Cavendon Hall (38 page)

She had rejected him in the coldest manner and he had been shocked, thrown off balance by her words, her tone of voice.

He could hear her voice reverberating in his head. “Our marriage is over, Charles,” she had said. “I cannot share my bed with you. Or be intimate with you ever again.”

He had been unable to respond, had just stood there, staring at her, feeling as if he’d been hit in the stomach with a sledgehammer.

“Why?” he had eventually asked. “What’s suddenly gone wrong?”

“It’s not sudden,” she had answered. “It’s been a long time since I actually cared about you sexually. It has been pretense on my part, and I can’t pretend anymore, or fake pleasure. So I would like you to sleep in your own bedroom in future.”

“If that’s what you want, then I shall.” As he now remembered saying this to her, he couldn’t help wondering why he had gone on standing there, looking helpless, when he was angry and hurt. He had been dismissed, as if his feelings didn’t matter, as though he were of no account.

Felicity had then added, “If you want a divorce, you can have it.”

Growing even more incredulous, he had been unable to think straight, shocked and bewildered by this unexpected turn of events, and at a loss.

She had asked again, “Well,
do
you want a divorce?”

“I’ll let you know,” he had snapped in a tense voice, finally pulling himself together. Then he had turned and walked toward his dressing room. In the doorway, he had swung around to look at her. “I’m forty-five years old. A young man. What am I supposed to do?” His eyes had not left her face.

“Anything you wish. You’re as free as a bird,” she had replied.

Sitting there, drinking his cup of morning tea, it suddenly struck Charles that when she had so icily spurned him last night it had been wounding, and emasculating. However, she had done something else. She had given him his freedom to do whatever he wanted. But at this moment he had no idea what this was.

He was still appalled by the chilliness of her manner, her total lack of emotion and feelings for him. And her blunt words. After all, they had been married for over twenty years, had six children, and he had genuinely believed his marriage was as solid as a rock. Apparently not. He had been wrong, hadn’t he?

For a split second, he wondered if her bout of exhaustion had affected her more than he’d thought, brought about this odd change in her. But then her behavior had been strange for some years, even before Anne became sick.

He remembered that she had become an unwilling and passionless lover a year after Dulcie’s birth, five years ago actually. He had endeavored to ignore her coldness, turned a blind eye. And in doing so he had become impotent. She had done that to him, hadn’t she? He couldn’t get an erection because she didn’t desire him, had no interest in him, and he knew it. He just couldn’t accept it, perhaps that was it.

“Good morning, Papa,” Daphne said, floating into the dining room in a lovely lilac-colored dress. “I have Dulcie safe and sound with Nurse Willis, so you don’t have to worry.”

Standing up, Charles said, “She’s all right?”

“Oh yes, she didn’t really understand any of it,” Daphne reassured him.

After embracing Daphne, Charles said, “Thanks for taking care of her, you’re the best, and very well organized. You can come and help me run the estate if you wish.”

She laughed. “Thank you for the kind words. And any time you need me I’ll be there. I’m like you, Papa, very efficient.” She stepped away, gazed up at him, and said, “You look tired.”

“I am a little, but there’s nothing wrong that a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

Hugo hove into view, and Charles called, “Good morning, Hugo.”

“Morning, Charles,” Hugo answered, pulled out a chair for Daphne, and sat down himself.

A moment later Hanson was by their side, with a footman standing in the wings.

While they were discussing breakfast choices with Hanson, Charles pushed thoughts of Felicity away. He focused instead on Olive Wilson. He had run into his wife’s personal maid in the bedroom corridor a little earlier, and she had said something about having a lot of packing to do. He had not lingered to ask her questions because he had a splitting headache.

It occurred to him that Felicity might be going up to London today. She had muttered several times last week about missing the summer season yet again, and being disappointed by this.

Perhaps she was being smart and going away for a few weeks. It would certainly make life easier for them both if they were in different homes.

Charles had a busy morning ahead of him, working with Percy Swann and Jim Waters, the estate manager. There were no two ways about it, new walls had to be built to make Cavendon safe and private.

Daphne broke into his thoughts when she said, “I think Nurse Willis will be able to get a nanny for us, Papa. She has a friend, also a Norland-trained nurse, who is looking for work as a nanny. I asked her to get in touch with this friend. I hope that’s all right?”

“Naturally it is, and let’s hope this person wants to come here.” Now turning to Hanson, Charles said, “By the way, where’s DeLacy this morning? Do you know?”

“Lady DeLacy is out on the terrace with Cecily. They are sitting with Miss Payne, chatting to her. She will be leaving shortly. The governess starts her summer holidays today, m’lord.”

“Oh, of course. I’d forgotten.”

“They wanted to say good-bye to her,” Hanson added.

“I understand.”

The ringing of the telephone in the butler’s pantry interrupted their conversation. Hanson went to answer it. A moment later he came back. “It’s Lady Diedre, your lordship. She is telephoning from Berlin, she said.”

“My goodness!” Charles exclaimed, excused himself to Hugo and Daphne, and went to speak on the telephone.

“Hello, Diedre. How nice of you to call. Hanson said you’re in Berlin.”

After these comments, there was a silence as Charles listened to his eldest daughter. After a few seconds, he said, “You’ve made the right decision. Let us know when you arrive in London. Safe traveling, my dear.”

“What did Diedre have to say? Is she on her way home already?” Daphne asked when he sat down again.

“Yes, but she was due back soon, you know. She detests Berlin, says it’s militant, and that all they talk about is war and Wagner. Tomorrow she’s taking a train to Paris, and from there she will go to London. So we can expect her in a few days.”

“I still think the trip’s been cut short,” Daphne murmured, then decided to let the matter drop.

Charles said, “Oh by the way, your mother is thinking of going to London today. She feels like a change, a few days in town. You can deal with the menus, can’t you?”

“I can. But is she well enough to go by herself?” Daphne asked.

“Very much so. She’s tons better, and anyway Wilson will be with her, Daphne, so you don’t have to worry. And there is a full staff at the Mayfair house. With Eric Swann in charge, she’ll not have to worry about a thing. Hanson trained him, remember. And Laura Swann is a housekeeper par excellence.”

*   *   *

Walking across to the stable block and the office annex, Charles asked himself why Felicity had chosen last night to tell him their marriage was over. Especially since there had been such an upset about Dulcie’s safety. Then it hit him between the eyes. He had mentioned he would like to share her bed. And she had not been able to tolerate that idea. Obviously she couldn’t stand having him near her anymore. So be it, he said under his breath. His marriage was over and he was a free man.

Forty-nine

“
T
hey’ve found the excuse they were looking for,” Adam Fairley said, turning to Charles. “We’ll be in the middle of a war before we can blink. No question about that.”

Everyone at the dinner table was silent, staring at Adam. They took his words seriously. He was the new chairman of the board of
The Yorkshire Morning Gazette,
and the majority stockholder in the newspaper. He usually had the latest news before everyone else, because he had access to so many news sources, including Reuters.

“You’re referring to the assassination by that Serbian nationalist of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, heir to the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and his wife, aren’t you, Adam?” Charles asserted.

“I am indeed. It was late in June, in Sarajevo, as we all know. Suddenly Austria-Hungary is bearing down on little Serbia, issuing fierce ultimatums, demanding permission for their officials to go into Serbia to find and punish those responsible for the deaths of the archduke and his duchess. From what I gather, the Serbians have agreed to certain demands, but want to negotiate others, and there’s some kind of standoff between them.”

“Let’s hope that someone over there has a bit of common sense,” Hugo exclaimed. “Because if war breaks out, it will be a war of attrition, and it won’t be over in a couple of months.”

“Why not?” Guy asked. “Wars don’t usually last very long.”

“One did!” Charles cut in. “It was called the Hundred Years’ War.” This was said in a jocular way, and he winked at his son. Everyone laughed.

Olivia Fairley, Adam’s second wife, murmured in her lovely, lilting voice, “My mother believed that if the world was run by women, there would be no more wars. I tend to agree with her.”

Guy gazed at Olivia with interest. She was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, and her words intrigued him. He asked, “Why is that? I mean, how could women avoid wars, if men can’t?”

“My mother said men don’t bear children, women do,” Olivia explained, smiling at him warmly. “And after carrying a child for nine months, a woman isn’t going to put her son at risk when he’s an adult. So no more wars, no more killing. The Woman’s Rule, she called it.”

“Actually, I believe there’s a lot of truth in that,” Daphne said. She was tired of all this talk of war. It frightened her. She was certain Hugo would want to go and fight, he was such a patriotic Englishman. His country meant a lot to him, which was why he had come back here.

Diedre cleared her throat, and said to her father, “I told you what it was like in Berlin, when I was there in May, Papa. The Germans do nothing but discuss war. If they do get into the fray, it will be a
bloody
war, lots of casualties.”

Adam said, with a quick nod, “You’re absolutely correct, Diedre. Thank God Churchill was aware of the kaiser’s efforts to create a stronger German navy in 1911. That was when Churchill started to build the new Dreadnought battleships, and powerful ships they are indeed. Winston was determined to uphold our naval superiority on the high seas, and he has done that, thank God. The Royal Navy is the greatest in the world, nothing compares to it. Can’t say that for the army, or the air force, though.”

“I understand from a friend of mine that the army is a bit disorganized,” Hugo remarked. “Although I hear Churchill is now trying to do something about that, and about the air force, as well.”

Before anyone could respond, or make a comment, Hanson appeared with the two footmen, and dessert was served.

Daphne, wanting to lighten the atmosphere, started to talk about the Glorious Twelfth and the commencement of the grouse season in August. Adam Fairley joined in immediately, understanding what she was endeavoring to do, which was change the subject. And talk of war ended, was replaced with more social topics, gossip and discussions about the latest plays in London, the newest books.

Later, after dinner, the men retired to the library for cognac and cigars, and war instantly came up again. It was Adam who started it. He said to Charles, “Look here, there are a few things you should know, old chap. If a war starts in Europe, we’ll be in it because we signed an entente with France … to come to their aid, if they’re attacked.”

“I was aware of that,” Charles replied. “And I think we have one with Russia as well, if I’m not mistaken. It’s called the Triple Entente.”

“We do. I know you’re aware that we don’t have a compulsory draft system here. Joining any of the armed services is voluntary. But you and I will not be expected to fight.”

“Why not?” Hugo asked, then answered the question himself, when he said swiftly, “Oh, that’s because you’re both over forty. That is correct, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. “I’ve been informed privately that the War Office will ask young men from eighteen to thirty to join up. Anyway, I’m afraid I have bad eyesight, so I wouldn’t be any use to them, even if they needed me.”

Charles nodded. “So do I. I just had an eye test the other day, and apparently I need spectacles.”

Glancing at Charles, Hugo said in a low voice, “My friend with the connection in the War Office told me that the aristocracy may be asked to make a truly big sacrifice. If there is a war. And that is opening up part of their stately homes, to help the country.”

Charles eyed Hugo quizzically. He then sat back in the chair when a terrible truth dawned on him. “For the wounded soldiers! That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? The government anticipates huge casualties, don’t they? And they foresee most of our hospitals being overloaded, filled to capacity. The War Office will need our homes because they are so large. They’re going to need wards for wounded soldiers.”

Hugo stared at him, and nodded.

“I don’t care. I’m willing to open up two wings of this house if it helps our troops. What troubles me is hearing that the War Office expects such huge casualties before we’re even at war. Why, in God’s name, would we allow ourselves to be pulled into this quarrel between those European countries? We’re hard to invade. We’re an island race. We can defend ourselves with our fantastic navy, if we’re attacked. So we should just stay out of it.” Charles sounded irate.

“It’s the politicians,” Adam answered in a voice of disapproval. “And the noisy, greedy, hungry, ambitious rulers. King George’s cousin leads the way. Kaiser Bill is about to go on that rampage we’ve been expecting, mark my words. He wants an empire like ours.”

“That he’ll never have!” Guy exclaimed, his face flushed, his blue eyes flashing.

Charles looked across at his oldest son, and thought: Oh my God, he’ll want to volunteer, to be a true patriot, to fight for king and country. I’ve got to stop him if war does come. I can’t let him put himself at risk. He’s my heir. He’s the future of the Inghams.