Cavendon Hall

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  * * *

  The following morning, Daphne went to see Charlotte, who was now working for the earl in the office annex next to the stable block.

  Bundled up in a warm coat and rain boots, Daphne glanced around as she made her way to the building. It had rained during the night, and the slush and melting snow had been washed away. The sun was shining, and even though it was cold, it was a nice day. The sky was blue, and the sun brightened the day.

  More like March at last than the dead of winter, Daphne thought as she made her way along the path. Soon the daffodils will be blooming, as they should be.

  “Lady Daphne!” Charlotte exclaimed, sounding surprised when Daphne walked into her office. “How lovely to see you. Good morning.” She stood up, smiling.

  “Morning, Miss Charlotte. I wonder if you can spare me a few minutes? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  “Of course, please do sit down,” Charlotte answered.

  Glancing around, Daphne said, “I know that the estate staff are in the offices across the hall, and perhaps we ought to go out for a few minutes. Do you mind?”

  “No, I don’t, let me put my coat on.” Charlotte was struggling into a heavy wool overcoat a moment later, and the two women went outside.

  “Let’s walk down to the stables,” Daphne suggested. “I’d like to see Greensleeves.”

  Charlotte nodded and said, as they moved from the building, “You want to talk about something … sensitive, shall we say?”

  “I do, yes.” Daphne immediately launched into the story of Peggy Swift and Gordon Lane, and repeated everything Peggy had told her yesterday.

  She finished, “They’re afraid of being sacked, because they broke the rule and went strolling around at night. They don’t want Hanson’s wrath coming down on them for being outside, when they should have been asleep. Peggy begged me not to tell anyone, and I did promise. Although I warned her I must talk to you.”

  “It’s a strange story, Lady Daphne. You know there are a lot of estate workers in the grounds these days, but obviously they’re not out late at night. Do you think we should have some of them patrolling after dark? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Daphne shook her head, answered vehemently, “No, not at all! I think that would really alarm everyone. It’s not necessary, actually, because the staff are inside, to my knowledge.” Daphne was silent, before adding, “I trust Peggy. She’s down-to-earth, not at all imaginative. I’m certain she was telling me the truth.”

  “I agree. And why would she invent something like that?” Charlotte gave Daphne a pointed look, and asked, “I assume this was happening last summer, wasn’t it? After you had been … assaulted in the bluebell woods.”

  “Yes, but I knew my attacker,” Daphne was quick to respond. “And he’s dead. So what shall we do?”

  “Nothing,” Charlotte answered in a firm tone. “I can’t ask Percy Swann to put men out at night. He’ll tell the earl, and how would I explain it without breaking Peggy’s confidence?”

  “I understand.” Daphne was thoughtful as they went down to the stable yard, heading toward the stalls. “Perhaps you could just ask him to make sure the men are patrolling during the day.”

  “They’re doing that already, Lady Daphne, and have been for months.” Charlotte fell silent, wondering who could be loitering on the estate, and watching people. It didn’t make sense.

  Daphne went up to the stall, and Greensleeves moved toward her, whinnying, and she patted her, stroked her head. She had loved this horse since the first moment she had seen her, and suddenly her thoughts rushed back to the fire. “What a lucky escape Greensleeves had,” Daphne remarked, looking at Charlotte. “I mean in the fire.”

  “Yes, indeed she did. Listen to me, Lady Daphne, I think what we ought to do is to say nothing. We should simply keep quiet. Apparently these incidents happened last summer, some time ago now. Just warn Peggy Swift not to go strolling with Gordon Lane late at night. Say that if she does, you’ll have to tell Hanson everything.”

  “You’re right, Miss Charlotte, and I don’t really have any other choice, do I?”

  “I’m afraid not. But do rest assured that there are plenty of estate workers out and about during the day.”

  “I know. I see them all the time.”

  Together the two women walked back to the office annex. On the way there, Daphne shared the news about the countess’s improved health, and then with a laugh, she added, “It’s all because of Baby. I’m sure of that, and Mama agreed. We also agreed to stop calling the baby Baby, because Mama thinks it will stick.”

  “And then she’ll hate us all when she grows up,” Charlotte murmured, also laughing. “So Alicia it is from now on.”

  Forty-six

  Alicia Felicity Gwendolyn Charlotte Ingham Stanton, a little baby with a very long name, was the star attraction at Cavendon Hall these days. Everyone wanted to see her, touch her, even hold her, although none of that actually happened.

  Family and friends were only ever allowed to view her, and Nurse Willis made sure they did not break her rules. Daphne had been so taken with Jane Willis she had asked her to stay on permanently at Cavendon.

  The Norland-trained baby nurse usually gave her “new baby” only six weeks, and then moved on to a new family. But she broke her rule for Alicia. Like everyone else, she had been captivated by this gorgeous infant with bright blue eyes, blond tufts of silky hair, and a peaches-and-cream complexion. All inherited from her mother.

  Like Daphne, she had a sweet disposition, was a baby who rarely cried, forever smiled, chortled, and laughed.

  Her parents and grandparents doted on her, as did her aunts. Except for Diedre, of course, who was always mumbling to herself that too much fuss was being made over “just a baby.” For the last few months Diedre had been absent from Cavendon. She was traveling in Europe with her friend Maxine Lowe, an heiress of great wealth. Dulcie, in particular, was pleased she was away.

  Dulcie adored Alicia and was forever making her small gifts; lavender sachets, cut-out paper tulips colored red and yellow, and ribbon bows for her tufts of blond hair. And DeLacy was truly proud when Daphne allowed her and Cecily to push the Silver Cross pram up and down the terrace.

  DeLacy was doing that on this Sunday afternoon in May. The weather was lovely, and the rain clouds of earlier had blown away. DeLacy pushed the pram carefully, leaning forward, cooing to the baby, smiling and talking to her. The child simply laughed and kicked her chubby little legs in the air, as contented as always.

  Daphne was seated at the round table with Jill Handelsman, who, with her husband, Marty, had been guests at Cavendon for the weekend. The two women were finishing their coffee before the Handelsmans took their leave. They were being driven to Harrogate by Gregg, and would take a late-afternoon train to London.

  Daphne liked them, and she was impressed with Jill’s business acumen, appreciative of the way she had swiftly found a nice office for Hugo, and had it up and running within a couple of weeks. He went to London twice a month, for a couple of days, and always returned singing Jill’s praises. Hugo felt he had everything under control because of her help.

  After a few moments of silence, Jill said, “I want to thank you again for arranging for me to see Cavendon’s collection of antique silver. Your father was most gracious and informative.”

  “Hugo told me you collected Regency and Georgian silver, Jill, and I knew you would enjoy seeing the Paul Storr pieces.”

  “I did, especially those gorgeous candlesticks, which were made in 1815. I have always admired his work. He was one of the great master silversmiths, wasn’t he?”

  “He was. I reminded Papa to show you the impressive silver bowl, that Queen Anne monteith by William Denny. He was another of the great English silversmiths, a century before Storr.”

  “I know. I made a note of that later. The monteith was crafted in 1702, your father told me. The earl is very knowledgeable about silver, probably more than anyo
ne I’ve ever met.”

  Daphne smiled. “And just about everything else at Cavendon. My father considers himself the custodian of all this…” Daphne paused, swept out an arm, added, “The house, all of its contents, the land, the grouse moor. Everything as far as the eye can see. He always says he’s keeping it intact, and in perfect condition, for the next generation, and generations after that. As for his knowledge, this was passed down from his father, the fifth earl, and Papa will pass it on to Guy … that’s how it works. Father to son, the next heir, and so on—”

  “Here we are!” Hugo exclaimed, interrupting Daphne, walking onto the terrace with Marty. “I’m afraid I’ve got to break this up, ladies. Gregg is waiting at the front with the Rolls-Royce, to whisk you off to the railway station.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, as they were walking from the South Wing to the yellow sitting room in the East Wing, for afternoon tea, Daphne suddenly stopped and took hold of Hugo’s arm.

  He also came to a standstill, and looked at her. “What is it?”

  “Something’s been bothering me for a few weeks, since the christening … do you think I offended Diedre when I didn’t ask her to be a godmother to Alicia?”

  Hugo exclaimed, “No, of course not! None of your sisters were asked, so how could she take offense?”

  Daphne couldn’t help laughing. “Dulcie’s only five years old, so she could hardly be a godmother.”

  Laughing with her, he replied, after a moment, “I think you made the right choices. Lavinia and Vanessa will do their duty to Alicia, and let’s face it, they are grown-ups.”

  “Not Lavinia, according to Papa; he’s forever announcing she’s childish.”

  “I know, but he doesn’t really mean it … not actually. You’re worrying about Diedre because she’s been away for weeks, but it was that kind of trip, you know. Paris, Rome, Berlin, Vienna. The whole works. The Grand Tour. Anyway, if it still bothers you when you have your next baby, you can ask her then.”

  Daphne nodded. “Yes, how right you are, and you always manage to make me feel better, Hugo.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “And you were right to ask Guy and your cousin Mark to be her godfathers.”

  * * *

  Hanson was decanting a bottle of red wine in the little pantry next to the dining room, when Gordon Lane suddenly appeared at his side.

  “Excuse me, Hanson, but could I have a quick word with you, please?”

  “Can’t we speak later, Lane? As you can see, I am decanting a very good bottle of Pommerol.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry, but there’s never a chance to ask a question. You’re so busy, Mr. Hanson. It won’t take but a second. It’s important.”

  Hanson, conscious of the serious tone in the footman’s voice, turned around. “Very well then. What is it?”

  “As you know, Peggy Swift and I are engaged, and we’d like to get married soon, Mr. Hanson. In August, if that’s all right with you?”

  Hanson nodded. “You’re asking for a day off, I presume?”

  “Yes, for the two of us, Mr. Hanson. Do I have to go to Mrs. Thwaites to ask about Peggy’s day off?”

  “No, no, that won’t be necessary, Lane. Why don’t you take the first Saturday in August, and I’ll have a word with Mrs. Thwaites later. You and Swift worked very well this weekend, and I was particularly pleased with the way you looked after Mr. and Mrs. Handelsman. Will you be marrying in the village church?”

  “I expect so, Mr. Hanson, and thank you very much. It’ll make Peggy happy, knowing we can now set a date.”

  “Congratulations,” Hanson said, and turned back to the funnel he was using to pour the wine into the decanter.

  * * *

  Dulcie hummed to herself as she went through the conservatory and down the little hill, heading for the bluebell woods. She had been longing to pick bluebells for Alicia all day, but had not found the opportunity until now. When Nanny was preparing the bath for her and putting out her nightclothes she was usually preoccupied, and Dulcie seized the moment.

  It was only six-thirty and still light. The child strode into the woods determinedly, her eyes darting from side to side, until she saw a patch of the flowers, and ran toward them, a happy smile on her face. She bent down and began to pick the bluebells, and then suddenly stopped. Next to her hand was a big black shoe.

  Glancing up, Dulcie saw a man standing there, staring down at her. She had never seen him before. As she straightened up, he said, “Why, if it isn’t little Dulcie.”

  “Lady Dulcie,” she said. “And who are you?”

  “I’m the Bluebell Man,” he answered, and grinned at her.

  Dulcie frowned. “I’ve never heard of you. And this is my father’s land.”

  “I know. And he’s the one who appointed me the Bluebell Man, Lady Dulcie.” He stared at the flowers in her hand. “That’s not a nice enough bunch. Come with me. I can take you to the best patch in the wood.”

  Dulcie hesitated. She was not afraid of the man but she was wary all of a sudden. Before she could step back, he snatched her hand in his, and said, “Let’s hurry. We must get the best before it gets too dark to see.”

  “I think I have enough,” Dulcie exclaimed, and tried to break free of him, but he held her hand tightly in his. She tugged; he wouldn’t let go.

  The man was about to walk off with her when he heard the sound of a gun being cocked. He let go of Dulcie’s hand and ran. He rushed forward, crashing through the bushes, disappearing into the woods.

  A moment later Dulcie was looking up at Percy Swann, the head gamekeeper, who was standing there with a rifle in his hands.

  She smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Percy. I didn’t like that man. He wanted to take me to another bluebell patch. But I wouldn’t go.”

  “You did the right thing, Lady Dulcie. Come along, I’ll take you home.” He bent down, picked her up in his arms, and carried her back to the house, holding the rifle in one hand.

  It didn’t take him long to get to the conservatory. The hue and cry had already started, and he saw the enormous relief flooding the earl’s worried face as he put Dulcie down on the ground.

  She ran toward her father, exclaiming, “I went to pick bluebells for Alicia, Papa, and Mr. Percy came and sent the funny man away. And then he carried me home.” She smiled at Percy and said, “Thank you.”

  Felicity was as white as chalk, also worried. She came forward and took hold of Dulcie’s hand. Looking at Percy, her red-rimmed eyes full of gratitude, she said, “My thanks, Mr. Swann. It’s a good thing you were down there.” She hurried away with Dulcie, who was still clutching the bluebells. The weeping nanny trailed after them, unable to quell her tears.

  Pulling himself together, Lord Mowbray said, “What exactly happened, Percy?”

  “I always patrol the area near the bluebell woods while it’s still light. I’ve been doing so since last year, when there were rumors of poachers. I was walking up from the lake when I spotted Lady Dulcie going into the woods by herself. I ran hell for leather, m’lord. As I went into the bluebell woods I saw a man holding Lady Dulcie’s hand, about to lead her away. I surprised him. I cocked the trigger, and he heard it, as I knew he would. He took off, ran into the woods. I lifted her up and brought her home.”

  “Did you recognize the man?”

  “I didn’t, your lordship. He had muttonchop whiskers and was wearing a flat cap, so it was impossible to see much of his face. He was badly dressed. Tallish though, a man with long legs and long arms.”

  “Disguised perhaps?” Charles asked.

  “Maybe, m’lord. I think it would’ve been hard for anyone to identify him. Muttonchop whiskers cover most of the face.” Percy Swann shook his head. “I suppose I could have run after him, but I wouldn’t have caught him, and I thought it was better to get Lady Dulcie home.”

  “You did the right thing. Miss Charlotte insists the bluebell woods in particular are watched by your outdoors team. Why do you think that is,
Swann?”

  “Because they are quite dense in parts and also they’re at the end of our property on that side of Cavendon land. Once the woods end there’s that dirt road that separates our land from the Havers land, and the land belonging to Lord Judson.”

  Charles said, “We need a barbed-wire fence, don’t we?”

  “I think we should build a very high wall, if you don’t mind me saying so, Lord Mowbray. With barbed wire along the top.”

  “That would block entry to the woods from the road. What about the rest of the property?”

  “We should build more walls where there are gaps, which is where they are needed.”

  “Parts of Cavendon on the perimeters have always been open, but times have changed. I think we’d better make our lands safer than they are. I’ll talk to the estate manager tomorrow. He can make the plans and carry them forward. And thank you, Swann, I dread to think what might have happened to Lady Dulcie if you hadn’t been around.”

  “It’s a good thing I was on my rounds, m’lord. Well, I’ll say good night.”

  “Good night, Swann, I’m extremely grateful to you,” Charles replied. Charles left the conservatory and went upstairs to the nursery floor, fuming inside. He found Felicity in the nursery, talking to the nanny, Maureen Carlton, who was still in tears.

  Instructing her to come outside into the corridor, he informed her she had been in dereliction of her duties, and that he could no longer employ her. He added that she had until tomorrow at noon to leave Cavendon.

  Felicity came out and joined him, and together they went downstairs to the main bedroom floor. Once alone in Felicity’s bedroom, Charles said, “She had to go. She has no brains. I can’t have any child of ours put at risk because of another person’s stupidity.”

  “I agree, Charles,” she answered, and added, “I was about to give her notice myself when you arrived.” Felicity sat down in a chair, feeling nauseous. “Thank goodness Dulcie doesn’t understand, and she’s sitting happily in the bathtub.” She shook her head. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened if Percy Swann hadn’t been out there in the grounds.”