The Cavendon Women

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  Hanson came in, and served him his usual hot pot of coffee, and then Miles asked him to give him sausages and mushrooms for breakfast. The butler did his duty with his usual efficiency and grace.

  “What do you think, Hanson?” Miles asked as the butler put the plate in front of him.

  “Batten down the hatches,” Hanson said. “I think we might be trapped here for the next few days. Of course the outside workers will start clearing the snow from around the house. But it will be a hard week ahead, Mr. Miles.”

  * * *

  Everyone’s predictions had been true. More snow came. Then it rained. And because of the fierce winds blowing over the moors from the sea, the banks of snow froze, became glassy surfaces. Many paths were dangerous to walk on, and the outside workers scattered ashes and cinders from the fireplaces, as well as sand mixed with rock salt.

  The family settled in to wait. James and Dulcie had left Cavendon on the twenty-seventh, the day after Boxing Day. They had promised to spend New Year’s Eve in London with his sisters, Ruby, Dolores, and Faye, and their husbands, along with Felix and Constance Lambert. But Diedre, Paul, and Robin, their little boy, had remained, as had Vanessa and Richard Bowers.

  At one moment, Charles invited Richard to come to the library for a chat, and had told him the tale of Clarissa Meldrew, and also what they had learned about her now-disreputable father.

  Richard had proved to be amenable and willing to speak about the matter, had confirmed that what Charles knew was more or less the truth. Meldrew had not yet been arrested, but there was no doubt in Richard’s mind that he would be, and relatively soon. It was just a question of assessing the evidence, and finding witnesses to testify against him.

  Charles was happy he had spoken to his sister’s husband. Whilst Meldrew’s arrest would not get his son a divorce, her father’s financial ruin would put Clarissa at their mercy. She would need money and a roof over her head. Miles did have a big stick, Charles believed.

  * * *

  Cecily spent time going over her papers during the snowstorm, and their captivity inside the house. Dorothy’s reports were neatly written, detailed, and explicit, and she could tell almost at a glance what was happening at the shops and the boutiques at Harte’s.

  The partnership with Emma had turned out to be highly successful. The two women got on well, saw things in the same way, and they had the added bond of being hard-working, committed Yorkshire women, filled with drive, ambition, and discipline.

  Much to her initial surprise, the Brides Boutique had proved to be wildly successful. So much so, Cecily had hit on the idea of producing tiaras to go with the veils and the gowns. To this end, she had purchased four valuable diamond tiaras from the Ingham collection, stored in their big square boxes in the basement. She had had them reproduced in crystal and glass, and they sold out quickly. Seemingly every young bride wanted to be a princess or a queen in a sparkling tiara.

  The Cavendon Collection of Jewelry by Cecily Swann was also a big hit, although she was not surprised by this. The manufacturer was one of the best in England, and his product was superior. She was also contemplating another manufacturer in Paris, whose pieces looked so perfect, women thought they were made of real gems.

  It was Dulcie who had come to her one day and pointed out that it was her accessories, such as the evening bags, day bags, hat brooches, and shoes, that were other huge sellers. When Cecily had wondered out loud why this was, Dulcie had explained, “Because young women, with less money than your socialite clients, can afford those things. And they can boast they have a bit of Cecily Swann in their wardrobe. That’s why you should do a new collection of the silk white rose pin, and maybe use some other colors.”

  Cecily had taken her advice; Dulcie gave her ideas, helped her with many things to do with the merchandise, as well as supervising her own art gallery.

  Because of her need to be with James during the days he did not have a matinee, or when he was between jobs in the theater, she had hired an experienced art dealer, Melanie Oakshot, who had been in the business of art for over twenty years. Melanie had brought along her young assistant, Bethany Armitage, and together they did a good job on Dulcie’s behalf. Running the Dulcie Ingham-Brentwood Gallery for her.

  Cecily looked up when there was a knock on the door, and Charlotte came into the small parlor where she worked when she was at Cavendon.

  Charlotte smiled. “I thought I might give you a little treat this afternoon. If you want one, that is?”

  “I always like a treat, Aunt Charlotte. What is it?”

  “A tour of the vaults in the lower basement. I’ve persuaded Charles to sell some more of the Ingham jewelry, and I wondered if you would be interested in creating a second collection.”

  “I would. How wonderful! Of course I’d love to come down to the vaults.”

  “I thought so. First, let’s have lunch. I’ll walk with you to the dining room.”

  Everyone was seated, and greeted Charlotte and Cecily when they arrived in the dining room. Miles had a smile on his face, and Cecily smiled back.

  He said, “Good news, my sweet. The snow has started to melt, the weather is warmer, and I think the big thaw is coming.”

  Diedre said, “I hate to tell you this, Miles, but I saw some little trickling leaks in my bathroom ceiling this morning. I did mention it to Hanson, but you should know that there ought to be another check made of the house.”

  “Damn and blast!” he exclaimed, and then said, “Oh, sorry about that, Papa.”

  “Ted and his workers will get to everything, Miles,” Charles reassured him. “Try not to worry so much. The men check areas every day. Let’s be thankful it’s the North Wing, where there is the most damage. At least it’s all in the same location.”

  The footmen came in and served mulligatawny soup and warm rolls. Miles exclaimed, “Oh good! My favorite soup, Hanson.”

  “Cook made it specially for you,” Hanson whispered as he bent closer, pouring white wine into Miles’s goblet. “Don’t tell anyone, though. You’re Cook’s favorite.”

  After the soup, roast chicken and vegetables were served, and dessert was baked apples with clotted cream, a favorite of the earl’s, which everyone else enjoyed.

  At one moment, Miles said, “Are you all right, Ceci? You do look rather pale. I noticed you haven’t eaten much either.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not feeling very well, Miles,” she responded, and looking at Charlotte, she said, “May I be excused, Aunt Charlotte? I think I have to go to my room.”

  “Of course, Ceci. Shall I come with you?” Charlotte volunteered.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  Miles pushed back his chair, and exclaimed, “I’ll escort Ceci upstairs. Papa, Charlotte, if you’ll both excuse me.”

  Charles said, “Do help Cecily. If you need Dr. Laird, let me know. I think he’ll be able to make it onto the estate. The paths and inside roads have been cleared of snow.”

  “Thank you,” Miles said.

  Taking hold of Cecily’s arm, Miles walked her out of the dining room, across the hall, and into the South Wing. “You haven’t been quite yourself since New Year’s Eve, darling. Do you think you have a tummy upset?”

  “Not really,” Cecily answered, and held on to his arm as they climbed the staircase. Once they went into the sitting room, Cecily walked over to the window and opened it, breathed in fresh air. “There, that’s better,” she said, turning to look at him.

  “Miles, there is something I must tell you,” she announced.

  He threw her a curious look. There had been the strangest tone in her voice. “What is it, sweetheart?”

  He came to the windowed area, and peered at her. “You do look a bit peaked, actually.”

  “I might have eaten too many rich things over the holidays,” Cecily said. “But actually, there’s nothing wrong with me that is remotely connected with food.” She took a deep breath and said, “I’m pregnant, Miles. I’m ten weeks pregnant
with your baby.”

  Miles was flabbergasted and stood staring at her. He was speechless, totally taken by surprise. Then his blue eyes lit up, and a huge smile crossed his face. Reaching out, he took her in his arms and held her tightly. Then he drew away, kissed her cheeks, her forehead, her nose. Hugged her again. “Whoopee! We’re having a baby!” he cried.

  Cecily couldn’t help laughing with him, and then she said quietly, “I’m afraid your son will be illegitimate if you don’t get a divorce before the summer.”

  “I will! Don’t you worry! I’ve more incentive than ever to drive this matter through. And Papa will back me to the hilt, have no fear.”

  “So you’re not upset? I mean because we’re not married?”

  “I’m as mad as hell. But not upset. This is our first baby.” He reached out for her, hesitated, then said, “Can I touch your tummy, please, Ceci?”

  She smiled. “There’s not much to feel. But yes, you can touch my tummy.”

  He smoothed his hand over her stomach several times, and then asked, “What do you feel? I mean inside? Do you feel him growing?”

  “I feel different, and my body has changed; my breasts are a bit swollen, and I feel nauseated by food sometimes, as I was just now at lunch.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Yes, of course. The day before we came up to Yorkshire for Christmas. He confirmed what I’d guessed.”

  “Should I telephone for Dr. Laird? Perhaps he ought to come and examine you.”

  “I’m really all right now. I just have to be careful about rich food, and also cut down a little. Anyway, if Dr. Laird comes to examine me, the whole world will know I’m pregnant with your child.”

  Miles bit his lip, trying to stop the laughter bubbling up in his throat. Swallowing hard, he said, “Well, Cecily, nobody thinks we’re playing tiddlywinks up here. I believe most people we know are fully aware we are in a serious relationship.”

  She smiled to herself, sat down. “When will you call Clarissa? It’s already the fourth of January. Surely she must be back.”

  “I haven’t told you this, but I’ve been calling the house every day, twice a day. There’s just no answer. But Papa has agreed we should see our solicitors next week, proceed with a few legalities. Perhaps we can somehow force her hand.”

  “She might agree willingly if her father goes into the clink,” Cecily murmured.

  “That will undoubtedly happen eventually, and she’ll need money, and she will look to me. Don’t worry, it will all work out.”

  “I hope so, Miles. I don’t want our first child to be illegitimate. I want your son to be your legal heir.”

  “Trust me, trust in my love, Cecily Swann, soon to be Cecily Swann Ingham.”

  * * *

  Hugo had a hobby that made everyone in the family smile. It was innocent enough, but somehow it amused them. He loved to read newspapers, and especially the so-called tabloid papers full of lurid stories.

  And so every Sunday morning he retired to his study in the South Wing, closed the door, and “dug in,” as he called it, until lunchtime.

  Daphne had taught his children to respect their father’s special few hours. She knew how much it relaxed him, took his mind off his usual worries about money, investments, Cavendon, and the future.

  And so it was on that Sunday morning early in January, Hugo settled down in an armchair in front of the fire and started to read. After only a moment or two of scanning the front page of the Sunday Times, the serious paper he always read first, he sat bolt upright. He read it through again, put the paper down, and jumped up.

  Leaving his study, he raced upstairs and tapped lightly on the door of Miles’s bedroom. It was opened at once, and he saw that Miles was putting his finger to his lips, saying, “Shhhhhh.”

  Stepping outside, Miles said, “I want Cecily to sleep. She’s very tired. That’s why she didn’t come down to breakfast.”

  Hugo nodded, got hold of Miles’s arm, and said, “Come with me. I have something to show you.”

  Sixty

  Hugo led Miles into his study, and picked up the Sunday Times of London. Staring at him intently, he said, “Look at this, Miles. I think you’d better read it.”

  Wondering what this was all about, Miles took the newspaper from his brother-in-law, and stared at the front page. The headline hit him right between the eyes.

  PEER INJURED IN HORRIFIC AVALANCHE: DAUGHTER DEAD WITH FORTY-ONE OTHERS

  Chamonix, France January 6, 1929

  An avalanche of horrific proportions swept across Mont Blanc yesterday, killing forty-two people and injuring thirty others. Amongst those dead are Mrs. Clarissa Ingham, daughter of the tycoon and peer of the realm Lord John Meldrew, and her fiancé, Mr. Philippe Meurice, a French financier. Mrs. Ingham’s father was seriously injured but is expected to live. Lord Meldrew and his party were not on the slopes but were sitting in a ski-lift cabin which was descending from the top of Mont Blanc. The ski lift was hit with massive slabs of snow that hurtled at such speed, had such weight, they snapped the cables holding the ski lift. Police say it is a miracle Lord Meldrew lived.

  Several eyewitnesses reported they were walking through the town when they heard rumbling sounds, loud thunderous noises. Great fractures boomed across the slopes of Mont Blanc; half the mountain was tumbling down in a huge swath which looked to be hundreds and hundreds of feet wide. Giant slabs of snow hurtling forward gained momentum as they tumbled, sweeping everything aside. Many skiers on the slopes are believed to be buried under the mass of snow. Other English people who died on the slopes were Mrs. Jessie Green, Mr. Peter Pullen …

  Miles stopped reading, since he did not recognize any of the other names. He gaped at Hugo, shaking his head in disbelief, and said, “She was not in Switzerland, but in France, and with a fiancé, no less. I didn’t even know she had a fiancé. Hard to do when there’s a husband around, even if he’s long gone.” Miles pressed his hands to his eyes. “What a terrible way to die.”

  “Shocking death,” Hugo said. “And although you and your father are not mentioned in this story, it being the very proper Times, I bet the tabloids go to town. So be prepared, there might be some muckraking. Probably be a good idea to keep Cecily up here, rather than in London. Until everything settles down. But I think you and Charles should be in London. You own that house. Also, your being in London protects Ceci, keeps her out of the picture.”

  “I understand, Hugo. Thanks for the tip, and thank you for coming to get me. It’s a hateful thing to read, a bad way for anyone to die, but—” He sighed. What was there to say?

  “It is, Miles, I agree. I don’t need to utter another word, I know.” He stepped forward and gave Miles a big bear hug, murmured against his ear, “You’re a free man, though. Bad as this is, it releases you from bondage.”

  “I’d better go to Cecily, and then I’ll find Papa, to tell him.”

  “If you like, I can show him the Times,” Hugo said.

  “Would you, please?”

  Miles went into his suite of rooms through the sitting room, and sat down on the sofa for a moment. He was slightly numb with shock.

  Clarissa was dead.

  That was something he had not expected in his wildest dreams, and would never wish it on anyone, however bitter he felt. What an irony that her duplicitous crook of a father had lived. How strange destiny was. But no doubt Meldrew would spend a good many years of his life in jail. Where he belonged.

  He heard a noise and looked at the bedroom door and saw Cecily standing there in her dressing gown, staring at him.

  “You let me sleep through breakfast,” she said.

  “I know, but you seemed exhausted last night.” Walking over to her, he put his arms around her shoulders, and led her over to the sofa. “Come and sit with me. I’ve something to tell you, darling.”

  Cecily pulled back, stared at him. “Something’s happened. You sound very serious, even dour. What is it, Miles?”

  He tol
d her, repeating everything he had read in the newspaper. “Hugo has loads of other papers downstairs, Ceci. I’m going to speak to Papa, and then read them. Hugo thinks Papa and I will be mentioned, that we should go to London. And that you should stay up here in Cavendon until this sort of … well, blows over. There might be reporters wanting to speak to me and Papa.”

  Cecily nodded. “To be honest, Miles, I think I need to stay here in the country for a couple of weeks. I have some work to do, and I need to be … at peace, which I always am here…” Her voice fell away, and then she said slowly, “What a horrifying way to die.”

  * * *

  Naturally the newspapers had a field day with the story. Thousands of words were written about Clarissa Meldrew; her tycoon father; her estranged husband, Miles Ingham; his father, the Sixth Earl of Mowbray; and his lover, Cecily Swann. They dug into the dirt, and they wrote their stories, and the Inghams didn’t mind at all. And neither did a young woman called Swann. A piece of her beloved Miles was growing inside her.

  “What is that wonderful phrase someone once said? ‘Publish and be damned.’ I don’t give a hoot what they say. I know who I am and what I am,” Charles said to Miles one day. “My son’s bad marriage doesn’t define me. Who I am as a man defines me.”

  “I agree, and quite frankly, Papa, I don’t think the newspapers have been that bad at all. In fact, I think Meldrew has fared much worse than us. And why not? They know he’s a criminal.”

  Charles nodded. “I’m glad you got our solicitors together with theirs, and took over the Kensington house. I presume you don’t want to live there, do you?”

  “God no, not on your life! It should go on the market, don’t you think?”

  “I do indeed. The money will help with all these new blasted leaks and broken pipes, and God knows what else. Cavendon’s a thief, my father used to say, and he was right.”

  * * *

  “Thanks for ringing me, Uncle Howard,” Cecily said. “Keeping me posted. Miles likes to know everything.”