The Cavendon Women

Alternatively, a career that was relentlessly attacked could ultimately be totally destroyed forever, never to be rekindled.

These were the only two choices, as far as she was concerned. Hurt someone Diedre loved. Or destroy her career totally.

Discovering the identity of Diedre’s enemy was an imperative. Until they knew who it was, they would be whistling in the dark. Whom could Lady Gwendolyn turn to for help? Which of her friends had real power? Whom did she trust? And who would actually be willing to poke around for her?

The answer came to her immediately. Only someone in politics and someone with access to the top brass at the War Office.

Staring into the distance, she thought of those friends who were connected to politics. She knew Lucy Baldwin quite well, had been at her wedding to Stanley in 1892. But she could hardly go to the Prime Minister’s wife with this.

Winston. Of course! Not only was he a good friend, he had just the right temperament to get involved. He would relish it, in fact. But how could she ask him at this particular time? Once again, Winston Churchill was in the middle of the fray, dealing with the coal strike for Baldwin. Perhaps—

‘Excuse me, Lady Gwendolyn,’ Mrs Pine said, intruding on Lady Gwendolyn’s thoughts, coming down the steps into the garden. ‘Lady Lavinia is here. She apologizes for being early for lunch.’

Pushing herself to her feet, Lady Gwendolyn said, ‘That’s perfectly all right, Mrs Pine. I was just about to come inside anyway.’

Lavinia was waiting for her in the parlour; as she turned around to greet her aunt, Gwendolyn was struck by the tiredness etched on her niece’s face. ‘Are you feeling all right, Lavinia?’ Lady Gwendolyn asked. ‘You look a little under the weather, my dear.’

‘I’m tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.’ A faint smile lingered on Lavinia’s face as she followed her aunt across the room.

Sitting down in a chair opposite her, Lavinia went on, ‘I’m afraid the unexpected news that I was going to attend a wedding on Sunday – my brother’s wedding at that – rather startled me. It also upset me.’

Lady Gwendolyn simply nodded, made no comment. She had fully intended to chastise her niece over lunch today, for being rude to Charles yesterday. But now she changed her mind.

As she studied Lavinia’s face, she realized there was something else radically wrong with her. In fact, she thought her niece might be ill. She looked pale, wan, and her blonde beauty had faded somewhat. I’d better not chide her at this moment, she decided. ‘We were all surprised, except for Miles and Daphne, who knew about it all along. But I’m happy for Charles, and delighted he is marrying Charlotte.’

Staring at her aunt, raising a blonde brow, Lavinia exclaimed, ‘I know you are! And I must admit, I was taken aback yesterday when you voiced that opinion about this unfortunate union. He’s marrying out of his class. He’ll be ostracized.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ a voice exclaimed from the doorway.

Lavinia’s sister glided into the parlour.

Drawing to a halt next to her aunt, Vanessa said, ‘I’m not late, am I, Aunt Gwendolyn? Hello to you, Lavinia. I’m afraid you’re going to have to join the multitudes who are cheering on the sidelines. Otherwise you’ll be the one who is ostracized … you’ll be sent to Coventry.’ Bending over her aunt, she kissed her cheek, then seated herself on a nearby sofa.

Vanessa couldn’t help thinking how elegant and distinguished Lady Gwendolyn looked. Long ago her abundant blonde hair had turned to silver. Now it was pure white, and beautifully styled as usual. Her blue eyes sparkled brightly this morning and there was no hint that she was eighty-six. She looked much younger and was agile of mind and body.

Lady Gwendolyn smiled at Vanessa and glanced across at Lavinia. Two sisters entirely different in personality and character. She knew which one she had always preferred: Vanessa, liberal-minded, ready to accept people on face value, and in step with the times they were living in. The 1920s, not the 1800s.

Lavinia, throwing her sister an icy look, asked, ‘And what about you, Vanessa? When are we about to hear that you are finally getting married?’

Vanessa began to laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet,’ she answered casually, still laughing.

‘Is there a nice young man in your life, darling?’ Lady Gwendolyn asked. ‘And if indeed there is, who is he? I would love to know.’

‘His name is Richard Bowers, and he’s very nice. And the next time you come to London we’ll have dinner, or lunch – whichever you prefer, Aunt Gwendolyn.’

‘I’ll be up in town next week. We must meet. That would be lovely. Is he by any chance related to the Barnards?’

‘His mother Valerie is a Barnard,’ Vanessa answered. ‘I think you know her, Aunt.’

‘I do indeed. We’re acquaintances, but not close friends. She is a very nice woman.’

It was during lunch that Vanessa mentioned that Daphne had shown her the guest list for the wedding earlier. ‘I was happy to see Hugo’s cousin, Mark Stanton, is coming, and so is Paul Drummond. Also a number of—’

‘Who is Paul Drummond?’ Lavinia cut in, staring across the table at Vanessa. ‘I’ve never heard of him. He must be a new friend.’

‘No, actually he’s not. Paul Drummond is an American. He has worked with Hugo for many years,’ Vanessa explained. ‘Paul runs the New York end of Hugo’s business and, since he happens to be in London at the moment, Charles wanted him to come.’

‘An American! That explains it perfectly. I can assure you none of Charles’s close friends will be there. How could he invite them when he’s not marrying an aristocrat?’

Vanessa, appalled by Lavinia’s comment, said slowly in a firm tone, ‘Stop harping on about the aristocracy. It’s falling apart. It has been since the end of the war. Because of high taxes imposed by the government. No men to till the fields, run the factories or go down the mines. All dead on the blood-sodden fields of France – including our nephew, Guy. Half of Charles’s friends are busy trying to stay afloat, keep their stately homes running, and many are not succeeding. Do you really believe they’re concerned about Charles’s new wife? Not one iota. They’re trying to save their skins. So shut up about Charles marrying out of his class. I for one think you’re totally out of line.’

Lavinia sat back in her chair, gaping at Vanessa, astonishment washing over her face. For once in her life she was speechless, shaken by her sister’s verbal attack.

Seizing the moment, Vanessa continued, ‘Everyone said it was the war to end all wars. But what the Great War actually did was end the British Empire. Nothing is the same any more. England’s stony broke. The landed gentry are being diminished. The working man is looking for a fair deal. There was a General Strike, in case you didn’t notice, and the coal strike. The country’s spinning on its heels, and talk of a Depression is constant. And you’re going on about class. Just grow up, Lavinia. Join the world we’re living in today.’

Lavinia still remained speechless, even more shocked by her sister’s attitude and her angry words.

Lady Gwendolyn studied Vanessa, and then nodded. ‘Well put, my dear. I’m afraid I do have to agree with you.’ Focusing on Lavinia, she continued, ‘No one likes change, certainly not I, but times have indeed changed, Lavinia. And we must all change with them, keep in step. And that includes you.’

Lavinia had become paler than ever, and she replied in a low, slightly nervous voice, ‘Why are you both so annoyed with me? It’s the truth.’

There was a small silence. No one spoke. And then a moment later, Mrs Pine came into the dining room with the parlour maid, and they served the dessert.

Vanessa, wishing to change the subject, smiled at the housekeeper, and said, ‘I do love crème caramel, Mrs Pine. It’s my favourite.’

The housekeeper merely smiled and nodded.

Once they were alone again, Lady Gwendolyn sat up straighter in her chair, and peered at Vanessa and then at Lavinia. Both of them knew a pronouncement was coming and they sat perfectly still, not uttering a word or touching their food.

After a long moment, Lady Gwendolyn said in a steely voice, which was also as smooth as silk, ‘Because I am matriarch of this family, its oldest and most senior member, I can break the rules and make the rules.’ She paused, took a sip of water, and shifted slightly in her chair.

Her voice had a little less steel and more silk to it when she explained, ‘I am making a new rule. Since I am most approving of my nephew’s choice, this will be the last time a pejorative word will be uttered about Charlotte. Ever. By anyone. On Sunday she will become the Countess of Mowbray. She will be treated with the respect she deserves, and which she has actually earned through a life of devotion to this family. Charlotte has been a boon to us all. And frankly your brother would be dead by now if it were not for her.’

Still the sisters said nothing.

Lady Gwendolyn was fully aware that she had got her point across to them. Vanessa was at ease, whilst Lavinia looked shaken. Picking up her spoon, Lady Gwendolyn tasted the crème caramel, then she said quietly, scrutinizing Lavinia, ‘Are you all right, my dear? I hope my words haven’t upset you too much.’

‘No, not at all, Aunt Gwendolyn,’ Lavinia answered, her voice still low, but steady. ‘And I’m sorry if I offended you, Aunt. It won’t happen again. Surely you must know that I love my brother, and I do want what’s best for Charles.’ Lavinia stopped, took a deep breath, and finished. ‘I am fully aware that Charlotte is devoted to him, and we do owe her a lot.’

Lady Gwendolyn offered Lavinia a warm smile. ‘I am very glad to hear those sentiments.’

Wow! Vanessa thought, pushing down the laughter bubbling inside. Wow oh wow! I never thought I’d hear anything like this from Lavinia’s mouth. She’s always been jealous of Charlotte, ever since we were children growing up together. She was constantly in a sulk because Charles treated Charlotte like his best friend. And she hated it when they called each other Charlie.

SIXTEEN

They had arranged to meet at the gazebo, situated halfway between Little Skell Manor and Charlotte’s house at the edge of the village. After lunch, once Vanessa and Lavinia had departed, Lady Gwendolyn set off to keep her appointment.

She walked slowly along the path, as usual wanting to savour the beauty of Cavendon. For her it was the one true place on this planet, the place she was happiest and most content.

Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon had been born at Cavendon, had grown up there. When she was twenty she had married Paul Baildon in the small church on the estate. She and Paul had had a wonderful ten years together, and then he had died, quite suddenly, after a botched operation for appendicitis.

It should not have happened. He had been far too young to die, and she had been devastated by the loss, as had everyone else. At thirty she had become a widow, and she had been a widow for fifty-six years. Paul had been buried in the cemetery alongside her ancestors, such a long time ago now.

They had never been lucky enough to have children, but the memories were there, to be recalled at will and mulled over … they were almost living things, so vivid in her mind and in her heart.

As she strolled along, Gwendolyn glanced around. The park at Cavendon was always beautiful, whatever the time of year, but today it was spectacular. It was a perfect July afternoon, the bright sun shining in the light blue sky, everything so green and verdant. The great oaks were ancient sentinels along the path, their thick branches forming canopies of dark leaves high above, offering cool shade in this warm weather.

Within minutes she saw the gazebo ahead. Charlotte was standing on the steps waiting for her. Charlotte Swann. A remarkable woman. She had known her since the day she had been born, fifty-eight years ago, and there was a certain closeness and friendship between them; they were comfortable with each other, but then Charlotte never overstepped the line, was never out of place, and Gwendolyn was open-minded and without an ounce of snobbishness in her character.

Charlotte, her face full of smiles, said, ‘Good afternoon, m’lady.’

‘Hello, Charlotte, my dear.’ Lady Gwendolyn took the hand being offered, and mounted the few steps.

After ushering her over to a white wicker chair, Charlotte said, ‘I’m glad you suggested meeting here. Cecily and Miles are still going over details for the weekend, and Mrs Alice is finishing my packing. I’m afraid it’s a bit busy at the house.’

‘I rather thought there would be quite a lot of activity around you, and this seemed the most suitable spot to meet for a quiet chat. We’ll be undisturbed.’

Charlotte sat down at the table. ‘What did you wish to speak to me about, Lady Gwendolyn?’

‘I’m sure Charles has already told you how delighted I was to hear his news at tea yesterday. However, I did want to tell you that myself, and to congratulate you. I’m very happy you are marrying Charles, Charlotte. I have something for you.’

Lady Gwendolyn opened her handbag and took out a package wrapped in blue silk and tied with white ribbon. She placed it in front of Charlotte.

A moment later, Charlotte found herself holding a brooch in her hands. It was made of gold, designed in the image of a swan. The gold was carved to look like feathers on a plump body, and around the swan’s long neck there was a narrow band of diamonds. The swan’s eyes were made of small sapphires, its beak formed of slivers of mother-of-pearl and ebony.

‘It’s beautiful, Lady Gwendolyn!’ Charlotte exclaimed. ‘Thank you so much. I can see it’s old.’

‘Very old, in fact,’ Lady Gwendolyn replied. ‘The worn box is obviously ancient. There’s no jeweller’s mark or name on the pin, or on the box, but it is so beautifully crafted it must have come from a fine shop.’

Charlotte nodded, touched by this gesture on Lady Gwendolyn’s part. Her eyes filled. After a moment, clearing her throat, she said, ‘I shall treasure it always.’ She glanced down at the brooch. ‘May I ask who gave it to you?’

‘My mother,’ Lady Gwendolyn answered without hesitation. ‘The brooch has been passed down for years. I decided you should have it. You’re about to become an Ingham, and you are a Swann. A fitting token from an old woman who thinks the world of you.’

Charlotte experienced another little rush of emotion. After a moment, she said, ‘You’ve always been so kind to me, Lady Gwendolyn, and you’ve never passed judgement on me.’

Staring at her, frowning, Lady Gwendolyn asked, ‘Because of your love for my brother? Is that what you’re referring to?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why would I judge you? You made David happy, gave him a new lease on life. And he loved you, Charlotte.’

‘He helped to make me who I am. He taught me so much, and he gave me a wonderful life.’ Charlotte laughed. ‘In secret, of course.’

‘I knew about the two of you,’ Lady Gwendolyn murmured. ‘I never said one word to anyone.’

‘Thank you for that.’

‘Stop thanking me, Charlotte. It is I who should be thanking you for all you’ve done for us. And I just want to add this … welcome to the Ingham family officially.’

Walking back to Little Skell Manor, Lady Gwendolyn chastised herself for not telling Charlotte the truth about the brooch. She had suddenly lost her nerve, if the truth be known. But she must know more of the story, she murmured to herself. And I will tell her when she comes back from her honeymoon.

If I haven’t died by then. This thought made her chuckle. I’ve no intention of dying just yet. I’ve too much damage to do, and I have to help Diedre find her enemy and make her problem go away.

SEVENTEEN

Daphne sat at her desk in the conservatory, a room which had become her own over the years. No one else ever used it. She was making a last-minute check of the guest list for the engagement dinner that evening, and contemplating the placement of everyone at the two dinner tables.

Nodding her head, deciding that it could not be improved on, she sat back in the chair, sighing to herself, finally relaxing. It had been an extremely busy day, and she was relieved she had asked her father to cancel afternoon tea. The staff were overburdened as it was, and Hanson was all for it. Fortunately, her father had understood.

At the sound of footsteps on the terracotta-tiled floor, she turned around in her chair; her face lit up when she saw Peggy Swift coming towards her, carrying a tea tray. She was Peggy Lane now, having married Gordon Lane after the war, and was the mother of a little girl who was called Daphne, named for her.

‘I thought you might be in need of a nice cup of tea, Lady Daphne,’ Peggy said, placing the tray on the table next to the sofa. ‘You haven’t stopped for a minute today, so Hanson tells me.’

‘It has been busy, Peggy, and by the way, I must thank you for stepping into the breach this afternoon, coming in to help out. We really needed you. How is Mrs Thwaites?’

‘She’s all right, m’lady. Resting in her room. Hanson told me it’s not the first time she’s fainted lately. It’s happened before. She’s very dedicated to her job. Hanson says it’s probably just tiredness, nothing serious. But he’s told her she must go to the doctor on Monday.’

Standing up, Daphne walked over to the sofa. ‘I’m glad Hanson insisted on that. She’s not getting any younger, I’m afraid.’

‘Neither is Hanson, m’lady.’

Daphne glanced at her quickly. ‘Have you noticed something I haven’t, Peggy?’ she asked, worry creeping into her voice.

‘No, no, just making a casual comment, Your Ladyship. By the way, I’ve tried twice now to get hold of Olive Wilson, but there’s still no reply at Lady Felicity’s house – I mean Mrs Pierce’s house.’

‘Thank you, Peggy. Please try the number again later.’ Then Daphne’s blonde brows drew together in a frown, and she added, ‘Actually, I’m not sure there’s anyone at the house. My mother usually goes to Monte Carlo in the summer.’

‘I’ll try again, anyway,’ Peggy murmured. ‘Shall I pour you a cup of tea, Lady Daphne?’

‘Thank you, Peggy.’

‘Surely they’d have one staff member there, don’t you think, m’lady?’

‘I do indeed. The housekeeper.’

Peggy said, ‘That’s right, Your Ladyship, a house like that would never be left without a caretaker.’

Daphne watched her hurrying out, thinking what a lovely woman she had become. Her marriage to Gordon, now the senior footman, had been successful, and they were obviously happy together.

He had risen in the ranks of Cavendon after the war, and was a superb head footman, as well as a good right-hand man to Hanson. She relied on Gordon for many things, and he was willing to pitch in, clever in a variety of ways.

I’m glad we gave them the biggest cottage in the village, when it became vacant, Daphne now thought as she took a sip of the tea. And that we broke the rules and allowed Gordon to sleep in his own home. The arrangement has worked out well. Changing times have their assets, it seems.

Daphne’s thoughts slid back to her mother, and the missing jewels. She would get them back no matter what. She knew her father was worried about the stolen pieces. But she had pointed out that there was no way her mother could sell them. Every jeweller in London would know if they went on the market. The Ingham Collection was famous and well documented.

There was a little cough and a shuffling of feet. When Daphne glanced up, she saw her daughter Alicia hovering in the doorway, looking discontented.

‘Darling, why the long face? And do come in, don’t stand there.’ Daphne gave her a welcoming smile, struck by her glowing face despite the sulky expression. She could see the woman in the child, and she realized yet again that her daughter would grow up to be stunning, a true beauty.

The twelve-year-old girl, tall for her age, blonde and blue-eyed, came running in and stopped in front of her mother. She asked in a somewhat plaintive voice, ‘Am I going to be a bridesmaid or not, Mama?’

‘Of course you are, darling, I told you that last night, and we’ve already picked out a blue frock for you.’ Daphne threw her a puzzled look. ‘Why are you so upset?’

‘Charlie said it wasn’t true … about me being a bridesmaid. He said only the aunts were, and that you weren’t a bridesmaid either.’

‘I’m not, actually, I am the matron-of-honour, you see, because I am a married woman and no longer a maiden.’ Daphne shook her head. ‘He’s a scallywag, that brother of yours, he just loves to tease you.’

Daphne stood up, took Alicia in her arms, held her close. ‘You’ll be the most beautiful of us all. I know that.’

Alicia, who adored her mother, clung to her for a moment longer, and then stepped away, glanced up at her. ‘No, you’ll be the most beautiful, Mama. Everyone says you’re the great beauty of the Ingham family.’

‘Oh, they’re just prejudiced, my sweet,’ Daphne laughed.

Alicia’s troubled expression had dissolved. Eagerly, she asked, ‘Shall I tell Nanny she can iron the frock?’

‘Why don’t you do that, Alicia? I’ll see you shortly … for the moment I must continue my work.’

With a smile, Alicia skipped across the room, happiness obviously restored. Staring after her, Daphne felt a sudden glow inside. This child had turned out to be perfect. No, almost perfect, she corrected herself. I want her to be human, with a few naughty traits. There weren’t many, she had to admit that. She was a good girl, but sensitive at this age, and her brother did enjoy teasing her – too much at times.

Returning to her desk by the window, Daphne picked up the guest list, then put it down again. Almost at once, her mind strayed to her mother. The last time she had spoken to Olive Wilson, her mother’s maid had told her that Felicity was unhappy in the marriage.

When Daphne had asked her what had gone awry, Olive had fallen silent, glumly shaking her head, and had changed the subject.

‘We’re not intruding on your privacy, are we?’ Miles asked from the doorway, where he had suddenly appeared with Cecily.

‘You are,’ Daphne answered. ‘But come in anyway.’ She smiled at them and went on, ‘Cecily, you do look lovely. What a smart dress. But then you know that. You designed it. I’m wearing one of yours this evening, that lovely turquoise and green chiffon you made for me in May.’

‘It really suits you, Lady Daphne, and the colours are wonderful for you.’

‘Thank you, Cecily, that’s what my husband says.’

‘Can I look at the guest list?’ Miles asked, businesslike as he usually was.

‘Of course.’ Daphne held it out to him and spoke to Cecily again. ‘Tell me, how do you manage to stay cool and calm with so much going on around you? Cavendon has been in an uproar all day.’

Cecily, who had seated herself in a chair, smiled at Daphne. ‘I ignore it. Concentrate on whatever project I’m working on. I won’t allow anything to distract me.’

‘That’s probably one of the secrets of your great success in business,’ Daphne remarked, meaning this.

‘You can be sure of it,’ Miles interjected. ‘Focus, determination and desire to do it right. That’s always been Ceci’s rule, even when she was little.’

There was such admiration in his voice, Cecily was taken by surprise at this unexpected praise, and looked across at him. How weary he was, and depleted. Her heart went out to him. She had begun to understand how much he had suffered in the last few years. Harry had told her a lot last night, and she knew her brother spoke the truth.

Miles walked over to Daphne and sat down in a chair next to her, studying the list. ‘Who’s this Richard Bowers chap? His name rings a bell.’

A wry smile touched Daphne’s mouth. ‘He’s Aunt Vanessa’s current boyfriend. It’s serious. She told Papa they will be announcing their engagement soon. Apparently she had been intending to tell Papa about him this weekend, and so she asked if she could invite him to the wedding, to meet Papa before he went on his honeymoon. Our father agreed. What else could he do?’