From Cradle to Grave

Chapter 1

Saturday, February 20, 1937

Eynsleigh Manor, Sussex, England

Dear Diary: It's been a strange start to this year, watching my cousin David, the former king, sneak away from England to join Mrs. Simpson in France, having renounced his throne for her. I do hope he realizes what he's given up. I really hope he is happy. I don't think she will be. This isn't what she wanted at all. She had set her sights on being queen. How silly. Anyway we have a new king and queen on the throne and I think they'll do jolly well. They are a really decent couple, and their daughters are dear little girls. I'm really fond of them.

I've been lax with keeping up with this diary this year as not too much has happened in my life that is worth writing about. I've been at home taking care of my baby son, watching him grow and enjoying his every new move. Darcy has been going up to London to work or seeing to the running of the farm. Sir Hubert is away again. Granddad is back in Essex. All is quiet and peaceful.

10:30 a.m. I should never have written this!

This story began when I looked out of the blue bedroom window at the front of the house on a brisk morning to see an ancient taxicab coming up the driveway. As I watched, it disgorged a tall elderly woman. She looked around with an expression so haughty and disapproving that I concluded she had to be at least a Russian grand duchess, maybe sent to us by my friend Zou Zou, who was more formally known as the Princess Zamanska. I hastily patted my hair into place and smoothed down my skirt, and hurried down the stairs to greet her myself.

I opened the front door just as she was about to knock.

"Hello," I said.

The expression became even more disapproving. "Are all the servants in this house allowed to be so familiar with arriving guests and to be dressed in such an inappropriate manner?" she asked in a voice that could cut glass. "I wish to speak to Lady Georgiana. Please go and inform her that I have arrived."

I noticed that she was wearing a gray cape over a gray skirt with a gray pillbox hat on her head, matching her gray hair and gray face. Only the eyes were a darker shade of steel. Golly, I thought. Was I supposed to know she was coming? Had Darcy or one of the servants forgotten to pass along a message that a person of considerable importance was about to land on my doorstep?

"I am Lady Georgiana," I said. "Please do come in."

At this she raised an eyebrow. "Your sister-in-law, her grace, the duchess, told me that this was a lax household, but I had no idea that the lady of the house had to open her own front door."

"I just happened to see the cab draw up from the upstairs window, so I came down to greet you," I said. "So you know Fig, do you?"

"Her grace, Hilda, Duchess of Rannoch? Yes. I am familiar with her. A wonderful woman. Salt of the earth."

Anyone who could describe Fig as a wonderful woman was immediately suspect in my view. "And may one know your name?"

The eyebrow arched again. "You mean you were not expecting me? Your sister-in-law, her grace, the duchess, told me she was going to write to you announcing my arrival. Clearly the post office is not what it was, or maybe storms in Scotland have stranded the postal van again. I am your new nanny. Nanny Hardbottle."

I think my jaw dropped open and somehow I was unable to close it.

She was frowning at me now.

"But there must be some mistake. I didn't request, I mean, I had not hired . . ."

"Precisely," she said. "Her grace told me that you had been without a proper nanny since the birth of the child and it was about time you had one. So she took it upon herself to save you the trouble, and as luck would have it, she learned that the last of the Aubrey-Fulton sons has just gone off to a military academy and that I would now be free."

I still couldn't make my mouth work to say anything.

"I had considered retiring," she continued, "and growing begonias in a cottage in the Lake District, but given your obvious need and the way her grace, the duchess, almost got down on her knees to beg me, how could I refuse? The young master is going to be raised to be a leader of the empire, after all." She paused, examining me with utter disdain. "Now, if you would be good enough to have a member of your staff show me to my quarters? I presume that there is a suitable room for me in the nursery suite, next to the young master?"

The young master was, at this moment, not in the nursery at all. He was in his cot in my bedroom, since I had been nursing him myself and wasn't about to go walking around the corridors and up the stairs in the middle of the night. Also I wanted to be close to him if he woke up and cried. I knew, in theory, that I needed a proper nanny. James was being raised, as she said, to be a future leader of the empire, and families like mine were expected to employ nannies. But I had put it off, enjoying the closeness and the ability to watch every new achievement, every smile and gurgle. Until now my personal maid, Maisie, had helped me take care of him, doing the less pleasant tasks like his laundry, changing nappies and watching him when I was out. My mind was racing, trying to think of a way to tell this woman that she was the last person on God's earth that I'd want taking care of my child, but my brain refused to work.

I opened my mouth to tell her to go away and never come back, but instead I heard myself saying, "If you will come into the morning room, I will summon my housekeeper. She will know about nursery arrangements."

I led her into the morning room, bade her sit and rang the bell. Our footman, Phipps, appeared instantly. "You rang, my lady?"

"Yes, Phipps. Please tell Mrs. Holbrook I would like to speak to her."

I was conscious of Nanny Hardbottle's steely gaze sweeping the room. Since it was the nicest room in the house, its wallpaper a soft blue-and-yellow pattern, its furnishings in pale blue silk and its tall windows looking out over the grounds, she could find no fault with it.

"This is your husband's family home, is it?" she asked. "It has a very pleasing aspect." (I half expected her to say "a pleasant little wilderness." The resemblance to Lady Catherine de Bourgh was striking.)

"No, the house belongs to Sir Hubert Anstruther, the famous mountaineer and explorer. He has invited us to live here. I am his heir."

"Really? He does not have a royal connection, does he? I know that you do. Her grace made it quite clear to me that you are a great-grandchild of Queen Victoria. So you inherit through your mother's family, I presume?"

I tried to keep a straight face. I was dying to tell her that my mother came from a humble two-up two-down house in the East End of London and that her father was a former policeman. Perhaps if I told her that, she'd be so horrified that she'd leave. But I also didn't want to make her despise my mother and grandfather. So I replied, "Sir Hubert is my godfather. He was once married to my mother."

"Oh yes. The actress." So she had heard about her, probably in lurid detail from Fig. "How very fortunate to be heir to such a fine property. The young master must be raised to appreciate that such privilege comes with responsibilities."

I wished Mrs. Holbrook would hurry up. I decided this might be the time to play the submissive female. "We will, of course, need my husband's approval before we take you on," I said. "He is currently up in London."

"At his club, no doubt."

"No, he works for the government," I said. "He had some kind of conference this weekend."

"He works?" She could not have sounded more disapproving if I'd said that he sold cockles and winkles from a barrow on the docks. Now she sounded like Lady Bracknell delivering her famous line: "A handbag?"

"Mr. O'Mara is not the type of man to be idle," I said. "He has done great service for his country."

This did not remove the critical stare. "Mr. O'Mara? Do I understand that your husband is a commoner?"

"Not at all. I should have said the Honorable Darcy O'Mara, heir to Lord Kilhenny of Ireland."

"Oh. An Irish peer. I see."

For a second I almost wished that I had done what my family wanted and married Prince Siegfried of Romania, aka Fishface. Even she couldn't look down her nose at second in line to a throne, albeit a foreign one! I decided I might have had enough.

"If you suspect that this household is not right for you, Nanny, then please feel free to go to the Lake District and rear your begonias," I said.

I seemed to have scored a point. For a second she looked a bit put out. But then she recovered, saying, "We shall have to see, shall we not? At least give the situation a chance, until the duchess arrives."

"The duchess?" I think my voice came out as a squeak this time. "My sister-in-law is coming?"

I think she looked a little smug at this. "She assured me that she would take the trouble to come down to England herself to make sure I had settled into my new position, just in case you needed some guidance on the role of a nanny in a household of your caliber. She gave me to understand she would be writing all this to you in a letter, which mysteriously has not yet arrived."

The way she looked at me seemed to suggest that she suspected me of having burned it. I gave a sigh of relief as Mrs. Holbrook came in.

"You wished to see me, my lady?" she said, then froze. "Oh. We have a visitor. I'm sorry. I wasn't informed. I did not hear the front doorbell."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Holbrook. I answered the door as I happened to be passing. This is Nanny Hardbottle. She has been sent from my sister-in-law to take care of James."

Mrs. Holbrook shot me a swift querying glance. "Very good, your ladyship."

"So she will need to be shown to her quarters."

"Her quarters, your ladyship?"

"In the nursery suite. There is a suitable bedroom and sitting room for a nanny, I take it?"

"Yes, there would be. But as you know, it's not currently in use." Mrs. Holbrook was looking worried.

"Not in use?" Nanny Hardbottle said. "Do you not have a nursemaid of sorts? Where does she sleep? Who attends to the young master should he awaken at night?"

This was getting more awkward by the minute.

"Actually I have had James's cot in my own bedroom at night," I said. "I have been breastfeeding him myself and it seemed most convenient."

If her eyebrow had arched any higher it would have disappeared under that steel-gray hair. "Well, I never," she said. "One hears that such practice is the modern thing to do. How old is the young master?"

"Almost seven months," I replied.

"And not started on a solid diet yet?"

"He has started on solid foods. I am in the process of weaning him, but he does find nursing so comforting. And so do I." I did not want to admit to her that James was showing less interest in nursing and the fact that he had developed teeth had made it less appealing for me too.

"Well, I suppose arrangements can be made for him to be brought down to you at the appropriate hour, should you wish to continue this strange practice," Nanny Hardbottle said. "And has potty training begun, may one ask?"

"Not yet." I felt as if this was turning into the Spanish Inquisition.

"All the babies in my households have been quite trained by the time they are eight months old," she said. "It's only a matter of routine and making sure the child knows what is expected of it. Every child should know the rules by the time they are a year old at the latest."

"If you will excuse me, my lady," Mrs. Holbrook said, "I will find Maisie and we will get the nurse's quarters up and running if it's your wish."

"Thank you, Mrs. Holbrook," I said. "We will give Nanny time to see if this position is right for her. And in the meantime perhaps you could have some tea sent up?"

"Of course." Mrs. Holbrook gave a grave bow and retreated.

"You seem to have well-trained staff," Nanny Hardbottle commented. "I presume they came with the house and belong to Sir Hubert?"

She really was quite insufferable. Why couldn't I find the courage to tell her to head straight back where she came from and to tell my sister-in-law what she could do with her nanny? Instead we sat in uneasy silence until the rattle of teacups was heard outside the door.

"Oh good. Tea," I said.

The door burst open and in, bearing a tray, came Queenie.

"Whatcher missus," she said.

Chapter 2

Saturday, February 20

Eynsleigh

Oh golly. What am I going to do? I can't very well get rid of her before Fig comes, can I? And I can't think of any way to stop Fig from coming. Help!

My former maid, now our assistant cook, entered the room giving her usual impression of a runaway cart horse. The cups rattled alarmingly as she skidded to a halt, staring at the visitor open-mouthed. "Oh blimey," she said. "I didn't realize you'd got someone from outside 'ere. I'd have put a slice of my lardy cake with the tea things." Her cap was askew and one of the front buttons of her dress uniform had come undone or had split open, revealing a hint of a rather gray and unappealing undergarment.

"That's quite all right, Queenie," I said. "This is Nanny Hardbottle. She has come to take care of Master James."

"But I thought you said you didn't want no nanny," Queenie went on in her usual tactless way. "You said no dried-up old prune was going to raise your child. I heard you myself."