The Cavendon Luck

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Nodding to herself, happy with her growing hoard, she turned out the light and went back into the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the mantel shelf as she did.

  In fifteen minutes Evelyne Bourne would be coming to see her for a chat and a cup of tea. Alice was looking forward to seeing her. She had known Evelyne since her birth, and although there was a difference in their ages, almost twenty years, they had become the greatest of friends in the last fifteen years. They had drawn close when Evelyne had joined the Women’s Institute in Little Skell village, and had grown to love it as much as Alice did.

  Filling the kettle, putting it on the gas ring, Alice thought about their WI and the difference it had made in so many countrywomen’s lives. And always for the better, which is why it had been created in the first place. It had first started in Canada in the late 1800s, was introduced in America in the 1900s, and had finally come to England.

  In 1915, an English aristocrat, Lady Denman, had started the first WI. How they had spread through all of the villages across the land. The Women’s Institute now had many thousands of members, and what a boon these countrywomen were going to be when the war came. Alice knew deep within herself that they would be the backbone of the country, growing food in the allotments, bottling fruit, making jams, knitting scarves and socks, sewing clothes, making sure the sick were properly looked after, as well as those in need of anything else.

  Taking cups and saucers from the cupboard, Alice placed them on the kitchen table, and then jumped in surprise as the door burst open and Harry marched in looking like thunder.

  “Goodness me, Harry, you did give me a start!” Alice cried, staring at her son, wondering what ailed him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, no, not really, Mam.” Closing the door more quietly behind him, he walked across the room, brought her into his arms and gave her a hug, holding her tightly. “Sorry about bursting in like that,” he said softly against her hair. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry, that’s all.”

  As he released her, he looked down at her and smiled. “You look bonny, Mam, you really do. Red suits you.”

  “You’re a tease, Harry. Bonny at my age, indeed.”

  “Well, you are.”

  “And you’re my favorite son.”

  She had said this to him for years and years, and as usual it made him laugh. “Now you’re the tease. Sit down with me for a minute, I have something to tell you, Mother.”

  “You sound serious. What is it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, and not leaving his face.

  “I’m no longer with Pauline Mallard. It’s over. Finished. Gone. Dead as a doornail. And now I’m fancy-free.”

  Alice said nothing for a moment, simply stared at him, filled with relief at his statement. She had thought she would never hear those words. And now she had at last. Thank God. Finally finding her voice, she asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “I don’t mind. I think you and Cecily should know anyway, because you’ve both been so concerned, and for some time.”

  There was a moment of silence as Harry settled back in the chair, staring into space, a reflective look in his eyes.

  “You don’t have to tell me now, it must be fresh, and you must be a bit raw,” Alice murmured softly, suddenly knowing he was in pain.

  “I’ll manage.” He forced a smile. “I’m a big boy.”

  “So what happened?” Alice asked carefully, riddled with curiosity, knowing that he had truly been in love, had cared deeply about Pauline Mallard. And that he had been reluctant to end the affair.

  Slowly, carefully choosing his words so as not to offend his mother, Harry told her about the last time he had seen Pauline … on that fateful Friday when her husband was suddenly about to arrive unexpectedly and catch them together.

  Alice did not interrupt him. She sat listening, her attention focused on him. He then explained about the lack of communication from Pauline, and finally his visit to the house in Harrogate on Wednesday.

  “I felt she had dropped me, and suddenly I understood that I had been used, as you’d said, Mam. They are not coming back here. They’re selling their house, going to live in Paris apparently. Well, according to Mrs. Ladlow, the cook. Even if she phones me now, or gets in touch, I won’t have anything to do with her.” Standing up, Harry finished in a firmer tone, “And after all, as you so frequently said, she’s too old for me. And too old, most certainly, to bear my children.”

  Jumping to her feet, Alice went over and put her arms around her son. She began to cry, and eventually she murmured against his shoulder, “I’m sorry you’ve been hurt, Harry. But I’m happy, so very happy for you. Now you can begin a new life. And I know that somewhere, out there, there’s a woman who is your true destiny. You’ll find her, you’ll see, and when you least expect it.”

  “Perhaps,” he answered, and kissed her cheek. “No more tears now, Mam.”

  “They’re tears of happiness,” she protested.

  “I know that.”

  Walking over to the front door, he added, “I’m now off to tea with Commander Jollion. When they invited me I attempted to turn the invitation down, but that little Phoebe Bellamy is incorrigible. Once she gets her claws in, she won’t let go. She’s only twelve, but she’s as tenacious as the devil. If she were older I’d think she had designs on me. But of course she doesn’t. Don’t look at me like that. She is only twelve, you know.”

  “I know that, you silly thing. She’s an endearing little girl with lots of persuasive powers. Phoebe’s used to getting her own way, and they’ve spoiled her.”

  Harry frowned, hesitating in the doorway. “Do you know Phoebe, Mam?”

  “No. Her aunt, Mrs. Jollion, the commander’s wife, is with our WI, and when Adrianna is up here she comes to the institute with her. That’s Phoebe’s mother, by the way.”

  “Who has quite a brood, I hear. Not only Phoebe but several sons.”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Alice answered, and thought: She also has four other daughters, but I’ll let you find that out for yourself.

  * * *

  Not long after Harry had left, there was a light knocking on the door. Evelyne pushed it open, put her head inside. “It’s me, Alice,” she said.

  “Hello, love. Come in, come in, don’t stand there,” Alice answered, smiling warmly, glad to see her friend.

  “I’ve got a pram full of jams and bottled fruit. Is it all right if I bring it in?” Evelyne asked.

  “Of course. Let me help you.”

  Alice walked across the kitchen as Evelyne pushed the pram into the room. “You know we’ve got a real problem,” Evelyne announced, as she began to take the jars out of the pram and handed them one by one to Alice.

  After placing them all on the table, Alice swung around, frowning. “What kind of problem?” she asked, puzzlement echoing in her voice.

  “I’m afraid we’ve run out of jars. I’ve only got about a dozen left. Do you have any?”

  “Ten, that’s all. And you’re right, it is a problem. I wonder where we can get some more? Perhaps ask some of the women in the village?”

  “They don’t have any, either. Let’s face it, we’ve been quite busy.” Evelyne let out a hollow laugh. “We’ll have to beg, borrow, or steal some from somewhere, that’s all there is to it.”

  Alice nodded, a thoughtful look settling on her face. Then she exclaimed, “We’ll splurge and buy some. We’ve no other choice.”

  “They’re not cheap.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that. I’ll try and cadge a few from Cook up at the house, but she does a lot of bottling herself these days. I’ll get Cecily to buy some in London, she’ll be back next week. Somehow we’ll manage. Will you help me to put this stuff in the pantry? Then we can sit down for a bit, have a cup of tea and a nice chat.”

  The two women carried the foodstuffs into the pantry, and once they had finished Evelyne went over to the stove, turned on the gas; Alice sat down at the table.

  “It’s boile
d once already,” Alice explained, “Harry was here and I put the kettle on, but I never made the tea.”

  “I saw him driving off hell-for-leather,” Evelyne said. “In a hurry, he was.”

  “Late for tea at Commander Jollion’s, he told me. Don’t you remember, he knocked young Phoebe Bellamy off her bicycle, and one of our boys here repaired it. I think the commander wants to thank him. Well, something like that.”

  Evelyne nodded. “He’s lovely, a nice man, your Harry. I do wish he could find a nice young woman, settle down, have a happy family life.”

  “I couldn’t agree more,” Alice murmured, and then said, in an even lower tone, “He is now fancy-free, as he calls it. That messy situation has suddenly evaporated.” Alice paused, smiled knowingly at her friend, and finished, “It vanished into thin air.”

  “I was in Harrogate the other day. I noticed there was a For Sale sign in the front garden of that house. It pleased me, Alice, because I knew it meant they’d gone. Hopefully for good.”

  “I believe so.”

  Evelyne poured hot water into the teapot, and carried the tray over to the table. She asked, “Do you know the woman who has become the new president of the WI in Harrogate?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She has a long name, tell me what it is again, please.”

  “Margaret Howell Johnson. She and her husband, Stephen, own a high-class jewelry shop on the Parade. Anyway, Clara Turnbull told me the WI in Harrogate has bought a canning machine, and I was thinking that they might lend it to us … it would help with our lack of jars, sort of tide us over.”

  “You’re right, it would. Perhaps my aunt Charlotte knows her. The WI presidents often get together.”

  “Would you mind asking the countess?” Evelyne picked up the teapot, filled the two cups. “Perhaps your aunt might even go to see Mrs. Johnson, ask her to do us that favor. What do you think?”

  “I will certainly mention it to her. I’m seeing her tomorrow. But if she doesn’t want to do it, I don’t mind making a trip over there. In fact, maybe we should go together.”

  “That would be nice,” Evelyne exclaimed, a sudden sparkle in her eyes. “And we could have lunch at Betty’s Cafe. My treat.”

  “I’d like that, yes,” Alice answered, sipping her tea. “I haven’t been to Betty’s for ages.”

  Twenty

  Burnside Manor was close to High Clough village, and Harry arrived much sooner than he had expected, mainly because there was no traffic. As he drove down the drive and turned into the courtyard of the Elizabethan house he spotted Phoebe sitting on the front steps.

  As he came to a stop, she jumped up and ran over to the car. The moment he turned off the ignition key and got out, she was thrusting her hand at him, a huge smile spreading across her freckled face. “Hello, Mr. Swann. I’m so happy you came.”

  He smiled back, shaking her hand. “I’ve been looking forward to it, Phoebe,” he answered, surprising himself with this white lie. But there was something special about this little girl that gave his spirits a lift. Perhaps it was the many freckles on her face, the spiky auburn hair, the cheeky smile. Whatever it was didn’t matter really. Quite simply he found her endearing.

  “You’d better take the ignition key,” she instructed, giving him a peculiar look.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

  “Because my twin brothers love cars, and they might just sneak out and go for a joy ride in your jalopy. Don’t look like that, Mr. Swann, I speak the truth. They’ve been known to do it before. Mind you, they’ve never crashed. Yet.”

  He began to laugh, opened the car door and pocketed the ignition key. Turning to her, he said, “Does that make you feel better?”

  She nodded her head and grinned. “I’ve lost a tooth.” She pointed to the side of her mouth. “I fell and broke it. Sabrina says I should keep my mouth closed, but I can’t. Anyway, my mother will take me to the dentist next week. So I’m not worried.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about anything, you’re far too young for that.”

  “I do worry about all sorts of things. Never mind. Let me tell you about my siblings.”

  “Shouldn’t we perhaps go in to tea? It is four o’clock,” Harry replied, glancing at his watch.

  “Tea is at four-thirty here. The butler rings a ship’s bell. My uncle prefers it to the gong. It makes him feel more at home. Like on his ship.”

  “I see,” Harry said, endeavoring to keep a straight face. “So tell me about your siblings, since apparently we have time. I might as well know what’s in store for me.”

  “Oh, they’re going to love you, Mr. Swann, that I know. And you’ll love them. Well, I’m not sure you will. But think of it this way, you don’t have to live with them like I do.”

  Harry said, “Let’s sit on the front steps, shall we? Or do you want to go inside?”

  Phoebe shook her head somewhat vehemently. “Better stay outside. Certain people have been known to eavesdrop. Spies, you know.”

  Once they were seated next to each other on the steps, Phoebe said in a low voice, “Haven’t you noticed my hair? I cut it a few days ago.”

  “It’s unusual,” he said, giving her an encouraging smile. “Very different,” he added, not sure how to praise the jagged spiky cut which did not exactly flatter her.

  “Oh thank you so much! I’m glad you like it. Nobody else does. Sabrina told me I have to buy a wig from a theatrical wig shop until it grows again.”

  “You keep mentioning Sabrina. Shall we start with her?” Harry suggested, enjoying being with this very grown-up twelve-year-old who was hilarious. She reminded him of Dulcie a bit and she also made him laugh.

  “Sabrina is fifteen and she believes she has the best taste of anyone in the family. She’s always criticizing me. And the others, as well. But she is gorgeous. We call her the beauty of the family … like Lady Daphne is the great beauty of the Ingham family. And actually she is my real sister.”

  Harry frowned. “What do you mean by real?”

  “Oh gosh, you don’t know about my mother and all her husbands, do you? Well, Sabrina is my blood sister. We have the same father, Gregory Chancellor Bellamy. And he is the father of the twins, Gregg and Chance. We’re all ginger heads like our father. The rest call us Carrot Tops, but we don’t care, and we sort of stick together. Especially when we have to defend ourselves.”

  Harry gave her a long, speculative look. “And why would you have to do that?”

  “I have three more sisters. Claudia, she’s thirty-one and has never been married, Angelica is twenty-nine and is recently divorced. They are my mother’s daughters by Alan Robertson, so they’re my half sisters. And they can be bossy. They order us around, like they know what’s best for us.”

  “I understand. But you said you had three more sisters, Phoebe, and you’ve only mentioned two.”

  “I always keep Paloma separate from everyone else, because she is very, very special. She is also my half sister, but she loves me very much, and I think she’s just … wonderful. She’s twenty-seven, and she’s not been married, either.”

  “And who is her father?” Harry asked, intrigued by all these sisters, brothers, and their different fathers, not to mention Adrianna, the mother of this brood.

  Phoebe leaned closer and said in a whisper, “Edward Glendenning, the actor. My mother says he was the love of her life, and she can’t imagine why she ever let him escape.”

  Harry chuckled. “And where are all of these husbands now?” he asked, riddled with curiosity.

  Shrugging, Phoebe murmured, “I don’t know. Knocking around somewhere, I suppose. Now we’d better go in; Gaston is about to ring the ship’s bell.”

  * * *

  Phoebe led Harry into the manor house just as the ship’s bell began to ring. They walked together down the gallery, which echoed with the bell’s mournful tolling. Phoebe rolled her eyes and Harry laughed at her expression.

  The gallery was long and wide, and typically Tudor i
n design and character; he now recalled how he had always liked this house. He had not visited it very often, but whenever he had come over to see the Jollions he had appreciated its beautiful Elizabethan architecture.

  Harry glanced around, liking the profusion of flowers in tall glass vases, the landscape paintings, and the overall decoration in general. Big sofas and armchairs were covered in pale-colored fabrics, filled with pillows, and they looked comfortable and inviting. Several elegant, antique chests caught his eye, and he thought how perfect the mahogany looked against the pale wood-paneled walls.

  Breaking into his thoughts, Phoebe said, “We always have tea in the garden room, and here it is.” She indicated a heavy oak door banded in black iron. It stood open and she gave it a push, ushered him inside.

  The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the room was the brightness of the light coming in through the mullioned windows. The room had an airy spaciousness to it, and it was filled with potted plants, including an array of different kinds of orchids, some of them exotic and colorful.

  Sylvia Jollion, the commander’s wife, hurried forward, a smile illuminating her pretty face. Coming to a stop, she said, “Hello, Harry, we’re so glad you were able to join us today. We’ve been looking forward to it.”

  “Thank you for inviting me,” he answered, shaking her hand.

  The commander had followed her, and he stepped forward, welcomed Harry warmly. “Good to see you, Swann.”

  The commander was a typical military man in his bearing, the way he held himself. He was tall, ramrod straight, his head held high. His expression was somewhat stern, yet Harry was aware this belied his true nature. Commander Edgar Jollion, of the Royal Navy, was compassionate, caring, and ready to help anyone in need.

  “I’m very happy to see you, Commander,” Harry said. “I ran into Noel the other day, and he told me you’ll soon be taking over a new battleship. Congratulations, sir.”