Cavendon Hall

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  * * *

  Much later that evening, when Walter had returned from Cavendon to Little Skell village, he and Alice went to see Charlotte. She lived across the street from them, and it was a late-night ritual they often enjoyed. They would have coffee and cognac as they chatted about the goings-on at Cavendon, and caught up with each other in general. They were close, and bonded to each other.

  Although it was May, it was a cool evening. Charlotte had a fire blazing in the parlor; the coffee and brandy were ready for them on the sideboard, and she was waiting with a smile on her face.

  Once they were settled in front of the fire in the cozy room, sipping their coffee, Charlotte said, “I have a bit of news. Something unexpected, and it upset the earl this morning. I happened to be going down the terrace steps, when he saw me, and came out of the library to speak to me about it.”

  “What kind of upsetting news?” Walter asked, eyeing her keenly, concerned as always about anything affecting Cavendon.

  “You’re not going to believe this, but Hugo Stanton’s coming back here to see the earl.”

  “That’s a turn-up for the books!” Walter exclaimed. “What’s prompted him to come home? He was packed off without so much as a good-bye.”

  “I always liked Hugo, and he didn’t kill his brother,” Alice interjected, sounding defensive.

  Walter burst out laughing. “No one ever said that he did, Alice.”

  “But they thought it,” she shot back swiftly. “It was never even a possibility. Just his mother talking nonsense.”

  “Why was his lordship so upset?” Walter asked, focusing on his aunt.

  “Because he thinks Hugo wants Little Skell Manor, which is his by rights, and that he’ll turf Lady Gwendolyn out.”

  “Hugo wouldn’t do that,” Alice protested. “He’s not that kind of person.”

  Charlotte gave Alice an odd look, puzzlement surfacing.

  Walter explained. “Don’t you remember, Aunt Charlotte? Alice’s father worked for the Stantons.”

  “How silly of me. I’d forgotten for a moment. Your father was a trainer, Alice. He looked after the Stanton yard near Ripon, helped Major Gaunt train their racehorses. That’s right, isn’t it?”

  Alice nodded. “Yes, and Hugo wouldn’t turf her out. His aunt was always on his side.”

  “If he does, Lady Gwendolyn can move into the South Wing. It’s like a self-contained flat, and large. She would be comfortable there. I explained this to Charles,” Charlotte told them.

  “Good thinking on your part.” Walter took a sip of coffee. “Anyway, it might not come to that.”

  Alice said, “No, it won’t.”

  “I have a bit of news too,” Walter now announced. “But it’s rather sad, I’m afraid. Mrs. Sedgewick has not recovered from cancer, after all. She’s dying…” Walter paused, looking genuinely sorrowful. “His lordship told me tonight. The countess is devastated; she thought her sister was better, and that they would be having a celebration luncheon today, believing her to have years ahead of her. Seemingly, that’s not so.”

  “How terrible for her ladyship. She must be suffering. She and her sister are very close.” Charlotte reached for her glass of cognac, took a swallow. She was filled with sympathy for Felicity Ingham.

  Alice murmured, “What an unfortunate mistake to make.”

  The three of them sat in silence for a short while, sipping their cognac, lost in their own thoughts. There was no sound except for the crackling of the fire, the ticking of the clock, and the rustling of the trees outside. They were wise enough to understand that the unexpected frequently happened, and inevitably it was unfair. Life had a way of making its own rules, dealing its own cards, and the cards were rarely lucky.

  It was Alice who finally roused herself, knowing that she would have to inform her husband and Charlotte about Daphne’s terrible ordeal. After a moment, settling herself, she said in as steady a voice as she could muster, “I’m afraid I have the worst news of all—” Alice glanced at her husband, and then Charlotte, who was the matriarch of the Swann family. Sotto voce, she announced, “Lady Daphne was attacked this afternoon.”

  “What?” Charlotte exclaimed, her voice rising. She sounded shocked, and gaped at Alice. “Attacked? What do you mean by that?”

  “Someone attacked her. Physically.”

  “I hope you don’t mean what I think you do, Alice?” Walter gave his wife a penetrating look, frowning at her.

  Alice glanced from one to the other. She saw that Charlotte was aghast, a stricken expression on her face, and Walter had a look of disbelief in his eyes, and she knew he was filled with apprehension. It showed in the tautness of his face, the way he held his body so rigidly.

  Swallowing, her mouth dry with anxiety, Alice said slowly, carefully, “When Lady Daphne came back to the house this afternoon I ran into her. She was disheveled. Once I got Cecily and DeLacy out of the way, I ushered her into her bedroom. She told me something had happened. I asked her if it was something bad, and she didn’t answer me. Later she said she’d fallen.”

  “But are you certain she was assaulted,” Walter probed, finding this hard to believe.

  “I am positive.”

  Charlotte asked quietly, “Are you telling us she was raped?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh my God!” Charlotte was horrified, and then suddenly a look of fear spread across her face. She sat there unable to speak, so shaken was she.

  Walter was also shocked into silence for a moment, as the words sank in, and then he cried, “Who would dare to go near Lady Daphne? Touch her? In God’s name who? Where did this happen, Alice? Did she tell you?” His voice sounded harsh in the quiet room.

  Alice shook her head. “No. However, later, when I explained to DeLacy and Cecily that Daphne had had a bad fall—remember, Daphne was disheveled—DeLacy said that it must have been in the woods. She added that Daphne had gone to see Julian Torbett after lunch, and that she always went to Havers Lodge through the bluebell woods.”

  “Our land! She was raped on our land!” Walter cried angrily. “By God, whoever did this, I’ll beat the living daylights out of him.”

  Charlotte was as white as bleached bone, and she spoke in a low, worried voice. “You are very sure of this, aren’t you, Alice? She did tell you she was raped?”

  “No, she didn’t, Charlotte. When she confirmed that something bad had happened to her, I silenced her at once. I said I didn’t need to know any more. And that she must not tell a living soul about it. I also warned her to trust only her parents, and us, the Swanns.”

  “She’s ruined,” Walter lamented in a sorrowing, almost mournful voice. “Her life is over. Gone, just like that, in a flash.”

  Alice said quietly, “Although she didn’t confide in me, I know it’s true, because of her clothes. Her jacket and blouse were torn, and there were stains on the jacket and skirt.” Alice paused, gave Charlotte a meaningful look, then added, “Her underskirt was stained as well.”

  “Where are those clothes?” Charlotte asked, concerned.

  “I brought them home, washed and cleaned them earlier this evening. I will repair them, they’ll be as good as new.”

  “Wise move,” Charlotte answered, and sat back in the chair, her mind racing. She was thinking of Felicity and Charles Ingham, and all of their plans for Daphne, and the anguish they would suffer if they ever got to know about this.

  A sudden thought struck Charlotte and she took a deep breath. “She’s not necessarily ruined, not as long as nobody knows about the rape but us. Because there are ways of concealing the loss of virginity … we’ll have to go to the old medical books, Alice.”

  “You have them all, don’t you?” Alice asked, sitting up alertly.

  “Yes. They are locked up with the record books covering generations of our history … the history of the Inghams and the Swanns and their intertwined lives.”

  Walter turned to his wife. “Are you positive she won’t tell anyone, Ali
ce? Sometimes a young woman has a need to unburden herself.”

  “Who can be sure of what anyone will do?” Alice replied. “On the other hand, I’ve known Lady Daphne all of her life, and she’s a loner, not one given to confessions about anything. And who would she confide in? Not Diedre, there’s a certain distance between them. And frankly, she would think DeLacy is too young. She won’t talk, I just know this. Don’t ask me how, but I do.”

  “We Swanns must close ranks, and do all we can to keep her safe in every way,” Charlotte announced in a strong voice. “Walter, talk to our other Swanns, those who work outside, and let’s throw a ring of protection around her.”

  “It’s done,” Walter said at once. “I’ll see our lads tomorrow, and the woodsmen. I’ll tell them to be on the lookout for trespassers. I’ll talk about poachers, suggest we’ve spotted one, and I’ll tell the earl the same thing.”

  Charlotte leaned forward. “We can’t have anyone wondering why Lady Daphne has to be protected, therefore rumors of poachers on our land is the best reason to give. Use it.”

  Alice said, “Lady Daphne was distraught, still in shock when I helped her this afternoon. She was … dazed and fearful … the poor girl. I tried to do everything I could to comfort her, Charlotte.”

  “Keep on doing that, Alice. Stay close to her.” Charlotte stood up, went and brought the bottle of cognac to the fireside, poured the golden liquid into their glasses. “We’re going to make everything right. Expunge that rape … make her whole again. As best we can. And she will marry the son of a duke if we have anything to do with it.”

  “That’s the right way to think,” Walter asserted. “And don’t forget, the Swanns always win.”

  Alice said a silent prayer, hoping that this would be the result, that they would save Daphne’s future. The problem was, she wasn’t sure the Swanns would win this time.

  Fourteen

  Daphne sat at her dressing table, studying her face in the mirror. The bruise had finally faded away. It had only been a scrape really; powder and rouge had done the trick. No one had noticed it except Dulcie, who had prattled on about it but had fortunately been ignored. Everyone else was focused on other things.

  Her aunt had been given only six months to live at the most, and so her mother and father had been preoccupied with this tragic news all week. They had also been concerned about the upcoming visit of Hugo Stanton, her father’s cousin, and making plans for his weekend visit in July.

  And so they had not paid much attention to their four daughters these past few days, much to her relief. They had not noticed the bruise; she had not mentioned her fall in the woods. Neither had DeLacy. She had asked her younger sister not to bring it up, and DeLacy had agreed to keep silent.

  So all in all, she had managed to get through the week without any explanations. But it had not been easy for her. Her body had begun to heal, the bruises and scratches calming down, but her mind was extremely busy.

  It was virtually impossible for her to expunge that violent physical attack from her mind. The angry face of Richard Torbett, when she had pulled off his disguise, and his deadly threat to have her mother and Dulcie killed, were engraved on her brain.

  When Mrs. Alice had returned her clothes in perfect condition, and put them away in her wardrobe, she had thanked her, but made no reference to them. And neither had Mrs. Alice. Instead she had said in a low voice, “I understand that there are poachers on our land, so don’t be surprised if you see more woodsmen around than usual. They’re keeping their eyes open for trespassers.”

  Daphne had nodded, and later wondered about this comment. Yet she fully understood that no Swann would ever discuss an Ingham to someone else. Her secret was safe, there was no question about that. Still, it had occurred to her that the woodsmen were out and about because of her, without any of them knowing it. The Swanns were making sure she was protected. That was the way they worked. In clever ways. Secret ways.

  Smoothing her hand across her hair, Daphne then dabbed a bit of powder on her cheeks, and adjusted the jabot of her white blouse.

  Last week, when Madge Courtney and Julian Torbett had come to call, she had passed on her father’s invitation to Madge to come to the summer ball. And she had agreed to go riding with them this morning. It was Saturday morning, May 10, and she was dreading it all of a sudden. Julian was nothing at all like his dangerous older brother, who was known to be a reprobate and a gambler. But, nonetheless, she couldn’t help feeling uncomfortable, even though Julian was her childhood friend. Being near him made her think of the rapist.

  Madge was joining them, and she had asked DeLacy to come along as well. Her sister was delighted to be invited to go riding with this older group, and had accepted with alacrity and pleasure.

  There was a knock on the bedroom door, and DeLacy, her face full of smiles, came in, asking, “Are you ready, Daphne? Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  Daphne reached for her elegant lady’s bowler hat, and, looking in the mirror, smoothing her hand over her bun, she then perched the bowler on top of her head. “Yes, I’m ready,” she answered, and stood. Picking up her gloves, she pulled them on, and continued, “I don’t feel like riding today, but I didn’t want to disappoint Julian and Madge.”

  “You don’t want to disappoint Papa, either,” DeLacy exclaimed.

  “Papa! Is he joining us?” The thought of her father being with them cheered her up enormously, brought a smile to her bright blue eyes.

  “Yes, he is. He told me a good gallop would do him good, that he needed to clear his head. Mama is not going to Harrogate today, and she invited Julian and Madge to join us for lunch, after our ride.”

  “That’s nice,” Daphne murmured, endeavoring to shut out the vivid image of Richard Torbett’s angry, snarling face as they went downstairs together.

  * * *

  The earl, Julian, and Madge were waiting outside, standing next to their horses and chatting amiably. Daphne and DeLacy went over to join them, and after greeting her father, Daphne stepped over to welcome Julian and his fiancée.

  Madge Courtney was a striking redhead, good-looking, forceful in her manner, and taller than Julian; she had a friendly, outgoing personality, and was good company.

  Daphne had always thought they looked odd together. Julian, of medium height, fair of coloring, and with soft features, appeared to be much younger than her. Yet they were the same age; Julian was introspective, less flamboyant.

  Julian hugged Daphne, as always gentle and loving with her, and told her she looked beautiful. “So elegant, Daphne, in your dark blue riding habit. An unusual color. And I love the bowler. That’s a snappy touch.”

  “Thank you, Julian,” she answered graciously, and said to Madge, “I’m so glad you can come back for lunch with us.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Madge answered, and then turned to DeLacy to speak with her.

  A few minutes later, they were all mounted. DeLacy was riding Dreamer, a horse she had long favored, whilst Daphne was on Greensleeves, a beautiful roan, which she had owned for several years, a gift from her father.

  Within minutes they were trotting out of the stable block, heading for the long stretch of fields where they would be able to enjoy their gallop, racing each other, and giving their horses a good run.

  As they swept across the open fields, Daphne began to feel better. Her father was right, fresh air cleared the head. Blowing the cobwebs away was a grand idea, she decided, and settled into her saddle, handling her horse with her usual skill and finesse.

  Once they came to the end of the fields, exhilarated by the race, they slowed down, and wheeled their horses to the left. They headed along one of the wide bridle paths which ran along the right side of the bluebell woods, slowly progressing back to Cavendon.

  It was a beautiful day, sunny and mild, with a blue sky, and no hint of rain for once. Daphne blocked out the image of her assault in the woods last week. These were their woods, and she would not avoid them, even if
she had to grit her teeth to forget her ordeal. But she would put it behind her. It wouldn’t happen again, she was certain of that. Their land would now be patrolled regularly by their own men, thanks to the Swanns.

  As she trotted along the path behind DeLacy, enjoying the shade created by the overhanging branches of the trees, Daphne noticed that her lovely heron was back. It was standing in the pool of water in the middle of the woods, and it brought a brief smile to her face. It had found a home, she decided.

  Unexpectedly, she caught sight of Walter’s brother, Percy, who was head gamekeeper at Cavendon. She saw her father beckoning him over, and Percy started to run toward them. Then he stood talking to the earl for a few moments, before he hurried off.

  Suddenly, in the distance, there was the sound of gunfire. Shots rang out, startling them all, especially the horses. Greensleeves snorted and reared up on her hind legs, tossed her head, frightened by the sudden noise. Daphne tightened the reins, endeavored to calm her, to gain control of her. Somehow she managed it. And then she saw, much to her horror, that Julian’s horse had not only panicked but bolted.

  It was galloping down the bridle path hell for leather, obviously totally spooked by the rifle fire. And then she was filled with fear when Julian was thrown off his horse. He landed heavily, hit a large boulder, rolled over onto his back, and lay still.

  Daphne noticed that the other horses were in the same state of great agitation, pawing, tossing their heads, and rearing up. DeLacy was still struggling with Dreamer, trying to calm her. But finally her father had his stallion Blackstar under his control, much to Daphne’s relief.

  Julian’s horse ran on, galloping down the bridle path, still a terrified animal.

  DeLacy and Daphne galloped forward. As they drew closer to Julian they reined in their horses and jumped to the ground. Their father was running toward Julian, where he lay on the ground not moving. He was obviously badly hurt.

  Only Madge remained on her horse, frozen by shock and fear, and unable to move a muscle. She had lost all color, her eyes wide with horror.