.

  ‘My brother,’ Nancy said, following her gaze. ‘He’s the sculptor in the family. Could have been quite good.’

  ‘Could have?’

  ‘Battle of the Marne. The second one,’ she shrugged, with a sad sort of smile. ‘Poor boy didn’t stand a chance. First over the top, with his men. At least he didn’t die a coward.’

  It was on the tip of Vita’s tongue to tell Nancy that she’d had a brother, too, but she was saved by the sound of yapping. A small white dog came bounding out of a doorway and Nancy’s mood switched to one of pure joy. ‘There you are. Oh, my baby, I missed you.’

  She scooped up the dog into her arms and it licked her face enthusiastically. ‘Meet Mr Wild,’ Nancy said, pressing her face up against the dog’s and turning to introduce it to Vita. She pronounced ‘Wild’ with a tremulous quiver, for added drama, and Vita wondered how the dog had come to get such a flamboyant name, but she was beginning to realize that everything about Nancy was rather dramatic. ‘Come, come. I have lemonade in the refrigerator.’

  She had her own refrigerator? Vita had been intrigued by Nancy from the first time she’d laid eyes on her, wondering how one got to be so styled and poised. And here was the answer: she had money.

  Vita followed Nancy and the yapping dog, wanting to kneel down and run her hand over the thick carpet. Along one wall were stylish square windows overlooking the park. There was a balcony outside, with an array of urns housing tall leafy plants.

  ‘So we might as well find you something interesting to wear to the party next weekend, now that you’re here,’ Nancy called from the kitchen. ‘I’ll have something, for certain.’

  Vita knew she was being kind – and that very soon she’d have to do something to repay her. Nancy had already paid for her haircut and now she was going to give her a dress. She’d never known such generosity or kindness.

  Imagine having a wardrobe of fashionable clothes. Enough to spare! And all of this space. This set-up of Nancy’s was beyond anything she’d ever been able to imagine. She’d never thought it possible that girls could live totally independently and freely. Might this be possible for her? Could she live alone one day, in her own place? With her own refrigerator and cooker? The thought was so deliciously heady, it took her breath away. She leant against the doorway, trying to imagine how wonderful it would be to be Nancy.

  ‘Isn’t it odd living alone?’ Vita asked. ‘I mean, don’t you ever get lonely?’

  ‘Lonely? Why on earth would I get lonely? Mr Wild here keeps me company.’

  Vita blushed, watching Nancy nuzzle her nose into the dog’s neck before setting him down on the floor, where he went up on his back paws and did a little dance, making Nancy laugh. She made him twirl round and round, before giving him a sugar lump.

  ‘So why do you work? When you have all of this?’ she asked as Nancy gave her a glass of lemonade.

  ‘The club? It’s not work. I like to think of it more as art. And it’s fun.’

  Vita hadn’t considered that Nancy might have been working there by choice.

  ‘Didn’t you want to do something else?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. I guess if you’re . . . I mean, if money isn’t an object, then you could do anything?’

  Nancy sighed and pulled off her gloves. ‘Money is always an object, darling, mark my words. But what else should one do? That’s the question. It seems to me that I might as well do something I enjoy. Besides, it’s a hoot, annoying my parents this much.’

  ‘They know about the Zip Club?’

  ‘Oh yes. But they can’t do anything about it,’ she said proudly.

  Vita sipped the sharp lemonade and listened, enthralled. How brave Nancy was. And fearless. She’d never have had the guts to challenge both her parents.

  ‘Since I’m such a “disappointment” to them,’ Nancy continued, holding up her fingers as if quoting them, ‘I thought I’d go all out and stay in London and get a job as a dancer, rather than go back to America. The Zip Club pays for my expenses, so I don’t have the indignity of facing my father’s wrath. And the discounted drinks are a godsend. That said, Goldie – that’s Larry Goldblum, my lawyer – says I’m burning through my fund, but frankly I don’t care. I enjoy it. I always wanted to dance and to party and meet interesting people. And this way I can do both, to my heart’s content.�
��

  It felt good to know that someone else had issues with their family, but the way Nancy was talking made Vita feel as if this was a game that she was playing for attention. Because despite her protests, Nancy was still connected to her family – even though they’d cut her off, for now. She still had property and a trust fund. And this . . . her own flat.

  It was only now that the real significance of cutting herself off from her own family hit her. Because her status as Anna Darton had been part of her, for as long as she could remember. The fact that she would inherit money, as her father had done before her, had always been a given. As had the fact that she’d never have to work: a given, too. But not any more. Now she would never be able to pull the strings that her father had pulled. She’d never be able to play the card that she came from money, and ensure she had the kind of husband that she’d always assumed she might have.

  In fact, she thought, the panic rising now, how was she ever going to find a husband? Because how would she live, if she didn’t have one? She didn’t have independent means, a trust fund – anything like the safety net Nancy had. In a world where status meant everything, she’d discarded hers entirely.

  But now one thing was certain, she thought as she sipped her lemonade. She was going to have to come up with a plan soon. Do something to support herself fully, because her job at the club couldn’t sustain her forever.

  But there wouldn’t be a forever, she reminded herself. Not after what she’d done.

  She put the glass of lemonade down on the table and, trying to distract herself from such a sombre thought, picked up a large glass orb that was sitting on a wooden stand next to the candelabra.

  ‘What’s this?’ Vita asked.

  ‘Oh, careful. Don’t drop it.’

  Vita put it back on its stand quickly. Nancy put a protective hand on it. ‘It’s my crystal ball.’

  ‘You can read a crystal ball?’ Vita said, thinking she must be joking.

  ‘No. Not yet. But I will do one day. I think I have quite a gift. That’s what Mystic Alice says.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘My clairvoyant,’ Nancy said, quite matter-of-factly. ‘I goat least once a month.’

  ‘She sounds frightfully intriguing. What does she tell you?’

  ‘All sorts of things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Nancy sighed dramatically. ‘That I must move again, to another foreign city.’

  ‘And you believe her? Surely it’s utter nonsense?’

  Nancy frowned. ‘No, Vita, it’s quite serious. The woman is a genius.’

  Was she joking? Vita found it hard to tell. From the look on Nancy’s face, she was worried that she’d offended her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen a crystal ball before.’

  ‘Then maybe I’ll take you with me next time.’

  ‘Would you?’ Vita said, a tad too enthusiastically, hoping to win back Nancy’s approval, but as soon as she said it, she felt a sudden flush of fear. What would this Mystic Alice be able to tell about her? Might she reveal Vita’s secrets? Would she be able to glean the truth about Clement?

  ‘Maybe,’ Nancy said, as if her good humour was still on trial. ‘Now, come on. Let’s find you something fabulous to wear.’

  36

  Nancy’s Wardrobe

  As Vita propped herself up in the small upholstered chair with the smart woollen cushion, she thought of her own bedroom in Darton Hall, with its ominous mahogany furniture and starched lace doilies, and marvelled at how different Nancy’s was. There was a black fireplace, adorned with two more figurine sculptures, with tastefully framed covers of Vogue magazine on the walls. There was a jug of particularly bright daffodils next to the double bed, which was covered in a black silk eiderdown.

  ‘Ha. Look at this!’ Nancy said, from inside the walk-in wardrobe. She stepped out, pulling a white dress from a hanger before pressing it against herself. ‘I wore this one when I came out.’

  ‘You were a debutante?’

  ‘Of course. Same year as Edith. That’s how we met.’ She jumped up on the bed so that she could see herself in the long mirror opposite it. ‘Oh yes, her family are quite la-di-da, but she got herself into a scrape with an unsuitable sort, and that was that.’

  Vita digested this new piece of information about Edith as she watched Nancy pose with the dress, ruffling the layers of white tulle. She would have killed to have been given the chance to come out in polite society. If she had, then none of this might have happened. She might be married off and living an altogether different kind of life.

  There had been talk of it, of course. Theresa Darton had made a case for Anna to go to London, but Clement had poured such scorn on the idea that it was never even broached with her father, and her mother had said no more about it.

  ‘It sounds very glamorous.’

  ‘I nearly died of boredom.’

  ‘But all those parties . . .’

  ‘There weren’t parties. Not fun ones, at least. It was awful. Like being paraded, but the air of desperation was so depressing.’

  ‘Desperation?’

  ‘My mother’s, mainly. But it was hopeless for all the girls. There were so few good men. And I absolutely refuse to hitch my wagon to the wrong horse.’

  Vita laughed, admiring Nancy’s rebellious spirit. After all, she felt exactly the same way about Malcolm Arkwright.

  ‘That’s when Edith and I got bored and rebelled. We snuck out of a ball one night and I took her dancing. Let me try this on. I’ll show you what a perfect idiot I looked.’

  Vita could already imagine the scene – how Nancy might have corrupted Edith, just as she was being corrupted herself. But she didn’t care, she realized. Not one bit.

  Nancy undid the small pearl button on her dress, undid the hooks at the side and wriggled out of it, so that the silk dress fell in a puddle around her ankles. She hooked a foot into the dress and tossed it away.

  As she leant forward to pick up the white dress, Vita saw the full outline of her small breasts beneath her silk camisole. She felt something rush through her. Shock? Excitement? She’d always wondered what it must feel like to fall in love, but maybe it must be a little bit like this. This tummy-tingling feeling of admiration. Because Nancy was simply gorgeous. And so daring and confident. Everything she herself longed to be.

  ‘Look! Horrible.’

  ‘I think you look lovely,’ Vita said, meaning it.

  ‘Well, perhaps. Three poor chaps fell hopelessly in love with me when I wore this dress,’ Nancy said, swinging her hips and admiring her reflection in the mirror. She sounded wistful and, for a moment, Vita wondered if there was more to Nancy being an outcast from her family than she was letting on.

  ‘I’m not surprised. If I were going to choose a dress, it would be exactly the same as that one,’ Vita said, getting up and examining the fine lacework on the hem. ‘It’s so well made.’

  ‘Mother sent for it from Paris. Much to Mrs Clifford-Meade’s upset.’

  ‘Mrs Clifford-Meade?’

  ‘My dressmaker. Well, mother’s actually. Lulu – everyone calls her Lulu – set up when she split up with the Major and she had to earn a living. She’s frightfully good. I shall introduce you. She has this quaint little shop with a few pieces, but the real magic happens out the back, with her bespoke designs.’

  ‘I’d love that,’ Vita said, entranced by this gossipy world that Nancy was so involved in, but also distracted by the way the designer had tapered the skirt into the waist so elegantly. ‘Look at those darts.’

  ‘You’re quite the little seamstress, aren’t you?’ Nancy said.

  ‘Hardly. But clothes – fine clothes like these – are so fascinating. They are like works of art. One day I’ll make them myself. That’s what I’d like to do anyway.’

  Nancy looked down, her face a mixture of curiosity and admiration, as if she were seeing Vita in a new light.

  ‘And in the meantime, I’m serious
about that lingerie,’ she added. ‘Something to tame these,’ she said, putting her hands over her breasts and laughing shyly.

  ‘Oh, don’t hide them away, darling. They’re one of your best assets. Why do you think Connelly hired you?’

  Vita looked up at her, startled.

  ‘What? Don’t look so shocked. The men come to our club to see beautiful women. It’s as simple as that. And you have a quite magnificent décolletage.’

  Vita wasn’t sure what a décolletage was. She backed away, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Nancy laughed and hopped off the bed, then gave Vita’s left breast a squeeze.

  ‘Don’t be so coy. I’d be proud of them, if they were mine,’ she said. ‘But even so, if you want to make some lingerie, you should. Just do it. I can’t stand people who talk about such things and never get on with it.’

  ‘Well, I will,’ she stammered. ‘Can I see what else you have in your wardrobe?’

  ‘Help yourself. But if we’re going to do this, I think we need a real drink, don’t you? What’ll it be?’

  ‘A Gin and It?’ Vita said, confidently naming the only drink she knew.

  ‘Yes, good idea,’ Nancy said. ‘I like your style, Verity Casey.’

  37

  The Conservatory

  Clement sat with the tartan rug over his knees in the cold conservatory, as his mother stood by the birdcage and posted morsels of food through the bars. The birds chirruped noisily inside, and in response she made cooing sounds, as if she were communicating with them. He loathed her for her infantile ways and for her refusal to take part in the real world.

  He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could tolerate. He tapped his fingers on the arm of his wheelchair, feeling a sense of righteous rage building up. In the distance, he could see the large brick chimney of the biggest of the Darton cotton mills, belching smoke into the grey sky. The sight only made him feel more trapped. He should be there at the mill. Not here.

  Martha came in, her head bowed.

  ‘The gentleman is here,’ she said.