Cavendon Hall Part 6

"Didn't his brother die in the lake ... drown?" DeLacy began, and stopped abruptly when she saw the warning look on Diedre's face.

Charles said, "Enough of the past. We are now in the present, looking toward the future, and the future is very bright for us. And for Hugo. He has done well in the world, and although his wife died a year ago, I think he will bravely march on. He is an Ingham, after all, and we do that. We don't crumble and give in. Also, he's only thirty-two. He has his life ahead of him."

"Quite so," Lady Gwendolyn agreed in a firm voice.

"When is he coming?" Felicity asked softly, staring at her husband.

"That's really up to me, or rather to us, darling. He plans to visit London within the next few weeks. So I am going to suggest he comes here later in July."

Felicity simply nodded.

Lady Gwendolyn announced, "I believe a weekend visit would be most appropriate, Charles." She glanced at Felicity. "Don't you agree, my dear?"

"That would be nice," Felicity murmured, leaning back in the chair, tired after the long and difficult day in Harrogate.

Charles beamed at them. "That settles the matter. I shall write to him after considering the engagements we have in the next few weeks, to ascertain the best weekend for him to come."

"Oh Papa, please invite him here when there's a supper dance. You know there's always a shortage of men at these dances, and some of us have to partner each other."

Always indulgent with DeLacy, Charles couldn't help laughing at her eagerness for male dancing partners. "Now, now, DeLacy, you're only twelve, you know," he answered. But he could not keep the amus.e.m.e.nt out of his voice, nor did he ever chastise her when she was cheeky or forward. He just didn't have the heart, and she was his favorite; he rather liked her cheekiness.

Lady Gwendolyn was also amused, and it showed on her face when she stood up. "Thank you, Charles and Felicity, I must go back to the manor, to rest. London was rather hectic, you know."

"May I walk back with you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?" Diedre asked, also standing.

"Of course, my dear. I would enjoy the company."

"May I come, too?" DeLacy jumped to her feet, and looked at Diedre pleadingly.

On the verge of refusing this request, Diedre instantly changed her mind. "You can come with us, if you wish." DeLacy might as well know the truth, the way things are, Diedre thought as they trooped out of the yellow sitting room together. She's old enough to know how hard life can be, and what we are facing ... the imminent death of our mother's sister ... and a bereavement in the family which will make Mama more upset than ever.

Once they were alone, Felicity went and sat on the sofa with Charles, and leaning closer to him she said, "I have bad news ... Anne is dying."

A look of genuine astonishment crossed his face, and his brows drew together in a frown. "How can that be! You told me she was better! That she had said she was all right. You went to have a celebratory lunch with her today."

"That's what I thought it was. She told me on Friday that she had seen her doctors, that they had given her the results of the last tests. And then she added she was all right. The problem is, she didn't mean it the way I took it."

"How did she mean it?"

"That she was all right, because at last she knew what the outcome of her illness was going to be, and how long she has to live."

Charles cringed at these words. He took hold of his wife's hand, held it tightly. His expression was one of compa.s.sion. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry, Felicity. For Anne and for you, darling." He gazed at her intently, took in the beauty of her delicately wrought face, surrounded by a halo of red-gold hair, and looked deeply into her light green eyes, and he felt himself choke up with emotion. He knew how much this bad news would affect her.

Felicity edged even closer to him. He put his arms around her and held her against him, fighting back the tears. His sister-in-law, Anne Sedgewick, was a very unique woman, a woman of intelligence, kindness, and humor. And an extraordinary artist. Her glorious still-life oil paintings had become collector's items over the years, and she was now famous for her work. This aside, she was a lovely woman, and one of great depth, whom he cared about enormously. He wanted to ask how long she had, but he didn't dare. His nerve had left him.

Felicity drew away from him, and looked up into his face. She said, "I'm so sorry I put it so bluntly, Charles. I just didn't know how to break the news to you, since you believed we were celebrating her recovery at lunch today ... I felt I just had to say it, and without any frills." Tears flooded her eyes, and she began to weep.

Bending over her, Charles held her close once more, and wept himself. And so wrapped up were they in their pain and grief, neither of them saw Hanson silently gliding away, shooing the two footmen ahead of him, using his discretion, as he inevitably did.

Upstairs at Cavendon, in her darkened room, Daphne lay curled up in a ball in her bed. Sorrowing and bereft, she had cried until she had no tears left in her. And finally she had slept, exhausted from the a.s.sault on her body and on her senses.

Now that she was awake, her mind was racing with all kinds of worried thoughts, and raw anxiety had surfaced. She had no idea how to deal with the situation she found herself in. She could not confide in anyone, because of Richard Torbett's threat. Also, Mrs. Alice had told her to tell no one, to trust no one, except her parents and the Swanns. She did not have the nerve to tell her parents, and she felt sure Mrs. Alice already knew what had happened. She had guessed when she saw the stained clothes, and took them away.

Right from the start of the attack in the bluebell woods, Daphne believed the man was going to murder her, after he had raped her. He had not killed her. But he had taken her life. And left her with nothing of value. Her virginity had been destroyed and so had the chance to become the wife of the son of a duke. Or wife of anybody, for that matter.

Her future was meaningless now ... there was nothing left for her. There was only bleakness in store. And loneliness.

Thirteen.

Harry Swann, Cecily's fifteen-year-old brother, had her full attention, and she was listening to him closely, impressed by his knowledge.

"And so," he said, "it was Richard Neville, the Earl of Warwick, who put Edward Plantagenet on the throne of England, and when he was very young. Only eighteen. Imagine that!" he ended in an excited voice.

"You certainly learned your history well, Harry," Cecily responded, giving her much-adored brother a warm smile. "No wonder you were top of your cla.s.s when you were at school."

Harry grinned at her. "The Earl of Warwick lived at Middleham Castle. We once went there, if you remember, with Aunt Charlotte. Do you think we could go up there again sometime? Would she take us? It's such an historic place. And history is my hobby."

"It's not very far away. We can ask her tomorrow when we go to tea. Perhaps she'll go with us in the summer."

Harry nodded, bent his fair head, finished his baked apple in silence, savoring it. Ever since childhood, it had been his favorite dessert. The two of them were sitting in the kitchen of their home, finis.h.i.+ng supper.

Sitting back in her chair, watching him, Cecily couldn't help thinking that he looked older than his age, perhaps because of the intelligence in those light gray eyes, and his serious nature. And also his build. Like his father, he was tall; certainly there was no mistaking that Harry was a Swann. Not only because of his looks, but his bearing, his self-confidence, and his natural charm as well.

Cecily was aware that he had always been diligent, and he was quick, clever, and articulate. She knew he would go far in life, given the opportunity. Aunt Charlotte had told her the same thing: they were in agreement about his abilities and his talent as a landscape gardener, working with his cousin Bill at Cavendon.

Suddenly, he glanced up at her, asked, "When is Miles coming home from Eton? For the summer, I mean."

"I don't know, but it'll be soon. By the end of the month."

"I hope we can all go fis.h.i.+ng one weekend. What do you think, Ceci?"

"Yes, we'll go fis.h.i.+ng, and bird-watching, do other things, and we'll have picnics in the woods. DeLacy will come with us."

"We always have fun together," Harry said.

"Now then, how are you both doing?" Alice asked, sounding as cheerful as usual when she came hurrying into the kitchen. But her heart was heavy with worry about Daphne, and she felt unsettled, at odds with herself. She could not get the girl's predicament out of her mind.

"We've enjoyed our supper, Mam. Haven't we, Ceci? The cottage pie was nice, and thanks for my baked apple."

Alice stood looking at them, filled with sudden joy. They were her adored children. She knew they were special, each in their own way, at least to her and Walter. They would have good lives. She smiled at them, picked up their empty plates, and carried them to the sink. As she began to run the tap water she thought once more of Lady Daphne, and sadness flooded through her. She simply couldn't bear to think of her pain.

"We'll help you, Mam!" Cecily jumped up and so did Harry, and the three of them washed and dried the dishes together. They chatted to their mother about what they would do the next day with Walter. Their father had tomorrow off, as he did every other Sunday. This was a privilege given to any Swann who was the earl's valet.

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 lords.h.i.+p 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 lords.h.i.+p 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 ladys.h.i.+p. She must be suffering. She and her sister are very close." Charlotte reached for her gla.s.s 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 a.s.saulted," 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 G.o.d!" 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d, 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 n.o.body 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."