“You are absolutely correct, Diedre. Please, tell me what it is that’s so worrying you.”
“I’ve been informed by a very good friend, a trusted friend, that I have an enemy at the War Office. I was stunned when I heard this. My work has been excellent, and I’ve had promotions over the years. My friend said this enemy could prove dangerous to me.”
Lady Gwendolyn sat up straighter on the sofa and gave Diedre a penetrating look, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t like the use of the word ‘dangerous,’ Diedre. Dangerous in what way?”
“I’m not sure. I think that whoever is against me wants me to be dismissed, pushed out, in other words.”
“What exactly is it that you do at the War Office? No one seems to know, and you’ve been very wary about discussing it over the years. Which leads me to make the assumption you are in Intelligence. Is that so?”
Diedre leaned forward slightly, and said in a low voice, “I am not allowed to discuss my work, Great-Aunt. But let me just say that I have never known you to be wrong about anything, and most especially in your assumptions.”
A twitch of a smile crossed Lady Gwendolyn’s face, and she nodded. “Now, do you have any indication who this enemy might be? Were you given a name? Or do you suspect anyone of wanting to harm you?”
“The answer is a definite no to all of your questions. I was rather dumbfounded, actually, when I was told I had an enemy, one who was out to make trouble for me. I’ve racked my brains, and I haven’t been able to pinpoint anyone.”
“Who was the person who informed you, may I ask?”
“A very old friend, Alfie Fennell,” Diedre answered. “And he was so sincere I did believe him.”
“Is he any relation to Sir Hubert Fennell?” Lady Gwendolyn asked.
“Yes. That’s his uncle.”
“How did young Fennell get to know about this so-called enemy of yours?” Lady Gwendolyn now asked.
“Through his cousin Johanna Ellsworth. They are close. Neither have anything to do with the War Office. Alfie is a barrister, and Johanna does not work. She has a private income. But she is very well connected. Moves in political circles.”
“It seems that your friend Johanna knew about this first and passed it on.”
“She told Alfie she had heard a strange rumor about me, and she wanted him to alert me, even though she said it was only a rumor.”
“I think you have to find out who told her.”
“I did do some probing, and I know the right questions to ask. I gathered that it was just … out there.”
Lady Gwendolyn was silent for a moment, before remarking, “You say you can’t think of anyone who might want to cause you trouble. But maybe it’s not someone … highly visible. Have you ever offended anyone, without realizing it? Have you rejected a would-be suitor whom you didn’t know was a suitor? Is someone in competition with you?”
“None of those things. At least, not that I know of. I just plow into my work every day, and keep my head down.”
“Have you told any of your colleagues at the War Office about this rumor?”
“No, I haven’t. I thought it better not to say a word to anyone except you. Obviously, I know people there, and we’re friendly as colleagues, but I don’t have any bosom chums. Actually, I’m baffled at the mere idea of an enemy.”
“How can I help you, Diedre?”
“I’m not sure. Being able to talk to you about this helps a lot, because now I don’t feel so alone, coping with this problem.” Diedre let out a small sigh, shook her head. “I thought you might know someone at the War Office, or in the government. But now, as I’m saying that, I know you can’t just start asking your friends who my enemy might be, now can you?” Diedre began to laugh at her own absurdity, and so did Lady Gwendolyn.
After a few moments, Diedre added, “I suppose all I can do is just wait and see who tries to make trouble for me.”
“That is true, my dear, in one sense. But I’m afraid I can’t just leave it at that. Let me think about this. I am going up to town next week. I have several engagements to fulfill, and who knows what I might find out as I circulate in Mayfair and Westminster with my friends.”
“Thank you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn, I do appreciate your help. I love my work—” Diedre broke off as her voice started to quaver unexpectedly. She was on the verge of tears. Swallowing, promptly taking hold of herself, she continued, “The War Office is a huge part of my life, as you know. I’ve been there twelve years, and I love what I do. Without it I would be lost.”
“I truly understand,” Lady Gwendolyn murmured sympathetically, having always been aware that Diedre found great fulfillment in her work, and was dedicated to her professional life.
* * *
They talked of the wedding and other things as they sipped the lemonade Mrs. Pine had brought out, enjoying being together.
At one moment, Lady Gwendolyn said, “I’m going up to town on Monday. When do you plan to return?”
“Also on Monday,” Diedre answered. “Perhaps we can travel together on the train.”
“What a good idea, my dear. And it will give us a chance to talk some more about this problem hovering over you.”
Fifteen
It was a weird and dubious story at best, and if anyone else had told her this strange little tale, Lady Gwendolyn would have doubted its veracity.
Since it was Diedre who had related it, she believed it was the truth. Her great-niece was honest and dependable, not given to flights of fancy.
Leaning back against the iron garden seat, gazing out at the flower garden, she relaxed, let her mind wander.
She knew nothing about Diedre’s work, other than that she was well thought of by the powers that be. Only today had Diedre confirmed that she was in Intelligence, which Lady Gwendolyn herself had long suspected but never mentioned to anyone. She was always cautious when it came to such things.
As for Diedre’s personal and social life, it was perfectly normal for a young woman. She was thirty-three now, and had never married, although there had been plenty of boyfriends, even serious suitors, over the years.
As the daughter of one of the foremost earls in the land, with a title in her own right, she mixed in the best of circles, was genuinely popular and on the invitation lists of everyone that mattered in London society.
There had never been any gossip about Diedre … no Chinese whispers. Lady Gwendolyn sat up with a start, frowning to herself, suddenly recalling Maxine Lowe, one of Diedre’s closest friends. She had been found dead in suspicious circumstances at her house in Mayfair, four years ago now.
At the time, Lady Gwendolyn had been annoyed when Diedre had been interviewed by Scotland Yard. But her worries immediately vanished when her great-niece told her that all of Maxine’s friends had been questioned by the police.
Diedre had then gone on to explain that the big boys at the Yard thought they might be looking at a homicide; some agreed with this theory, others focused on the idea of suicide.
Then a different verdict altogether was announced by the coroner at the inquest. Maxine had indeed died from poisoning, and the substance ingested was arsenic. But the manner of death was declared to be undetermined. Leaving the verdict inconclusive in this way meant that the case was open to speculation; there had been a lot of talk about Maxine’s sudden death in the circles she had moved in, mainly high society and the artistic world. In the end, nothing ever came of the police investigation. Her death remained a mystery to this day.
Now Lady Gwendolyn focused on Diedre’s problem at this moment, and her razor-sharp mind told her one thing … the rumor about Diedre being pushed out of the War Office had nothing to do with her personal life. She believed it had been started by a colleague with a grudge against Diedre.
Nothing else made sense, actually. Obviously there was someone who wanted Diedre out of the way. Jealousy, envy, and ambition. A most fatal combination. Malice, she said to herself. It’s driven by malice aforethought.
<
br /> If you wanted to punish a person, the only way to do it without causing them bodily harm was to attack whomever or whatever they loved the most. Hit their vulnerable spot hard.
This might be another human being, such as a spouse, a child, a parent, siblings. Or a lover, perhaps. A person who could be physically damaged, maybe even killed. She dismissed the idea of a lover. Diedre had become very much a career woman. But she was beautiful with her chic hairdo and lovely face, not to mention her stylish clothes.
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. Who 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 parlor, and 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 blond 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 blond 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 parlor.
Drawing to a standstill 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 blond 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, 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 anymore. England’s stone broke. The landed gentry are being diminished. The workingman is looking for a fair deal. There is the General Strike, in case you haven’t noticed, 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 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 parlormaid, 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 favorite.”
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, did not utter a word or touch 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 relaxed, 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.”
The Cavendon Women Page 8
