Secrets of Cavendon: A gripping historical saga full of intrigue and drama

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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London SE1 9GF

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2018

Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018 Cover photographs © Elizabeth Ansley/Trevillion Images (woman), Shutterstock.com (gate and leaves on back cover) and Ivan Vdovin/Getty Images (house back cover)

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9780007503353

Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780007503377

Version: 2018-07-06

Dedication

For Bob, with all my love always

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Characters

PART ONE

A Rip in the Fabric 1949

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

PART TWO Les Girls

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

PART THREE Magic and Make-Believe

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

PART FOUR Stepping into Reality

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

PART FIVE Different Perceptions 1950

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Books by Barbara Taylor Bradford

About the Publisher

CHARACTERS

ABOVE THE STAIRS

THE INGHAMS IN 1949

Miles Ingham, 7th Earl of Mowbray, aged 50. Owner and custodian of Cavendon Hall. Referred to as Lord Mowbray. He is married to Cecily Swann, 48, who is the 7th Countess of Mowbray.

THE CHILDREN OF THE EARL AND COUNTESS

David Ingham, heir to the earldom, aged 20. He is known as the Honourable David Ingham. Walter, 18; Venetia, 16; and Gwen, 8.

Lady Diedre Ingham Lawson, sister of the Earl, aged 56. She is married to William Lawson, 56, and lives in London with him and her son, Robin Drummond, 22. She works at the War Office. They come to Cavendon at weekends where they have their own house, Little Skell Manor.

Lady Daphne Ingham, sister of the Earl, aged 53. She remains married to Hugo Ingham Stanton, 68. They live permanently at Cavendon Hall, in the South Wing. They have five children who live in London and visit at weekends. They are Alicia, 35; Charles, 31; the twins Thomas and Andrew, 28; and Annabel, 25.

Lady Dulcie Ingham, youngest sister of the Earl, aged 41. She lives in London and at Skelldale Manor at Cavendon. She is married to Sir James Brentwood, 56, one of England’s greatest actors, who was knighted by King George VI. They have three children: twins Rosalind and Juliet, 20, and a son, Henry, 17.

The three sisters of the Earl are now referred to affectionately as the Three Dees by the staff.

BETWEEN STAIRS

THE SECOND FAMILY: THE SWANNS

The Swann family has been in service to the Ingham family for almost two hundred years. Consequently, their lives have been intertwined in many different ways. Generations of Swanns have lived in Little Skell village, adjoining Cavendon Park, and still do. The present-day Swanns are as devoted and loyal to the Inghams as their forebears were, and would defend any member of the family with their lives. The Inghams trust them implicitly, and vice versa.

THE SWANNS IN 1949

Walter Swann, aged 71; father of Cecily and Harry. Head of the Swann family, and in charge of security at Cavendon Hall.

Alice Swann, his wife, aged 68, the mother of Cecily and Harry. Alice runs most of the village events and helps to run the Women’s Institute alongside the Dowager Countess.

Harry, son, aged 51, a former apprentice landscape gardener at Cavendon Hall. He is now running the estate. He has also created beautiful gardens which draw the public.

Cecily, daughter, aged 48. She is married to Miles and is a world-renowned fashion designer.

Paloma Swann, 38, wife of Harry, and mother of their children: Edward, 10; Patricia, 8; and Charles, 6. She is a well-known photographer.

OTHER SWANNS

Percy, younger brother of Walter, aged 68. Head gamekeeper at Cavendon.

Edna, wife of Percy, aged 69. Does occasional work at Cavendon.

Joe, their son, aged 48. Works with his father as assistant head gamekeeper.

Bill, first cousin of Walter, aged 63. Head landscape gardener at Cavendon. He is widowed.

Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 74. Head of interior maintenance and carpentry at Cavendon. Widowed.

Paul, son of Ted, aged 50, working with his father as an interior designer and carpenter at Cavendon. Single.

Eric, brother of Ted, first cousin of Walter, aged 69. Head butler at Cavendon Hall. Single.

Charlotte, aunt of Walter and Percy, aged 81. Now Dowager Countess of Mowbray. Charlotte is the matriarch of the Swann and Ingham families. She is treated with great love and respect by everyone. Charlotte was the secretary and personal assistant to David Ingham, the 5th Earl, until his death. She married the 6th Earl in 1926, who predeceased her during World War II.

Dorothy Pinkerton, née Swann, aged 66, cousin of Charlotte. She lives in London and is married to Howard Pinkerton, 66, a Scotland Yard detective. She works with Cecily at Cecily Swann Couture in London.

CHARACTERS BELOW STAIRS

Mr Eric Swann, Head butler

Mrs Peggy Swift Lane, Housekeeper

Mrs Lois Waters, Cook

Miss Mary Lowden, Head housemaid

Miss Vera Gower, Second housemaid

Mr Philip Carlton, Chauffeur

OTHER EMPLOYEES

Miss Angela Chambers, nanny for Cecily’s daughter Gwen, addressed as Nanny or Nan.

THE OUTDOOR WORKERS

A stately home such as Cavendon Hall, with thousands of acres of land, and a huge grouse moor, employs local people. This is its purpose for being, as well as providing a private home for a great family. It offers employment to the local villagers, and also land for local tenant farmers. The villages surrounding Cavendon were built by various earls of Mowbray to provide housing for their workers; churches and schools were also built, as well as post offices and small shops at later dates. The villages around Cavendon are Little Skell, Mowbray and High Clough.

There are a number of outside workers: a head gamekeeper and five additional gamekeepers; beaters and flankers who work when the grouse season starts and the Guns arrive at Cavendon to shoot. Other outdoor workers include woodsmen, who take care of the surrounding woods for shooting in the lowlands at certain times of the year. The gardens are cared for by a head landscape gardener, and five other gardeners working under him.

The grouse season starts in August, on the Glorious Twelfth, as it is called. It finishes in December. The partridge season begins in September. Duck and wild fowl are shot at this time. Pheasant shooting starts on the 1 November and goes on until December. The men who come to shoot, usually aristocrats, are always referred to as the Guns, i.e., the men using the gun.

PART ONE

A Rip in the Fabric 1949

Yesterday’s weaving is as irrevocable

as yesterday.

I may not draw out the threads, but I

may change my shuttle.

Muriel Strode-Lieberman,

My Little Book of Life

ONE

Cecily Swann Ingham, the 7th Countess of Mowbray, was on the steps of the office annexe, looking out across the stable block, her eyes focused on Cavendon Hall perched high on the hill in front of her.

It was a lovely June morning, and the luminous light particular to the north of England cast a sheen across the soaring roof and chimney tops, which appeared to shimmer under the clear, bright sky.

How glorious the house looks today, she thought: stately, grand, strong and safe. She smiled wryly to herself. It wasn’t safe at all, in her opinion. Not in reality.

Sadly, as grand as the house looked this morning, it was facing serious trouble once more in its long life, and she was genuinely worried about its future, the future of the entire estate, including the grouse moor, as well as the Ingham family itself.

Cecily sighed, closed her eyes, shutting out the view. Cavendon had bled them dry for years, and taken an enormous amount of their time. They had each made huge sacrifices for it, and all of them had at one time or another poured money into the bottomless pit it had become, particularly Cecily herself.

Opening her eyes, straightening, she wondered how on earth they would manage to stave off the encroaching trouble, which was slowly but steadily moving forward to engulf them. If she was truthful with herself, she had to admit she had no idea. For once in her life she felt entirely helpless, unable to create a foolproof plan of action.

The clatter of hooves cut into her worrisome thoughts, and she opened her eyes. Her brother, Harry, was crossing the cobbled stable yard, accompanied by Miles, who walked alongside the horse.

Her husband spotted her, raised his hand in greeting, smiled at her – that special smile reserved for her alone. Her heart tightened at the delighted look that crossed his face, because he had seen her unexpectedly.

Harry waved; she waved back, and watched her brother leave the yard. He was off on his Saturday morning rounds of the entire estate. Harry revelled in his job as the estate manager and had made such a huge difference in numerous ways. The new gardens he had created after he had been invalided out of the Air Force were startlingly beautiful and had drawn many visitors.

Miles joined her on the steps, putting his arm around her. ‘I missed you at breakfast. As adorable and entertaining as our children are, they can hardly take your place, my love.’

‘I needed to get to my desk, go over the latest figures Aunt Dottie sent up from London. Before going to the meeting.’

‘Bloody hell! I’d forgotten about the Saturday morning meeting,’ Miles exclaimed, sounding annoyed.

Cecily gave him a nod and grimaced.

Miles said, ‘Come on then, madam, buck up at once! Gird on your sword and prepare to do battle. You have no alternative, you know. The die is cast!’

‘Indeed it is.’ She laughed. ‘I’m off,’ she added, ‘there won’t be a battle, maybe a bit of grumbling, and whining, but that’s all.’ She blew him a kiss.

‘I know that. Still, just think, next week we’ll be all alone with our little brood and Aunt Charlotte. The rest of the family will have gone off on their holidays, thank God.’

‘Like you, I can’t wait,’ she replied, and left him standing on the steps of the annexe. She made her way across the stable yard, heading for the terrace which ran along the back of the house, facing Cavendon Park.

When she stepped onto the terrace a few seconds later, her three sisters-in-law and aunt had not yet arrived for their regular weekly catch-up. She sat down in a wicker chair, her gaze resting on the lush park which flowed to the edge of Little Skell village.

On the left side of the park was the lake where the two white swans floated, a matched pair, bonded for life, as were all swans. It had been the first Earl, Humphrey Ingham, who had decreed there must always be swans at Cavendon to honour his liegeman, James Swann.

The spectacular view had not changed over the many years, not since the 1700s, in fact, when the house had first been built. But everything else had. Things were different now … nothing was the same any more. Anywhere.

Cecily sat drifting with her thoughts, thinking of the last four years. In 1945, when the war had ended in victory, the euphoria of the public had been high. Unfortunately, that sense of pride, triumph and relief had soon drifted off, and the rot had set in. The country was broke, the Great British Empire was creeping away, disappearing into nothingness, and everyone grumbled, complained and couldn’t wait for things to get better. They didn’t. The worst thing of it was that Churchill was out of office; the Labour Party had won the election and Clement Attlee had been made Prime Minister.

City councils without funds were unable to function properly. Bomb sites, great gaping holes in the ground, eyesores in every big city, had been left untouched for lack of money and materials. It was the same with ruined buildings; there were piles of rubble everywhere, making everyone miserable because they were constant reminders of the war. And the country was still suffering rationing on much of the food and day-to-day goods they needed.

It seemed to Cecily that Britain had just stood still. Now, in 1949, she hoped things were improving: people were becoming more optimistic once more and there was a sense of cheerfulness in the air. Princess Elizabeth’s wedding eighteen months earlier had helped lift the country’s spirits.

On the other hand, Britain was still a country mostly made up of old men, women and children. Hundreds of thousands of young men had not returned from battle, had died in foreign lands. She knew how much this had affected Cavendon. They were a large estate and had lost many of their young men from the tenant farms and the villages, the families devastated by loss for the second time in a generation. And Cavendon was an agricultural estate that needed sturdy men to till the land, harvest the crops, tend the cattle and sheep.

Miles said they were lucky that two of the Land Army girls had stayed on, and were running several of the tenant farms; by advertising in local newspapers, Harry had managed to hire three families to move into tenant farms in the nearby villages of Mowbray and High Clough.

Hearing voices, Cecily swung around and immediately stood up. Through the French doors she saw Aunt Charlotte, who was talking to Eric Swann, head butler at Cavendon.

Cecily went into the library to greet her aunt, exclaiming, ‘Good morning, I didn’t expect you to come today, Aunt Charlotte.’ Like her, her great-aunt was a Swann who’d married an Ingham – though in Charlotte’s case not until later in life. Now the Dowager Countess of Mowbray, the older woman retained the poise and upright bearing she’d had from girlhood. Her face was lined with her years now, and her hair white.

‘Hello, Ceci – and why not? It’s the last of the meetings for the summer. I should be here.’

Looking across at Eric, Cecily said, ‘I see you’ve brought in coffee, Eric. I’d love a cup, please. And what about you, Aunt Charlotte?’

‘Yes, of course, I’ll join you. We can have a chat before the others get here.’

‘Right away, my lady,’ Eric said, and turned to the tray on the table.

Charlotte walked over to the fireplace and sat down, and beckoned for Cecily to join her. ‘There is something I must tell you … privately.’

But before she could say anything else, the door of the library opened and Lady Diedre came in. The eldest of the Ingham sisters, she was an elegant woman of fifty-six, her blonde hair now streaked with grey, but dressed as usual in the most up-to-date fashions. Today she wore the chic, wide-leg trousers she adored, teamed with a relaxed silk blouse.

Cecily raised her eyebrows at Charlotte. Their private conversation would have to wait. She stood up to welcome her sister-in-law. Diedre was widely regarded as the brains of the siblings, having worked for years at the War Office. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, but her razor-sharp intelligence always livened up any gathering. Cecily gave her an affectionate kiss and pointed her towards the coffee.

She was followed by Lady Dulcie, the youngest Ingham sister, now in her early forties. Dulcie might be slightly plumper and a mother of three, but she was still the baby of the family in all of their eyes. As they got themselves settled, Diedre leaned across to Cecily and said, ‘I just want to congratulate you on the success of the gift shop. You’ve done a marvellous job, and certainly the income from it is proving very useful.’

‘Thank you,’ Cecily answered, and smiled gratefully at her. It was Diedre who was usually the peacemaker when any problems arose and squabbles started. ‘I honestly had no idea people would be interested in so many small things related to Cavendon.’

As Dulcie sat down, Cecily turned towards her.

‘How long will you be away in Hollywood?’ she asked. ‘Miles said James has two films to make for MGM under his old contract.’

‘Yes, that’s correct, but I think we’ll be back in time for Christmas. At least that’s what we’re planning. Also, James wants to do a play in the West End next year.’

‘That’s good to know,’ Cecily said. ‘Christmas wouldn’t be the same without you.’ She adored her glamorous sister-in-law, who remained as funny and down-to-earth as she’d always been, despite her husband’s Hollywood success.

At this moment the door opened and Daphne, the last of the Ingham sisters, stepped into the room. Cecily blinked with surprise. It was obvious that her sister-in-law was dressed for travelling rather than the weekend at Cavendon.

Walking forward, Daphne greeted them coolly. ‘I just came to say goodbye. I’m not staying for the meeting.’ She looked around at the other women, her face set. ‘Nobody listens to me anyway.’

Cecily recoiled in shock. Daphne was, to all intents and purposes, the chatelaine of Cavendon. Ever since her mother had left them, she’d run the place; she’d lived here all her life.

A wry smile twisted Daphne’s mouth briefly, and she went on. ‘Hugo and I are leaving very shortly. We wish to have supper with the children in London this evening. Then we are off to Zurich tomorrow, as you know. What I want to tell you now is that we won’t be coming back for a long time. Perhaps not for another year.’

Diedre looked startled. ‘Goodness me, Daphne, a whole year!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why ever would you, of all people, stay away from Cavendon for so long?’ Her face betrayed her bemusement.

‘Because I can’t really bear it here any more,’ Daphne answered. Her voice was level, steady, ‘I can’t live here with the public milling around the house and gardens any longer. They seem to be everywhere. I keep stumbling over them. It’s perfectly ghastly.’

Daphne paused and stared at Cecily for a prolonged moment. ‘It’s become far too commercial for me, Ceci. Almost like a giant store, an extension of Harte’s, what with the shops, the café, and the art gallery. I’m afraid you’ve turned it into a rather horrid tourist attraction.’ She shook her head, her beautiful face suddenly grim, and without uttering another word she left the library, closing the door quietly behind her.

There was a stunned silence.

Diedre and Dulcie looked at each other. The amazement on both sisters’ faces proclaimed that this was as much of a surprise to them as it was to Cecily.

Aunt Charlotte spoke first, her voice quiet. ‘I think we must excuse Daphne and what she’s just said. She’s been exhausted for a long time and has put a lot into Cavendon. I do believe a few weeks of quiet and tranquillity in Zurich will help her feel better.’

‘She blames me,’ Cecily said in a low tone. ‘Ever since the end of the war she has been saying I have been making Cavendon too commercial. She and Hugo have never stopped grumbling – about the house tours, in particular. She’s been very off with me lately.’

‘But it’s the money we make from the public that keeps us going!’ Dulcie cried, her voice rising slightly. ‘And she blames me too, because you let me create my little art gallery. But all of the profits go to Cavendon, not to me.’

In a soothing voice, Diedre interjected, ‘Don’t let’s get excited about this. Frankly, I agree with Aunt Charlotte. Daphne’s been bone tired for years and I think she deserves a long rest. She loves the villa and Switzerland. She’ll get her strength back, soon be her old self again.’

Dulcie, looking from Diedre to Aunt Charlotte, asked, ‘What do you mean, bone tired? Do you both think Daphne has some kind of illness?’

Aunt Charlotte shook her head. ‘Not really, but she has put so much of herself into the house, she’s sort of, well …’ Charlotte paused before finishing, ‘A little possessive of it, should we say?’

Diedre nodded in agreement. ‘The public does get on her nerves, but if we didn’t have the house and garden tours, and the shops …’ She broke off, her hands raised in a helpless gesture. ‘I don’t know where we’d be.’

‘Broke,’ Cecily said. ‘Well, not quite, but almost.’

‘And aren’t we lucky the public are so terribly fascinated by Cavendon Hall and the gardens,’ Dulcie remarked. ‘Especially since they pay through the nose for the privilege of touring them.’

She laughed, and so did the others, breaking the dour mood.