Cavendon Hall (24 page)

Daphne was staring at him, frowning. “Why couldn’t you get the latch open? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell you, did I? There was a piece of wood wedged behind the latch. That’s how I burned my fingers, attempting to remove it. The shoe did it, of course, and I was able to get the stall door open and release Greensleeves.”

Daphne stood gaping at him. As his words sank in she understood everything. She felt a shiver of fear run through her, and her legs were suddenly weak. She sat down on a chair, shaking her head.

“What’s wrong? What is it, Daphne?” Hugo asked, noticing at once the change in her demeanor.

“The latch was a bit loose, but no one ever put a piece of wood there to wedge it, Hugo. I was at the stable on Friday morning to see Greensleeves, and everything was normal.” She felt chilled to the bone when she focused on Richard Torbett. He had threatened to kill her mother and Dulcie. And he had tried last night to kill her horse.
It was him
. She knew it without a question of a doubt. But why? She had not told a soul about his attack on her, nor mentioned his name.

“Don’t you feel well?” Hugo pressed worriedly, wondering what was wrong with her. She was pale, appeared to be upset.

Daphne took control of her swimming senses. I must be careful what I say, she cautioned herself.
Tell no one. Trust no one. Only the Swanns. Only your parents.

After a moment, she said slowly, “
It was arson.
I agree with the police. The bale of hay was torched. Whoever it was, they wanted to kill our horses and burn down the stables. Why they targeted Greensleeves I don’t know. But they had trapped her in her stall … obviously the other stalls were bound to ignite swiftly. There is somebody out there who has a grudge against our family.”

“I hate to think that, Daphne,” Hugo responded, concern written on his face. “I’m afraid I just assumed the bit of wood had been wedged there as a safety measure, by one of the stable boys.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “You know as well as I do that a horse rarely walks out of its stall, even when the door is wide open.”

He nodded, offered her his hand. “Perhaps we’d better go, the fresh air will do you good. Also, you must tell your father of your suspicions.”

Taking his hand, Daphne stood staring into his face for a moment, and unexpectedly her eyes filled with tears. She said softly, “Thank you for being so understanding, Hugo. I was a little shocked a moment ago, when I realized someone bears us ill will. They do, don’t they?”

“Perhaps.”

Thirty-one

C
harlotte Swann walked slowly toward the lake at Cavendon. She had set off too early, but it was such a lovely day she had not been able to resist leaving her house in the village.

She lifted her head and looked up at the sky. It was amazing this afternoon. A clear bright blue, without a cloud, and brimming with sunlight. They had been lucky so far this summer. Rain had been infrequent, the weather glorious. Unusual for Yorkshire.

She wondered, as she walked along, why Charles wanted to talk to her, and why he had chosen the gazebo at the edge of the lake as a meeting place. She could only imagine that what he had to discuss was extremely private; certainly nobody could hear them talking, unless they were in close vicinity, like under the gazebo floor. This thought brought a smile to her face.

She pushed her hands in the pockets of her pale green silk dress, and continued on at a steady pace, thinking about the clothes Cecily had been designing for Daphne to wear, once the pregnancy began to show. Cecily had been taken into her confidence recently.

She was astounded at Cecily’s talent. The suits and dresses were brilliantly clever, and she had soon realized that this was all to do with their construction.

Because Cecily had explained this to her, had shown her various drawings, each of which applied to a single garment, Charlotte had quickly understood how Cecily literally engineered the clothes.

Charlotte had telephoned her cousin, Dorothy Swann, who lived in London, and worked in the fashion department of Fortnum and Mason, on Piccadilly.

Without revealing anything about designing clothes for a pregnant woman, Charlotte had told Dorothy about Cecily, and how amazingly creative and talented the girl was.

“I want to send her to live with you one day,” Charlotte had explained. “This one’s a winner, Dottie; she will go places. I can guarantee that Cecily Swann will be a designer of great fame one day. World famous, in fact.”

Dorothy had listened carefully to every word, and had agreed that once Cecily was old enough to leave Cavendon, she could live with her and her husband, Howard Pinkerton, in London. And she guaranteed a job for Cecily at Fortnum’s. She trusted Charlotte’s judgment implicitly.

I want her out of here, Charlotte now thought. This place is too beautiful, too comfortable, too easy, too perfect in so many ways. And dangerous. It was the Ingham men, of course. They were irresistible. And fatal.

Miles was only fourteen, but Charlotte had noticed more than ever before just how he looked at Cecily, especially over the past few weeks, since he had been home from Eton. They were rarely apart, and even though DeLacy was usually with them, Miles appeared joined at the hip to Ceci.

I’ve got to nip that in the bud. She can’t be like me. I won’t permit that, Charlotte reminded herself, then came to an abrupt stop.

Much to her amazement, Genevra, the gypsy girl, was suddenly in the middle of the path, gazing at her. Where had she sprung from so unexpectedly?

“Genevra! Goodness me! What are you doing here?”

The girl shrugged, smiled. “Hello, Mrs. Charlotte.”

“You know very well you’re not supposed to come on this part of the estate,” Charlotte said in a soft but slightly reprimanding tone.

The Romany remained silent, but stretched out her hand, offered something to Charlotte. She said, “A present.”

Fully aware that she could not offend the gypsy, Charlotte took the offered gift and examined it carefully. It appeared to be a piece of bone or ivory. Slender and smooth, it was carved with small crosses on either side of a tiny carved heart. There were small pieces of ribbon tied to it. One was scarlet, the other sky blue.

Charlotte frowned, looked at Genevra intently, and realized, suddenly, how important this offering was to the girl. She said warmly, “Thank you so much, Genevra, I shall treasure it always. Did you make it?”

Genevra nodded. “It’s lucky. A charm. Don’t lose.”

Charlotte put it in her pocket. “I shall keep it safe. I must hurry now, I am late.”

“Bluebell woods no good.” Genevra shook her head. “Trespassers prosecuted,” she muttered, lifted one hand, moving it, as if writing those words in the air. And then she whirled around and ran off, racing across to the meadows, heading for the Romany wagons far away on the hill.

Staring after her, Charlotte couldn’t help wondering about those words. They sounded familiar, and then she instantly remembered. Years ago, the fifth earl had posters made warning exactly that, and they were attached to trees in the bluebell woods and around the estate. Did Genevra mean they should be put back on the trees?

And why had she said the bluebell woods were bad? Oh my God! Had Genevra seen the attack on Daphne in May? Charlotte shuddered at this awful thought, and walked faster, hurrying to the gazebo, not even stopping to see the swans, as she usually did.

She was the first to arrive. Once inside, she sat down on one of the chairs, catching her breath, and endeavoring to put thoughts of trespassers out of her head.

Within a few minutes, Charles Ingham stepped into the gazebo, touched her lightly on the shoulder, and sat down opposite her. “Hello. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, Charlotte.”

“No, you haven’t, Charlie. I just got here.” She sat back in the chair. “I suspect you wish to speak to me about something really important, very private, something that no one else must hear. Hence the choice of this famous beauty spot.”

“You know, you can sound quite pompous at times,” he said, obviously amused.

“And so can you,” she answered. “I think we picked that up from each other when we were little. Anyway, here we are, so very private in the gazebo, with only the swans to eavesdrop. So, what is all this about?”

Leaning forward across the small bamboo table, Charles said in a serious tone, “Before Hugo left, he came to see me. He told me that he had fallen in love with Daphne. To say that I was flabbergasted is the understatement of the year. In fact, I was speechless for a moment. Then he shocked me further, by saying he wanted my permission to court her, if she was not spoken for already. He explained he had serious intentions. He wants to marry her … if I didn’t have any objections to his courtship of her, that is.”

“And what did you say?”

“When I’d stopped reeling, I sort of fudged it,” he said. “I told him I must think about it, because he was, after all, fifteen years older than her. I also pointed out that I must ascertain how Daphne herself felt about him, if anything. And whether or not she would consider him as a suitor for her hand in marriage.”

“I understand. It’s all you could do. And when does he want an answer?” Charlotte asked, looking across at him, biting her lip.

“As you know, he went to Zurich for a meeting. He returns to Yorkshire on the thirtieth of July. He’s coming back for the big summer ball on the second of August. I told him I would give him an answer then.”

“I see. What does Felicity think?”

“Actually, I have not discussed it with her yet. She’s been rather under the weather since the supper dance, unusually nervous and irritable. I didn’t have the heart to bring it up now. I thought I’d wait until later this week.”

Charlotte nodded, but remained silent, her expression reflective.

After a moment, the earl glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. “Why do I have the strangest feeling that you’re not surprised?” he said.

“Because I’m not.”

He was obviously perplexed. “Why aren’t you?”

“Because a twelve-year-old girl, Cecily Swann to be precise, spotted Hugo’s infatuation with Daphne when it was actually happening. That was at tea on the very day he arrived. She told Alice that he only had eyes for Daphne, and I was present when she said this. So he did speak the truth, Charles, it
was
love at first sight. He’s serious all right.”

Charles sat staring at Charlotte, unable to say a word, wondering if she actually approved of Hugo courting Daphne. Finding his voice finally, he said, “You sound as if you think I should consider his proposition.”

“Why not? If Daphne has no objection. Hugo is a charming man, interesting, worldly, good-looking, and, I have discovered, rather a kind soul, very caring. And I understand he’s successful in business.”

“How can I possibly entertain such a preposterous idea! She’s pregnant by another man, for God’s sake!” Charles exclaimed, sounding indignant. “And if that little situation isn’t an impediment to a marriage between the two of them, then I don’t know what is.”

“Charles, please, calm down. Don’t become angry with me. I’m only trying to help. Let’s go and walk around the lake, exchange a few thoughts … like I used to with your father. A bit of fresh air and the tranquility outside does wonders.” Charlotte stood up. “Come on, let’s go and see the swans.”

Thirty-two

T
hey walked around the rim of the lake, not speaking, lost in their own thoughts, but compatible in their silence.

Charlotte knew that Charles was troubled, at a loss, and so she remained quiet for the moment, wanting to give him time to think. In her heart of hearts she believed that Hugo’s arrival was a godsend, and that his falling in love with Daphne had been a miracle of sorts.

However, she wasn’t sure Charles would see it that way. She could only hope he would understand the sense a liaison between Hugo and Daphne made. Marriage would protect his daughter.

As two swans floated by, Charles said, “The Inghams have swans because of the first earl, Humphrey.”

“Yes, and I know why,” she answered. “Do you?”

“Because my ancestor wanted to honor your ancestor for his loyalty and devotion, and he promised James the Inghams would always have swans on this lake, to commemorate their name, ‘Swann.’”

“And ever since, the Inghams and the Swanns have been intertwined, involved with each other in a variety of ways, because of the friendship of our founding fathers,” she remarked. “It’s a bond no one can break, you know … it’s lasted far too long now, over one hundred and sixty years.”

Charles nodded, paused, and looked at her. “Ask anyone around here,
‘What do the Swanns know about the Inghams?’
And they’ll all answer,
‘What don’t they know?’
”

“Yes, we do know everything, I’ve been led to believe.”

“You have the Swann record books, Charlotte, don’t you?”

“I do. Because I am the senior member of the family.” She peered at him quizzically. “But why are you suddenly bringing this up? You don’t want to see them, do you? Because you can’t, you know, it’s never been allowed.”

“I’d never ask that of you, Charlotte. No Ingham has the right. But I was just thinking how much the Inghams have relied on the Swanns over the generations. And how I always depend on you. I usually come to you when I have a problem, I always have. Naturally, I discuss things with Felicity, seek her advice, as she does mine. But it’s your judgment I do really depend on, and I think that’s because my father did.”

Charlotte did not reply to this comment, although Charles was right.

He glanced at her. “Well, he did, didn’t he?”

“Quite often, but not always.” She gave him a small smile. “Sometimes he thought he knew better. And, of course, that was true, he was a very smart man. And wise. But let’s talk about Hugo and Daphne, shall we? That’s why we met this afternoon.”

“You’re absolutely correct. So tell me, what do you think about the situation? Should it be considered? Would it work?”

“I think it
could
work … providing Daphne is willing. We know exactly where Hugo stands, his intentions, but what about her? It has to be her decision. She has to be happy with it,” Charlotte responded.