Cavendon Hall

‘What do you mean?’

‘White turns colour. It can become creamy, yellowed, or faded. But the ball gown has been well protected, and it’s as good as new.’

On an impulse, DeLacy reached down, picked up the gown and moved away from the bed. Holding the gown close to her body, she began to dance around the room, whirling and twirling, humming to herself, imagining herself waltzing in a ballroom. The skirt of the gown flared out as she moved.

Cecily couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She was totally speechless, gaping at DeLacy as she continued to swirl and jump with the delicate ball gown in her arms. Cecily was in shock, unable to do anything. She was afraid to grab DeLacy in case the gown was damaged in the process, and so she just stood there cringing, worried about the lace and the tulle. It truly was a ball gown, full-skirted like a crinoline, and it would easily rip if it caught on the furniture.

Finding her voice at last, Cecily exclaimed, ‘Please stop, DeLacy! The fabric could get damaged. It’s so delicate. Please, please put the dress back on the bed!’

Now Cecily took a step forward, moving closer to her friend, who immediately danced away, putting herself out of reach. She continued to clutch the dress to her body. ‘I won’t hurt it, Ceci,’ DeLacy said, still whirling around the room. ‘I promise I won’t.’

‘Stop! You must stop!’ Cecily cried desperately, her voice rising. She was on the verge of tears.

DeLacy Ingham paid no attention to Cecily Swann.

She was enjoying herself too much, dancing around the bedroom, lost in a world of her own for a moment or two. And then it happened. The accident.

Cecily saw it start as if in slow motion, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

DeLacy’s foot got caught in the hemline of the gown. She wobbled. Then lost her balance. And reached out to steady herself. She grabbed the edge of the desk, still holding the gown. But as she did so, she knocked over the inkpot. It rolled across the desk towards her. She stepped back but she was not fast enough. The bright blue ink splashed onto the front of the skirt of the white lace ball gown.

Cecily gasped out loud, her eyes widening. Horrified at what had just happened, and frightened at the thought of the consequences, she was unable to move.

DeLacy looked down at the ink, her face stricken. When she glanced across at Cecily her eyes filled with tears.

‘Look what you’ve done!’ Cecily said, her voice trembling. ‘Why didn’t you listen to me? Why didn’t you pay attention?’

DeLacy had no answer for her. She stood there holding the dress, tears rolling down her face.

FIVE

‘DeLacy! What on earth’s happened?’ Daphne exclaimed from the threshold of the room, and hurried forward, making straight for her sister.

DeLacy did not answer, quaking inside, knowing how upset Daphne would be when she saw the ruined ball gown. It had been chosen for her to wear at the summer ball their parents gave at Cavendon every year. Tears brimmed, and she swallowed hard, pushing back her fear. She knew she was in trouble. How stupid she had been to play around with this fragile gown.

‘Why are you clutching the ball gown like that? My goodness, is that ink? How did ink get on the lace?’ Daphne’s normally soft voice had risen an octave or two, and she was startled, her face suddenly turning pale.

When DeLacy remained silent, looking more frightened than ever, Daphne turned, her gaze resting on Cecily. ‘What on earth were you doing? How did this happen?’

Cecily, fiercely loyal to her best friend, cleared her throat nervously, not knowing how to answer Daphne without lying. That she could not do; nor did she wish to explain the series of events that had taken place.

Her mind raced as she wondered what to say. Unexpectedly, she did not have to do that, since her mother was now entering the room.

Cecily began to shake inside. She was well aware how angry her mother would be, and she would be blamed. She had been in charge.

Alice walked over to join Daphne and DeLacy. When she spotted the ball gown in DeLacy’s arms she came to an abrupt halt, a dismayed expression crossing her face. Nonetheless, Alice was self-contained, and she said in a steady voice, ‘That’s ruined! It’s of no use to anyone now.’ Glancing at her daughter, she raised a brow. ‘Well, what do you have to say? Can you please explain how this unique ball gown got so damaged?’

Unable to speak, her mouth dry, Cecily shook her head; she retreated, moving away, backing up against the window.

Alice was not to be deterred, and went on, ‘I gave you a task, Cecily. You were instructed to inspect the frocks and the ball gown, which had been taken out of the cedar closet in the attic. I asked you to look after them. They were in your care. However, it is obvious you didn’t look after this one, did you?’

Cecily blinked back the incipient tears. She shook her head, and in a whisper, she said, ‘It was an accident, Mam.’ She was still protecting DeLacy when she added, ‘I’m sorry I let you down.’

Alice simply nodded, holding her annoyance in check. She was usually polite, particularly when she was in the presence of the Inghams. Then it struck her that it was DeLacy who was responsible for this disaster. Before she could direct a question at her, DeLacy stepped forward, drew closer to Alice.

Taking a deep breath, she said in a quavering voice, ‘Don’t blame Ceci, Mrs Alice! Please don’t do that. She’s innocent. It’s my fault, I’m to blame. I picked up the dress, waltzed around the room with it. Then I tripped, lost my balance and knocked over the inkpot …’ She paused, shook her head, and began to weep, adding through her tears, ‘I was silly.’

Alice went over to her. ‘Thank you for telling me, Lady DeLacy, and please, let me take the gown from you. You’re crushing it. Please give it to me, m’lady.’

DeLacy did so, releasing it from her clutches at last. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Alice. Very sorry,’ she said again.

Alice carried the ball gown over to the bed and laid it down, examining the stains, fully aware how difficult it was to remove ink – virtually impossible, in fact.

At seventeen, Daphne Ingham was a rather unusual girl. She was not only staggeringly beautiful but a kind, thoughtful and compassionate young woman with a tender heart. She stepped over to her sister and put an arm around her. Gently, she said, ‘I understand what happened, Lacy darling, it was an accident, as Ceci said. Mama will understand. These things do happen sometimes, and we all know you didn’t intend to do any harm.’

On hearing these words, and aware of Daphne’s sweet nature, DeLacy clung to her and began to sob. Daphne held her closer, soothing her, not wishing her little sister to be so upset – and over a dress, of all things.

Surprisingly, Lady Daphne Ingham was not particularly vain. She only paid attention to clothes because it had been drilled into her to do so because of her station in life. Also, she knew that her father could easily afford to buy a new dress for her.

After a moment, Daphne drew away. ‘Come on, stop crying, DeLacy. Tears won’t do any good.’ Looking over at Alice, she then said, ‘Can the lace and the underskirts be cleaned, Mrs Swann?’

Alice shook her head vigorously. ‘I don’t believe so, m’lady. Well, not successfully. I suppose I could try using lemon juice, salt, white vinegar …’ She broke off. ‘No, no, they won’t do any good. Ink is awful, you know, it’s like a dye. And talking of ink, it’s all over the desk, m’lady, and on the carpet. Shall I go and find Mrs Thwaites? Ask her to send up one of the maids?’

‘That’s all right. I’ll ring for Peggy, Mrs Swann. She’ll clean up the ink. None of us should go near it. We don’t want it on our hands, not when there are other frocks around.’

‘You’re right, Lady Daphne. I was—’

‘Mam,’ Cecily interrupted. ‘I can make the ball gown right. I can, Mam.’ Cecily turned around, stared intently at her mother, suddenly feeling confident. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling. ‘I’m sure I can save it. And Lady Daphne can wear it to the summer ball after all.’

‘You’ll never get that ink off, Ceci,’ Alice answered, her tone softer, now that she knew her daughter had, in fact, not been responsible for the ruination of the gown.

‘Mam, please, come here, and you too, DeLacy. And you as well, please, Lady Daphne. I want to explain what I can do.’

The three of them immediately joined her, stood looking down at the white lace ball gown stretched across the bottom of the bed.

Cecily said, ‘I’m going to cut away the front part of the white lace skirt from the waist to the hemline. I’ll shape it. Make it a panel that starts out narrow at the waist and widens as it goes down to the floor. I’ll do the same with the white taffeta underskirt, and the tulle. If the second layer of tulle has ink on it, I’ll cut that off too.’

‘And then what?’ Alice asked, gazing at her in bafflement.

‘I’ll replace the panels of lace, taffeta and tulle. It’ll be hard to find white lace to match the ball gown. You might have to go to London.’

In spite of her initial scepticism, Alice suddenly understood exactly what Cecily meant to do. She also realized that her daughter might have the solution. ‘It sounds like a good plan, Cecily, very clever. Unfortunately, you’re right about the lace, it will be difficult to match. I probably will have to go up to London. To Harrods.’

Alice now paused, shook her head. ‘There are several other things we must consider. First, a panel of lace that’s different from the rest of the overskirt would be extremely noticeable. Secondly, there would be seams down the front. They’d be obvious.’

‘I’ve thought of that,’ Cecily answered swiftly. ‘I can hide the seams with narrow ribbon lace, and sew the ribbon lace around the waist as a finishing touch.’ She bit her lip, before adding, ‘Or we can make a new skirt out of new lace.’

‘I understand,’ Alice said. ‘But the new lace wouldn’t match the bodice. And don’t even think of trying to remake the bodice, Cecily, that would be far too difficult for both of us.’

‘We don’t have to touch the bodice, Mam.’

‘I think Cecily is right, Mrs Swann,’ Daphne said. ‘Her ideas are brilliant.’ She gave Cecily a huge smile. ‘I believe you will be a dress designer yourself one day, like Lucile of Hanover Square.’

‘Perhaps,’ Alice said quietly. ‘I’ve always known Cecily had talent, a flair with clothes. And such a good eye.’ Alice suddenly smiled for the first time since entering the room.

Pragmatic by nature, and wishing to continue talking about the ball gown, Cecily now said, ‘The lace will cost a lot, won’t it?’

She had addressed Alice, but before her mother could answer, Daphne said, ‘Oh you mustn’t worry about that, Ceci. I am quite certain you will be able to rescue the gown, and I know Papa will be happy to pay for the lace, and the other fabrics you require.’

Alice carried the ball gown over to Cecily, and gave it to her. She said, ‘We’ll go up to the sewing room now and put this on the mannequin, so that we can examine the stains properly. I’ll bring the beaded gown. It’s heavy.’ Glancing across at Daphne, she said, ‘Will you join us, Your Ladyship? I think you should try on both of the dresses, so we can see how they fit.’

‘I’ll be happy to, I’ll just go to my room and change into a dressing gown.’ Turning to her sister, Daphne added, ‘I shall ring for Peggy, and once she arrives to clean up the ink, you can join us in the sewing room. She can, can’t she, Mrs Alice?’

‘Of course she can, m’lady,’ Alice replied with a friendly smile, and then she and her daughter left DeLacy’s bedroom.

Cecily was relieved her mother was no longer angry with her. How foolish she had been, not trying harder to stop DeLacy, and DeLacy had been irresponsible, dancing around with the gown, the way she had. They should both have known better. After all, they were grown up.

‘I think I’d better get the platform out,’ Alice announced, walking over to the huge storage cupboard in the sewing room, opening the door. ‘It’ll make it easier for me to see the hemline when Lady Daphne stands on it.’

‘I’ll help, Mam.’

Alice shook her head. ‘I have it, love, don’t worry.’ She now upended the square white box she had pulled out, and pushed it across the room to the cheval mirror. Several years ago, Walter Swann had attached two small wheels on one side of the platform so that it would be easy for his wife to move around.

At this moment, the door flew open and Lady Daphne came in wearing a blue silk dressing gown; DeLacy was immediately behind her older sister, creeping in, stealthily, almost as if she did not want to be noticed.

Cecily’s eyes flew to her friend, and she nodded.

DeLacy offered a smile in return, but it was a wan smile at that. The girl looked shamefaced, subdued, and even a little cowed.

Cecily said encouragingly, ‘Let’s go and sit over there, Lacy, on the chairs near the wall.’

DeLacy inclined her head, followed her friend, but remained silent.

‘Here I am, Mrs Swann,’ Daphne said. ‘I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.’

‘No problem, my lady. If you’ll just slip behind the screen, I’ll bring the beaded gown, help you get into it.’

Cecily felt sorry for DeLacy, and she reached out, took hold of her hand, squeezed it. ‘Mam’s not angry any more,’ she whispered. ‘Cheer up.’

DeLacy swivelled her head, looked at Cecily, and blinked back sudden tears. ‘Are you sure?’ she whispered. ‘She was furious with me. I could tell.’

‘It’s fine, everything’s settled down.’

Within seconds Daphne was standing on the wooden platform in front of the cheval mirror; even she, who so lacked an interest in clothes, was impressed with the way she looked.

The blue, green and turquoise crystal beads, covering the entire dress, shimmered if she made the slightest movement. It was eye-catching, and Daphne knew how well it suited her. Smiling at Alice, her bright blue eyes sparkling, she exclaimed, ‘It undulates; it’s unique.’ She turned slowly on the platform, viewing herself from every angle, obviously taken with the long, slender column of beads and the magical effect they produced.

Alice was happy. The gown fitted this slender beauty as if it had been specially made for her, and also Daphne was finally showing an interest in clothes. Alice also realized how right the Countess had been to choose this particular dress from the collection of her evening gowns and other apparel stored in the cedar closets. It was … wonderful on Daphne. No other word to describe it, but then it was a piece of haute couture from Paris. It had been made for the Countess at Maison Callot, the famous fashion house run by the three talented Callot sisters, who designed stylish clothes for society women.

‘The dress is most becoming on you, Lady Daphne,’ Alice smiled, and went to stand in front of her. Very slowly, she walked around the platform, studying the dress, nodding to herself at times.

‘The hemline dips in a few places; nothing to worry about, m’lady. That often happens with beaded gowns, it’s the weight of the beads. I’ll just put in a few pins where I need to adjust it. It’s a perfect fit, Lady Daphne.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Alice.’

Cecily said, ‘There aren’t many beads missing, Mam.’

Alice swung her head, smiled at her daughter and went on with her work.

Cecily sat back in the chair, watching her mother, always learning from her. Alice was now kneeling on the floor with a small pincushion attached to her left wrist. Every so often she put a pin or two in the hem, marking the exact spot for attention later.

Pins had a language of their own, Cecily was aware of that. It was a language her mother was going to teach her soon. She had made a promise, and her mam always kept her promises.

When Daphne finally got off the platform and walked towards the screen in a corner of the room, Alice beckoned to Cecily, and the two of them took the bouffant white ball gown off the mannequin. Alice followed Daphne, carrying the gown. She was certain this would fit her too. It had been made at the same time as the beaded column.

Daphne emerged a few seconds later, looking so beautiful, so ethereal, in the froth of white lace and tulle, that Cecily caught her breath in surprise. Then she exclaimed, ‘You look like a fairy-tale princess!’

Daphne walked forward, smiling. She swirled around, the skirts billowing out, and then swirled again, and nobody even noticed the ink stains, so entrancing was she.

‘The perfect bride for the son of a duke,’ DeLacy blurted out, and then shrank back in the chair when they all stared at her.

The phantom duke not yet found, Alice thought, and therefore no son to marry. But there will be one soon enough, I’ve no doubt. After all, she’s only seventeen and not quite ready for marriage yet. Still a child in so many ways. And such a beauty. But all of the four Dees are lovely, and so is my Cecily. Yes, they’re the beautiful girls of Cavendon, none to match them anywhere.

Alice stood there smiling, admiring them, and thinking what a lovely summer it was going to be for everyone – the suppers, the dances, the big ball, and the weekend house parties … a happy, festive time.

Although she did not know it, Alice was wrong. The summer would be a season of the most devastating trouble, which would shake the House of Ingham to its core.

SIX

‘It’s extremely quiet in here, Mrs Jackson,’ the butler remarked from the doorway of the kitchen, surveying Cook’s domain.

‘Did yer think we’d all died and gone ter heaven then?’ Nell Jackson asked with a laugh. ‘I just sat down ter catch me breath before I start on the main course. Can’t cook it yet, though, not till the last minute. Dover sole is a delicate fish, doesn’t need much time in the pan.’

Mr Hanson nodded and went on. ‘I’ve no doubt the hustle and bustle will start up again very shortly.’

‘It will. Right now everyone’s off doing their duties upstairs, but they’ll soon be scurrying back down here, bringing their bustle with them. As for Polly, I sent her ter bed, Mr Hanson. She’s got a sore throat and a headache. It’s better she’s confined ter her room until she feels better. I don’t want her spreading germs, if she does have a cold.’

‘Good thinking on your part, Mrs Jackson. Lord Mowbray is a stickler about illness. He doesn’t like the staff working if they’re under the weather. For their sakes as well as ours. You’ll be able to manage all right. It’s only three for lunch, with the Countess and Lady Diedre in Harrogate today.’

‘It’s not a problem, Mr Hanson,’ Mrs Jackson reassured him. ‘Elsie and Mary will help me ter put the food on the serving platters, and Malcolm and Gordon will handle lunch upstairs with ease.’

‘And I shall be serving the wine, and supervising them as usual,’ he reminded her with a kindly smile. Then he nodded and walked on down the corridor, heading for his office. The room was one of his favourites in this great house, which he loved for its beauty, heritage and spirit of the past; he looked after it as if it were his own. Nothing was ever too much trouble.

Hanson had occupied the office for some years now, and it had acquired a degree of comfort over time, resembling a gentleman’s study in its overall style. Henry had arrived at Cavendon Hall in 1888, twenty-five years ago now, when he had been twenty-six. From the first day, Geoffrey Swann, the butler at that time, had favoured him; he had spotted something special in him. Geoffrey Swann had called it ‘a potential for excellence’.

The renowned butler had propelled Hanson up through the hierarchy with ease, teaching him the ropes all the way. Starting as a junior footman in the pecking order, he rose to footman, eventually became the senior footman, and was finally named assistant butler under the direction of Geoffrey Swann. He had been an essential part of the household for ten years when, to everyone’s shock, Geoffrey Swann suddenly dropped dead of a heart attack in 1898.

The 5th Earl had immediately asked Hanson if he would take over as butler. He had agreed at once, and never looked back. He ran Cavendon Hall with enormous efficiency, care, skill and a huge sense of responsibility. Geoffrey Swann had been an extraordinary mentor, had turned Hanson into a well-trained major-domo who had become as renowned as Swann before him in aristocratic circles.

Sitting down at his desk, Hanson picked up the menus for lunch and dinner, which Mrs Jackson had given him earlier, and glanced at them. In a short while, he must go to the wine cellar and choose the wines. Perhaps a Pouilly Fuissé for the fish and a Pomerol for the spring lamb that had been selected for dinner.

Leaning back in the chair, Hanson let his thoughts meander to other matters for a moment or two, and then he made a decision and got up. Leaving his office, he walked in the direction of the housekeeper’s sitting room.

Her door was ajar and, after knocking on it, he pushed it open and looked inside. ‘It’s Hanson, Mrs Thwaites. Do you have a moment?’

‘Of course!’ she exclaimed. ‘Come in, come in.’

Closing the door behind him, Hanson said, ‘I wanted a word with you … about Peggy Swift. I was wondering how she was working out? Is she satisfactory?’ he asked, getting straight to the point as he usually did. ‘Is she going to fit in here?’

Agnes Thwaites did not reply immediately, and he couldn’t help wondering why. He was about to ask her if she was unhappy with the new maid, when she finally spoke.

‘I can’t fault her work, Mr Hanson. I really can’t. She’s quick and she’s efficient. Still, there’s something I can’t quite put my finger on … something about her doesn’t sit well with me.’ Mrs Thwaites shook her head.

‘So I’ve noticed,’ Hanson replied pithily. ‘She did work at Ellsford Manor, and you did get an excellent reference, but then the manor is hardly Cavendon. It’s not a stately home.’

‘Oh, yes, I understand that,’ she answered, suppressing a smile. It was well known that Hanson believed Cavendon was better than any other house in the land, including Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle and Sandringham, all royal residences. ‘I have noticed there is a certain coolness between Peggy and the other maids. I’m not clear why,’ Mrs Thwaites added.

‘Has Mrs Jackson told you what she thinks of Peggy?’ he asked, a brow lifting.

‘Well, naturally Mrs Jackson is pleased with her efficiency, her quickness. It might be that Peggy is just not suitable for this house.’

‘You’d better keep a sharp eye on her, since the maids are in your care, as the footmen are in mine. And I will as well, as I think two pairs of eyes see much more than one.’

Hanson left the sitting room and walked back to his office. He sat at the desk for a moment or two, thinking about the situation in general. They were still missing a third footman, and if they had to let Peggy Swift go, they would be short of a maid. This problem would have to be rectified by the summer, since His Lordship and the Countess had planned a number of events, and there would be weekend guests. Sighing under his breath, Hanson reached down, unlocked the bottom drawer, took out his keys and went to the wine cellar.

A short while later, he was returning to his office, carrying two bottles of wine, when he ran into Walter Swann, husband of Alice, father of Cecily, and valet to Lord Mowbray.

‘There you are, Mr Hanson,’ Walter exclaimed in his usual cheerful voice, smiling hugely. ‘I was just coming along to tell you that His Lordship will make sure lunch finishes early today. He knows Alice and Cecily are joining us in the servants’ hall, and he doesn’t want us to be eating “in the middle of the afternoon”, was the way he put it. He wanted you to know.’

‘Very considerate, I must say,’ Hanson replied, glad to have this bit of pleasant news.