Cavendon Hall (13 page)

Seventeen

H
anson sat in his office, staring at the calendar on his desk. It was Friday, the eleventh of July, and next Friday, just one week from today, they would be holding the first supper dance of the summer season. The first event was usually met with great anticipation and excitement. That was absent this year, and he was disappointed, and a little worried.

The butler sighed as he stared down at the date, wondering what sort of evening it was going to be. The countess, very sadly, was focused more on her sister’s cancer than the upcoming dance, whilst the earl was worrying about his wife and her state of mind, and was preoccupied.

Lady Diedre was more aloof and distant than ever, and appeared distracted, whilst Lady Daphne had spent days moping around and looking tearful. He wondered now how much her demeanor had to do with Julian Torbett’s death. He didn’t have an answer for himself.

Thankfully, the family’s favorite had somehow sprung back to life in the last couple of days, and was more like her old self. Looking beautiful, sounding cheerful, giving everyone smiles, being the charming Lady Daphne they were accustomed to, and loved.

Hanson was saddened that young Julian Torbett had died in such a tragic way. The woodsmen and gardeners were still talking about the rifle shots, which had been so unexpected, and hadn’t come from any of their men. It was a mystery, and troubled them all.

But shots had been fired by somebody, and as a result a young man was dead … because his horse had been spooked by the shots, had bolted and thrown him.

The Torbett family had sent their regrets that they were now unable to attend the supper dance. The whole family was in mourning and had canceled all engagements.

Everyone in the area was wary of the Torbetts, considering the family to be arrogant, snobbish, and far too big for their boots. And so, in one sense, he was not particularly displeased that they would be absent. He was just sorry the young man was dead before he had lived his life. He had been the nicest of the three Torbett sons. Alexander was a pathetic drunk and Richard, the eldest, was something of a martinet, highly disliked by the entire staff.

Henry Hanson picked up a red pencil and put a line through their names, crossing them off the list. Good riddance to bad rubbish, he thought.

Next, the butler studied the champagne and wine lists, which he and the earl had created last week. He nodded to himself. Their choices were good; he moved on, picked up the menu for the supper. It had been prepared by Cook, who knew the family’s tastes and preferences, and those of their guests. The earl had approved it, because the countess had been in Harrogate.

A sudden rapping on the door made Hanson lift his head. “Come in,” he called.

A second later, Lady Daphne was standing in the doorway. The moment he saw her, he jumped to his feet. “Good morning, m’lady,” he exclaimed, surprised, and then he stared hard at the young woman with her, who was holding a baby in her arms.

Aware that he was taken aback, Daphne explained, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Hanson, but I ran into this young lady in the backyard. She was looking for Peggy Swift. She’s Peggy’s sister, and she needs to speak to her about a family matter.”

“I see,” Hanson responded, walking around the desk, his eyes riveted on the young woman. She was simply but neatly dressed, and did indeed have a look of Peggy.

“Please come this way. I will take you to the servants’ hall, and you can sit there whilst we find Peggy. And what is your name, may I ask?”

“It’s June, Mr. Hanson. Mrs. June O’Sullivan. My husband brought me over to Cavendon from Ripon. In the horse and trap. He’s waiting outside.”

Inclining his head, Hanson said, “Follow me,” and led the way down the corridor. He was surprised to see that Lady Daphne was still with them, and turned to her. “Thank you, my lady, for bringing Mrs. O’Sullivan to me, but I can take over now.”

“Oh, that’s all right, Hanson. I don’t mind staying with Mrs. O’Sullivan until Peggy arrives.” She smiled at the young woman, who looked pale, rather wan. “Please sit down. Could I get you a glass of water, or something else to drink?”

“Oh no, thank you, my lady. I’m all right. But I will sit if I may, thank you very much. The baby’s a bit heavy.” She half smiled. “Boys are.”

Although Hanson was slightly put out, not liking the idea of Lady Daphne lingering here downstairs with a relative of the help, he was clever enough not to display his feelings. He hurried away in search of Mrs. Thwaites.

Daphne continued to stand in the doorway of the servants’ hall, and as the silence lengthened she said, “How old is your baby?”

“He’s eighteen months, and doing well, Lady Daphne.”

“And what’s his name?”

“It’s Kevin, m’lady.” There was a pause, and then she said, again with the small smile, “Patrick, that’s my husband, is Irish. So obviously we picked an Irish name.”

Before she could respond, Daphne heard clicking heels running down the corridor, and suddenly Peggy Swift was rushing into the room, slightly flustered, her expression anxious. When she saw her sister she rushed over to her, flung her arms around her and the baby. And then looked down at the child, touched his cheek with a finger.

And in that instant Daphne knew that Peggy was the mother of this child, not June. There was such adoration and motherly love reflected on her face, it was patently obvious. Daphne continued to watch her, wondering what her situation was.

As if Peggy had somehow become aware of Daphne’s fixed scrutiny, she swung around and stared at Daphne, and then her face flushed bright red.

She knows what I’m thinking, Daphne realized, and instantly wanted to put the young maid at ease. “Your nephew’s a lovely little boy, Peggy,” she murmured, and edged out of the doorway. “I’ll leave you both alone now. You’ve things to discuss.” With another smile and a gracious nod of her head, she hurried down the corridor to the back stairs and went upstairs.

A few seconds later she was gliding into the conservatory, her favorite room, where she sank down into a chair, still thinking of Peggy Swift and June. She couldn’t help focusing on June, who she had found wandering around at the back of the house. She had known that something was amiss from the moment June had spoken to her, asking about Peggy. And she was even more convinced of this now. Everyone knew better than to seek out a relative who was in service. It never happened. So there was a problem. A big problem. Her heart went out to Peggy. Perhaps the O’Sullivans could no longer look after the child …

Daphne’s mind drifted as she leaned back against the cushions … and thought about her own predicament. She was pregnant, and single, as Peggy more than likely had been. The difference was that she came from a rich and powerful family who could help her through her trouble, and would do so lovingly. At least Charlotte Swann had assured her of that. But was Charlotte right? She was not sure. Throw a pebble in a pool and watch the ripples spread out, Daphne thought. I am a pebble, and the ripples are about to spread and spread. And my life will never be the same ever again. Rape she could have perhaps hidden. But pregnancy? That was hardly likely.

*   *   *

“She’s nice,” June said, sipping the cup of tea Peggy had just brought to her from the kitchen.

“You mean Lady Daphne?”

“Yes, of course. But Cook’s nice too. Can you take Kevin for a minute, Peg? So I can drink my tea.”

“Here, give him to me,” she answered, and took the child in her arms. But she did not sit down. Cook had already told her to get her business done quickly. Visitors were frowned on, she’d said. “Mrs. Thwaites came to the kitchen to ask why you’re here,” she explained to her sister.

June nodded her understanding. “What did you tell her?”

“I said you needed my signature on a piece of paper to do with Dad’s farm. So I’ll sign it when you’ve finished your tea.”

“Thanks, Peg, it’s good of you to give up your share, and we appreciate it. Patrick’ll make a go of the farm, and it’s a home for you, too, when you need it.”

“I know,” Peggy murmured, having understood right from the beginning of their marriage that they’d want the farm one day. Anyway, what use was a farm to her? She wouldn’t be able to run it. Still, they were using the baby as a tool, to get her to give them her half. A fool she wasn’t. She’d only been a fool giving in to Andy Newson, who’d got her in the family way and then run a mile. Three thousand miles, actually, since he’d gone to America.

Peggy looked down at her son and smiled at him, touched his cheek, kissed his nose. He was a gorgeous baby. She was suddenly glad June was taking care of him. She trusted her sister when it came to the child. June would love him, nurture him, keep him safe. She had no qualms about that.

“Is it Lady Daphne you look after, then? Are you her maid?” June asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“No, I’m more of a general parlor maid. All of the four Dees are nice, but—”

“Who are the four dees?”

Peggy grinned. “Diedre, Daphne, DeLacy, and Dulcie. The four daughters of the earl. All beautiful, in their own way, but the terror is Dulcie. Five going on fifteen, and very cheeky.”

This comment made June smile, and she shook her head. “Some little girls are like that, grown-up before their time. So you
do
like it here at Cavendon?”

“Sort of, the housekeeper’s quite nice, and so is Cook.” She shrugged. “The footmen are full of themselves, think they’re the bee’s knees.”

“I thought there was one you liked.”

“Yes, Gordon Lane, he’s pleasant, and has been kind to me, and he’s not too conceited.”

“Be careful, Peg,” June warned, staring at her sister pointedly.

Peggy flushed. “I won’t be going that route again, I can tell you that.” Peggy paused, listened, and then swiftly handed the baby back to June. “Give me the document to sign. Come on, be quick. I can hear Hanson coming down the corridor. He runs this place with an iron hand. He won’t like it that you’re still here. He’ll say I’m wasting time.”

“We have to have two witnesses when you sign,” June cried as she put the envelope on the table.

“Oh my God! No!” Peggy became flustered as Hanson hurried into the servants’ hall, looking somewhat put out.

“Now, now, what’s all this?” he asked, eyeing Peggy suspiciously. “Your sister’s begun to outstay her welcome. You’re in dereliction of your duties, Swift.”

“Yes, I know. I’m ever so sorry, Mr. Hanson. I need to sign this paper, a legal document. But I need two witnesses,” she wailed, looking suddenly panic-stricken.

Anxious to remove the woman and the baby, and get Peggy Swift back to her work, Hanson exclaimed, “Well, then let me get a pen, and I’ll sign, and I’ll bring Mrs. Thwaites with me. Once the document is dealt with your sister must be on her way. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, Mr. Hanson, I’m ever so grateful.”

Eighteen

T
he Inghams were on the very edge of a precipice. One false step would prove fatal. If they fell they would be doomed forever.

The fall of the house of Ingham, Charlotte thought. No, no, I can’t allow that to happen. I can’t be the only Swann in over 160 years to fail in my duty. Since 1749 the Swanns have protected the Inghams, starting with my ancestor James Swann, liege man to Humphrey Ingham, the First Earl of Mowbray.

I must pull some tricks out of the hat, she told herself. I can’t be shamed, can’t be a failure.

But she knew she couldn’t make the pregnancy go away, just like that, with the snap of her fingers. There was only one solution: She had to conceal it, camouflage it, and keep it a secret. And she needed a foolproof plan.

Charlotte sighed to herself as she walked on, her mind turning swiftly, endless possibilities occurring to her. She glanced around, thinking that the park was lovely on this sunny July morning. She usually took this route, avoiding the dirt road from the village. That happened to be the quickest way, but not as pretty to traverse.

When she came to the walled rose garden, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and went in, sat down on a garden seat, breathed in the fragrance of the roses. They were blooming well, and their scent was very heady, almost overpowering, but then roses were her favorite flowers.

Leaning back against the wooden seat, Charlotte closed her eyes, relaxing a little, focusing on an almost insurmountable problem: A pregnant, unwed girl, the seventeen-year-old daughter of one of England’s premier earls, from a preeminent and most powerful family; the great beauty expected to achieve important things for them, through a brilliant marriage to a duke’s son.

Her father’s dream … a dream now destroyed, and in an instant of unthinkable violence.

An involuntary shiver ran through Charlotte, and she squeezed her eyes tighter, not wanting the welling tears to seep out. And she
was
on the verge of tears. This was a terrible tragedy, heartbreaking, and the girl wasn’t to blame at all. She was the innocent victim. A raging maniac, a pervert, had committed rape on an innocent young woman, had taken her life away. Daphne’s future
would
be gone … if she didn’t save her.

Daphne. Poor Daphne, Charlotte thought, seeing her in her mind’s eye … the image of her yesterday had been memorable. She had looked truly beautiful, and so much so Charlotte had been stunned for a moment, had caught her breath in surprise when Daphne had come out onto the terrace to speak with her that morning.

She had been wearing a peach-colored afternoon dress, with a cowl neckline, full skirt, and long flowing sleeves. The soft color had emphasized her peaches-and-cream complexion, the blueness of her eyes. Charlotte had realized, at that precise moment, that a young man, any man, would be completely bowled over by her, caught up in the sheer loveliness of her.

The floaty dress, its warm peach color, her smiling face, her cheerful demeanor … all had to do with Alice, who had told Charlotte everything immediately after she had found out about the pregnancy. “I explained to Daphne that she had to give the performance of her life for the next few days, until you came up with a plan. I told her she could not fail.”