The Birthday Party

On a cold day between the wars, Wednesday 20 May 1925, a lavish society wedding took place at the Guards Chapel, Wellington Barracks in London. It was attended by the rich, the famous and the powerful, but it was not a marriage that everyone who attended wanted to happen. This is how it came about.

It was an extravagant party by any standards. The small gold-embossed cards inviting the one hundred specially chosen guests to attend were simple enough. They read, “Dinner and Ball at Marland Castle on the occasion of Mr. Jamie Wensley Wilmerton attaining his majority”

Marland Castle, an enormous stately home, was built by Lord Wensley Wilmerton in the late-19th century as a fitting tribute to his very great wealth. It was in the Tudor-Gothic style, popular among the wealthy of that era, and displayed a fairy-tale vista of turrets, towers, ornate chimney stacks, battlements, cupolas, pinnacles and gargoyles. Above a huge central tower, the British Ensign fluttered in the breeze. The castle stood in 1,000 acres, some of it landscaped, with elegant fountains and artificial lakes. The estate was on the outskirts of Codlington, a small market town in the Cotswolds, where many of the estate workers lived.

At first, Lord Wilmerton’s only son, the Right Honourable Jamie Wilmerton, failed his parents miserably. His schooldays proved a disaster when he botched the entrance exam for Eton, and went to Malvern instead. Here he got by, thanks to private coaching by a dedicated tutor, and barely passed his matriculation just scraping into university.

The young aristocrat quit Cambridge after less than a year upon deciding that the academic life, and a career in banking, were not for him. Instead, he took a commission in the Welsh Guards where, he was happy at last. The army was a natural choice as it offered a relatively safe career; the First World War had ended; the next had yet to start.

Standing at 6’2” he displayed a good head of dark-brown hair, neatly combed back and parted on the left; large brown indolent eyes that reflected his laidback personality, a short straight nose, sharp and delicately modelled, and perfectly straight white teeth. He was generally considered handsome and it was, in the united view of his parents – Lord and Lady Wilmerton – high time that he found himself a wife.

Amongst the aristocracy there has evolved a successful system of unwritten rules, a holy trilogy of conventions which ensures continuity of wealth from one titled generation to the next. It is a good education, a good marriage to someone of the upper classes, and a good profession. This has been the unchanging, mandated formula of the aristocracy for over a thousand years, and it gives the right to sit in the House of Lords.

           Sunday 25 May 1924, was the occasion of Jamie Wilmerton’s 21st birthday and the guests were beginning to arrive. A cavalcade of Rolls Royce, Bentley and other luxurious motor cars made their way up the sweeping graveled driveway; all were chauffeur driven. Each car stopped at the great front door in order to discharge their illustrious passengers.

Parked in the sweep of the turning area stood a brand-new Sunbeam 24/60 tourer. Brought out by the Sunbeam Motor Company only that year, it was a birthday gift from his parents. Its long black bonnet and sporty wire wheels gave it a powerful, purposeful look.

Several attractive young ladies – debutantes – arrived with their parents; all were of marriageable age. Earlier in the season they were presented to the Queen. Now they – and their parents too, of course – sought suitable husbands among the moneyed classes. Young, Rt. Hon. Jamie Wilmerton, heir to the vast Marland estate and a multi-million-pound fortune, would be a prize catch.

           A gleaming blue Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost silently drew to a halt. The back doors were opened by a footman, and Sir Rodney Gabbett-Mulhallen climbed out. He was immediately followed by his very stylish wife, and an attractive young woman. She had short bobbed hair in the fashion of the day, the large blue eyes of an innocent child, a sculpted upturned nose, and moistened lips that gleamed enticingly in the evening sunlight. A Gabrielle Channel dress, bought especially for the occasion, clung to her body, accentuating her slender figure. She was a vision of beauty enough to steal any man’s heart.

           Resting his eyes on her for just a moment, Jamie Wilmerton turned away and made for the Orangery where dinner was being prepared. At just over 200 feet long it was the only room in the castle capable of accommodating all the guests at one sitting. Its tall windows were draped in crimson velvet and between decorative palms liveried servants waited to greet their pampered guests. The whole scene was lit by heavy chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling.

A dozen servants busily applied the finishing touches to flower arrangements and place settings. The butler cast a critical eye then righted a skewed fork with his white-gloved hand. Standing at a side table laden with assorted wines displaying expensive French labels, a fastidious sommelier tasted samples from a silver salver. Housemaids ran back and forth with covered dishes, all conscious that time was pressing on.

His eyes fixed on one of them and followed her as she went about her duties. Ivy Pinner was young, her hair neatly tied back and secured in place by a small white cap which marked her out as one of the household’s domestic staff. A knee-length grey dress with a white apron obscured her figure, though she was obviously slim, and she wore flat black practical shoes.

           She felt his eyes watching her and briefly halted. Turning her head, she looked to where he was standing in the doorway. Her cheeks reddened, she began trembling from top to toe – as she so often did when she saw him – and an almost imperceptible smile began to appear upon her lips. She shot him a mischievous glare, as though a scolding that he shouldn’t be there. Then, hiding her smile, the young pretty housemaid turned away and went back to her work. 

           Ivy Pinner had joined the domestic staff two years before and, almost immediately, the young aristocrat found himself attracted to her; not only by her stunning, classic looks, but by her inner beauty too. Whilst she could neither read nor write, Ivy was kind, honest and understanding. They soon became lovers and, from then onwards, could not be kept apart. At Marland, they spent all their time together, and whenever he returned from his army duties, he made straight for Ivy. They were as much in love as any two young people could be. They both knew, however, that nothing could ever come of it as they were from different worlds, but he had resolved that if he couldn’t be with Ivy, then he would never marry at all.

The sound of chatter made him turn. Approaching him were his parents; a smiling Sir Rodney, his glamorous wife, and… he remembered the vision of loveliness who, only moments earlier had climbed out of the blue Rolls Royce.

“…this is our beautiful daughter, Lady Charlotte Gabbett-Mulhallen,” Sir Rodney said. “Says she remembers playing with you when you were children, and you promised to marry her, or some such thing,” he said, laughing at his own little joke.

           Lord Wilmerton shot his wife a knowing sideways look. She caught his eye and failed to respond, but it was the subtleness of that very failure that told him she approved. They knew, of course, of their son’s infatuation with a housemaid, but neither of them were concerned. An aristocrat could dally with a commoner, but never marry one. It simply wasn’t done.

“Thank you for all for coming to my party,” Jamie Wilmerton replied, looking into the eyes of each of them in turn with a sincerity born of his aristocratic birth. “Children say such amusing things, Sir Rodney,” he replied, giving him a disparaging straight-lipped smile. He turned towards his daughter, “You’ve grown up a bit since I saw you last Charlotte,” he said, smiling sincerely. “What a beauty you’ve become,” he added but with none of the warmth she expected.

“You’ve grown quite handsome yourself,” she replied, though feeling confused why she had no obvious physical effect upon him. All the men she had met previously had risen to her flirtatious charms, even the married ones. But with Jamie, it was somehow… different.

The small group politely chatted till the dinner gong rang. “Right, ladies, gentlemen, I think we’ll make our way into the dining room, shall we?” said Lord Wilmerton gesturing the direction they were to take with a wave of his hand.

As was usual on such occasions, and to avoid confusion, the names of the guests and places where they would sit were posted on a notice board. Jamie Wilmerton did not bother to look at it because he knew exactly where his place would be: in the middle of the long table to the left of his mother, who sat next to his father.

It was only after the guests had taken their places that the Wilmerton trio sashayed into the dining room to take theirs, all smiles and waves as their guests stood, smiled back and whole heartedly clapped for the young aristocrat who had today come of age.

The butler, his white gloves now removed, bid them all to sit. Immediately, the dining staff began hurrying back and forth to serve the hungry guests. But in the short time it took for the first course to arrive, the inexorable chatter began.

It was then that that the young, eligible bachelor discovered with considerable shock who his neighbours were. He found himself sandwiched between his parents on his right, but on his left were the Gabbett-Mulhallens’. Worse, seated right next to him was the playful Lady Charlotte. She tugged gently at his sleeve, “Fancy us being seated together,” she said softly, smiling seductively. “Anyone might think they deliberately planned this.” She looked up into his dark eyes, holding his gaze momentarily, then broke away as the wine waiter arrived.

“Milady?”

Discreetly, the young aristocrat leaned to his right, “Mother, who put them here, next to us?” he whispered.

“Darling,” she replied. “Sir Rodney and your father are going into business together. The railways, you know. They’re going to be partners so you’re going to be seeing a lot more of them.”

“Is it awfully tiresome, you know, the army?” asked Lady Charlotte, placing her hand on his arm in an intimate, familiar manner.

“Well, you know. Long periods of boredom broken by moments of sheer terror,” he replied, slowly shaking his head.

“And, is it better than banking?”

“Gosh, yes. The army’s far less aggressive and I’m unlikely to get the proverbial knife between my shoulder blades.”

“Sir!” It was a girl’s voice. There was the lightest touch on his shoulder and he turned. Their eyes met, and locked, as each read the other’s thoughts recalling their silent pledge. Her eyes were large and trusting, the look of a family pet.

Jamie Wilmerton was struck by her simple loveliness, her understated beauty. Ivy leaned forward – so that he bathed in her familiar scent – and set down the warm bowl, adjusting it so that the Wilmerton family crest appeared at centre top. As she moved on, her hand discreetly brushed his shoulder sending a pleasurable tremor through his body.

The starter course consisted of ox tail soup followed by hot steak and kidney pie. This was accompanied by mashed potatoes and brussel sprouts. Then came the main course; roast pheasant and game chips. For dessert, Christmas pudding with wine sauce, fruit salad and crème. This was all washed down with copious amounts beer, claret, whisky, port wine and mineral water.

Lady Charlotte continued with her small talk, to which Jamie politely responded. All the time, however, he furtively searched the room for Ivy, catching her eye once or twice trying to tell her with a look, that all was well between them, but he wasn’t his sure his visual messages were getting through to her.

Grace was given by the Reverend Eli Jenkins, while Lord Wilmerton made a toast to the King. Jamie and his father made appropriate speeches during the course of the evening.

But it was Lord Wilmerton’s last unplanned speech that caused his son much wide-eyed horror. By now the evening’s host was several sheets to the wind having consumed more wine and brandy that was good for him, and he swayed slightly when he stood, glass in one hand, cigar in the other.

He thanked the guests for coming, he thanked the reverend for his prayers, he thanked his wife for supporting him, and he thanked the staff for their close attention to the needs of their honourable guests. All the time he was on his feet, he kept glancing at his son, and the pretty girl beside him who seemed to have made herself his inseparable companion.

Suspiciously, the young Wilmington’s eyes burned into his father as he tried to read his thoughts. Try as he might, he could not do so. All he could do was wait. His heart beat faster, he began to sweat, and he was very concerned.

Lady Wilmerton took her husband’s arm which she squeezed firmly, the signal that he had said enough, that he should shut the hell up and sit down. But Lord Wilmerton was having none of it. He brushed her hand away and ploughed on with what he had only recently decided to say.

“Many of you know,” he began, swaying gently to and fro, “that Sir Rodney and I are going into business together.” He nodded once firmly, then turning left, he raised an empty wine glass to his future business partner. Sir Rodney responded in like manner, though his glass was full. “Railways! He almost shouted. “That’s where the future is don’t you know.” He looked about for his guests’ approval, and several of the men, business colleagues in the main, nodded in agreement to shouts of “Hear, hear!”

Lord Wilmington put his cigar to his lips and drew deeply while he scanned the faces of his guests. Then, when he was sure he had their attention, he continued. “But this evening is not about business, it’s about my son and heir, the Right Honourable Jamie Wilmington. Give him a big cheer.” He said this while waving a hand in his son’s general direction, just in case there was anyone in the room who might not know who he was. There followed a thunderous roar as guests clapped, banged tables and bellowed out the first verse of “For he’s a jolly good fellow”, as one of the guests picked out the tune on the dining room piano.

As the last strains died away, the unscheduled speech continued: “But I think you’re going to find that there’s soon going to be a partnership of a very different colour.” An expectant silence descended on the guests. All eyes were on the speaker. “Earlier this evening,” he went on, “I believe that my son promised to marry this lovely young girl, Lady Charlotte,” he said, looking about for approval. The room erupted. “And we couldn’t be happier!” he shouted above the clamour.  Now the banging on tables was accompanied by shouts and whistles which continued for a good five minutes. The startled Lady Wilmington looked up at her husband in speechless surprise.

Lady Charlotte took Jamie’s arm and pulled him towards her, “Oh Jamie”, she said lovingly, and pushed her head into his shoulder nuzzling him.

“Hear, hear,” shouted Sir Rodney raising his glass. “Jolly good show.” This time it was Sir Wensley who responded, and once again he raised his glass to his future partner with a look that said that this was the best of all partnerships.

Jamie Wilmington was distraught. His face turned a white pallor and he stared straight ahead, his lower lip trembling. How could his father do this to him? Without even discussing it. But there was no way out. He lifted his eyes to meet those of Ivy, standing statue-like and dumb-struck on the other side of the room. Discreetly, he shook his head from side to side, willing her to understand that the shock announcement was not of his making. But it was set in stone. The two fathers had come together on the union and, if he refused to make good on the announcement, it would wreck the prospect of any partnership and make sworn enemies of the two businessmen. Furthermore, his father would never forgive him and his inheritance would be in doubt, to be placed, instead, in a trust fund. And if he rejected Lady Charlotte as his bride, she would be tainted by the slight, making it difficult to find another suitor. He was trapped, and he knew it.

It was well after midnight when he caught up with Ivy. She was walking home to Codlington. He pulled the Sunbeam onto the verge of the dark road, and turned off the lights leaving only the moon to see by. Hesitant at first, she shook her head as though ridding herself of her fears, then climbed into the car. She looked into his eyes and saw they were wet from tears; then she fell into his arms clutching him tightly. For a solid hour she buried her head in his chest and sobbed. Jamie held on to her tightly; there was nothing else he could do.