She had intended to search out what she was looking for and leave as quickly as possible, but now she was here, surrounded by things that still carried a hint of Mama’s perfume, she found she didn’t want to go back up to the cold and comfortless nursery. Had Mama worn these dresses to parties and balls? Had young, beautiful Selina Lennox danced with Rupert Carew in those tissue-shrouded shoes and known he was the man she was going to marry? Had she loved him then?
The bedroom door opened in a sudden fan of electric light, catapulting Alice out of wistful imagining and into pure terror. She was hidden from view by the open door of the wardrobe, but that meant she couldn’t see who had come in either and what they were doing. Dizzy with panic she shrank back between the folds of silk and tweed, drawing them around her in the hope of avoiding discovery, even though she knew it was futile. A second later a figure peered around the door. Alice gave a whimper of relief as she recognized Polly.
‘I suppose I don’t need to ask what you’re doing in here…’ Her arms were folded, but she didn’t sound cross.
‘There are lilies on the curtains.’ Alice’s voice was a breathless croak. ‘I woke up in here with Mama once, and the sun came through … And look – drawers.’ There was a row of them, beneath the shelves on which the shoes stood. ‘The box in the clue must be in one of those.’
Polly grinned. ‘Well, you’d better check quick then, before anyone notices that neither of us are where we’re supposed to be.’
Alice started at the top, pulling the drawers open quickly. Handkerchiefs, stockings, a stack of neatly folded white blouses with girlish Peter Pan collars, stiff cotton nightdresses with frilled lace at the neck … And then, in the bottommost drawer, a box.
With Polly watching, she lifted it out and carried it over to the bed. It was made of cardboard, not heavy, and when she set it down on the lily-strewn counterpane she could just about make out a label on the lid in furling Art-Nouveau style.
‘Maison D’Or,’ Polly said softly, tracing a finger over the lettering. ‘It was a dressmaking studio in London where your mama and Miss Miranda used to get a lot of their things made. The studio was all done out in ivory and gold – I only went there a couple of times to pick things up, but I was that nervous about trailing mud in off the street or making a mess. I wonder if it’s still there now?’
‘I didn’t know you’d lived in London.’ Somehow Polly, with her buttery west-country accent and wheat-coloured hair was part of Blackwood. It was impossible to imagine her amongst motorcars and trams and sooty streets.
‘I didn’t – not really. Sir Robert and Lady Lennox had a house there back then – in Chester Square it was – and I used to go up during the Season. They had separate household staff, but personal servants used to travel with the family. I went for a few years, from the time your mama had her Coming Out to when she married…’ Polly became brisk again. ‘Here, are you going to look inside this box or not?’
Alice lifted the lid and laid it aside. The first thing she saw was a piece of paper, folded in half. She opened it, tilting it to catch the words in the fading light.
21st MAY 1925
A not-quite MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S SCREAM
TO WHICH
ALL FAERIE QUEENS, ASSES AND YOUNG LOVERS
ARE INVITED
FOR A NIGHT OF REVELRY ON THE
STREETS OF LONDON
IN THE ETERNAL HUNT FOR FUN AND TREASURE
INNOCENCE MAY BE LOST BUT
PRIZES WILL BE FOUND
ASSEMBLE AT ADMIRALTY ARCH AT
MIDNIGHT FOR STIRRUP CUP BEFORE THE OFF
Alice read it through twice. There were words that were unfamiliar, but the message was clear. And thrilling. She looked up at Polly.
‘A treasure hunt? A proper treasure hunt, for grown-ups?’
Polly laughed. Her hair gleamed palely in the dusk but her face was in deep shadow so Alice couldn’t see her expression. ‘I suppose they were grown-ups, though they didn’t behave like them most of the time. If they’d been just a few years older the boys would have been through the war in France, but these were the ones who just missed it.’
‘Papa went.’
‘I know, pet.’
‘Mama said that’s why he’s like he is.’ It was The War’s fault. Not Alice’s. Never Alice’s.
Polly sighed. ‘I daresay she’s right. It left its mark on all of those that went through it, but it had an effect on the ones who came after too.’ The flimsy paper leaflet crackled softly as she smoothed it flat. ‘It made them a bit giddy, I think, like they wanted to grab as many opportunities to enjoy themselves as they could, and never mind about rules and respectability – all the things that had mattered so much before. They were always doing madcap things – fancy dress parties and daft dares, pranks and practical jokes. Treasure hunts were quite the thing for a while – all of them tearing around the city at night in their motorcars, making a terrific racket and getting themselves into the newspapers.’
‘Did Mama get into the newspapers?’
‘Oh yes – far too often, for your grandparents’ liking. And your Aunt Miranda’s. Your mama was part of a very glamorous set which lots of people disapproved of, but couldn’t help being fascinated by too.’
‘Do you think Mama is going to do a treasure hunt for me? Is this a clue?’
‘I think it might very well be. Why don’t you take this box up to the nursery and have a look through it? There might be some more clues in there.’
So she did, and while Polly went back downstairs Alice settled herself on the draughty window seat with Noah’s elephants and lifted the flimsy cardboard lid. They had learned in school about Lord Carnarvon discovering the pharaoh’s tomb in the Valley of the Kings, and she imagined this must have been what it felt like. She took things out, one at a time, examining them in the feeble light of the nursery lamp, marvelling over the mysteries they hinted at. A black silk bow tie. A navy blue spotted handkerchief. A tarnished brass key with a geometric pattern at the top. An invitation card, gold edged and elaborately lettered, to a costume ball – Grosvenor Square, 24th July 1925 … Come as a Work of Art. Questions rose and writhed like smoke inside her mind, dissipating as she came to an envelope with her name on the front.
Another clue?
She felt as if she had been running after Mama along winding passageways, trying to catch up with her, listening to the echo of her voice but unable to make out the words. And now she had appeared in front of her, and her voice was soft and clear.
Darling Alice,
If you’re reading this it means you must have found the box – well done! It was the one my bridesmaid dress for Aunt Miranda’s wedding was delivered in, which I swiped to stow away my treasures after the big day had passed.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that summer lately. (I suppose it’s because I’m on a long and rather arduous journey, and journeys always make one look back at the places one has been before and view them with the clarity of perspective.) I can see now that it was a sort of turning point in all sorts of ways; a time of beginnings and of goodbyes. Of course, when I arrived in London in May it was with no clue that anything other than the usual parties and events of the Season lay ahead and no thought of doing anything but having as much fun as possible with darling Flick and Theo and the rest of our crowd (many of whom you know now as respectable married people and pillars of public life – how you would gasp to see them as they were then!)