‘Pleasure to meet you all,’ said Skins, still in the role of spokesman. ‘Oh, and lest we forget: the two ladies in the comfy chairs by the tea urn are our manager Katy Cannon and my own wonderful wife, Ellie.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid,’ said John. ‘Well, if you’ve no objections, we’d like to listen in.’ He finally acknowledged the existence of Ellie and Katy in the battered armchairs. ‘Do you mind if we join you, ladies?’

  ‘Be our guests,’ said Ellie. ‘The more the merrier, as you say.’

  The family arranged themselves on the mishmash of chairs and old sofas that had been brought down from the main house to provide visiting musicians with somewhere to relax between recordings.

  ‘Shall we try another take?’ said Malcolm.

  The band agreed and Ellie excused herself to go and count them in.

  ‘We need absolute silence in the cheap seats,’ called Malcolm. ‘This is the last number we’re recording today so you can gabble away all you like once we’re done, but for now, not a peep.’

  The final recording went without a hitch.

  Ellie had been fascinated by the way the family had arranged themselves on the many chairs. It came as no surprise that Gordon and Charlotte weren’t sitting together, given what Ellie had heard the night before; but given what she’d heard, she was slightly puzzled that Charlotte chose to sit next to John.

  Marianne, seemingly oblivious to whatever was going on between her husband and his son’s wife, was sitting with Elizabeth and Peter. Howard’s pal, the singer Hetty Hollis, was sitting with Howard’s sister Veronica, leaving Howard himself free to chat to Katy.

  Everyone was talking animatedly in their little groups, and Ellie was free to listen in.

  ‘Is it you?’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Is what me, love?’ said Marianne with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Father has put what he’s called a “budget cap” on the wedding. Was that your doing?’

  ‘Why on earth would I do that?’

  ‘Because you’re a gold-digging little tart,’ snarled Elizabeth.

  ‘And you’re a spoilt brat,’ said Marianne breezily, ‘but I can’t see any benefit in sabotaging your wedding. The sooner you’re out of my house the better, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘It’s my house.’

  ‘Everything all right over there?’ said John.

  ‘Yes, thank you, darling,’ said Marianne. ‘Just discussing the wedding.’

  ‘Jolly good.’

  ‘He’s also planning to make changes to your allowance, by the way,’ Marianne continued, calmly and quietly. ‘With Peter to look after you after the wedding, there’ll be no need for your father to pay for quite so many dresses and hats. But it’s still nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You’ve had your claws into him from the very beginning,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Even before Mama died. And now you’re making sure he doesn’t spend any of his money on the people who actually love him – all the more for you.’

  ‘Steady on, darling,’ said Peter. His manner when talking to his fiancée was a good deal more deferential than when he had greased his way to Ellie’s side the night before. ‘No need for all that. You know it’s me he doesn’t like. But we’ll soon be rid of him.’

  Meanwhile, Veronica was talking to Hetty.

  ‘You’re walking out with one of Howie’s friends, I gather?’

  Hetty nodded. ‘Kenneth Mary, yes. Lovely chap. Devastated that he couldn’t manage to get here this weekend.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Howie did say. Glad you could make it, though. You were quite a hit last night. Well done, you.’

  Hetty affected a completely unconvincing look of modesty. ‘Well, I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Oh, come now. You should think about doing it professionally. Perhaps Uncle Malcolm could introduce you to some people.’

  ‘Oh, gosh, do you think he would?’

  ‘I’m sure of it. He knows everyone who’s anyone. I’ll mention it to him.’

  ‘That would be super, thank you. Howie tells me you’re a schoolteacher. It must be a trial being a teacher sometimes. I was beastly at school – I certainly shouldn’t have liked to try to deal with me.’ She looked around to check she couldn’t be overheard. ‘Honestly, though, if I didn’t already know and I’d been forced to guess, I would have assumed it was fussy old Elizabeth who was the teacher.’

  Veronica laughed. ‘No, it is I. Perfect little Betty went to her finishing school, came home, attached herself to the first witless wonder with an income she met, and lives the approved life of a good little bourgeois daughter. Charity committees and secretary of the parish council. I’m the black sheep with a job and an opinion.’

  ‘Heaven forbid we should have those.’

  Ellie looked around the chapel. The Dizzies were chatting, too – apparently trying to decide what to play next. Malcolm was busy in the side room with his mysterious equipment. Ellie could hear the sound of one of the earlier performances being played back from the disc until he closed the soundproof door.

  She caught Skins’s eye. He beckoned her to come down and join him.

  ‘You looked a bit lost,’ he said when she arrived.

  ‘I was quite enjoying myself, actually,’ she said. ‘This is some family.’

  ‘Really? How’s that?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. You wanted me?’

  ‘Always. I just wondered if you’d like to sit in on piano for a bit. You missed your chance last night.’

  ‘I played in the drawing room.’

  ‘Did you, indeed?’ he said. ‘How about reprising your triumphant drawing room recital with the rest of the band?’

  ‘They won’t mind?’

  ‘They’ll love it. It’s what we do. Just play something – I guarantee they’ll join in.’

  ‘Can I invite someone else, too?’

  ‘Always.’

  Ellie turned to Hetty Hollis. ‘I’m going to play with the band. Do you want to join us?’

  Hetty was delighted. ‘Oh, may I?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Skins. ‘Come down and meet the workers.’

  Hetty almost knocked her chair over in her haste.

  Skins was right. Ellie had no idea what she should play, so she just tried a little Chopin. One by one the Dizzies joined in, and within a few minutes they had turned the gentle nocturne into a syncopated dance number with Hetty improvising a lyric about a couple walking in the rain.

  All conversation at the other end of the chapel stopped as the family turned to listen. They greeted the end of the tune with enthusiastic applause and cries for more.

  ‘That really is splendidly clever,’ said John. ‘Bravo. Well done all.’

  ‘Hear, hear,’ said Elizabeth.

  John stood. ‘I should love to hear more, but I have to get some important papers sorted out before Monday. I’ll be in my study for a while.’

  ‘Oh, Papa,’ said Veronica. ‘Don’t be so rude. Can’t it wait until tomorrow? The band will be gone soon.’

  ‘I might need tomorrow as well. I told you all I was going to have to work this afternoon. But the sooner I start, the sooner I’ll be back. I’ll join you all for tea at four, but not a second before.’

  He took his coat from the rack and rummaged in the huge earthenware vase by the door. It was mostly filled with Malcolm’s spare walking sticks, but he eventually found the only umbrella and set off into what had now developed into a rather impressive storm. The rain, which had varied indecisively for most of the week between moderate drizzle and steady showers, had finally settled on the idea of a torrential downpour. Occasional crashes of thunder added to the theatre. John slammed the chapel door shut behind him and hurried off towards the house.

  The band, as bands do, played on.

  The household had been told that the Dizzies were expected to leave around lunchtime, so no one had thought to offer them any lunch. By half past three, though, the motor coach had still not arrived and they were getting more than a little peckish. Fortunately, the excitement of hearing the band again had meant that most of the Bilvertons had skipped lunch too, and so they were similarly afflicted.

  Elizabeth took charge.

  ‘Since we’re all having such fun down here, why don’t we have an indoor picnic?’ she said. ‘I hate to impose upon guests, but if you wouldn’t mind lending a hand, Mrs Cannon, we can scurry up to the house and get Mrs Radway to put something together for us, then we can help bring it all back.’

  ‘I’m more than happy to help,’ said Katy. ‘I could do with stretching my legs.’

  Ellie looked up from the piano. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘As much as I love playing with the Dizzies, I do feel the need for a little exercise. We’ve been cooped up in here for ever. I’ll even brave the rain.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Come along, Ronnie, you can help, too.’

  ‘Of course I can,’ said Veronica. ‘Heaven forfend the boys should have to dirty their manly hands with something so domestic.’

  ‘Oh, do shut up, there’s a love,’ said Elizabeth.

  Ellie looked at Katy and raised her eyebrows, but neither said anything. Sharing a grin, they followed the Bilverton daughters to the door.

  ‘Are you sure you want to come?’ said Elizabeth. ‘You’ve no raincoats. I thought there was an umbrella here but Papa must have taken it.’

  ‘A little rain won’t hurt us,’ said Ellie. ‘We’ll only be outdoors for a few moments.’

  Elizabeth opened the door and the rain lashed in.

  ‘Are you sure?’ she said. ‘It’s a good deal more than “a little rain”. There’s really no shame in backing out.’

  ‘No, I really could do with a break,’ said Ellie. ‘Katy?’

  Katy didn’t look at all keen. ‘Well . . . I mean . . .’

  ‘Why don’t you stay here and organize the boys?’ suggested Elizabeth. ‘There are trestle tables in the storeroom – they can set those up for us.’

  Katy nodded gratefully and retreated into the shelter of the chapel.

  ‘Onward to glory and all that,’ said Elizabeth, and led Ellie and Veronica into the storm.

  They took the short journey along the bowered path at a run. Even under the shelter of the arching trees they were getting wet, but as soon as they broke cover and began to run past the walled garden, ‘wet’ was an entirely inadequate description – they were drenched.

  They passed the garden gate and hurried on towards the house. Veronica had overtaken her sister, and was already a couple of yards past the rear door and on her way to the servants’ entrance at the other side of the huge building when Elizabeth called her back.

  ‘Quicker to go in through the house,’ she shouted.

  Veronica doubled back and the three of them bundled into the salon, trailing mud and rainwater on to the tiled floor.

  ‘Mrs Freeman will have a fit,’ said Veronica.

  ‘Our housekeeper,’ Elizabeth explained to Ellie. ‘But I think she’d rather organize the cleaning up of a bit of mud than have to deal with three drowned corpses on the servants’ steps.’

  ‘Light summer dresses aren’t at all suited to rain,’ said Ellie, glad to be indoors. ‘One might have thought, given your climate, that you Brits would have thought to invent a waterproof summer dress by now.’

  They walked through to the library, still dripping.

  ‘I believe the rainproof summer dress was invented in 1781 by George Yandle, a haberdasher from Taunton,’ said Veronica. ‘But it was deemed that wearing it would indicate a lack of backbone in the face of perfectly ordinary summer rain, and it was declared un-British. Yandle died a pauper a few years later, having been ostracized by his community for being openly unpatriotic in a time of war.’

  ‘You do talk rot sometimes, Ronnie,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘It sounds convincing to me,’ said Ellie. ‘The Revolutionary War might have gone the other way had your side not been held back by lily-livered cowards like George Yandle.’

  ‘Was your family there?’ asked Veronica.

  ‘Fighting in the Revolutionary War? They were indeed. The Wilsons had been in the Province of Maryland for more than a hundred years before anyone even thought of revolting.’

  ‘How exciting. You’re proper American aristocracy, then. Not like us. We’re “new money”, you see.’

  ‘Is that bad?’

  ‘I should say so. Earning money is frightfully vulgar. One has to inherit it down through the generations.’

  ‘Someone had to earn it in the first place, though, right?’

  ‘Good Lord, no. Real wealth was granted by the king. Or stolen from another lord. Earning is for the middle classes.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Worse still, we made our money from biscuits.’

  ‘Everyone loves cookies.’

  ‘That’s what pastry cooks are for. Buying them from a shop? Well, I mean, really.’

  ‘You’ll have to excuse my sister,’ said Elizabeth. ‘She somehow manages to be simultaneously embarrassed by her wealth and irritated that she’s not more highly respected for being so wealthy.’

  ‘Except I’m not wealthy, am I?’ said Veronica. ‘It all goes to Gordon.’

  ‘Can we argue about this later? Poor Mrs Maloney is starting to shiver. Go up to the linen store and get some towels. We’ll go down to the kitchens and start packing everything up while you do that. The ovens will still be on down there, too – that’ll help.’

  Veronica set off towards the hall and the main stairs while Elizabeth led Ellie down a flight of much less ostentatious stone steps to the servants’ lair in the basement.

  Ellie found herself in a long, stone-floored corridor that seemed to stretch the entire width of the house. On the opposite wall, slightly to her left, was a large open doorway from which came kitcheny sounds and smells. This was clearly their goal.

  ‘Come on in here,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The ovens in this place are never allowed to go out. We’ll get you warmed up.’

  There was a flurry of activity in the spacious kitchen as Mrs Radway, the Bilverton House cook, bustled about, issuing orders to her kitchen maids as she went. It was a warm, cosy place and Ellie felt immediately better for being there.

  ‘Afternoon, Mrs Radway,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Hello, Miss Elizabeth, my love. How are you? Did you enjoy yourself last night?’

  ‘Do you know, I really rather did. Thank you so very much for all your hard work. I do hope you had a few moments to enjoy the results of your labours.’

  Mrs Radway chuckled. ‘I might have had a port and lemon once all the serving was done.’

  ‘There was so much delicious food,’ said Ellie. ‘I hope you sampled some of that, too.’

  The cook looked quizzically at Elizabeth.

  ‘This is Mrs Ellie Maloney. She’s married to the drummer in the jazz band.’

  ‘I didn’t know they was American,’ said the cook.

  Ellie smiled. ‘They’re not. Just me.’

  Mrs Radway seemed unconvinced, but declined to pursue the matter further. Instead she turned the conversation to safer ground. ‘No one sent down for lunch. Will you be wanting afternoon tea?’

  ‘You read our minds,’ said Elizabeth. ‘We’re all in the chapel listening to the band while they wait for their charabanc to arrive, and lunch completely slipped our minds. Do you think we might have an indoor picnic?’

  With a wave of her arm, Mrs Radway indicated three hampers piled beside the huge preparation table.

  ‘I packed you all up some leftovers and salads from last night, along with some fresh sandwiches. There’s beer and wine, as well.’

  Elizabeth was delighted. ‘I say. Well done, you.’

  ‘We’ll give you a hand getting it all down the chapel.’

  ‘No need for that, Mrs Radway. If we can borrow the footmen’s porter’s truck we should be able to manage. There are three of us. Ronnie’s upstairs fetching some towels to dry us all off.’

  ‘If Mr Malcolm would put a bell in the chapel you wouldn’t have needed to get so wet. You’d have thought with all his gadgets and whatnot he could wire up a bell push down there.’

  ‘He has other priorities, Mrs Radway, so for now we have to brave the rain. We ought to see if we can find umbrellas for the journey back.’

  While two kitchen maids went off hunting for the porter’s truck, Veronica arrived with the towels and handed them to Ellie.

  ‘Sorry it took me so long,’ she said. ‘The blessed linen store is all the way up on the second floor.’

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Ellie. ‘Elizabeth was suggesting we find umbrellas for the return trip.’

  ‘Or raincoats at the very least.’

  ‘Should we tell your father we’re about to eat?’

  ‘What time is it?’ Veronica looked at the large clock on the kitchen wall. ‘Nearly four. Yes, that should be all right. As long as we wait until the grandfather clock in the hall chimes four, we’ll be fine. He has few eccentricities, our dear papa, but he has a real bee in his bonnet about having tea at four. Did you hear him earlier? “Not a second before.” And he meant it. He’s been known to get fearfully cross with people offering him food before the clock strikes four.’

  Mrs Radway’s chuckles rippled across her aproned body. ‘She’s right. None of the staff will go near him till that clock in the hall strikes four.’

  ‘He wouldn’t shout at me, surely?’ said Ellie. ‘I’m a guest. But I don’t want to upset him so I’ll be sure to wait for the clock. Why don’t I take the booze up with me and then go and get him while you sort out the food? I’ll see if I can find some umbrellas in the entrance hall while I’m there, then we can all go down together.’

  ‘All right, but on your own head be it. He’ll be in his study – it’s the door opposite the billiards room, next to the clock.’

  Ellie smiled and staggered upstairs with the heavy hamper of wine and beer.

  She left the basket just inside the library and walked back out into the cavernous Grand Hall. The longcase clock ticked solemnly, and a glance at its face showed Ellie that it was still two minutes to four.

  She walked stealthily past the study door towards the entrance hall and the promise of umbrellas, but nearly jumped out of her skin as the sound of a clarinet blared out from inside the study. She stopped to listen. It was a recording of Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue’, but louder and clearer than any gramophone she had ever heard. She listened for a few moments and shocked herself by being able to name the clarinettist in the Paul Whiteman Orchestra – Ross Gorman.