Rosie Thomas 4-Book Collection: The White Dove, The Potter’s House, Celebration, White. Rosie Thomas
‘Yes. I’m not altogether amazed. Clearly she is ill, and we must go and fetch her. We’ll take her to Chance, to begin with, while I make arrangements. Then to Switzerland, perhaps. There’s a clinic outside Lausanne.’
‘Peter won’t like it.’
Adeline sighed. ‘Quite probably not. He is her husband, and therefore her next of kin. I suspect that that might be crucial. We shall have to deal with that when we get there.’
‘Quickly, then,’ Amy begged her and Adeline smiled.
‘I’m not going to run wildly out into the night half-dressed and looking more than a little crazy myself. I’m not like you, Amy. I’m going to drink my tea and then have my bath. Then I shall dress, and say goodbye politely to poor, embarrassed Bobbie, and then I shall ring for the car and we will drive calmly round to Ebury Street. From what you say, I don’t think Isabel will be going far this morning.’
Amy was half-wild with impatience, and with a certain conviction that they should race back to Isabel at once, but she knew better than to argue with Adeline. She passed the interminable waiting time in pacing up and down her room, up and back again.
Incredibly, it was ten o’clock before Adeline sailed in. She was wearing a dark grey tailored costume with a black Persian lamb collar and her maid had coiled her hair up under a Cossack hat of the same fur. She was pulling on her gloves and smoothing the black suède over each fingertip.
‘And now, let’s go to Ebury Street,’ she ordered regally.
Her chauffeur, in lavender-grey breeches and tunic with a double row of silver-gilt buttons, was waiting with the car at the steps. He took his peaked cap from under his arm with a flourish and pulled it low over his eyes, then handed them inside. Adeline’s car was a rakish cream Bentley, and every inch of chrome on it, from the radiator grille to the wheel spokes, was polished to a sparkle. As the long cream bonnet nosed out into the street the traffic seemed to hold respectfully back for it.
Amy glanced at the thick glass partition behind the chauffeur’s head.
‘I’m sorry I rushed in this morning.’
Adeline was still smoothing the niches of suède at her wrists. ‘Yes. You know, I wouldn’t dream of bursting into your bedroom, whatever the circumstances.’
The idea made Amy smile, but it was an uneven, bitter smile. ‘You wouldn’t see anything unexpected, even if you did.’ A thought struck her. Was she jealous of her mother, then? Jealous of her free spirit and her prime concern for her own pleasures? Or simply of her good time?
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Adeline murmured. ‘What with bringing home coal miners, and going to strange meetings and dinners with Mr Hardy.’
‘How do you know about the meetings?’ Amy was surprised, and curious.
‘I know all kinds of things,’ Adeline answered. ‘But you shouldn’t worry about whether I do or not, my darling. You have your own life to lead – and only one life, after all.’
They were in Ebury Street, and the long cream car was stopping at Peter Jaspert’s door. Standing at the kerb ahead of them was another car, a discreet black one. Adeline frowned at the sight of it.
A scared-looking maid ushered Amy and Adeline into the upstairs drawing room, and after a long moment Peter came in. He was freshly shaven and immaculate in morning dress with a gold chain looped across his waistcoat. Amy thought he looked as if he was about to preside over a wedding rather than his wife’s collapse. Adeline kissed him elaborately on either cheek.
‘Peter, my dear, I’m so sad and worried about Isabel and the baby. I think she should have a long, complete rest. And, if this terrible story of Amy’s is true, some proper medical attention. I’ll take her home to Chance with me now, and then we can talk about sending her to Dr Ahrend’s clinic in Lausanne. Will you ring for her maid to begin packing for her? Just a few things. The trunks can follow later, of course.’
Peter was standing stiffly, like a wax model of himself. ‘The terrible story, as you call it, is perfectly true. Isabel tried to smother the baby. I appreciate your concern, of course, Lady Lovell, but it won’t be necessary for you to make any arrangements. I have already done so. The doctors are examining her now, and the car is here to take her to an excellent rest home. In Chertsey, as it happens.’
‘Chertsey?’ Adeline was incredulous. ‘If it has to be in England, surely somewhere nearer home? There is someone in Harley Street who specializes …’
Peter cut her short. ‘I’m afraid I have already made the arrangements for my wife. She is going to Chertsey this morning.’
‘Peter,’ Adeline said in her soft, dangerous drawl. ‘What are you doing? Are you planning to certify my daughter?’
Amy thought that Peter might waver, but he stood his ground.
‘The papers have to be prepared. Nothing can and nothing will be done in haste. But in the meantime, it will be best for her to be somewhere secure. For her own good, as well as the child’s.’
Adeline stood facing him. To Amy it was clear that she was already being forced to fall back on her second line of attack.
‘The baby will stay here with his nurse and Bethan, of course. We’ll just take Isabel, and as soon as she is well again, she can come home to you both.’
My daughter for your son, in other words. The bargain was clear to all three of them.
‘Isabel is going to Chertsey this morning,’ Peter repeated.
‘You can’t do it.’
‘I’m afraid,’ he said evenly, ‘that it is already as good as done. I cannot risk my son.’
Amy had jumped to her feet ready to launch herself into a protest, but then she saw Adeline’s shoulders drop and knew that if her mother was giving up the fight so quickly, then they didn’t stand a chance at all. Peter was Isabel’s husband and her lawful guardian now if she had lost the precious responsibility for herself, and he held all the cards against them.
‘I want to see her,’ Amy demanded. As she spoke, they heard dragging footsteps come slowly down the stairs. Adeline wrenched open the door and Isabel confronted them. She was wrapped in a blanket and there was a nurse on either side of her, holding her arms. A doctor was coming down the stairs in the wake of the procession.
‘Isabel,’ Amy said, but her sister barely looked at her. Her hair was matted around her face and one cheek was swollen and puffy, the eye above it watery and blank. ‘I just wanted to be quiet,’ she explained to them all in a thin, childish voice.
Adeline made as if to go to her, but Peter caught her arm and the nurses gestured her back.
‘I’m afraid it isn’t advisable,’ the doctor said. ‘Any excitement, or sudden movement. In any case, we’re not sure that she knows who anyone is. We’ve given her a sedative, and she will be quite calm shortly. If you will let us through?’
They stood in a huddle in the drawing-room doorway, watching in silence as Isabel was led shuffling away, her head hanging like a convict’s. Peter shook himself and followed the little group down to the street. The door of the black car opened and swallowed Isabel, and then it drove away from them and disappeared.
Amy heard her mother utter a single, black obscenity. Peter came slowly back into the house and Adeline raised her chin and swept past him without a glance. Shaking, with her legs almost giving way underneath her, Amy followed her. She was aware of Peter closing the door on them and on his wife being sped away somewhere to a discreet, distant and unmentionable locked room.
Amy sank into the car beside her mother and the Bentley purred off in the opposite direction.
All Amy’s calm was gone and she turned to Adeline and begged her, like a child, ‘Mummy, what can we do? If we had been earlier …’
Adeline’s face was turned away, out to