interested . She couldn’t exactly explain how he’d looked, but it was not the usual sort of look between a de Vere and a parlourmaid. Her cheeks went pink and, looking away, she pretended to study her new gloves. How had that happened, she wondered. How had he gone from being merely the younger de Vere boy to someone who could quicken her heart?
The applause from the servants died down and, before they could move off again, Mr de Vere rose to his feet. ‘This seems an opportune time to pass on an item of news about the war,’ he said. ‘In the Telegraph this morning there was a report of a Christmas truce on the front line.’
‘Oh, how marvellous!’ cried Mrs de Vere.
‘Apparently,’ continued her husband, ‘yesterday – Christmas morning – our Tommies and the German soldiers called greetings to each other, then ventured out of their trenches into no-man’s-land to exchange food and souvenirs. It’s said that they played games of football, England against Germany – bartered cigarettes and shook hands for a happy new year.’
‘There!’ said Freddie. ‘Perhaps it’s true what some people are saying: that the war isn’t so serious and soon everyone will be home again.’
‘I fear it is serious,’ said his brother, a trace of reproof in his tone. ‘Hundreds have already been killed at Marne.’
‘Yes, of course, dear,’ said Mrs de Vere, as if sensing a little tension between her two boys. ‘I’m very much afraid that they have.’
‘At any rate, the generals didn’t approve of the ceasefire,’ said Jasper. ‘Any fraternisation between Tommy and Fritz is frowned upon.’
‘Quite,’ said Mr de Vere, who’d had several glasses of port wine. ‘They think that if the lads get too friendly they won’t be so keen to knock the blasted bejesus out of each other!’
At this Mrs de Vere raised her eyebrows at her husband. Everyone fell silent and the servants finally left the room.
A group of guests had been invited for afternoon tea on New Year’s Day. There had been much discussion between Cook and Mrs de Vere on what, exactly, this tea should consist of. The latter wanted to strike the right note: mindful of the war, but not too frugal with the iced fancies in case she was deemed as lacking in hospitality.
At four o’clock, going into the drawing room bearing the best silver teapot, Poppy was all-over anxious to see one particular person, for a Miss Philippa Cardew and her family were amongst the guests. This Miss Cardew – so rumours below stairs had it – was in line to marry Master Freddie. (‘Money marrying money,’ Mrs Elkins told Poppy. ‘No love involved – you mark my words – just land and country houses.’)
Setting down the tea tray on the polished table, Poppy took in the visitors at a glance and knew immediately which one was Miss Cardew, for she was the only female of the right age and, besides, was terribly attractive and stylish, with bobbed hair which fell straight and shiny to her jaw in the new fashion. She was wearing a bias-cut dress in bright emerald silk with a full pink rose pinned at the neckline, and had matching pink satin boots with a row of buttons running up the sides.
Poppy was somewhat taken aback. Just an alliance of land and country houses, Mrs Elkins had said, and Poppy had somehow imagined Miss Cardew as a solid, frumpy country girl, with bird’s-nest hair and thick knitted stockings. She hadn’t prepared herself for the possibility of beauty.
The likelihood of Freddie and Miss Cardew becoming engaged was discussed over the servants’ tea break, but Poppy, despite being full of thoughts on the matter, did not volunteer any opinion either way.
At five o’clock she was delighted to have her mood lifted when Cook remembered that a letter for her had been delivered by second post. It was from Miss Luttrell, her old English teacher.
The Pantiles,
Mayfield, Herts
31st December 1914
My dear Poppy,
Thank you for your
The applause from the servants died down and, before they could move off again, Mr de Vere rose to his feet. ‘This seems an opportune time to pass on an item of news about the war,’ he said. ‘In the Telegraph this morning there was a report of a Christmas truce on the front line.’
‘Oh, how marvellous!’ cried Mrs de Vere.
‘Apparently,’ continued her husband, ‘yesterday – Christmas morning – our Tommies and the German soldiers called greetings to each other, then ventured out of their trenches into no-man’s-land to exchange food and souvenirs. It’s said that they played games of football, England against Germany – bartered cigarettes and shook hands for a happy new year.’
‘There!’ said Freddie. ‘Perhaps it’s true what some people are saying: that the war isn’t so serious and soon everyone will be home again.’
‘I fear it is serious,’ said his brother, a trace of reproof in his tone. ‘Hundreds have already been killed at Marne.’
‘Yes, of course, dear,’ said Mrs de Vere, as if sensing a little tension between her two boys. ‘I’m very much afraid that they have.’
‘At any rate, the generals didn’t approve of the ceasefire,’ said Jasper. ‘Any fraternisation between Tommy and Fritz is frowned upon.’
‘Quite,’ said Mr de Vere, who’d had several glasses of port wine. ‘They think that if the lads get too friendly they won’t be so keen to knock the blasted bejesus out of each other!’
At this Mrs de Vere raised her eyebrows at her husband. Everyone fell silent and the servants finally left the room.
A group of guests had been invited for afternoon tea on New Year’s Day. There had been much discussion between Cook and Mrs de Vere on what, exactly, this tea should consist of. The latter wanted to strike the right note: mindful of the war, but not too frugal with the iced fancies in case she was deemed as lacking in hospitality.
At four o’clock, going into the drawing room bearing the best silver teapot, Poppy was all-over anxious to see one particular person, for a Miss Philippa Cardew and her family were amongst the guests. This Miss Cardew – so rumours below stairs had it – was in line to marry Master Freddie. (‘Money marrying money,’ Mrs Elkins told Poppy. ‘No love involved – you mark my words – just land and country houses.’)
Setting down the tea tray on the polished table, Poppy took in the visitors at a glance and knew immediately which one was Miss Cardew, for she was the only female of the right age and, besides, was terribly attractive and stylish, with bobbed hair which fell straight and shiny to her jaw in the new fashion. She was wearing a bias-cut dress in bright emerald silk with a full pink rose pinned at the neckline, and had matching pink satin boots with a row of buttons running up the sides.
Poppy was somewhat taken aback. Just an alliance of land and country houses, Mrs Elkins had said, and Poppy had somehow imagined Miss Cardew as a solid, frumpy country girl, with bird’s-nest hair and thick knitted stockings. She hadn’t prepared herself for the possibility of beauty.
The likelihood of Freddie and Miss Cardew becoming engaged was discussed over the servants’ tea break, but Poppy, despite being full of thoughts on the matter, did not volunteer any opinion either way.
At five o’clock she was delighted to have her mood lifted when Cook remembered that a letter for her had been delivered by second post. It was from Miss Luttrell, her old English teacher.
The Pantiles,
Mayfield, Herts
31st December 1914
My dear Poppy,
Thank you for your
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