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30th June 1932

To Fortnum’s, for a postmortem with Wally. She’s already had a warm note of thanks from Thelma, so she feels she’s established another useful friendship.

I said, “You’re very keen to meet the Prince of Wales.”

“Not especially,” she said. “I already met him. But Ernest would be very thrilled, and anyway, who ever knows where these things may lead?”

She claims she met His Royal Highness at a reception in Coronado in 1920, when he was on his way to Australia and his battleship refueled at San Diego. Strange she never mentioned it before. And she doesn’t remember what he said to her. I’ll bet she didn’t actually meet him at all.

I said, “So, what happens next?”

She said, “We wait and see. But I’ll be very surprised if we don’t get an invitation to Thelma’s country house in the fall.”

That’s where the royal affaire takes place, apparently.

I said, “Why the fall? That’s months away.”

“Well,” she said, “after the middle of July, nothing important happens till September. We’re going to the Tyrol.”

Pips wasn’t impressed by Thelma Furness. She found her doe-eyed and vapid.

I said, “What else would she need to be? The Prince of Wales is heir to the throne. He’s used to giving out edicts and laying down the law. He’d hardly choose a sweetie who answered back.”

She said, “Oh I don’t know. I’ve heard he’s pretty vapid himself.”

She and Freddie are going to Italy for the month of August.

1st July 1932

Even Ida seems to be fixed up for summer, care-taking someone’s house in Gloucestershire. When I asked Violet if she planned to remain in London, she looked at me as though I’d asked whether she intended jumping into the Thames.

“Maybell,” she said, “no one stays in London in August. We go to Drumcanna, of course, and this year you’ll come with us.”

We’ll see about that. It’s so typical of Melhuish’s family to have their castle practically at the North Pole. All that way, and for what? To catch a few fish when one could so easily have them delivered by a good fishmonger? To crawl across Scottish moors in pursuit of some kind of elk? Knowing Violet’s culinary repertoire, we’ll be dining on poached elk till Thanksgiving. No. I shall make other arrangements.

Wally and Ernest are dining with Boss and Ethel Croker before they leave London.

I said, “You and Ethel must have so much to catch up on.”

“Not really,” she said. “We were never close. But Ernest and Boss will find lots to talk about. They have a house on Long Island, you know? And they travel all over, first class. Ethel’s certainly landed on her feet. Traded in a midshipman for a multimillionaire.”

Hardly “traded in.” Ethel’s husband was killed in Canton, friendly fire.

3rd July 1932

Ulick and Rory are home. Doopie has been flapping around all morning, unpacking trunks and examining socks for holes and shirt collars for turning. After the summer, Ulick will be going to Melhuish’s old school, Eton College, and so has to have his name stitched into dozens of new garments. A simple, repetitive task that would drive a normal person insane, but Doopie is clearly in her element.

Violet says the entertainments at Drumcanna will be simple, outdoor pursuits. Fishing, deerstalking, shooting. She says they don’t keep late nights, because of making an early start, but they do play parlor games after dinner and they always give a ball, where the help and the guests mingle and dance. I told her I didn’t think it was for me.

“Nonsense,” she said. “You’ll have a wonderful time. The mountain air will do you good, and you’ll strike up new friendships. Jane Habberley is coming, and Penelope Blythe. Anyway, you can’t stay here. Smith and the maids go to their families for August.”

The butler and the driver go north with them, apparently, but Drumcanna is otherwise run by a staff of locals, even more wayward than the London tribe, no doubt, left to their own Scottish devices for months at a time.

I said, “Then I’ll go to a hotel.”

“You’ll come to Drumcanna, Maybell!” she said, “and do what normal people do.”

A note under my door at bedtime.

Dear Aunt Maybell,

Please come to Scotland. Flora and I will be very sad if you do not.

Yours truly,

Rory Melhuish.

4th July 1932

To the U.S. Legation for luncheon. The “Star-Spangled Banner” brought a tear to my eye and made me think of going home. But to what? Sweet Air will seem so quiet after the mad house at Carlton Gardens. To be alone in Baltimore or alone in London? Everyone is paired off, making their gay plans. No one considers you when you’re a widow.

5th July 1932

Violet says I’ve relieved her of a great worry by agreeing to go to Drumcanna, and she promises me I won’t regret my decision.

She said, “We’ll go for lovely walks. It’ll lift your spirits. And I think I can promise you you’ll get to meet Bertie and Elizabeth York. They’ll be at Birkhall and may very well invite you over. It’s even possible you’ll be presented to Their Majesties!”

Bertie is the second Royal brother. There’s Edward, the eldest, except everyone calls him “David” or “Wales” when they disapprove of something he’s done. He’ll be the next King. Then comes Bertie, who’s the Duke of York, married to Elizabeth, followed by Harry and George and, of course, the sister, who doesn’t really count.

I asked if the Prince of Wales is likely to be there. That’d be one in the eye for Wally! But Violet thinks it unlikely.

She said, “Wales comes and goes. He’s like a flea at a fair. Never settles to anything for long.”

I said, “Thelma Furness calls him ‘David’.”

Pursed lips. “Does she indeed?” she said. “Well, in the unlikely event of your being in his company, don’t think of imitating her. Be on your guard, Maybell. Don’t let Wally and her set lead you into regrettable habits.”

I’m going to retrieve my gramophone and my tango record from Wally before she leaves for the Tyrol. It sounds as though it may be the saving of those Drumcanna evenings, and Violet thinks a guest called Tommy Minskip might enjoy the novelty of it. He’s a viscount, unattached, and prefers indoor diversions to the hearty outdoor activities Melhuish’s other friends seem to enjoy.

Violet said, “Who knows, perhaps you’ll hit it off!”

I do believe she’s matchmaking.

Less than three weeks till we leave for Scotland, which allows very little time for purchasing mountain wear. Violet has offered me a green waterproof cloak she keeps for rainy days at Ascot, but I have no intention of meeting Viscount Minskip dressed as a cucumber.

7th July 1932

To Peter Jones department store for cardigan sets, warm nightgowns, and bed socks. Violet says we’re not going to the North Pole. Life here may have thickened her blood, but so far it hasn’t affected mine. In addition to Viscount Minskip, the guests at Drumcanna will be the Habberleys, the Blythes, the Anstruther-Brodies, George Lightfoot, and ex-Queen Ena of Spain. Melhuish’s sisters and their encumbrances will be at Birkhall, staying with the Bertie Yorks.

Next Tuesday is Rory’s eleventh birthday. I’m granting him his dearest wish and taking him to a cafeteria for poached eggs on toast. I said he could invite a friend, too, but he says he’ll just bring Flora. Ulick has declined, and Doopie gets anxious in tearooms.

8th July 1932

With Wally to collect her vacation outfits. What she does is buy one good thing each season and then have it copied. She has a little woman in Cromwell Road, who does it for a song and also remodels gowns, if they still have wear in them but have been seen rather too often. Wally’s accustomed to this kind of thing, of course. All her life she’s had to make a little go a long way, but still, how depressing! I felt compelled to take her to Derry and Toms and treat her to a new day dress.

She says it’s not that Ernest’s poor, but he’s in the family shipping business, which went through shaky times when his father was in charge, so even though it’s now quite successful, Ernest has a fear of financial reversals.

I said, “Did you know this when you agreed to marry him?”

She said she didn’t know very much about him at all except that he had nice manners and good taste. Also, he offered to divorce his wife, so he seemed like a better prospect than working as a stenographer and living in a walk-up, which was the bleak future she faced after she’d dumped Win Spencer. I still think she rushed into things. I made Brumby wait two years for my answer.

She insists they’re well suited though. She says that apart from being a stickler over the accounts, Ernest is very quiet and undemanding. He’s quite happy to smoke his pipe and read his books and leave the decisions to her.

10th July 1932

Last evening to Pips and Freddie Crosbies. Came: Judson and Hattie Erlanger, Whitlow and Gladys Trilling, and an English couple, Prosper and Daphne Frith. Prosper is in Parliament with Freddie. Much talk about vicious street fighting in Germany. The Communists are behind it, of course, picking on the National Socialists. Prosper Frith says the situation is particularly tense in Hamburg, which is precisely Wally and Ernest’s first port of call. Ernest has an office there. I must warn her.

11th July 1932

Wally says Germany is a wonderful, law-abiding country, and she isn’t the least bit nervous about her trip. After Hamburg, they’ll be motoring south to stay with an American friend called Lily. She has a small castle.

12th July 1932

Rory’s birthday. My success as an aunt knows no bounds. It was such a hot afternoon we went first to the Serpentine Lido, where Rory and Flora took off their shoes and stockings and paddled, then to Oxford Street to Lyon’s Corner House for tea. Flora wanted to know whether we have Red Indians at Sweet Air. Rory quizzed me about Wally. So much for Violet’s whispering. Children don’t miss a trick.

I said, “She’s a friend who went to school with your mummy and me, and she’s had a rather hard life. Her people didn’t have any money.”

“Gracious,” he said, “that must have been jolly hard. Couldn’t they have sold one of their houses or something?”

I said, “There wasn’t anything to sell. Imagine. But your grandma and grandpa Patterson were always kind to her. She used to come to our house all the time in school vacation. She was like an extra sister. And now she’s in London and so am I, so we can be friends again.”

He wanted to know if she’s still poor. I said, “Well, she’s certainly not rich.”

He said, “I expect Mummy hasn’t invited her to tea because she wears raggedy clothes.”

Flora said, “That’s not why. It’s because she’s vast. I heard Mummy say so.”

I said, “No she’s not. She’s small and slender.”

“Well,” she said, “Mummy told Aunt Elspeth the Wally was as vast and bushy as ever.”

Extraordinary.

I pumped Rory for information about this Viscount Minskip Violet has lined up for me.

He said, “I don’t know really. He always comes to Drumcanna, but he never asks me or Ulick to play with him. Uncle George Lightfoot says he doesn’t have both oars in the water.”

I’m surprised to hear he rows. Violet gave me the impression he’s more of a drawing-room man.

18th July 1932

Wally gave up my portable gramophone very reluctantly, but she and Ernest leave tomorrow, so she can’t have any possible use for it. I also had to ask for my tango record, and she wouldn’t let me borrow the two she bought. She said Ernest is very particular about lending things.

21st July 1932

The car, the luggage, and the butler have left for the long drive north, and what remains of the staff seems to be in premature holiday mood. Bells go unanswered, baths are run late, and dinner has been pared down to soup, an entrée, and a dessert composed from stale cake and canned fruits. Violet says we’ll be glutted with good food once we get to Drumcanna. I suppose that means more salmon.

27th July 1932, Drumcanna, Aberdeenshire

We are at Melhuish’s Scottish seat, by some miracle. Now I know how our great pioneers lived as they forged west. We had to change trains at Edinburgh and again at Aberdeen, into ever more spartan carriages, so that we arrived at Aboyne with every tooth shaken loose. There we were met by cars for another bone-rattling ride. Fifteen miles on rutted tracks and in unaccountably sweltering heat.

Drumcanna towers above the Burn of Skelpie, a big granite house with towers at the two front corners, complete with battlements and arrow holes. The chair covers are worn, the drapes are faded, and the principal decorative motif is animal parts. Ink wells, coat hooks, objets d’art, all seem once to have gamboled across Drumcanna Moor.

I’ve been put in a turret room below the nursery, pleasantly furnished but one can only reach it by way of a perilous staircase, one narrow, winding climb for everyone, people and servants alike. In the mornings, when the night potties are being taken down and the breakfast trays are being brought up, it must be like Oxford Street.

Melhuish is in a jovial mood and has been very attentive to me, teaching me a dance called the strathspey and savoring those moments when the lurching of the train threw us into each other’s arms. I wonder if he has regrets about Violet? She’s become so stout and plain.

The first guests arrive tomorrow, Ralph and Jane Habberley and Fergus and Penelope Blythe. The shooting doesn’t start till August 12th, but they’re coming to fish for brown trout. George Lightfoot is expected at the weekend, and Queen Ena on Monday. There’ll also be some local people, the Anstruther-Brodies, but they only come for the start of the shooting. Violet says it’s impossible to predict when Tommy Minskip may arrive, as he’s a law unto himself. I begin to like him already.

28th July 1932

No breakfast trays allowed. Violet says it’s too much for the help when they have to get luncheon ready, and anyway it’s nicer if everyone comes down and starts the day sociably over a kippered herring. But nobody’s here yet, and anyway, what is help for if not to help? We’ll be expected to carry up our own hot water next.

I hardly slept. When Violet enthused about the cornucopia of wildlife in the Highlands, she omitted to mention the miniature mosquitoes that have eaten me to the bone.

Rory says they’re called midges. He and Flora have been running wild all morning, building a camp in a coppice beyond the vegetable garden. I’m to be invited to view it the moment it’s fixed up. Violet doesn’t seem to care what they drag outside—pillows, tea cups, a meat safe.

I said, “Do you realize Doopie’s allowed them to take a good coverlet?”

“Not now, Maybell,” she said. “I must catch our Consumptives secretary before she leaves for Glendochrie.”

The Habberleys and the Blythes have just arrived. Lady Habberley dresses like a stablehand, but the Hon. Mrs. Blythe, much to Violet’s disgust, is wearing nail polish. Flora’s eyes lit up. She adores nail polish. She always rushes to see what color I’ve chosen when I come home from a manicure.

29th July 1932

The men and Ulick went out to fish at five, banging doors, crunching on the gravel, and generally wakening the dead. I ventured down at nine, hoping to organize a little tea and toast and tiptoe back to my room, but Doopie saw me pass the door and cried out “Bayba!” so I had no choice but to go in and join the ladies.

Jane Habberley is a drab creature. Violet described her as “the backbone of our Highland Crafts Association” and certainly, everything she wears appears to be hand-knitted. Penelope Blythe is definitely more promising. She’d already spotted my gramophone and suggested to Violet that we have dancing after dinner this evening.

Violet said she had no objection, but we might find ourselves short of men. She said Melhuish doesn’t do that kind of dancing. We’ll see about that.

Penelope said, “Who’s at Balmoral? If Prince George is there, I’m sure he’d adore to come over and dance.”

Violet says Prince George isn’t there, nor the Prince of Wales. Only Prince Harry, and Bertie York and his little family at Birkhall.

Penelope said, “Well, neither of them is any use. They only dance reels. Do you know them, Maybell? Violet won’t like my saying it, but they’re such a dull bunch.”

I said, “No, I don’t. But I do know Lady Furness.”

“Do you!” she said. “How thrilling! Well, of course, Thelma Furness is the plat du jour, but she’s only the latest in a long line, and Wales still keeps up with some of his old sweethearts, you know? He visits Freda Dudley Ward all the time.”

Violet sliced the top off her egg with a fearsome swipe.

She said, “I hope you’re coming out for a walk this morning, Maybell? I very much hope you’re not going to sit around gossiping.”

She knows darned well I don’t go for walks. One of my conditions of coming here was that I be left in peace to write my diary and peruse the great works of Sir Walter Scott and Rabbi Burns.

Penelope Blythe describes Viscount Minskip as chetif. Unfortunately, the library here is not equipped with foreign dictionaries.

30th July 1932

George Lightfoot arrived at tea time and was pleased to find I’d set up my gramophone in the Long Gallery. Penelope and I took turns with him, then Ralph Habberley appeared, drawn by the sound of the music, as did Doopie, Rory, Flora, and several spaniels. I think we’ve managed to give them all the rudiments, except for Flora, who won’t apply herself to anything and made up her own wild Scottish steps. Ralph has more enthusiasm than ability, but George moves rather well, for an Englishman. The help were so fascinated, peering around the door at us, that the dinner bell was late.

31st July 1932

Jane Habberley stood on my tango record and destroyed it.

1st August 1932

There is no store in either Aboyne or Ballater that sells gramophone records.

2nd August 1932

I now know the meaning of chetif. Tommy Minskip is insane. He drives himself in a Bentley motor car, and travels without even a valet. He arrived yesterday with one small valise and a trunk containing dozens of toy soldiers which he has now laid out in the Smoking Room, ready to re-enact the Battle of Waterloo. George Lightfoot has explained it all to me. Every afternoon, as close to two p.m. as social obligations allow, the Royal Scots Greys charge the French infantry, with sound effects, Minskip captures the enemy’s eagle standard and then falls, mortally wounded.

“Still a boy at heart,” was George’s explanation. I think he’s too generous. If he were still a boy at heart, he wouldn’t have disappointed Rory and Flora by omitting to visit their sodden camp.

3rd August 1932

Penelope and I have taken up watercolor painting. We find we can run off half a dozen before luncheon and smudges don’t at all matter; indeed, they add to a picture’s talking points. Rain kept us indoors today, but one doesn’t need to be looking at a moor in order to paint an “impression” of it. Penelope tosses hers away at the end of the day, but mine might make interesting gifts for Christmas.

George Lightfoot is very amiable, playing at Dolls’ Shooting Lunches with Rory and Flora in their hideaway and holding Doopie’s skeins of knitting yarn while she winds them into balls.

He’s been teasing Melhuish about his stags, keeps asking when he’s going to “do a Sassoon” on them? Sir Philip Sassoon, apparently, has had his stags’ antlers gilded so they catch the sun. Shudders from Melhuish. I think it a rather wonderful idea.

I said, “I think I’d like to know Sir Philip Sassoon.”

George said, “You mean you haven’t met him? Violet, what are you thinking of?”

She said, “But we never see him. I see Sybil, of course. She’s on my Blood Bank committee, but Philip, almost never.”

George said, “Well, I shall introduce you, directly we get back to London.”

I said, “And where do Sir Philip and Lady Sybil live?”

“Oh no,” he said, “Syb’s not his wife. She’s his sister. She’s the Marchioness of Chumley, spelled Cholmondeley, nota bene Maybell. She’s married to Rocksavage, but Philip’s not married to anyone.”

So much the better. Sir Philip sounds much more to my taste than Viscount Minskip. Penelope says Minskip owns practically half of Yorkshire, but I don’t care. He’s welcome to it.