Cavendon Hall (8 page)

At one moment, Alice rose and went to the door, locked it to ensure their privacy. Then she returned to Daphne’s side. Slowly the sobbing abated. Daphne wiped her eyes again, and finally sat up straighter. She looked at Alice, explained, “I fell down, Mrs. Alice, and I—”

“Don’t say anything else, my lady!” Alice interrupted. Drawing closer, she added, “I don’t need to know anything. Nothing at all.” In a lower tone, she murmured, “Tell no one. No one at all. Understand?”

Daphne looked at her intently. “Yes.”

Alice said, “Do not trust anyone in this house. Not ever.”

On hearing these words, Daphne was puzzled, and also a little frightened.

Observing her reaction, and wanting to allay any fears, Alice reached out, took her hand. “Only your parents. You can trust them. Naturally. And you can trust me. And Walter and Cecily.
We are Swanns.
We will always protect you.”

Daphne nodded her understanding, a look of relief entering her eyes.

“Our ancestors made a blood oath over one hundred and sixty years ago. It has never been broken. Please say the motto, Lady Daphne.” As she spoke, Alice stretched out her right arm and made a fist.

Daphne placed her right hand on Alice’s fist, and said in French,
“Loyaulté me lie.”

Repeating the motto in English, Alice said, “Loyalty binds me,” and she put her left hand on top of Daphne’s, and the young woman did the same. “We are bound together into eternity,” they said in unison.

After a few moments of silence, Alice broke their grip, and stood up. She said quietly, “I think you must get undressed, and then take a hot bath, m’lady. A good soak will bring ease to your body. Shall I help you?”

“No, no, thank you, Mrs. Alice. I can manage,” Daphne said hurriedly.

Understanding that she wanted privacy, Alice nodded. “Please give me your hat, Lady Daphne.”

Daphne did so, and rose, limping toward the bathroom, her mind racing, filled with all manner of thoughts, not the least Alice’s comments about not trusting anyone except her parents and the Swanns.

Alice explained, “I’m going to take those clothes home with me later. I will clean and mend them, and no one will be any the wiser.”

Daphne paused, turned around, and stared at her. “But—”

“No buts, my lady. We can’t have one of the maids finding them, now, can we?”

Daphne simply nodded, realizing Mrs. Alice was right.

Alice said, “I shall go up to the sewing room and satisfy the curiosity of DeLacy and Cecily, put their busy little minds at rest. By the way, where did you fall, Lady Daphne? In the woods?”

“Yes,” Daphne replied, swallowing hard.

“I shall lock the door behind me, m’lady. You don’t need anyone walking in on you unexpectedly. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

*   *   *

“Is Daphne all right?” DeLacy asked as soon as Alice walked into the sewing room.

“Oh yes, she’s perfectly fine,” Alice answered, smiling. She added, “You look lovely in that rose-colored chiffon, Lady DeLacy. I think this one will work beautifully for you, for the spring supper dance later this month. Don’t you agree, Cecily?”

“I do, Mother, it is a wonderful color for DeLacy, and a change from blue.” Cecily began to laugh. “Everyone in this family wants to wear blue.” She glanced at DeLacy, and said, “I’m sorry, Lacy, but it
is
the truth.”

“Oh, I know. Great-Aunt Gwendolyn says we’re all stick-in-the-muds, and unimaginative. She thinks we should all wear purple … the
royal
color. She even wonders aloud why we want clothes to match our eyes.”

Alice also had to laugh. “She’s been saying that for as long as I can remember.”

DeLacy swirled, the chiffon evening dress flaring out around her legs. She said, as she turned again, “I suppose Daphne must have fallen in the woods. I know she was going to see Julian at Havers Lodge … to tell him he could invite his fiancée to the big ball. She must have been hurrying back because of the thunderclouds, and then tripped.”

“That’s exactly what happened,” Alice murmured, her mind instantly focused on the Torbetts. She knew the earl and the countess had never been too happy about Lady Daphne’s friendship with Julian, when they were younger. They were afraid the two of them might become too attached to each other. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened, because of Julian’s intentions to have a military career, and Daphne’s lack of interest in him romantically.

They had only ever been platonic friends. This was also because Daphne’s head was filled with dreams of a duke’s son and a brilliant marriage, planted there at a very young age by her father, the earl.

To Alice’s way of thinking, there was something odd about the Torbett family. They tended to put on airs and graces, and they weren’t as wealthy as they liked the world to believe. Hanson had always told Walter that they were pretentious, jumped-up nothings.

On the other hand, Hanson was a bit of a snob and tended to dismiss anybody without a title. However, his damning statements seemed to stick, remained in the head.

Going over to the rack of dresses, Alice looked at all of them with her beady eye; they were perfect for DeLacy, she decided. She took a honey-colored taffeta ball gown over to DeLacy. “I think this would be lovely—”

There was a knock on the door, and when Alice called, “Come in,” it was Walter who poked his head into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, ladies, but his lordship would like DeLacy to go down for afternoon tea. Lady Gwendolyn has just walked over, and they are waiting in the drawing room.”

Alice nodded, and exclaimed, “Tea, of course! You’d better hurry along, DeLacy.” And I’d better go and look in on Daphne, Alice thought, as she gave the honey-colored gown to Cecily, then hurried out to join her husband.

In the corridor, Alice took hold of Walter’s arm. “Has the countess returned from Harrogate yet?”

“No, she won’t be back for another hour or so.”

“I’ll see you at home tonight,” Alice murmured, and went down the stairs to the main bedroom floor. Walter followed her, and squeezed her arm affectionately, before they went in different directions. DeLacy was already halfway down the main staircase, on her way to tea.

Alice unlocked the door to Daphne’s bedroom, went inside, and quickly locked it behind her. Daphne was nowhere in sight. Alice noticed the small pile of clothes folded up on a chair. She went to examine them. The blouse was badly ripped; Alice thought she could mend it. As for the jacket, the back was smeared with green streaks from the grass, and splotches of mud. The skirt was in the worst condition, with dirty patches, and stains from grass and blood. She could clean them successfully. She had good products and special methods.

Carefully, Alice folded them up again, and finally picked up the underskirt. There was blood on it, and some other damp patches. Alice bent her head and sniffed, and then turned away, grimacing. Her worst fears had been confirmed. A man had attacked Lady Daphne out in the woods, no two ways about it. That male smell clung to the underskirt. Carefully, she folded it and put it under the pile, shaking her head.

Alice sat down heavily in the chair. She felt as if a lump of lead was lodged in her chest. Her mind floundered for a moment, and her heart went out to Daphne, so sweet, so lovely. Whoever had done such a thing to a seventeen-year-old innocent girl should be horsewhipped. She wondered then if any of the woodsmen or gardeners had seen anything; several Swanns worked on the outside at Cavendon. Walter would have to ask them if they noticed anything untoward this afternoon.

A moment later the bathroom door opened and Lady Daphne came out in her robe. She smiled at Alice, but then the smile instantly faltered. “I hoped I hadn’t bruised my face, but there’s a mark, here, on the cheekbone,” Daphne murmured, touching her face. “How will I explain it to Mama and Papa, Mrs. Alice?”

Alice hurried across the room, peered at her face. “It’s not so bad, Lady Daphne. I think it can be covered up with a few touches of powder and rouge. And you fell, remember, and if you fell forward then you would easily hit your face on a rock, a tree trunk, or roots. You’ll explain it that way. What about the rest of you, m’lady?”

“Just bruises, nothing broken. Did you see DeLacy and Cecily?”

“Yes, they were in the sewing room. I told them you’d tripped and fallen. DeLacy assumed it was in the woods, because she said you’d gone to Havers Lodge to see Julian Torbett this afternoon.”

“That’s true. I went to tell him his fiancée could come to the big ball. Obviously DeLacy heard me telling Father after lunch that I was going there.”

“By the way, DeLacy has gone down to tea to join your great-aunt and your father. Walter brought a message from his lordship. What about you? Do you want to join them, m’lady?”

Daphne shook her head. “I think I should rest. I’m hoping I’ll be able to go down for dinner later, but for now…” Her voice trailed off.

Alice nodded. “Yes, stay and have a rest. I’d get into bed if I were you, m’lady. If it’s all right with you, I will tell Walter to inform your father that you’re resting after trying on dresses most of the day. I’ll say you’re a bit tired.”

Daphne inclined her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Alice. I’d appreciate that. And thank you … for everything.”

Eleven

L
ady Gwendolyn Ingham Baildon stood in the center of the great entrance foyer at Cavendon Hall, glancing around, a beatific smile on her face. She had been in London for the past week, and this was her first visit since her return to Yorkshire two days ago.

To her, Cavendon was the most sublime place. There was nowhere else like it, and only here did she experience a feeling of euphoria … a sense of genuine happiness and contentment. So many memories, so many emotions were wrapped up in this house … her entire life had been spent here.

The smile lingered as her eyes rested on the oil paintings of her ancestors which lined the wall above the grand curving staircase. Looking down at her were her parents. Her beautiful mother, Florence, wife of Marmaduke, the fourth earl, her father. Next to her father was a striking portrait of her brother, David, the handsomest of men. He had been the fifth earl, and next to him was a lovely oil painting of his wife, Constance, who had died far too young. She sighed to herself. Her husband, Paul Baildon, had died young; she had been a widow for a very long time.

Turning away, Lady Gwendolyn walked across the hall in the direction of the small yellow sitting room, where afternoon tea had been served for years.

Gwendolyn had been born in this house seventy-two years ago, and brought up here with David and their sister Evelyne. She knew every nook, cranny, corner, and secret hiding place. In fact, there wasn’t much she didn’t know about Cavendon and the Ingham family. Well, that was not exactly true. She was ignorant about any number of things, as was her nephew Charles.

A small, amused smile struck her face fleetingly. Only the Swanns knew everything, and what they knew had been passed down from one generation to the next. There were notebooks filled with endless records, so she had been told once, and this information had come from the best source—a Swann, no less.

Ah well, Gwendolyn mused, what would we have done without the Swanns? And they’re on our side, thank God, stand sentinel beside us. She would trust a Swann with her life if she had to.

Her nephew was the only occupant of the yellow sitting room, and he jumped up, came toward her once he saw her appear in the doorway.

After kissing her cheek, he said, “It’s lovely to see you back at Cavendon, Aunt Gwendolyn.”

“Thank you, Charles, I feel the same.” She glanced around. “Am I the first?”

“Yes, actually, you are. I’m afraid our ranks are a bit diminished today. Felicity is still in Harrogate, visiting Anne, and Diedre accompanied her. But DeLacy will be joining us.”

At this moment Hanson glided into the room, and after greeting Lady Gwendolyn, he addressed the earl. “Do you wish tea to be served immediately, m’lord?”

“Yes, Hanson, thank you. But perhaps you could send a message to Lady DeLacy to come down.”

“I took the liberty of doing that a short while ago, my lord.”

Charles nodded. “Thank you, Hanson. Very astute of you. I’m afraid punctuality is not her strong suit.”

As Hanson left the room, Gwendolyn said, “Isn’t Daphne joining us as well, Charles?”

“I don’t think so. Apparently she has been busy with dress fittings for most of the day, and feels tired. She has asked to be excused.”

“Sorry I’m late, Papa!” DeLacy cried as she came racing into the room, a bright smile on her face. She ran over to her great-aunt, kissed her on the cheek, and then went to kiss her father.

“You are coming to the supper dances and the big ball, aren’t you, Great-Aunt Gwendolyn?” DeLacy asked a moment later, sitting down next to her. “It’s never the same when you’re not present.”

“How nice of you to say so, Lacy, and of course I plan to come, my dear. I’ve always thought the entertaining we do at Cavendon at that time of year, in the summer months, was the best, the most fun.” Leaning slightly closer, she said in a low voice, “Please do try to avoid sky blue this season, darling. The obvious is rather boring, you know?”

DeLacy stared at her, saw the amusement flickering in the deep-blue eyes, and began to giggle. “I will certainly do that,” she answered, still laughing, and then glanced at the door as the two footmen came in, both pushing laden tea trolleys, followed closely by Hanson, as always present to make sure nothing was amiss or went wrong.

As they went through the ritual of afternoon tea, Charles silently debated whether or not to tell his aunt that Hugo was about to make a visit. In the end, he decided he must do so. He preferred not to spring it on her at the last minute. But he would certainly avoid mentioning anything about property and Little Skell Manor.

After DeLacy insisted he try a piece of the Swiss roll, Charles tasted it, and then put it down. Looking across at his aunt, he said, “I had a letter from Switzerland today. And you’ll never guess who it was from.”