My True Companion (2 page)

Mrs Parker-Trent looked at Mrs Conrad blankly, but Millie
understood the inference and blessed Mrs Conrad for it.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and a few minutes later, a
grand looking man with a magnificent beard entered the room. He reminded Millie
of King Edward, but with a foreign flare lacking in the old king.

“Count Chlomsky, how good to see you again,” said Alex
Markham, almost falling into the role of host. He introduced everyone else to
the Count. Mrs Parker-Trent went so far as to give a little curtsey.

The assembled guests made small talk, until their hosts
arrived to take the role from Alex Markham.

“I do apologise,” said Cynthia Fazeby. “We’ve been the most
dreadful hosts. Henry had to take a telephone call from London, and the line
was dreadful. It seems Mr Haxby won’t be arriving till much later. He insisted
we all go into dinner without him.

Dinner was a polite though rather strained affair. Millie
had changed into the only evening dress she owned, a gown of fine grey muslin,
which her father used to say made her look like a shadow. Her heavy fringe
curved over her large grey eyes. She finished the look with grey satin
slippers, hoping that she could indeed slip into the shadows.

Mrs Oakengate and Mrs Parker-Trent dressed as though for
dinner with the King. Mrs Oakengate wore deep red silk, and Mrs Parker-Trent
competed in blue velvet. Mrs Conrad wore a simple blue gown, and Cynthia Fazeby
wore a dress of antique lace, with tiny pearls around the neckline.

Cynthia and Henry Fazeby were old hands at putting people at
their ease, and the urbane Alex Markham was at home anywhere he went. Despite
their efforts, there was an underlying tension that Millie could not put her
finger on. Chlomsky in particular seemed to be under some stress, drinking
rather heavily, and becoming redder in the face as the night wore on.

She wondered if it were because of her presence, and as the
dessert of lighter than air lemon sorbet was served, prayed for an excuse to
escape.

Mrs Conrad was watchful, taking an interest in everyone. She
also made an effort to draw Millie into the conversation, though if Millie were
honest, she would rather keep out of it. She had spent very little time in the
outside world over the previous couple of years and was not familiar with any
of the people or politics the diners discussed. Her life, for two years, had
revolved around her father’s trial. Everything else faded in significance. As
such, she found herself very ignorant of current affairs.

“Those damned socialists,” Arthur Parker-Trent was saying.
“Encouraging workers to form unions. I won’t have it in my workplace, I tell
you, despite the workers trying to force it on me. If we’re not careful we
shall all be murdered in our beds and taken to the guillotine.”

“The guillotine would be rather redundant if one had already
been murdered,” said Henry Fazeby, to general laughter. “Still, your lovely
wife would make a most charming Marie Antoinette.”

“It is often said I look as though I have blue blood,” said
Hortense. “And papa…”

“Papa was a milkman,” said Arthur Parker-Trent.

“He was an eccentric rich man,” Hortense said, her cheeks
flaming. “We had our own dairy farm.”

“Dash it all, Hortense, you come from a grimy little street
in Derbyshire. Not far from here in fact.”

“The Peak District is very beautiful,” said Millie, feeling
sorry for the young woman.

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” said Hortense, her voice losing its
affected tone. “The Heights of Abraham has one of the best views in the
country. Especially in autumn, when the leaves turn russet. I used to go there
as a girl.” Her eyes took on a faraway look, making her face look genuinely
pretty. “I’d climb Masson Hill in the evenings, just to watch the sunset.”

“I should like to see it,” said Millie.

“So would I now that you’ve described it so beautifully,
Hortense,” said Mrs Conrad. Arthur Parker-Trent harrumphed into his glass of
wine. “Perhaps we could travel there this weekend.”

“I should hate it,” said Victoria Oakengate. “The
countryside is a bore. Not in your lovely home, of course, Cynthia. But I
despise trees.”

“We shall try to keep them off the itinerary,” said Henry
Fazeby, wryly. Millie got the impression that he would much rather be locked up
in the library with his books than hosting a dinner party.

When the butler brought the port, the women retired to the
drawing room. “I know it’s an old-fashioned custom to leave the men to their
port,” said Cynthia Fazeby, as she led them through to the drawing room, “but I
prefer to chat to other women without men present. The conversation is far more
interesting.”

“So,” said Mrs Oakengate when the women were alone. They sat
back in comfortable chairs, drinking coffee. “Tell me about Chlomsky. Is he
rich?”

“Very,” said Cynthia, her eyes glowing mischievously. “His
family were something important in Prussia. Are you thinking of husband number
two?”

“Oh, always darling. Though I would much rather Alexander
Markham. Millicent, you must tell me all about your godfather.”

Barbara Conrad, sitting in the corner browsing through a
magazine, raised her eyebrow, and then winked at Millie.

“He’s a very kind, intelligent man,” said Millie. “When I
was growing up, he was like a second father to me. We … I haven’t seen him for
a while.”

“He’s a great diplomat,” said Cynthia. “Henry tells me that
many a time Alexander has got the country out of trouble abroad. Not quite in
the same way as James Haxby but…”

“Now, tell me about Haxby,” said Mrs Oakengate, her mind
already having moved on. “He’s quite the adventurer, I hear.”

“Oh yes,” said Cynthia.  She related what was known of
Haxby’s adventures, all of which seemed incongruous when sitting in a civilised
drawing room in the middle of England. Mrs Parker-Trent listened with rapt
attention. Much of it Millie already knew from the papers, but there were other
hints at dangers not made public. Then the talk moved on to more mundane
things. Dresses, hats, and who was seeing whom, and the local area. It was
decided that they would visit the Heights of Abraham the following morning and
take tea in one of the cafes in Matlock.

“I wonder …” said Millie after a while, “if I might excuse
myself.” She looked to Mrs Oakengate for permission.

“My dear child,” said Mrs Oakengate, “you’ll have people
thinking I keep you as a slave. You may retire anytime you wish.”

That wasn’t strictly true, and there had been several nights
when Mrs Oakengate had insisted on Millie sitting up into the early hours
listening to her employer reminisce. Millie supposed it was loneliness.

“Millie, if you would like to read my book,” said Mrs
Conrad, “come to my room in half an hour and fetch it.”

“That’s very kind, Mrs Conrad, thank you.”

“Please, call me Barbara.”

Fazeby Hall began to settle down for the night, as Millie
made her way to Barbara Conrad’s room on the opposite wing of the building. She
had waited to ensure Mrs Oakengate was settled for the night, to prevent being
called in for a ‘chat’ which would have meant another night of not getting to
bed until three in the morning.

“Come on in, child,” said Barbara. It seemed an odd thing
for her to say, since she was only a few years older than Millie. “The maid has
left us two cups of cocoa, and some biscuits, so I hope you will stay a while
and talk to me.”

Millie smiled her gratitude. Barbara beckoned to a
comfortable chair near the window. “I always hate these country house
weekends,” she said. “But it is expected of one’s class to attend them
occasionally. It’s worse when one is alone.”

“Is your husband busy this weekend?” asked Millie, just to
make conversation. A dark cloud passed over Barbara’s face. She sat on the edge
of the bed, nursing her cup of cocoa.

“Yes, he’s working. Tell me about Mrs Oakengate. How did you
find yourself working for her?”

“She and my mother were on the stage together, before I was
born.”

“Your mother is dead, isn’t she?”

“Yes, she died when I was little. I don’t remember much
about her. Just vague impressions. Sometimes I’ll hear a song or smell a
particular perfume and it reminds me of her…” Millie stopped. “I’m sorry.
You’re not interested in all that.”

“Yes, I am, Millie. Did your father never remarry?”

“No, though there was a lady who visited for a while. But
papa was married to his work. So it was just the two of us. I used to help him.
I hoped that I’d be able to get a job working with another inventor, but sadly
my name does not instil them with confidence.”

“So now you’re stuck with Oakengate.”

“Oh, she’s very kind to me,” said Millie. “If not for her I
might have to work in a factory.”

“She’s not a kind woman,” said Barbara Conrad, emphatically.
“You’re not the first trophy she’s paraded in public. Victoria Oakengate
collects people. I’ll say one thing for her, she’s not a snob. She’s probably a
better person than me in that sense. She doesn’t mind if people are flat broke,
as long as they either come from the right family or come from a family so
notorious that she can dine out on their infamy. She should never have brought
you here.”

“I realise my presence must be embarrassing…”

“It’s not you, Millie,” said Barbara. “Victoria should never
have thrust you into the spotlight like this. Especially with Count Chlomsky
attending.”

“What has he got to do with anything?”

“You don’t know? No, I suppose much was kept out of the
court case. My husband hears things however, and it’s believed … well some
believe that Count Chlomsky was one of the men to whom your father gave
secrets.”

“Then why is he not also in prison, charged with spying?”
asked Millie, horrified.

“Because by the time they found out, he had become a citizen
of a friendly country, and was made a diplomat. They have immunity, as you
probably know.” Barbara put her cup on the bedside table. “I shouldn’t have
said anything. It’s just that you looked so uncomfortable tonight, and I sensed
you felt unwelcome. The fact is that Cynthia Fazeby is more than happy to have
you here. It is Count Chlomsky’s presence that is the bugbear.”

Millie decided not to tell Barbara about Cynthia and Henry
Fazeby’s discussion. “So why was he invited?”

“He more or less invited himself, I believe. He and
Parker-Trent have business dealings. As the Foreign Office want to keep an eye
on him, they asked Cynthia and Henry to play along.”

“He is not a nice man.”

“Who, Chlomsky? No I suppose he isn’t.”

“No, sorry, I meant Mr Parker-Trent.” Millie had not made up
her mind about Count Chlomsky, not having had much opportunity to speak to him.
The fact he might have known her father played on her mind. As Millie had no
doubts at all about her father’s innocence, she now wondered exactly what part
Chlomsky might have had to play in his downfall.

“I agree. He’s very unkind to that silly wife of his, and
she’s a harmless soul really,” said Barbara. “It’s a very common way to behave.
But he’s a very common man. With far more common beginnings than his wife, by
all accounts. Now he has his eye on a knighthood and other accolades. In fact,
it was a surprise to everyone he married Hortense. Everyone expected him to
marry above himself, to help him get a leg up into high society.” Barbara
smiled with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I hope we shall be friends,
Millie. If you need to talk to anyone whilst we’re here, please consider my
door always open.”

Once again, Millie was moved. Cynthia Fazeby and Barbara had
shown her the first genuine kindness she had known since her father was
arrested. On some occasions, when leaving the court, she had been abused on the
street. Others were polite, but distant. Even the few friends they had known,
including girls of Millie’s own age, had drifted away, not wanting to be
associated with the family. The kind neighbours who gave Millie a home did it
out of pity for her, and not because of Millie’s father, whom they thought must
be guilty if the court deemed it so.

It was strange how that changed after her father’s
execution. Then people began to see Millie as a tragic victim, and despite her
father’s alleged crime, saw him as some sort of anti-hero; to be both admired,
due to his assumed forage into espionage, and yet despised at the same time.
Barbara Conrad showed Millie no pity. Only kindness and a sense that they were equals.

The two women chatted for a little while longer, before
Millie wished Barbara goodnight, clutching a copy of the good lady’s novel in
her hand.

As she walked along the corridor, the door to one of the
bedrooms opened to reveal Hortense Parker-Trent. Her face was clear of make-up,
and she was dressed in a simple nightgown, looking younger, fresher and
prettier, apart from dark lines circling her eyes.

“Miss Woodridge,” Hortense whispered, looking up and down
the corridor, “I need to speak to you.”

“Hortense…” It was Mr Parker-Trent, calling his wife in a
querulous voice. “Come back to bed this instant.”

“Tomorrow,” said Hortense. “When we go to the Heights of
Abraham. I’ll speak to you then. It’s really important.”

Millie nodded in agreement, before Hortense quickly slammed
the door. Millie could hear Mr Parker-Trent’s harsh voice from inside, and
Hortense’s softer tones, placating him. Realising she was in danger of
eavesdropping on intimate marital discussions, Millie continued towards her
room.

At first, Millie only saw long shadows, cast along the
hallway by the faint electric lamps. Then a man appeared at the top of the
stairs. He was tall and muscular, with rugged features, and hair thick and
dark, devoid of the oils and potion many men used. It was also slightly longer
than the norm, his fringe falling over his eyes, which were hazel brown. He
looked like a man only just in touch with civilisation, like an animal that had
only recently been tamed and might easily revert to a savage state at any
moment.