The Cavendon Women

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  The silence in the room lasted a long time. The atmosphere was filled with gloom, a palpable sense of worry and despair. Each man was hunched in his chair, struggling with this horrendous news.

  Paul suddenly said, “I can’t let Cavendon take this loss. It’s my fault. I was the one who brought Transatlantic Air into the picture. I am going to sell some real estate. I must, and return the money to them. Wipe the slate clean.”

  “What real estate are you referring to?” Timothy asked.

  “My flat in London. When we come back we will live at Diedre’s. There’s the house in Connecticut. About eight hundred acres in Litchfield County, plus the mansion itself. That’s large, as you know, and has all the amenities. Pool and tennis court, gardens. And I do have some buildings in the Meatpacking District, lofts and factories. They should bring something worthwhile.”

  “Yes, I think they will,” Timothy agreed. “But real estate can take time to sell.”

  Paul said, “I want Drummond-Manhattan Bank to lend me that ten million dollars, Tim, for that reason. The real estate will be my collateral. Once it’s all sold, the bank gets their money back.”

  “All right, I’ll do it,” Timothy agreed at once without any pondering. “I do have a board to answer to, Paul, but I doubt they’ll create a problem.”

  Standing up, he walked over to Paul and stretched out his hand. “Signed, sealed, and delivered,” he said. “You’ve got a deal.”

  Paul nodded. “Thank you, Tim. I’m immensely grateful. I want to do this as quickly as we can. Because no doubt the news about Transatlantic going belly-up will be in all the papers. And perhaps sooner than we think. I don’t want Charles to be worried. Or Diedre. Let’s not forget, I’ve got a wedding in ten days.”

  “We’ll clear it up before then,” Timothy said. “I promise.”

  Hugo, almost at his wit’s end with worry, managed to say, “Thank you, Paul. I’m very grateful, and Charles will be also.”

  “Do we tell them anything about Transatlantic’s problems this weekend?” Paul asked, glancing at Hugo.

  “Perhaps we’d better not,” he said swiftly. “Why spoil all the excitement and happiness about your upcoming marriage?”

  “I agree,” Paul replied. “Knowing Tim, he’ll move quickly. Won’t you?” He looked at his brother expectantly.

  Timothy nodded. “I sure will. I’ll call Allan later. He’ll get things moving, and talk to our real estate people.”

  * * *

  Much later in the day, when he was finally alone in his own office, Hugo Stanton sat pondering. Paul had turned out to be as true blue as he had always thought he was. Hugo was thankful Timothy Drummond was in London and willing to help them.

  On the other hand, Hugo knew what bank boards were like. Difficult. All boards were difficult. And that was what worried him. The board of directors of the Drummond-Manhattan Private Bank could turn the loan down. Then what would happen?

  If the Ingham Trust didn’t get their ten million dollars back, eventually Cavendon would go down. Not now. Not next year, because they still had funds. But not enough. The estate wouldn’t survive very long, and the Inghams would eventually fall.

  Hugo’s heart was heavy as he went home, wondering how to keep this from Daphne. He had to. He would pray to God to save them.

  Part Three

  WOMEN WARRIORS

  January–June 1927

  Every lover is a warrior, and Cupid has his camp.

  —Ovid

  Sweet is revenge—especially to women.

  —Lord Byron

  Forty-four

  Charles Ingham, Sixth Earl of Mowbray, sat at his Georgian desk in the library at Cavendon Hall. There was a broad smile on his face as he looked at the papers spread out in front of him. In particular, he was thrilled by the news in the telegram he had just received, and he was smiling because for the first time in the last six years, their finances were relatively stable. His relief was enormous. And it was all due to Hugo and Paul, who had pulled a prize rabbit out of a hat.

  The ten million dollars, which had been retrieved from their disastrous Wall Street venture thanks to these two men, had gone back into the Ingham Trust. It would not remain there for very long. Some of it had to be carefully invested in a number of safe English companies, chosen by him and Hugo; because money had to be made to work, to earn more money. But they wanted to lower the risk, were taking no chances. Part of it had to be put aside for government taxes, as well as the weekly running of the house and the estate.

  But at least they weren’t on the brink of disaster. For the moment. Unfortunately, there were a lot of repairs to be done, mostly in the North Wing. That entire wing needed a new roof, and numerous windows had to be replaced, as did several floors in the main downstairs rooms; the dining room and the library needed the most work.

  There was a knock on the door, and before he could say anything Hanson’s face appeared around it.

  “A word, my lord?” Hanson said. “Or am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all, Hanson. Don’t loiter there. Come in.” Yet again he couldn’t help thinking how well the butler looked. When he and Charlotte had returned from Zurich in October they had both been surprised at Hanson’s ruddy health. And pleased that he was in such good shape.

  As he glanced at the butler, Charles detected a hint of worry, and asked swiftly, “What’s wrong, Hanson? I can tell by your expression we have a problem.”

  “Unfortunately. There’s a bad leak in the West Wing—”

  “Damnation! Most of our guests are staying in that wing. Where’s the leak? In a bedroom or one of the suites?”

  “The Wedgwood Suite, my lord.”

  “Good God! I hope it’s not the ceiling and the walls. That room is a masterpiece, and full of valuable antiques.”

  “It’s a plumbing problem, Lord Mowbray. Luckily, Mrs. Thwaites spotted it this morning when she was up there with one of the maids. The pipes in the bathroom have burst. I have Ted Swann in there already, fixing the leak. But it seems to be a job that will take a few days. We can’t use that suite for a week at least, your lordship.”

  “There’re plenty of other bedrooms in that wing. Any suggestions, Hanson?”

  “I’ve done a quick tour with Mrs. Thwaites, and we selected two bedrooms and one suite. The bedrooms are the Gold Room and the Apricot Room, and there’s the Venetian Suite, so beloved by your grandmother, Countess Florence, m’lord.”

  “It’s got rather a lot of Venetian glass in it, Hanson. Rare glass from Venice. That’s why it’s not often used. I’ll think about it. In the meantime, what about the Chinoiserie Suite in the South Wing?”

  “Do you think Lady Daphne will mind having guests in her wing, Lord Mowbray?”

  “I don’t suppose so, Hanson. But we can ask her. We’ll work it out; after all, this old pile is full of bedrooms.”

  “That it is, m’lord, and when the festivities are over, I think we should have Ted Swann and his staff look at every bathroom and every bedroom. In each wing. The weather has been so bad for the last two months. Such a lot of snow and ice. It’s imperative that we pay attention to all of the pipes in particular.”

  “You’re correct, Hanson, as usual. Better do a good overall check with Mrs. Thwaites and Lady Charlotte. I’ll make her aware of the problem later.”

  Hanson nodded and was gone.

  A short while later Charlotte came into the library, and as she walked toward him, he thought: My wife. Charlotte is my wife. Mine to have and to hold for as long as I live. How lucky I am.

  He rose as she came to a stop next to his desk. Putting his arms around her, he kissed her cheek.

  “You have a cold nose,” he said, leaning away from her, laughing.

  “Just like a puppy.”

  “A beautiful puppy,” he answered, still laughing.

  His happiness with her was something sublime. He had never been so happy in his adult life. Charlotte truly was his better half.

 
; Putting his arm around her shoulder, he walked her over to the fireplace, where they stood in front of the roaring flames. She said, “That feels good … the warmth. It’s rather cold out today, Charles. If you go for a walk, you must be properly dressed.”

  “Where were you, darling? I was looking for you earlier.”

  “I popped down to see Lady Gwendolyn. She wanted to discuss what to wear for the various events this weekend,” Charlotte improvised. Having promised to keep his aunt’s secrets, she couldn’t tell him the truth.

  Charles said, “I don’t suppose she mentioned what she did the other day, did she?”

  “No. What happened?”

  “She wrote me a check for five thousand pounds and wouldn’t take no for an answer. When I refused, she forced it on me, and I just didn’t have the heart to push it back at her. She would’ve been hurt.”

  “Why was she giving you five thousand pounds?”

  “She said she wanted to contribute to the cost of the wedding, and that since I was her heir, she thought I might as well have some of the money now instead of later. When she was dead.”

  Charlotte saw the mirth in Charles’s eyes, and she was amused too. “There’s really nobody like her. Oh, and by the way, she insists I now call her Aunt Gwendolyn.”

  “And so you should. She’s right about that.”

  “Anyway, that was a lovely gesture on her part, and the money will come in useful. I’ve had to hire fifteen women from the village, Charles, and they do expect to be paid.”

  “Fifteen women! Whatever for?” He looked aghast.

  “To look after the guests. We will have approximately twelve additional people staying in the house. It’s bad weather, snowing. There are various events, both during the day and in the evening. And we have outside guests coming, too, Charles. I asked Mrs. Thwaites to prepare a couple of rooms, the parlor and the mud room, for Wellington boots, raincoats, topcoats, and umbrellas. And I suggested Ted should put in racks. We need an extra cloakroom or two, you see.”

  “I do see. And you’ve done the right thing.”

  “Cook also needs extra help,” Charlotte pointed out. “The guests who are staying here have to be fed … breakfasts and lunches. That’s why I’ve hired a caterer to help Cook with the dinners on Saturday and Sunday. That is my contribution to this wedding, by the way.”

  “Charlotte, no! I won’t have it. I can well afford to pay—”

  “Too late, Charlie,” she interrupted. “I have already paid the caterer in advance. It’s done and dusted.”

  Charles let out a long sigh. “Whatever am I going to do with you?” he asked, shaking his head.

  “You can always kiss me, Charlie, and whenever you want, and wherever you want, these days,” she replied, laughing. “We’re married now. No more sneaking around.”

  He grinned at her, loving her so much. She could do no wrong in his eyes. The only time he’d ever been cross with her was when she had bossed him around when he was a boy.

  Charlotte said, “I heard about the leaks in the West Wing. Mrs. Thwaites just told me. I’ll get to it with her and Hanson next week, I promise.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Daphne came in. She walked across to the fireplace, saying as she did, “I’m so glad you’re both here. Hugo’s had a call from Mark, a short while ago.” Tears welled in her eyes, and her voice was shaky. “Aunt Lavinia can’t come tomorrow. She’s apparently taken a turn for the worse.”

  Daphne sat down on the sofa. Charlotte joined her, put an arm around her comfortingly. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

  Charles was momentarily stunned. His sister had been in remission. He felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness, followed by a sudden premonition that Lavinia would not survive. Cancer was a killer. He sat down in a chair, filling with worry and apprehension. And much regret.

  A moment later Hugo came in and joined them at the fireplace. He said to Charles, “Mark apologizes for not speaking to you. He just felt he couldn’t talk coherently, he’s so upset. That’s why he spoke to me instead, Charles. Lavinia is quite ill. He feels it’s wiser that she stay in London.”

  “I understand,” Charles answered. “I shall speak to him later, and perhaps Lavinia will be able to come to the phone as well.”

  Daphne exclaimed, “I think we were so unkind to her. Now I regret it terribly. I was hoping to make her feel better this weekend. About us. I wanted her to understand we love her.”

  “I’m sorry you felt you had to send her to Coventry because of the things she said about me,” Charlotte interjected. “I really didn’t care, you know, and I knew she would accept me. After all, we’ve been friends since childhood.”

  “You knew!” Daphne exclaimed, and then let out a long sigh. “Of course you knew, you’re a Swann.”

  “Vanessa is coming to Dulcie’s wedding, isn’t she?” Charles asked, looking across at Charlotte.

  “Yes, darling, she’s arriving tomorrow with Richard.”

  “Personally I’m glad Great-Aunt Gwendolyn canceled that engagement party for Vanessa and Richard,” Daphne remarked. “Lavinia was ill, and Vanessa did the right thing, asking our aunt to postpone. Also the date was very close to Diedre’s wedding.” There was a pause, and then she added, “I’m sorry Diedre won’t be here this weekend. What a disappointment. But I suppose she has to follow doctor’s orders.”

  “Yes, she does, Daphne. Nobody ever wanted to be here at Cavendon more than she did,” Charles said. “Paul explained in his letter to me that the doctor didn’t want her to travel. They’re afraid Diedre might lose the baby. That’s why it’s bed rest for the time being.”

  Charlotte said, “I’m absolutely positive Diedre will be fine, Charles. Do try not to worry.”

  Wanting to change the subject, Daphne said, “Oh, by the way, Papa, Wilson was touched that you thanked her for helping us to get the jewels back.”

  “I was very grateful to her, as well as to your little team.”

  “Miles calls it his team.”

  “Let’s just call it the winning team,” Charles murmured. “And is Wilson now working here permanently, Daphne?”

  “She is, Papa, and she’s wonderful. A very efficient lady’s maid. And she makes herself useful in other ways. She’s also a nice person.” Daphne smiled inwardly, thinking how Olive Wilson had changed her life for the better, had made it so much easier.

  Daphne looked at her father and said, “Miles says those jewels are contaminated. He thinks we ought to auction them off, Papa.”

  Charles was surprised by this comment, and exclaimed, “We’re not selling anything. We’re managing very nicely at the moment. There are no reasons to make reckless moves.”

  Forty-five

  The grand entrance hall at Cavendon was empty when Travers Merton walked downstairs on this cold Friday morning in January. He glanced around, once again admiring the extraordinary paintings on the walls. All of them were by English portraitists considered to be among the greatest of the eighteenth century. And it was quite an array of ancestors, going up along the staircase wall and in the entrance hall as well.

  After slipping into his overcoat, and wrapping the wool scarf around his neck, Travers strode toward the front door. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Hanson. Now he hurried in the direction of the dining room, where the butler was heading.

  “Mr. Hanson!” he called. “Oh, Mr. Hanson. Could I have a word with you, please?”

  Hanson swung around at once, smiled when he saw Travers. “Yes, of course you can, Mr. Merton. How can I be of help?”

  “I was wondering if it would be all right for me to go into the church? I don’t want to disturb anyone working there.”

  “You are talking about the little church here on the estate, aren’t you, Mr. Merton?”

  “Yes, the one up the hill, behind the stable block.”

  “There is no one in there, sir. You see, Lady Dulcie’s wedding is to be held in the village church. It�
�s much larger and quite a crowd is expected. Friends of the groom, as well as his family, are coming from London.”

  “Oh, I see. I hadn’t realized it was at a different location. I love old churches, Hanson, enjoy prowling around them, studying the architecture.”

  The butler nodded. “I knew your grandfather, Mr. Merton. I haven’t had a chance to mention that before. Lord Noyers was such a lovely gentleman. He came here for the grouse. He was one of the Guns.”

  Travers nodded. “Yes, I know. He was a close friend of Lord Mowbray’s father, the fifth earl, and he enjoyed his trips to Yorkshire. So did my grandmother. They’re long gone now, I’m afraid. They died within a few weeks of each other, seven years ago now.”

  “I did know that, Mr. Merton. It must have been a big loss for you.”

  “It was. They brought me up. I was an only child. Anyway, thank you, Hanson. I shall wander up to the church. Oh, and by the way, is Lady DeLacy anywhere around? I looked for her after breakfast, but no luck.”

  “I’m not sure where she is at the moment. I do know that she is meeting with her sisters and Miss Cecily later. A ladies’ get-together of some sort, sir.”

  “She did mention that. Well, perhaps she’s gone for a walk. I might run into her outside. Thank you again, Hanson.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Merton. It’s icy. I’m glad to see you’re wearing a topcoat. Enjoy your visit to the church, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Travers said, and hurried on toward the front door.

  * * *

  It was a white landscape outside. The fields and moorland were totally covered in snow, which glistened brightly in the sunlight.

  Not even a bare black branch, Travers thought as he walked up the hill. Even they are weighted down by snow. I couldn’t even do a black-and-white etching in grisaille.

  He was surprised when he pushed open the old oak door and stepped into the church. It was warm; then he noticed the paraffin stoves standing against some of the walls. Somebody knows their job, he thought, moving forward, his attention caught by the extraordinary stained-glass windows, their vivid colors brilliant from the sunshine pouring into the church.