It was just as well Lizzie had opted to go to the house and not back to Patsy’s, she realised. Because outside the house, looking worried and confused, was her mother. Her car was parked on the lane. Di pulled in behind it.
‘Mummy! What are you doing here?’ Lizzie called as she was out of the car.
‘I got your letter, darling—’ her mother began, but Lizzie did not let her finish. Heaven knew what she was about to let slip.
‘Mummy? This is Di Baker—’
‘The vicar’s wife,’ explained Di before Lizzie had a chance to.
‘This is my mother, Mrs Spencer.’
‘I must congratulate you on your wonderful daughter, Mrs Spencer. She has just saved the day when two of my flower guild ladies fell ill at the same time. She’s done a simply splendid job on flowers for the church.’
‘Oh well, that’s very nice to hear. Elizabeth has always had a gift when it comes to flowers.’ MrsSpencer smiled in a way that meant she didn’t know how to go on.
‘I’m off now,’ said Di. ‘Lots to do! Probably just as well, the devil makes work for idle hands! Goodbye, my dear,’ she said to Lizzie. ‘And thank you so much again.’
Di Baker got in the car and drove away before Lizzie had time to wonder what on earth she should do with her mother.
‘Do you mind if we go in, darling?’ her mother said. ‘I’m dying for the bathroom.’
Fortunately the house was unlocked (‘Country ways!’ commented her mother). The bathroom wasn’t exactly luxurious but it was an improvement on Lizzie having to ask her mother to go behind a tree.
Her mother emerged into the kitchen, where Lizzie was waiting for her, drying her hands on her skirt.
‘Darling, I had to come. I hated us being at odds with each other!’ She held out her arms and Lizzie went into them. They hugged. However, as soon as her mother considered she and her daughter were friends again, she said, ‘Is this where you intend to live?’
Lizzie’s hackles went up in spite of the hug. ‘Yes.’
‘Well, I do think Hugo Lennox-Stanley, who comes from a very good family – they go back to the eleventh century, in case you didn’t know – might haveprovided the mother of his child with somewhere a little more up to date. This is not what I expect for my daughter! Although the gentry are often very eccentric.’ She gave a little smile. ‘To be honest, I didn’t expect my daughter to marry the heir to a baronetcy!’
Lizzie tried to keep calm. Personally she preferred not to think of Hugo in this way but her mother was obviously very excited about it. ‘The bathroom isn’t the best bit of this house. Come and see the rest of it. The sitting room is charming and quite large.’
‘Your father is still sulking,’ said Lizzie’s mother. ‘If you weren’t … in the family way, he’d be delighted. He refuses to talk about it.’ She broke off. ‘Elizabeth! This kitchen! It’s positively antiquated!’
‘The kitchen isn’t the best bit either,’ said Lizzie, ‘although I like it very much. Come into the sitting room.’
They inspected the sitting room together, but that didn’t look marvellous either. It was dusty and unloved and although there was room for a gate-legged table and chair as well as the ancient sofa (which was leaking horsehair), her mother didn’t seem impressed.
‘You’ll have to get rid of that open fire. It’ll create a terrible amount of dust,’ she said. ‘You want a nice little electric heater. Clean and easy to use. What’s it like upstairs?’
Lizzie hadn’t been upstairs so she just opened the door to the staircase and followed her mother up.
‘Only two bedrooms? Where will I sleep when I come and stay? And I hope you’re not planning to use that bed? It’s probably harbouring all sorts of unsavoury things.’
Lizzie looked at the old brass bedstead and thought – with a new mattress and a patchwork quilt, which at that moment she decided to make – it would be perfect. She went over to the window and saw the garden, which looked lovely from here. There was no grass, but flower beds, vegetable beds and fruit trees, with paths in between. There was a fair-sized shed and in front of it a bench. She pictured herself sitting there, shelling peas that she’d grown herself.
‘I think this room is lovely, and not a bad size,’ Lizzie said, to herself as much to her mother. ‘Let’s go and look at the other one.’
This was about the same dimensions, but looked out the other way, towards the lane. As she inspected the view, letting her mother huff and puff about making sure she kept the baby in a separate room from the very first day, she saw Patsy’s car drive up.
Patsy got out. ‘Hello! Are you in?’ she called up the stairs. ‘Di told me your mother had come, Lizzie, and I wanted to come and invite her to stay.’
Lizzie saw her mother’s negative feelings begin to melt as she went down the stairs and was enveloped in Patsy’s grand, welcoming aura.
‘I’m Patsy Nairn-Williams. I’m a very old friend of Hugo’s – known him since we were riding fat little ponies through the woods together as children.’ She put out her hand and found Lizzie’s mother’s, and shook it. ‘How do you do? Have you come from miles and miles away?’
‘How do you do? I’m Angela Spencer, Elizabeth’s mother, but of course you know that, Mrs Nairn-Williams—’
